Roswell Fanatics

*Eleven*

Maxwell was sprawled in front of the unlit fireplace, staring broodingly at the darkened bricks of the hearth. A whisper of fabric made him turn his head toward the bedroom. She stood there, wrapped in her dressing robe, one eyebrow raised, and an amused smile curving her bow-shaped pink lips.

She walked into the salon with a sway of her hips, and perched herself on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. “What is the matter, Maxwell?” she inquired softly.

He sighed deeply, and looked up at her. His eyes, long since adjusted to the dark of the room, noted everything about her. Her eyes were as blue as the sky he had compared them to when he first met her, though there were lines around them that had not been there in his youth. It surprised him for a moment, to recall that she was only a few years his senior.

Avalyn had always managed to retain the girlish appearance that had caught so many of the young gentlemen of the ton’s eyes. She had had many lovers over the years, and was reigning queen of the demimonde, but Maxwell was the only one she had ever formed a friendship with as well a carnal relationship.

The remained friends and lovers over the years, she becoming his official mistress for a while, but once he had inherited the title of Earl of Kingston, they had dissolved the partnership with mutual amiability.

When the pressure of Elizabeth’s pregnancy had got to be too much, he had turned to her. And she had accepted him with open arms. It did not matter to her that he was married, it did not matter to her that he was often preoccupied when they made love, and it did not matter to her that he cried out another woman’s name when he found his release in her arms.

“Maxwell?” she repeated when he did not answer her. He looked away from her, and still did not answer. Now it was her turn to sigh. “Maxwell, please, I have not fully acquainted myself with your thoughtful silences again. It’s been over two years… I cannot read your mind.”

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself over, Avalyn.”

“Ah,” she said, and rose, walking around the chair so that she stood behind him, “So that’s the way it is.”

“Avalyn-”

“Let me try to reason this out, Maxwell,” she interrupted, forestalling his excuses. He was silent as she wandered in front of him again, going to the fireplace and putting a log on with some kindling. The silence continued until a blaze lit the room. Avalyn stood, warming her hands as warmth began to permeate the small sitting room. She turned to him once more, a contemplative look in her eyes, and, not for the first time, he found himself comparing her to Elizabeth again.

His wife was as different as Avalyn as night was to day. Where Elizabeth’s hair was dark as mahogany, thick, and long, Avalyn’s was light as buttercups, fine, and unfashionably short. Where Elizabeth’s eyes were brown and bottomless, Avalyn’s were azure and gemlike. Elizabeth was also smaller than Avalyn, slimmer, shorter, all around more petite and vulnerable.

And the biggest difference of all, he no longer desired Avalyn as he did his lovely wife.

“My guess is that your current attention, which has not been directed toward me for some time, is fully on the charming Lady Kingston, is it not, my lord?” He blinked at her caustic tone, but did not contradict her words.

And so, she continued. “The question is, as the former Miss Parker was reputed to be intelligent, gently bred, enchanting, all around perfect woman, and prime candidate for marriage, why is the man who wed her here, in my home?”

He winced as she concluded her speech. Apparently he had been wrong when he thought his fixation with Elizabeth had not mattered to her. “I cannot sleep,” he admitted finally.

She frowned, “Why not?”

He got up, too restless to just sit and stare, and began to pace around the room, a little angry with himself that he could not manage to contain his emotions. Maxwell knew his response would hurt Avalyn, because the simple fact of the matter was, “She’s not in my bed.”

“I beg your pardon?” Avalyn queried, obviously not understanding his obtuse answer.

He blew out a deep breath and stopped pacing. “Elizabeth. I can’t sleep because she’s not in my arms.” For some reason he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of him. He’d never before put into words how important his wife had come to be to him. Maxwell knew most of the ton believed the poor Miss Parker to be trapped in what was surely a cold, loveless marriage, and he allowed them to believe it.

He would not put Elizabeth in a position that someone could use her to injure him just because it was known he held her in very high regard. He knew it would kill her to cause him any sort of pain or trouble. She was so loyal that way…

“When I hold her, Avalyn, when I make love to her… It’s different than with anyone else. I feel different…”

He trailed off, remembering the one month they had spent together in the country. That small amount of time, those few nights, and he had become addicted to the feel of her, the scent of her, her taste, her voice crying his name… It was the only time she called him by his given name, he mused, when not engaged in lovemaking, she always referred to him as ‘my lord’, no matter how he protested.

“I cannot touch her now,” he told Avalyn, who was watching him with a guarded expression, “Not until the babe is born.” He heaved another sigh, “She so small, and it’s hurting her so much…” He turned away from the light as he felt stinging heat prick his eyes. “And it is all my fault. But still, I can’t stay away from her, no matter how I try…”

Maxwell turned back to Avalyn, “Sometimes,” he whispered, “Most recently, I’d open the doors between our rooms, and she’d be sleeping there, the moonlight from the window on her face… She looks like an angel, Avalyn, and I can’t believe she’s mine.”

He did not see the expression on his mistress’ face as his mind conjured up an image of Elizabeth just a few weeks ago, sleeping peacefully. It had become his habit, since the doctor had forbidden his wife from him, to sneak into her bedroom and just lie beside her, listening to her breathe, until the temptation to wake her became so great and he had to flee from the house and out onto the streets, to spend the remainder of the night in Avalyn’s arms.

But since that same night, he had not been able to observe his wife sleeping without feeling the heart-wrenching guilt of knowing he was having an affair behind her back.

“You love her.”

The soft accusation broke through his reverie, and he scowled at Avalyn. “You are the second person in less than three months to make that assumption,” he told her.

“Assumption?” she repeated, sounding as if she was on the verge of laughter, “That is the God-honest truth, Maxwell Evans. You are in love with your wife.”

“Avalyn…” he trailed off, “I will admit that I care for her a great deal. I would be a very hard man if I did not hold at least some small amount of affection for Elizabeth, but love… Our relationship does not resemble my parents, or Michael and Marianna’s, or even my sister and Alexander’s, and those are the only examples of love I have ever seen in the Polite World, Avalyn. So no, I do not-”

“You won’t let yourself see, Maxwell,” she interjected, refusing to let him finish the statement, “I have known you for years, and you’ve never been this out of control before.”

He drew himself up, “I am in perfect control of myself.”

She rolled her eyes, and gave a snort of disbelief that made him jump. “Maxwell… I’ll let you believe what you want to believe, but I suggest opening your eyes before something drastic does it for you.”

“What are your implying?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said quietly, “But I would like to put an end to our liaison, my lord Kingston.”

He gazed at her for a brief moment, and then nodded, “I feel that would be best, also.”

She gave her own nod, and followed him as he gathered his things. Avalyn pressed a gentle kiss to his lips as he put on his greatcoat. “I’ll miss you,” she informed him.

He gave her a small smile and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Avalyn.”

She shook her blonde head and opened the front door. He stepped out into the cool night and turned to say farewell, but she beat him to it. “Don’t be sorry, Maxwell, it’s not your fault I fell in love with you,” she confided nearly inaudibly, and then she shut the door on his stunned expression.

Maxwell blinked dazedly and wandered onto the side of the street, deciding to walk home instead of hailing a hackney, he could use the time to think. And he suddenly realized that he had a lot to think about.

A carriage pulled up beside him, and, just as he was about to dismiss the driver, the door opened, and he was dragged inside.

He regained his balance quickly, and set about on his assailant, when he paused and dropped to the seat. “What the devil are you doing up at this hour, Stonevale?” he demanded roughly.

Michael, looking as if he had just risen from slumber, gave him a dour look. “I could ask you the same question, Kingston, but I won’t, because I already know the answer. How is Avalyn?”

Maxwell ignored the jibe, it was obvious his friend was out of sorts. “Michael?”

“Well, I’ll have you know that I was awoken from a very pleasant dream of Marianna by your wife’s sobbing maidservant.”

“What?” he exclaimed, straightening in his seat, and fixing Michael with a piercing glare.

“She was absolutely hysterical about not finding you, said I was her last hope, and wailing about Elizabeth dying-”

“WHAT?!” Maxwell exploded.

“I’m sure its just nonsense, Maxwell, she was abnormally panicked, and over-dramatic,” he grinned, “She reminded me a bit of Mari.”

“Stonevale, if you don’t shut up and get me home, they will be finding your body on Layton’s Field within the week,” Maxwell growled warningly.

“I’d actually prefer Brent’s Field if at all possible,” Michael replied easily, “The grass is much greener.”

“Stonevale-”

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and Maxwell was out in an instant, completely forgetting about Michael. He strode up the steps and into his townhouse in a hurry, to be confronted by a shaking Laurie before he could ascend the staircase.

