Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “They’re only children.”
“Richard is eight. He shouldn’t need to come to his mama’s bed because of a little thunder.”
She shot him a disapproving glare. “They are just children, Christian. You are a grown man.”
“Well, I have needs, too. What about mine? What about yours, or do you not need me inside you anymore? Are you just a shell of a woman now that you’ve born children? Is that it, Elizabeth, you can’t fuck anymore because you’re a mother?”
He looked away from her and wiped his hands along his face as he fought for some measure of control. This was his wife, he reminded himself, who he had once loved more than anything—whom he still loved. These were his children, his own flesh and blood—yet he swore he almost felt hatred for them as they flung the door open and ran into the room crying and sniffling.
“Darlings,” Elizabeth cooed, opening her arms and allowing their dark-haired “darlings” to crawl into their bed. Their youngest, Jamie, who was not yet two, struggled to climb up the tall bed. Christian hefted him up and watched as Jamie scrambled out of his hold in order to cuddle up to his mother. His four children were now nestled against Elizabeth’s generous breasts, their faces pressed into the starched linen of her gown, which concealed the sweet scent of her flesh.
His children were exactly where he longed to be. A place he hadn’t really been since the birth of Rachel, their third child. Christ, had it really been three years since Rachel had been born? Three years since their marriage and sex life had begun to dwindle, then all but grind to a halt? Three years of living with someone he no longer knew or felt close to.
“Papa, your knee is against my back and it’s hurting.”
That was John, their second child. He was only six, but tonight, for Christian, he was much too old to be running to his mama because of a little thunder and lightning.
As John grunted and shoved him away, Christian swore beneath his breath. Snatching the sheet covering his waist he tore it from the bed. Elizabeth glared at him.
“I’m sick to death of this,” he blurted. He saw the blue gaze of his oldest son peeking out at him from the protection of his mother’s arm. Unable to help it, he glared angrily at him—a frightened eight-year-old boy—then turned his back, hating himself for what he had just done to his son.
“Christian,” Elizabeth sighed, the sound so full of confusion and disapproval. “What is it you want?”
A fucking wife! But he could hardly say that in front of his children. So instead he said nothing, only sighed, knowing she would understand exactly what was wrong. Their marriage was over. It had been for some time now. It was well past time they admitted it to themselves — there was nothing left. Nothing except resentment, distance and emptiness.
“Where are you going?” she asked as he stalked to the connecting door to his chamber.
“I’m leaving.”
Silence followed him. There was no plea for him to stay, no tears and whispered words of love. Nothing that showed him she cared a thing for him.
Did she give a damn? Did she care that there was nothing left of their marriage, or was it merely a relief for her to know she no longer had to put up with him?
Chapter Two
“Your eyes do not have that sparkle, Elizabeth.”
Tilting her head, Elizabeth tried to smile. She doubted anything could make her eyes sparkle. Not now, not after it was so apparent that her marriage was over. But she could hardly explain that to her friend. He was a man and a bachelor. He would not understand the complexities of a woman in her sexual prime, nor the intricacies of marriage.
“No, no,” Adrian muttered, rising from behind his easel. “Your head is tilted all wrong. You will want the sun to shine on your face. You have such lovely features and the sunlight will only enhance them.”
“You’ll see the lines around my eyes,” she grumbled. “Sunlight is so very unforgiving on a thirty-five-year-old woman’s face.”
“Nonsense. You’ve nothing to be concerned about, Elizabeth. You’re beautiful. Lovely.” Kneeling before her, Adrian fussed with her skirt, fluffing it and spreading it out at her feet. Next he gripped her shoulders and posed her so that her bosom was more pronounced and her waist turned, making it appear slimmer. When their gazes collided, she could not hide the wetness in her eyes. “What’s this, Elizabeth?” he asked, wiping away a crystal drop.
“Nothing,” she sniffed. Tilting her chin away, she broke the contact of his fingers. Avoiding his concerned expression, Elizabeth stared out the window of the conservatory that overlooked the long gravel drive of the Sutcliffe estate.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you cry before.”
“The sun is bright.”
Clasping his hands on her cheeks, he turned her so that she was looking at him. “You haven’t been yourself for months, Eliza. Tell me. You do know there is nothing you cannot tell me.”
They were the very best of friends, had been since childhood when they had lived down a lane from each other. She had known Adrian longer than her husband, and Elizabeth had the sinking feeling she knew him much better than she knew Christian.
Christian…her husband. Where was he? What was he doing? He hadn’t been home in a sennight, not since…she swallowed hard. Not since that night when they had been making love…no, not love, they no longer made love…they had been having sex, and the children had disturbed them. How furious he had been with them, and her. He had left and not come back, leaving her to wonder what would become of them.
Had he found another? Was he visiting the brothels of London? Had he secured himself a mistress? She had never thought him capable of betraying her, but much had changed in the past few years and now she wasn’t so sure of him, or herself. She hardly knew him anymore. He certainly was not the man she had married.
It made her retch, thinking of him in bed with another woman, his beautiful hands stroking her breasts and thighs. She thought of all the endearments, all the love words he had once whispered in her ear, then imagined him saying them to another and she broke out into a sob.
“What is it?” Adrian asked again. His voice was so soft, so concerned. Adrian would understand. He always seemed to understand her, where Christian hadn’t sought to understand her needs for the past three years.
“Is it Sutcliffe?” he asked. When she nodded, he blew out a breath and brushed his thumbs along her cheeks, wiping away her tears. “He no longer satisfies you,” Adrian stated flatly.
Nodding, Elizabeth balled up a linen square and dabbed at her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, ashamed to confess something like that in front of Adrian. She was shocked by how much it hurt to finally admit the truth. “He does not make me happy. I…I haven’t been since before…well, after Jamie’s birth. It’s as if we are distant acquaintances passing one another from time to time. We no longer talk, touch…kiss,” she hiccupped. “I hardly know him anymore. We’ve become strangers to one another.”
“How can that be?”
Tears fell in earnest from her eyes, and Elizabeth did nothing to stop them. “He does not want me as a woman, Adrian. He no longer desires me. It’s as if he is only doing a duty when he comes to my bed. He hurries on with the business and it leaves me frustrated and yearning. It is obvious that he no longer wants me, or our children. It is obvious he is no longer happy with me. Even now he is in London, doing God knows what—probably bedding every woman under the age of twenty-five. I can’t compete with those young women anymore, Adrian. I can’t give him what he needs.”
“Come