“Oh, my lord, thank Heaven, Lord Stonevale found you!” she cried, “I was so frightened, I could barely move!”

“Laurie!” he bellowed, and she froze, eyes wide, “What is going on?”

She clasped her hands together. “My lady is having the baby, my lord,” she told him quietly.

For a very long moment, Maxwell couldn’t breathe. He was going to murder Michael for the allusion to Elizabeth dying, and then he pushed past the maid and took the stairs two at a time, shouting for Zanial to fetch Doctor Hardy. The manservant appeared at the top of the stairs.

“He is already here,” he stated in his grave voice.

Maxwell nodded, “Thank you.” And he continued hurrying along the hallway, toward his wife’s room. A scream erupted from behind the white door, causing him to stumble, but he caught himself and pushed into the room.

Alarm raced through him at the tableau before him. Hardy and his assistants were gathered around Elizabeth, who was nearly covered in blood, and straining against one of the assistant’s hands as he held her down. And then the anger came, and he stalked toward them, intent on ripping the young man’s hands off of her.

Another scream ripped from her delicate throat, and the anger turned again to fear. “What are you doing to her?” he demanded icily, his voice cracking.

Four heads turned to look at him, the two assistants staring slack-jawed at the awe-inspiring Earl of Kingston, the doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Elizabeth’s eyes, which were nearly blind with pain, fixed on him, and she made a small noise of distress.

He immediately moved forward, only to be blocked by Doctor Hardy, “My lord,” Hardy said quietly, “Please remove your presence from the room, you are upsetting her Ladyship.”

His expression darkened with rage, and he took Hardy’s hand from his arm and leaned down so that they were nose-to-nose, intent that Elizabeth not hear what he was about to say. But before he could tell the good doctor to remove himself from the house, Elizabeth gave another shriek.

Hardy quickly turned from him and went back to Elizabeth, and Maxwell was frozen again as he watched his wife writhe in agony, a feeling of helplessness washing over him that he did not enjoy.

Her beautiful brown eyes caught his again. “Maxwell…It hurts,” she whimpered. Guilt tripped him up again and he backed out of the room, eyes still locked upon Elizabeth as he shut the door. “MAXWELL!”

He closed his eyes, aghast at what he had done to her, and slid to the floor beside the door. He listened for hours, cringing with each anguished cry that drifted through the wooden barrier.

Several times Laurie was called in and out of the room to get fresh linens and warm water, and each time she came out again she’d stare at the door as if her heart was breaking, and she’d start to weep, but then she’d catch sight of him, slumped on the floor, and she’d take herself off until she was called for again.

This time though, when she came out, she was cradling a bundle of swaddled cloth, and she bent down beside him. Maxwell stared at her dully as she held out the bundle. He looked from it to her, uncomprehending, until she gave a smile. “It’s your son, my lord,” she whispered, and Maxwell blinked at her. She held out her armful again, and this time, he took it from her.

He stared down at the little face staring back up at him, and felt an immense warmth suffuse his body, and tears came to his eyes as he stared down at his son. Laurie rose, satisfied, and went back into the room, leaving Lord Kingston alone with his heir.

Maxwell ran a finger lightly over the chubby cheeks of the babe, and twirled the fine dark curls on his head. Tiny eyes opened, squinting up at his father, and a little hand flung up to catch Maxwell’s hand, wrapping around one finger. A smile broke out over Maxwell’s face, the first true smile he’d given in several months.

This was his son, his and Elizabeth’s. He was a father.

At the thought of his wife, Maxwell turned his head to the door, wondering if Elizabeth would have the chance to look at there son, and the berated himself for coming up with such a morbid idea. Elizabeth would be fine.

As if reading his mind, the two assistants came out of the forbidden bedroom. Maxwell stood, carefully holding his son to him, and ignored them as they passed, exchanging glances about his disheveled appearance and blood-shot eyes.

Doctor Hardy came next and approached Maxwell with a brief nod. “My wife?” he demanded.

Hardy didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he smiled. “Lady Kingston will be back to her usual cheerful self in a matter of a few weeks.” Maxwell breathed a sigh of relief, and adjusted the angle at which he was holding his son. “However,” the doctor continued, and Maxwell wanted to curse him to hell, “It would be wise not to put her Ladyship in such a position again. I truly do not believe she would survive another traumatic pregnancy, such as this one.”

“Of course,” Maxwell murmured, hating him, “Now, Zanial will see to the bill. Good night, sir.”

He left the doctor and went inside, hesitating only a moment. The scene was hardly different then it had been the first time, except this time Elizabeth was lying quietly, and Laurie was attending her. At his entrance, the blonde maid looked up. She dropped a quick curtsey and then came forward.

“I’ll put the little master in the nursery,” she said softly, “If your could please carry her Ladyship to the bath, my lord, I’ll come by to attend, and I’ll get one of the other maids to tidy up the room…”

Maxwell nodded and handed his son over to Laurie, who swept the now crying boy out of the room. He tiptoed over to the bed, and very gently lifted Elizabeth from the tangled, blood encrusted sheets. She gave a small moan and her head lolled against his shoulder. Maxwell felt a lump form in his throat and he quickly carried her down the hall to the already drawn bath.

He parted her dressing gown and threw the spoiled material to the ground, then he lowered her into the steaming water, wincing as the clear water took on a pinkish tint.

Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered open, and her hands clung to him. “Maxwell?”

“Hush, Lizzie,” he soothed, “We need to get you cleaned up.”

Her tired eyes met his, and she relaxed, leaning back against the cool tub. Maxwell took up a soft cloth and some of her herbal soap, and began to lather her tenderly. Her eyes followed his every move as he ran the cloth over her slender arms. For a moment, he gave into the temptation that was Elizabeth, and ran a wet hand through her hair, planting a brief, chaste kiss on her lips.

Her lips parted, her tongue flicking out to taste where his lips had been. “Thank you,” he told her.

A blush came to her pale cheeks, “Is… Did…” she shook her head, “Where is our child, my lord?”

“Laurie took him to the nursery while you bathed, Elizabeth.”

“Him?” she echoed, “Then it was a boy?” He nodded, smiling, and she managed an answering smile. “I had hoped…”

The door to the bathing room opened and Laurie stood there, holding their crying, wriggling son. “Begging your pardons,” she said breathlessly, “But the little master wants his breakfast, and he won’t take no for an answer.” Elizabeth laughed, a sound that was music to Maxwell’s ears, and extended her arms to take the boy.

Maxwell watched silently as his newborn son settled into his mother’s arms, and Elizabeth bent her head, a smile on her face, humming under her breath, and gave him a gentle kiss.

This was his family, Maxwell realized. Protectiveness streaked through him as he gazed at his wife and child. He had almost lost Elizabeth, it would not happen again. He would never put her life at risk like that again. Never, he vowed fervently, never again.

*Twelve*

The ballroom seemed as if it were literally glowing, the ensconced candles creating a hazy, romantic atmosphere through which the dancer’s waltzed. It was a tremendous crush, people thronging in and out of the gardens, the game room, having chats by the windows… Marianna said she’d be the smash of the Season.

Elizabeth didn’t care. The only thing that made the success of the perfect party important was that now, perhaps, Maxwell would look upon her favorably.

That was what she was doing now, searching for her husband, dodging compliments and dance invitations all the while. He had told her he would make an appearance, and he was a man who kept his word.

She finally spotted him casually talking to the lovely, but annoying, Theresa Harding. Frowning, she lifted her skirts just so, and approached them. “My lord?”

At the sound of the low voice, Maxwell turned around to see his wife. “Elizabeth,” he replied coolly. Her smile faltered for a moment at his tone, but then reappeared, if slightly forced.

“Lady Kingston,” Theresa chirped, “How are you?”

“Quite well, Miss Harding,” she replied graciously, “Congratulations on your engagement.”

The woman blushed, catching the slight tone in Elizabeth’s voice that indicated she should be with her fiancee and not Elizabeth’s husband. “Thank you, Lady Kingston,” she responded, tone light, “Kyle and I make a fine match, don’t you think?”

“You are very well-suited to each other, Miss Harding.”

“I agree completely.”

Elizabeth turned in surprise at the sound of the voice behind her, coming up against Maxwell, her back to his front. He laid a brief, steadying hand on her waist, and then greeted the intruder in a pleasantly bored tone. “Valenti.”

“Kingston,” was Kyle Shirrif, Viscount Valenti’s cheery reply. Then he bowed over Elizabeth’s hand, “Lady Kingston.”

“My lord,” she murmured, dropping a deep curtsey.

He rose, a rakish smile on his lips, gave her a saucy wink with one summer blue eye, and extended a hand to Theresa, who was gazing up at him with adoration. “Theresa, darling, care for a gallop?” She laughingly put down her cup of tea and put her hand in his, letting him lead her out to the dance floor. Kyle tossed a parting “Excuse us!” at the couple left standing at the window, and then devoted his full attention to his fiancee.

Elizabeth watched them wistfully for a minute or two, achingly aware that had Maxwell not offered for her, she would have been wed to Kyle. And part of her wished that had happened, because Kyle seemed so full of life, so possible of love… But the other part of her knew that she never would have fallen in love with the Viscount the way she had with Maxwell.

She loved him, for all his faults, and he had many even if no one but she could see them, and she didn’t seem able to stop, even when she knew she should, because he would never feel the same way about her.

She sighed heavily and started to walk away to find Marianna, but Maxwell caught her arm. She looked back at him curiously, “My lord?”

“Would you care to dance?”

Elizabeth was stunned speechless by the hesitant hope in his voice, and by the invitation. She knew he hated to dance, hated parties in general, but he had really just asked her to join him for a dance. And what more, she was quite certain she saw a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “Of course, my lord,” she accepted, placing her hand trustingly in his.

He led her into the dancing square, among all the whirling couples, and the orchestra struck up a waltz. She blushed, unable not to when his large hand rested gently on the small of her back, and he began to lead her into the steps of the dance.

The waltz was all the rage in Town, as it had been since her first Season, but for some reason, dancing with Maxwell made it seem ever so much more exciting and sensual. He was an exceedingly graceful dancer, for all he hated to dance, and he held her to him closely, swinging her with ease through the complicated steps.

There was just something about her husband. His hands, his eyes… The way his clothes fit him, how his black hair just brushed his stately forhead… Even the way he held her. There was nothing as intimate in her life as being close to him, breathing in his masculine scent… It reminded her of the nights on her honeymoon those few years ago.

Though it seemed as if an eternity had passed since that fanciful time. Those nights were almost like a very lovely, thrilling dream for her… One she had been awoken from rudely.

“How is Christopher?”

A smile flit across her face at the thought of her rambunctious four-year old son. “He’s finally fallen asleep, my lord.”

Maxwell gave a deep chuckle, “How many stories did it take this time?”

She let out her own laugh, “Only two, tonight, Zanial must have worn him out earlier this evening.” Another laugh escaped her as she pictured the dangerous-looking butler playing tag with her energetic son. Christopher could have gone on for hours, but Zanial had eventually forfeited and the boy had been led, pouting, upstairs to meet his tutor.

Maxwell had arranged for one to come everyday since they had returned to London to teach Christopher the basics of a proper education. Their son was an extremely intelligent young man, and being tutored kept him out of trouble. She could barely recall the number of times his curiousity had led him to near fatal accidents, and her heart beat a little faster as she remembered how near she, Laurie, and Zanial had come to not reaching him in time on several occassions.

Christopher’s loss would have devastated the entire household, including Maxwell. It was something she never understood. How her husband could love their son, and his sister, and his best friends, but he could not bring himself to love her, his wife…

The waltz ended and Maxwell gave her a bow and led her off the floor toward Marianna and Isabella. He gave his sister a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and then turned to her. “I have an appointment to make with Michael, I bid you all a good evening.” He nodded at them and then strode off through the crowd. The women sighed.

“It’s good to see you Isabella,” Elizabeth said warmly, giving her friend’s hand a squeeze, “How is motherhood agreeing you?”

Bella was practically glowing, “Wonderfully,” she enthused, “I could barely leave Phillip tonight, but Alexander said I needed to get out…’ She trailed off, blushing. Isabella had become pregnant a few months after Christopher had been born, to the delight of the Whitman family, and also Kingston’s heir. Phillip and Christopher had formed a solid friendship and oftentimes went exploring together when Bella and Alexander had come to visit Elizabeth at the country estates.

The was Elizabeth’s first Season back in London since Christopher’s birth. She had felt it wiser to have him spend his first few years in the pure atmosphere of the country, rather that in the middle of the ton, and Maxwell had agreed, as he had much work to do at their various estates and landholdings, so all had benefitted.

But now they were back in London, and the gossip that had died down in the years away had started recirculating, much to Elizabeth’s dismay. And speaking of gossip, she just caught a snippet of a nearby conversation, and from the look on Mari’s face, she had too.

“I can’t believe you didn’t confront him about that whole thing!” she hissed to Elizabeth, “You should have demanded a divorce.”

A sad smile came to Elizabeth’s face. “I had no cause, Marianna, and no desire to have such a scandal attached to our names. Besides, if anyone had been demanding a divorce, it would have been Maxwell, but he does not seem to want one much either.”

Marianna’s lips pursed, and her green eyes flared in indignation for her friend. “You can’t help the fact that you can’t have more children, but didn’t have to have that affair!”

“Mari!” Isabella scolded, “Keep your voice down!”

Green eyes rolled, but Marianna ignored Bella. “I still can’t believe you let him get away witb it,” she muttered.

“Mari,” Elizabeth sighed, “We’ve been over this.”

“He had an affair!"

“And how many men in this room haven’t done the same? At least with Maxwell it lasted less than two weeks, some men have the same mistresses for years, Mari, you know that. They have whole other families with women they’re not married to! How can I complain when all my husband did was seek release when I could grant him none?” Her voice dropped off, and she was alarmed to discover tears pricking her eyes. She dabbed at them with her silk handkercheif and then met Mari’s sympathetic, yet angry, gaze.

“How do you know it was only two weeks?” she demanded.

“He stopped sleeping in my room,’ she whispered, confiding for the first time her most cherished memories. “When I first got pregnant, and we could not…make love any longer, he still came to my room, and lay with me as I slept. When he woke, I pretended to be asleeps still. He does not know I knew. When he…took up with…her, he stopped sleeping beside me. Then Christopher was born and he couldn’t look at me without guilt clouding his eyes.”

“Lizzie…” Mari murmured, but Elizabeth shook her head.

“He can look at me now, without the shadow in his eyes. It’s taken him nearly four years to get over it, Marianna, and he watches me as I sleep again. Don’t ask me to ruin the only thing I have left, Mari. Please.” Her brown eyes pleaded with her friend to drop the subject once and for all.

Mari sighed and linked her arm in Elizabeth’s. “I didn’t know it…” She sook her head, “I’m sorry, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth managed a small smile. “I realized it’s stupid, Marianna, but I love him. I love him, and I can’t stop just because I should.”

“You shouldn’t!” Isabella put in, linking her arm through Elizabeth’s free arm. “You make my brother a better person, Elizabeth, even if he can’t always see it.”

There was a thoughtful silence among the three women for a time, and then the light chatter and pleasant mood of the soiree encroached on them, and they started discussing more trivial matters.

“I have to say, the red was a bold choice,” Isabella mused, referring to Elizabeth’s gown. Pastels were still in fashion, but Elizabeth had not felt like the eighteen-year old debutante she had been her first Season, and by not following fashion then, she had caught Maxwell’s eye. “It looks very dashing on you, Lizzie.”

“Yes,” Mari agreed, “I have a feeling all the young chits will be running to their dressmakers tomorrow to attempt a copy of it.” She exchanged a devilish smirk with Bella. “After all, Lady Kingston is the trendsetter of the Season…”

“Indeed,’ Bella chimed in, “In fact, my modiste was just commentin, idly of course, about what a pleasure it would be to fit the Lady Kingston with a masterpiece of her own creation…”

“Fine,” Elizabeth capitulated, “I’ll get a new wardrobe.”

The two ladies grinned in triumph, “We have an appointment tomorrow at three o’clock, Mari will pick you up.”

Elizabeth’s jaw fell open, they had been planning this! She opened her mouth to give them a piece of her mind, when Mari spoke up rather rudely. “What do you want?”

“I wish to extend the Lady Kingston an invitation to dance,” was the lazy reply.

Elizabeth met Shawn DeLuca’s indolent gaze and offered him a hesitant smile. “Perhaps just one,” she conceded, “I am not as young as I used to be, and find I tire easily.”

“Nonsense,” Shawn assured her, as he led her to the dance floor, leaving an open-mouthed Marianna and a frowning Isabella behind. “You look just as you did when I first laid eyes on you. Absolutely enchanting.”

Elizabeth let out a laugh as a blush suffused her cheeks. “You jest Mr. DeLuca.”

“Shawn, please my lady, we are friends, are we not?”

She blinked, she didn’t know him very well, but he ahd always been very kind to her, and she did look upon him favorable in the scheme of things… “I believe we are, Mr…” she blushed, “Shawn.”

He grinned, “As such, I offer my services.”

“What services?” she asked in bewilderment.

“As escort,” he elaborated, “Unless Kingston has changed his policy on avoiding London social life, the position must be filled.”

“Oh…I suppose,” she pondered, knowing he was right, and that Maxwell would not accompany her on her forays into Town, “I could always have another dancing partner if Lord Whitman and Lord Stonevale are otherwise engaged…”

“So we’re agreed?” he inquired.

She nodded, “Agreed.”

*Thirteen*

Maxwell came from his study just as Elizabeth descended the stairwell. He stood stock still for a moment, watching her. She was so graceful, so much a lady, and she looked beautiful. The rich, blue ball gown she was wearing made her skin seem to sparkle.

He drew in a breath as his eyes roved her exquisite form hungrily. Desire nearly drowned him, and he forced himself to look away. When he turned back, she was at the foot of the stairs and giving him an odd look. “Are you well, my lord?” she asked with concern.

He gave her a reassuring smile and moved to help her with her cloak. “Fine, Elizabeth.”

“Are you sure you do not wish to accompany me?” she invited.

He shook his head. “Michael should be here shortly to discuss a business arrangement.” She nodded in understanding, and gave him a brilliant smile, one that made him weak in the knees.

Maxwell did not know what he was thinking, allowing her to go out with only Marianna and Isabella to chaperone her. For Heaven’s sake, she was not even wearing a chemisette to conceal the gentle swell of her breasts from the view of the ton’s most lecherous lords and annoying rakehells… If he had any sense at all, he would lock her in her room, away from any other male!

Unfortunately, that was not an option, as he had done enough to hurt Elizabeth these past few years, he didn’t need to ruin her fun now that she was going out again. So he let her go, watching from the doorway until the carriage disappeared from sight.

He did not wait long before Stonevale arrived. Michael charged into the study, not bothering to be announced, and went right to the brandy decanter, pouring himself a glass. He swallowed it in one gulp, winced, and then glared at Maxwell, who had one eyebrow raised in bemusement.

“Well then, since you’re here, we need to confer about the coal mine-”

“Are you going to Isabella’s ball tonight?” Michael inquired of his friend. Maxwell looked up from his desk, surprised at the interruption as well as the topic of it.

“I hadn’t planned on it. Why?” He frowned at Michael, who wasn’t looking at him. “Stonevale?” he prompted warningly.

“I’m just saying…I mean, Elizabeth’s going, right?”

Maxwell’s frown deepened, “Yes, I saw her off less than half an hour ago. But what does my wife have to do with anything?”

Michael pursed his lips. “You know Marianna’s annoying cousin Shawn?”

“I’ve met Mr. DeLuca, yes. I didn’t find him very…pleasant,” Maxwell concluded tactfully, referring to that rather tense situation the day he and Elizabeth’s engagement had been announced.

“No one does,” Michael responded flippantly, “Aimee’s the only one who can stand him.”

He tapped his fingers impatiently, “What does Mari’s cousin have to do with Elizabeth or Isabella’s party?”

“Well… You see, you know the fact that you abhor Society? And the fact that you never escort Elizabeth anywhere?”

“What of it?” he asked, ignoring the feelings of guilt Michael’s words were producing. He had better things to do than dance a waltz and gossip. Besides, Elizabeth had Marianna and Isabella to entertain her. She didn’t need him hanging around her ruining her evening.

“Shawn’s kind of stepped in…”

His brow furrowed, “What are you talking about Michael?”

“Maxwell, he’s trying to take your place. He wants her. I don’t know if it’s just to make you look bad or if he really has a tendre for her, but…either way, people are talking.”

He stood, “It’s just meaningless gossip. Elizabeth wouldn’t betray me Michael, you know that.” No, his wife would never make him look bad. She was too loyal to even consider the possibility.

“It’s not Elizabeth I’m worried about Maxwell, it’s Shawn. He’s not exactly known for his discretion. He gambles in the worst gaming hells, runs with a rather fast bunch of dandies, and has never had a woman say no to him,” Michael warned.

Maxwell shook his head and began to pace. “I doubt he’s ever tried to seduce a woman of Elizabeth’s caliber and position. He’s in for a rude awakening.” Michael said nothing in response and Maxwell glanced up at his friend’s skeptical expression. “She won’t,” he told him decisively.

Michael shrugged, “Don’t get mad or anything Maxwell, but you’re not exactly an ideal husband.”

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?” he demanded fiercely, amber eyes spiraling into blackness.

Michael held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Calm down Maxwell, I’m just saying that you need to think about Elizabeth. She’s given you a son. She’s giving you her loyalty, her…love. She’s young, she expects the same in return, and so far…You haven’t been very forthcoming in those departments.”

“I can’t exactly give her an heir Michael,” he said dryly, ignoring the rest of Michael’s statement.

His friend groaned. “You are deliberately missing the point. You never show her any affection, any sign that she means something to you. Bloody hell man, you have a mistress!”

“I haven’t seen Avalyn in years, despite what gossip the town has been circulating.” He wiped at his forehead angrily. Why did the whole of London feel his personal life was something to be dissected in every drawing room, at every club…Suddenly he frowned, “Does Elizabeth know about Avalyn?”

Michael snorted, “The bloody Continent knows Maxwell, of course she does.” Maxwell paled and shouted for Zanial to get his valet. He was going to Isabella’s, he needed to talk with his wife.

The ride to his sister’s party took forever. Maxwell tapped his foot impatiently on the floor of his carriage, and drew back a curtain to look outside. The street was packed with carriages. He sighed, he should have known, but he had been out of Society for so long he had forgotten the crush of London nights.

He opened the hatch in the roof and Zanial peered down at him. “I’m going to walk,” he announced, and proceeded to do just that.

A ripple of silence swept around the ballroom as every occupant of the large place took a moment to scrutinize the Earl of Kingston. Maxwell ignored them, searching instead for the royal blue dress he knew his wife was wearing.

Not seeing the bright fabric anywhere his anguished eyes caught his sister’s, who seemed to know what he was so worried about. Bella gestured toward the open doors leading to the garden. Maxwell nodded and set off at once, the members of the ton clearing a path for him.

He walked briskly through the perfectly cared for gardens, statuaries, and fountains. The warm, fragrant night air had no effect on him as he strained his hearing for Elizabeth’s soft, gentle voice. He finally heard her low, throaty laugh as he passed a secluded location.

He paused, the seductive sound making things low in his body tighten. Carefully, quietly, he concealed himself behind the intricate hedging, and stealthily spied upon his wife and Marianna’s bothersome cousin.

He resisted the urge to step out and hurt DeLuca when he took Elizabeth’s hands in his own. For some irrational reason, Maxwell couldn’t stand the sight of another man touching his wife. He oft times found himself forcibly relaxing his clenched fists when even Alexander or Michael greeted her. It was another of the reasons he did not go out with her, if he did not see, he would not react.

But now he was seeing, and he was reacting. Maxwell took a deep, calming breath, and the red haze cleared from his mind. He needed to know her reaction to Shawn’s overtures. Needed to know she wouldn’t go behind his back.

The thought that Elizabeth would made him ill, and his heart denied it fiercely, but his mind acknowledged the truth in what Michael had said. As a husband, he was most definitely lacking, but he knew his wife would never turn to another man, certainty of the fact resonated in his very soul.

But, by all accounts, Maxwell Evans was a practical man, and so, he pushed aside his emotional state and concentrated on the intellectual. He had to know. And, from the look of things, he wouldn’t have to wait long.

His wife’s face was curious as she watched the man before her take several deep breaths. Then he knelt before her and Maxwell felt his hackles rise. Shawn opened his mouth and those dreaded words came out. “I love you, Elizabeth.”

*Fourteen*

Elizabeth was stunned. She stared down at her friend, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Confusion was running rampant in her mind. What was he saying? Why..? Suddenly she pulled her hands from his grasp and stood, causing him to fall over. But he was up again in an instant, arms outstretched to embrace her.

"Shawn, please," she protested holding out an arm to forestall him, "I do not know what you are about sir, but I won't tolerate such…indecencies."

"Elizabeth…" Shawn smiled and stepped closer, Elizabeth took another step back, causing him to frown. "Surely you know by now how much I care for you?"

She shook her head, "I thought we were friends, Mr. DeLuca."

"Shawn, Elizabeth, please, and we are friends, but we could be so much more." He reached for her again and she stumbled away, near tears.

"I am a married woman Mr. DeLuca," she told him firmly.

"You are married to a brute Elizabeth. Kingston will never love you, not like me."

She froze again, knowing what he said was true, but it didn't matter. She loved her husband, whether or not he returned her affections was not up for debate. She wouldn't hurt him like this, not for anything in the world. Her brown eyes regarded the man she had thought her friend coldly.

"Mr. DeLuca, what my husband feels or does not feel is none of your concern. I am the Lady of Kingston, Maxwell's wife, and the mother of his heir. I will not betray my husband for some ludicrous plot of yours to...to hurt him!"

"Elizabeth-"

"Stop." She drew herself up and stared him in the eye. "If you desist in this insane notion of yours and leave me now, I will forget this ever happened and we can go on being friends. If you do not, I will never forgive you and I will inform my husband of your unwelcome advances."

Shawn was silent, staring at her immovable face with a stoic expression, and then the tiniest bit of hurt leaked into his eyes and she felt her heart go out to him. But she was determined to stand strong on this matter and she would not relent. "Elizabeth," he started again.

"I believe my wife asked you to leave DeLuca." Elizabeth gasped and spun around, her heart beating faster at the sound of her husband's cool, commanding voice. Maxwell approached them at an unhurried pace, eyes black with contained rage, attention fixed on Shawn. She trembled, knowing how strong he could be, how much power was in his lean body. He would injure Shawn if provoked, and she knew Shawn would provoke.

"Kingston," Shawn drawled, "What an unexpected surprise." Maxwell said nothing in response, merely took Elizabeth's arm and placed her behind him, sheltered from Shawn's bold stare.

There was a long silence. Elizabeth was pressed tightly to her husband's back, she could feel the tension straining in his body and knew this confrontation had to end. "My lord," she said softly, "I wish to go home." His body relaxed slightly with what she knew was an agreement, and he turned his back on Shawn, peering down at her with the only warm expression she had ever managed to get out of him. Concern.

Maxwell wrapped her shawl more tightly around her and took her arm, leading her back towards the well-lit ballroom. He turned back when they had gotten about five feet, looking at Shawn, who still stood where they had left him. "You would do well to remember that I do not forgive as easily as my wife," he commented mildly, but the threat laced in the undercurrent of his husky voice was unmistakable.

They paid their respects to Alexander and Isabella, said goodbye to Marianna and Michael, and walked with stately grace to their waiting carriage. Elizabeth didn't look at her husband as he gave directions to Zanial to take them once around the park and then home. She knew he was going to lecture her, he wouldn't stand to be in such a close proximity if he wasn't.

"Elizabeth, would you mind explaining that little incident to me?" She noted with surprise that his tone was gentle, the reproof only slight.

She gave him a tentative glance, unable to read his eyes in the darkness of the carriage. "I'm not quite sure, my lord, I never thought he would… Mr. DeLuca is one of my friends you see. He dances with me when Lord Whitman and Lord Stonevale are otherwise engaged. I needed some air after the waltz tonight and he escorted me to the gardens for a walk… We were talking and then he just…" she trailed off, "I never suspected…"

He leaned forward and took her hands, "I believe you Elizabeth. I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I would never betray you, my lord. Not for anything." She looked deeply into his eyes, willing him to see her earnestness, her love for him. But he only gave her a kind smile and released her gloved hands, sitting back into the darkness.

"I know Elizabeth," he repeated, "But there are other matters we must discuss."

She was surprised, what other problems did he have with her? What had she done wrong now? she wondered, what possible thing had she done recently to upset him? But she couldn't think of anything, and so she waited, with bated breath, for his revelation.

“What matters, my lord?” she inquired.

He gave a heavy sigh, and she could hear the rueful smile in his voice as he began to talk. “I have had something brought to my attention, something I was already aware of, but didn’t feel necessary to admit. And it was a bit of an eye-opener to have this advice given to me by Michael, who is, possibly, one of the densest men on the planet when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Oh, no. Elizabeth felt her heart drop. She had told Marianna not to say anything! But of course, Mari had taken it into her own hands and had Michael tell Maxwell of Elizabeth’s insecurities. Lord’s sake, she probable made him memorize a whole speech! Elizabeth would kill her!

“What did Lord Stonevale say, my lord?”

“He informed me that I wasn’t being a very good husband.” And there was that contrite note again.

“Nonsense,” she protested, “You are a wonderful husband. You have provided for my father, you take wonderful care of Christopher, you’re people love you… There is no cause to complain, my lord. You musn’t listen to Lord Stonevale.”

“Ah,” he said above her protestations, “You call me a wonderful husband, and yet you make no mention of yourself while tallying up all my good points.”

“My lord…” she murmured.

“Elizabeth,” he paused, as if trying to work out his wording, and then continued, “I do realize that I am somewhat lacking in all the traits a woman finds attractive. I am not Alexander.” She gave a high, tittering laugh, and then fell silent, not wanting to hear what she knew was coming. “I know I’m not around a lot, that my duties keep me from spending time with you and Christopher, and I also realize that that would leave you lonely for companionship.”

“Oh, no, my lord, I am not without friends,” she objected, voice rising, “I have Marianna and Isabella and Laurie, and Christopher keeps me busy, and when he’s with Phillip I barely have time to catch my breath-“

“You know that is not what I meant, Elizabeth,” he interrupted her.

“I know, my lord,” she replied, feeling subdued, “But I do not understand why you would bring it up when I have already assured you that I would never betray you in such a fashion.” She looked at him, wishing she could see his expression in the dark carriage, but she could only make out the general outlines of his face.

“You say that now, Elizabeth, but Society has a way of pressuring those in it to follow the norms. We’ve been away from London for four years Elizabeth, awat from its influences, but now we’re back, and certain people, like Mr. DeLuca, will hang about for the express purpose of convincing wives to cuckold their husbands-“

“It is not just wives, my lord,” she spoke up, becoming angry, “Most infidelities taking place in the ton occur because the husband is having an affair!” She could feel his flinch from across the carriage, and felt a shameful sense of satisfaction in hurting him as he had hurt her.

His tone was mild when he spoke again. “All I am saying is that if you do give in, please remember to exercise discretion. I could not bear it if something were to happen to you-“

“Discretion!” she burst out, not hearing his next sentence, “I am not the one with a mistress, my lord! You are, and the entire ton is intent on speaking of it within my hearing.” She lowered her voice, “I realize it has been a few years since you last saw her, my lord, but did you think of discretion then? Did you think of anything besides your own pleasure?” she demanded, “Because I certainly know you were not thinking of me and the ramifications your actions would cause. So do not dare to speak to me of discretion!”

Her voice rose again, and she bit back a sob of frustration, “I know I am not what you expected in a wife, my lord, but I never thought you hated me so…” She felt a tear drop down her cheek and wiped it away impatiently with her hand, feeling the wetness soak through he glove. Elizabeth waited now for him to say something in admonition, but it never came.

Instead, she saw him lean forward from the corner of her eyes, and turned to face him, confused, but before she could speak, he had grasped her arm and pulled her onto his lap, his mouth fixed on hers. She sighed, and clung to him as he broke away, his eyes suddenly clear, an intense longing in their honey-brown depths.

“Maxwell…” she breathed, gazing at him with wonder.

“Damnation, woman,” he growled, “I don’t hate you!” And then his mouth closed on hers once more, and she was lost…

*Fifteen*

She thought he hated her. The very idea was absurd. Who could hate someone as innately good as Elizabeth? A person would have to be pure evil to even consider such an emotion, and, for all his faults, Maxwell was not evil.

When she had said those words though, something in him had snapped, and he could no longer sit there idly, arguing with her. So he had done as he had imagined doing since they got into the carriage and her sweet scent had eveloped him, he pulled her to him and made love to her.

Elizabeth melted against him, small and warm, and he gentled his kiss, afraid to harm her. She always seemed so delicate, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever abused her, even in the midst of passion.

But urgency began to overwhelm him as the anticipatory atmosphere of the phaeton turned into something more. His wife clung to him as he grasped her leg, sliding his hand up the stockinged length to the heated skin above the silk garter. She gasped as he switched her position, causing her to straddle him on the velvet-covered seat.

“Maxwell?”

Their eyes met, and his groin swelled further at the feminine desire burning in her dark brown eyes. But there was an underlying hesitance in them that he wanted put to rest.

“Touch me,” he ordered, voice low and hoarse with need.

Elizabeth’s beautiful eyes widened, but she did as he bid. Lifting a gloved hand upwards, she stripped it of the satin material and then the other, and then reached for him.

His eyes fluttered closed as the smooth skin of her fingers traced his jaw gently, then drifted lower to untie his cravat, and then lower still, easily unfastening his trousers. He sucked in a breath at the feel of her hands on his manhood, lightly curving around him…

Maxwell’s eyes opened suddenly in his need to look at her. A quick grin crossed his face as Elizabeth’s eyes widened again, and she looked away. She had been watching him.

He ran one hand up her still arm and cupped her cheek, feeling the heat of her blush, but she turned her face back to him, and met his steady gaze shyly. He tangled his fingers into her elaborately coiffed hair, causing the curls to loosen and fall from their pins, and drew her lips down to his once more.

Their mouths feasted on one another, the kisses tender and fierce all at the same moment, and his hands buried further into the mass of her hair, mussing it into further disarray, and then slid downwards, trailing along her smooth shoulders until they encountered the thin sleeves of her ballgown.

She gave another quick intake of breath as he pulled the tiny sleeves down, exposing her rounded breasts in the process, and her spine straightened, causing his arousal to come into contact with her moist heat.

Maxwell groaned, unable to take the torture any longer, and seized her petite waist, impaling himself within her.

They were both still for a long moment, breathing deeply as she adjusted once again to the feel of him, and he reveled in the homecoming. It had been nearly four years since he had last made love to her, an eternity to him of longing and need and desire for her warmth, her body, the feel of her…

Elizabeth pulled away slightly, and looked him in the eye, licking her pink lips until he was forced to give them attention once more, the invitation was too great.

Sometime during that kiss, his hand found their way to her breasts, now rosy and full with want, and hers to his shoulders, where she held onto him tightly as she lowered herself down and then raised herself back up.

He could not suppress the moan of pleasure that escaped him at the feeling of being within her once more, of moving through her tight, hot channel. It was his Heaven, and she was his own personal angel.

His hands gripped tighter arounder her waist, prompting her to a faster pace, a request she obliged, her movements immediately becoming rapider as she rode him.

He slipped one hand beneath her foaming skirts, and up her creamy thigh, until he came at last to her dark curls. Maxwell’s breath caught, his clamoring for completion increasing as he watched his wife, her face a mask of ecstasy, as he gently thumbed the small nub of sensitive flesh he found there.

Her eyes opened, his name escaped her lips, and she convulsed around him. He went rigid, the feel of her tightening around him engendering his own release, and emptied himself into her with a hoarse shout of exultation.

She collapsed onto him bonelessly, and he wrapped his arms around her fragile body, holding her close as his own breathing began to deepen, and his heartbeat slowed. “Elizabeth?’ he inquired softly, wanting to ensure that she was all right.

“Hmm?” Her head tilted back on his shoulder, and her long eyelashes fluttered drowsily.

Maxwell smiled and gently touched her cheek. “Never mind, dearest, just close your eyes and sleep.” She gave him a fleeting grin, and nodded, her head falling to his chest once more.

He was allowed a few minutes of peace in that position, caressing her lustrous hair and she slumbered quietly in his arms, where she belonged, and then the carriage slowed, and Maxwell heard Zanial descending from the driver’s seat.

He swore in panic and quickly reached over, careful not to disturb his sleeping beauty, and latched the door. Then, as swiftly as he was able, he removed Elizabeth from his lap, fastened his breeches, and wrapped her in his greatcoat.

“My lord?” It was Zanial’s rough, gravelly voice, and Maxwell was sure that his inscrutable butler’s tone had an abnormal tinge of humor to it.

He unlatched the door and descended, then leaned back in and gently lifted Elizabeth’s sleeping form, sufficiently covered in the thick material of his coat. When he turned, Zanial was staring at them, smirking. He ignore the uncharacteristic attitude and went up the stairs and into the unlocked town house.

Laurie met him as she came running out of the kitchen, took one look at her lord and lady, and gave him a disapproving frown. “What did you do to my lady?” she demanded, shaking her head and gesturing to Elizabeth’s loose hair, crumpled skirts, and the stocking slipping down her leg.

Maxwell gave the servant girl his own disapproving frown, accompanied by a scowl. “What my wife and I do is none of your concern, Laurie,” he told her, and then swept past, carrying Elizabeth up the staircase and to her room.

He settled her into her bed, divesting her off her ballgown and stockings, and thoughtfully helped her into her nightgown, although that took a bit of doing with her compeltely asleep. He was obliged to call for Laurie, much to his dismay, in order to get her properly tucked in.

The blonde maidservant promptly banished him from the bedchamber and out into the hall while she removed the pins from Elizabeth’s hair and brushed it out.

Maxwell stared, glowering, at the shut door for awhile, until he decided to wait in his room until Laurie left. But as he began to implement his plan, he noticed a light coming from under the door of the nursery. He shook his head and headed towards it, opening the door and surveying the scene inside with amusement.

His son sat on his bed, playing with wooden toy soldiers Zanial had made for him earlier that year. Maxwell watched for several moments, grinning at the noises Christopher was making to supplement the actions of the tiny men, before he put on an expression of chastisement and cleared his throat.

The little boy looked up wildly, his amber eyes surprised when they alighted on his father, and then he gave Maxwell a half-smile. “Do you want to play?”

Unbidden, a smile bloomed on Maxwell’s face, chasing away the look of reproach, but he still managed to put a touch of reprimand into his voice. “What are you still doing up, young man?”

Christopher cocked his head to one side, looking cherubic, and smiled again. “Waiting for Mama to come tuck me in.”

Maxwell shook his head and moved forward, clearing the toys to the floor and sitting down next to his son. “Mama’s asleep. She had a busy day.”

“Oh.” Christopher looked disappointed.

“Is there anything I can do?” Maxwell inquired, looking at Christopher seriously, “I know I’m not as great as your mother, but I can tell a pretty fair story if I concentrate.”

His son regarded him, but thens hook his head. “It is all right, Father, I can sleep without a story. I’m a big boy,” he paused, and then continued, “And Mama says I’m not to bother you because you’re so busy.”

Maxwell started with guilt, and shook his head in denial. It was true, he hadn’t been around lately because of business, but he never wanted his son to feel that he was too busy for him. He knew what it felt like to have a father neglect him for other, more “important” matters, and he was not going to allow Christopher to deal with unnecessary feelings of inadequacy that accompanied such disregard.

“Christopher…” The boy met his eyes again, and amber regarded amber with equal earnestness, “I am never too busy for you, do you understand me? If you want to do anything, if you need anything, you can come to me, no matter what I’m doing, all right?”

His son nodded, and then got a thoughtful look in his eye. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“Uncle Alexander is taking Phillip kite-flying at Vauxhall tomorrow afternoon… Do you think, maybe, we could go to?” His expression was so hopeful that Maxwell grinned and relented, making a note to cancel all appointments for the morrow.

“Of course.”

Christopher gave a little yell and then jumped up, hugging his father exuberantly, and then was burrowing under his covers, ready for bed. “’Night, Papa.”

“Good night, Christopher.” Maxwell smiled and kissed his son on the forehead, then rose, ready for bed himself, and made to snuff out the candle illuminating the room.

“Papa?”

Maxwell stopped and looked down at Christopher, who was gazing up at him, looking hopeful once more. “Yes?”

“Will you tell me a bedtime story?”

Maxwell’s grin grew, “Of course,” he said, sitting back down beside his son.

An hour and four fairytales later, Maxwell had finally managed to get Christopher asleep, and was on his way to his own bedchamber. He dismissed his valet and walked to the connecting door, opened them, and walked into his wife’s silent room.

He took a deep breath as he stared down at her, sleeping peacefully. And then he leaned down and brushed a tender kiss to her forehead. She sighed and turned over, hugging her pillow. Maxwell smiled and whispered ‘good-night’ and then went back through the doors and changed into his own nightclothes.

It was in the privacy of his own bed when the magnitude of tonight’s events struck him.

He had lost control and put Elizabeth in danger once again.

*Sixteen*

It was the laughter that caught her attention. Elizabeth peered curiously down the front hall as she descended the staircase, heading for the library and noontime tea. A smile lit her face as her son came rushing toward her, cheeks ruddy from wind, and a kite tucked under one small arm.

“Hello, darling,” she greeted him, bending down for a hug, heedless of the dirt and grass stains he was smearing on her buttercup yellow afternoon dress, “How was your day?”

“Smashing, Mother,” Christopher enthused, looking up at her with twinkling amber eyes, “My kite went much higher than anybody’s, even Father’s!”

She gave a soft chuckle and smiled at him, “That’s wonderful, darling. But remember,” and she gave him a serious look, “Boasting is ungentlemanly.”

Christopher sighed, “Yes, Mama.”

Elizabeth smiled again, “Now go clean up,” she ordered, with a ruffle to his dark hair, “Your tutor is waiting in the drawing room, and I believe you are learning geography today…”

“Aww, Mama, must I?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, and then shooed him along upstairs to clean up. Laurie met him halfway up and escorted him to the washroom to make sure he didn’t attempt ann escape, as he was so fond of trying. Her smile quirked slightly to the side in remembrance of past exploits, and then she turned, intending to reach the library this time, but the sight before her made her pause.

Her husband stood only a few feet away, watching her with one of his rare half-smiles. He looked positively divine with his wind blown hair, dark as midnight, and his lean, god-like body, standing in his naturally elegant way, and he was smiling at her. Though there was a shadow in his beautiful eyes that she knew too well.

Guilt. He regretted last night. She had, of course, expected it since she woke up this morning and realized that the night before had not been a deliciously vivid dream, but a reality.

Well, she was not going to stand for it any longer. She refused to allow him to feel guilty for something he ahd no control over. And if she had to, she’d make him lose that precious control again, just to prove it to him.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she murmured as he stepped closer, “Would you care to join me for tea?”

He hesitated a step, as if not expecting the invitation, but nodded, “Yes…Yes of course, Elizabeth.” And he followed her into the library. Elizabeth shut the door behind him and locked it. It would not do to be interrupted during this crucial conversation she was determined to have with her husband.

There was a silence as they sat on the settee in the middle of the room and she poured them two cups of tea. She handed his cup to him gently, blushing when their hands brushed, and resolved to speak first, as it seemed he could not work up the daring to start the dicussion. “Did you have a fun day, my lord? Christopher seemed to enjoy it greatly.”

He looked at her, bewildered for a moment at a topic so far from the one he was brroding over, and then smiled. “Yes, I had a very nice afternoon. It was good to spend time with my son.”

“He didn’t bother you?” she inquired, a little anxious, “It didn’t interfere with your plans for the day, did it my lord?”

“No!” he exclaimed, and then turned to her, impatiently taking her cup and his and putting them on the small table in front of the sofa, and then he took her hands, gazing at her earnestly. “Elizabeth you must understand something, and I realize I have not made it clear in these years we've had together, but I am always available if you or Christopher needs me. Family is more important than any business.”

She blinked several times, he seemed sincere, but… He had never been around before, why… Oh, bother, she would not question it. Not if it gave Christopher the father he needed. “Are you quite sure?” she couldn’t help but ask,, “I mean, you are a very busy man, my lord, you have so many responsibilities…” she flushed and looked down at their intertwined hands, “I just want to be sure that Christopher will not annoy you overly and distract you from your vital affairs-“

“Elizabeth,” Maxwell interjected softly, “Nothing Christopher can do will vex me, he is my son, I will always have time for him.” But never time for her… She pushed away the bitter thoughts and tilted her chin upwards, meeting his eyes again. “And for you,” he concluded.

She drew in a quick breath, eyes going wide. “But you have never had time for me before!” she burst out, unable to stop herself.

Maxwell winced, and then it was his turn to look away. “I realize it seems that way, Elizabeth, but…” he turned back to her, “You are my wife. It is my duty to protect you, to keep you safe from any harm. And I fear, if I were around you, that I would not be able to control myself in the face of such temptation and I would be the one to cause you harm.”

What was he saying? It was absolutely preposterous. “I do not understand what you are saying, my lord. You would never hurt me,” she declared adamantly.

“No? Then how do you explain last night? I lost control and-“

“I provoked you,” she interrupted, “My lord, we both said things last night that we did not mean. It would be best to forget they were ever said.”

“That is not what I meant, Elizabeth.”

“Then what do you mean?” she wailed, frustrated that she could not understand him, though she tried so very hard.

"I meant when we made love!” he exploded, jumping to his feet and pacing before her. Elizabeth stared at her normally inscrutable husband as he muttered like a madman. “You could be pregnant right now! Pregnant! I could be killing you right this very moment because I could not control myself! I didn’t even think to use protection, and I had a French condom in my coat pocket because I knew I would not be able to trust myself much longer, but I forgot, and-“

“My lord!” she entreated, braking through his babbling tirade. “I am not a porcelain doll, my lord,” she informed him, “I will not break if you make love to me!”

He stared st her, slack-jawed, and she stood regally, squaring her shoulders, and she walked to him. “Elizabeth…” he whispered.

She stopped when she stood directly in front of him. “I love you, Maxwell Evans,” she announced, trembling in her heart of hearts as she finally admitted it aloud, to him. His amber eyes widened, but she lifted her hand, signaling him to stay quiet, and she took a deep breath and continued in her long-awaited profession of love. “I realize that you do not feel the same way for me, my lord, but that does not change my feelings. It has not in the four years of our marriage, and it likely will not for all the years in our future.”

“Elizabeth,” he said again.

“I am not finished, my lord!” she scolded, and then composed herself, “I am your wife, and it is my duty to care for you, to bring you solace…release.” She reached up and took hold of his jacket lapels, forcing him to retain eye-contact. “You have denied us both what would bring us pleasure, and I refuse to allow you to revert back to that point in our marriage when we finally began making progress last night!”

“Eliz-“

She kissed him. She surprised even herself by her boldness, but she was quite sure Maxwell would be scandalized by her brazen behavior. But then she lost herself to the feel of him, and the shock of her actions only came back when they parted. She flushed a rosy pink, but refused to back down now that she had started. “Make love to me, Maxwell,” she commanded.

His expression, a mixture of dazed and ruffled, transformed into astonishment. “Here? In the library? In the middle of the day?” he asked.

She felt a smile curve her lips at the disbelief in his voice. She could comprehend his incredulity, she was amazed with herself, herself, but she was relishing in the power she seemed to have over him, and the fact that she was winning this previously losing battle. “Yes,” she confirmed, her voice soft and husky, alluring even, “Here, in the library, in the middle of the day.”

And then she kissed him again, more enticingly this time, and her fingers trailed up his chest, along his shoulder, and untied his cravat. They broke for air and she removed the jacket from his body, letting it fall to the library floor as he kissed her back.

Elizabeth gasped as his mouth moved from hers down to her sensitive neck, and then still lower, her dress crumpling to the floor before she even realized he had undone the tapes. In response, she unbuttoned his shirt and bared his muscled chest to her hungry view.

She blushed as he picked her up, naked, and carried her the short distance to the settee and lay her down upon it. She felt wickedly sensual, and knew that seducing her husband in such a manner was unladylike, but when Maxwell had his breeches undone, and his thick shaft sprung free, hard and ready, Elizabeth didn’t care.

Her hands skimmed lightly over his smooth chest as he moved atop her, and she held him close, parting her thighs to accept him as he settled between them. She was already wet and wanting. She had waited years for him to come to her like this, and now that it was happening, her heart was swelling with happiness.

Elizabeth didn’t care about decorum at the moment. What she cared about was her husband.

They moved together as if they had never been apart, their sighs intermingled, their caresses seemed choreographed, and the sweet, delighted moan of names and incoherent whispers of unnameable feelings took them back to their first nights as man and wife.

She vowed she would not let him regret again.

*Seventeen*

Maxwell slumped into the chair, staring blindly at the roaring flames in front of him. Elizabeth…his mind was whispering, and he winced in pain, snatching up a brandy decanter and pouring himself another glass.

Things had been going well. He and Christopher were spending more time together. He and Elizabeth were talking more, laughing more… And he was able to sleep at night, held closely in his wife’s arms.

And then she had gotten sick.

“Maxwell…” He looked up at his friend through bloodshot eyes.

“What Michael?” he demanded harshly. Michael recoiled slightly, but it was just enough for Maxwell to catch sight of Shawn DeLuca lurking in the doorway.

He rose, chucking the brandy into the fire, and glared at the other man, fists clenched. “DeLuca,” he bit out, “I don’t believe you are a member of this club.” Michael stood now too, but to hold Maxwell back.

It was probably a good thing too, because he was sore tempted to grab the gun case off the wall and shoot a hole through Deluca’s head. But who, in his place, wouldn’t? This was the man who had attempted to seduce Maxwell’s wife into an affair.

Maxwell had never known, until that moment in his sister’s garden nine months ago, when Elizabeth had denied Shawn out of love for her husband. Out of love for him. Just how much his wife meant to him.

And also, because of that night. Because of his jealousy and selfishness, Elizabeth now lay bleeding to death in her bed.

He should have kept away, should have resisted the temptation she provided. But he had been weak, and had lost control of his sensibilities yet again, and Elizabeth was the one who had to pay for his mistakes.

“Leave now DeLuca, before I do something I won’t regret.” His tone was unyielding. He was prepared to kill Shawn in cold blood at this moment. He had never hated anyone as much as he had come to hate Shawn DeLuca.

“Believe me Kingston,” Shawn replied, voice as hoarse as Maxwell’s, “If you want to call me out I’ll be more than willing to bring the pistols, but it won’t help anything.” Maxwell said absolutely nothing. “How-how is she?” he continued.

Now Maxwell glared, “How my wife is doing is none of your concern.”

“I love her too!” Shawn exploded, brown eyes flashing as Maxwell’s amber one’s expressed even more anger.

“Shut your mouth DeLuca!” he shouted, “You are never to speak of her or look at her, or…or get within twenty feet of her ever again!” He seethed, and took one menacing step forward, “So help me, DeLuca,” he bit out, “If I even hear mention of you being in the same building as her, I will not hesitate to run you through on the nearest pointed object I can find!”

The other man was silent for a time, and they glared at each other, Michael shifting nervously on one side. “Fine,” Shawn finally relented, “But you’re going to listen to me first.” Maxwell frowned, but Shawn stepped closer, forcing Maxwell to look up at him. “She loves you,” he said, “For some insane reason Elizabeth loves you. She loves every annoying, pompous, dictating thing about you. I don’t understand it, and I don’t want to believe it, but it’s true. And you…you are so blind not to see what you have. She’s gorgeous and sweet and…and completely perfect. She’s perfect Kingston, and she loves you.” He took a deep breath, “Open your eyes Kingston, look at her. See her.”

Maxwell didn’t reply and Shawn sighed heavily. He gave them a nod and then put on his coat and left. He stared after his nemesis’ retreating back and looked at Michael. “I’m going home.” He needed to see his wife.

The carriage rumbled to a halt outside his townhouse and he quickly got out and walked up the front steps. Zanial opened the door immediately. “How is she?” he asked once the door shut behind him.

His butler let a brief smile cross his normally inscrutable face. “The doctor just left twenty minutes ago, Lady Elizabeth is resting now. She’ll be all right, sir,” he paused, “And young Christopher is in the nursery with his new sister.”

Maxwell grinned, resisting the urge to sob from relief, and left Zanial by the door, heading upstairs. Elizabeth was fine and he had a healthy daughter. Then he frowned, he really needed to get around to firing Dr. Hardy and getting a new family physician.

Hardy had once again given a grim proclamation of Elizabeth’s death, and that of the child’s too when he had first came to check up on Elizabeth after she got sick. Max had been afraid that what was causing his wife's sudden illness was another pregnancy, and he had nearly castrated himself with fear.

When she went into labor, Maxwell had been appalled at the amount of blood that had come out of his small wife, and had lost his rationale and rounded on Hardy, demanding to know what was wrong. With Christopher, the birth had been hard, but no where near as dangerous as this one…

Hardy had scowled and banished him from the bedroom. For awhile, he had paced the hallway, but Elizabeth’s cries had driven him mad with frustration and he had come to his club to escape them.

And yet, they had still rung in his ears, in his mind…In his very soul. Elizabeth…

But the doctor had been it seemed, as usual, and the relief was a release all it’s own.

He entered his bedroom and dismissed his valet, going straight to the door connecting his room with his wife’s. He hesitated a beat, but took a deep breath and opened the doors.

Moonlight streamed in from the window, illuminating the small figure on the bed. Maxwell tread slowly and silently to the bed and studied his wife. The sheets had been changed, no spot of blood or sweat stained them from the difficult labor she had just gone through. The only physical sign was her unusual pallor.

He sat and brushed a trembling hand across her forehead, tucking a limp strand of mahogany hair behind her ear. She stirred and her large chocolate eyes opened, peering up at him dreamily. “Maxwell?” she whispered.

He smiled, “Go back to sleep Elizabeth,” he ordered gently, pulling the coverlet higher up over her body.

“Did you see her?” she inquired, “Did you see our Diana?”

“Not yet,” he murmured.

“She’s perfect…” Her eyes fluttered. You’re perfect, he thought.

“Sleep, Lizzie.”

“Maxwell…I love you,” she told him, half asleep.

“I love you too,” he informed her, voice inaudible, but it didn’t matter, because she was already lost in her dreams.

*Eighteen*

Elizabeth sat in the kitchen of the town house, staring out the window into the back gardens and musing. She had had the dream again last night. The wonderful dream that had been haunting her, and it always seemed so real… But she knew it was a dream, because in real life, Maxwell would never utter those three little words…

I love you.

She sighed and looked over a Mrs. Ifer, the housekeeper, who was humming under her breath as she made tea. A smile flitted across her face.

She was happy to be back into the swing of things. Diana had been born a week ago, and was a healthy little girl, but Elizabeth was having trouble getting back to her old self.

The bed had become her permanent home for several days following her daughter’s birth, and Laurie had been required to bring Diana and Christopher to see her when they needed their mother. Her maidservant grudgingly reported that Lord Kingston was doing an admirably job looking after the children in her absence, and Elizabeth had rejoiced, happy the Maxwell was devoting more and more time to his family.

He was also popping in to visit her more often too. Their time together was softer than in old days, and Maxwell always whispered, as if afraid to give her a headache by talking too loudly.

She wanted to laugh at his cautious attitude, only she was distressed to find that she would get headaches. And she was tired all the time, and fretful. Dr. Hardy had come by yesterday and told her she was recuperating, albeit slowly, and that it might be best if she left London for a time.

She found herself inclined to agree with him. This morning, she had woken up and told herself she was going to get out of bed, and she had managed well right up until Laurie had entered the room and scolded her.

The blonde girl had been positively horrified by her mistress’ behavior, and had ordered her to sit right back down. Elizabeth had felt so week, that she had complied with relief, but she was determined to make her way downstairs today.

Luckily, Laurie knew her well, and helped her into a lilac-colored morning gown and walked with her down the stairs, arms ever-ready to support Elizabeth if she stumbled. They had slowly made their way into the kitchen, where Mrs. Ifer had given her a light breakfast and Laurie had left her to complete some chores.

And now she sat, content, watching the bustling cook preparing the midday tea.

The tray was set with a tea set, the black porcelain was hand-painted with white roses, outlined in gold leafing. Maxwell had shipped the set in from China, just for her. She adored it…

A sigh escaped her again and Mrs. Ifer looked up from where she was arranging strawberry tortes on the tray. “Is something the matter, yer Ladyship?” she inquired.

“No,” Elizabeth assured her, laughing, “I was just thinking.”

“Ah,” the older woman nodded, “Well, I let you to yer thinkin’ alone righ’ now, got to bring his Lordship his tea.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, “May I, Mrs. Ifer?” She pushed herself up from the table and eagerly made her way over to the housekeeper, gazing up at her hopefully.

“I don’t know, Laurie said yer not to be taxed…”

“It won’t be any effort, really,” she replied, mentally ignoring her trembling limbs, which were just now getting used to activity again. “Please, that way Maxwell and I may take tea together, and talk a bit.”

The woman’s lips twisted thoughtfully, but finally she nodded, carefully handing over the tray to Elizabeth. “Hold on one moment,” and she grabbed another cup, setting it on the tray, then she opened the kitchen door and gestured Elizabeth out, “He’s in the study, knock first.”

Elizabeth walked with care to the study door, and then bit her lips, staring at the intimidating wooden carvings along the edging, and then she looked down at the tray in her hands. Balancing it with painstaking slowness, she knocked and opened the door, steadying the tray quickly as it began to shift around. She held it tightly for a moment, one foot in the study, trembling from the weight, and then gave a sigh of relief as the pastries and cups stopped rattling and settled down into their former positions.

Stepping fully into the room, she tread delicately over to the large desk, behind which sat her husband, and set the tray down on it. Maxwell looked up, and his eyes widened. “Elizabeth!” And then he rose, hurrying around the desk to escort her into the chair before the desk.

“Please, my lord,” she murmured, “Do not let me distract you from your business.”

He shook his head, glanced at the paperwork he had just sat down, and then picked up the dainty looking teapot, pouring the tea into the two cups Mrs. Ifer had provided. “That’s nothing,” he informed her, handing out a cup and saucer to her.

She took them, her fingers brushing his, and she blushed, but she did not take her eyes off his. There had been something fairly amorous about watching his large, strong hands treating the fragile china so gently, something that reminded her of his hands on her body, soft and tender…

They both cleared their throats at the same times, and her blush deepened. “Should you be out of bed, Elizabeth?” he asked, frowning.

“I am recovering quite well, my lord,” she returned.

“I can see that,” and there was a small smile in his tone, “But that does not mean you should be out and about just yet. You are still healing, and I wouldn’t want you to hinder what progress you’ve made by pushing yourself too hard.” She bit her bottom lip and looked down into her tea cup, swirling around the stray tea leaves floating in it.

“I know you worry, my lord,” she responded in a low voice, “It is just that I will go mad cooped up in my bedroom day in and day out.” She looked up at him imploringly, “I need to do something, to see my children and my friends.”

“They come visit,” he countered.

“It’s not the same,” she declared, “I need to be involved, not lying passively around. Please Maxwell, I know you’re taking wonderful care of the children, but I feel like I’m missing so much by being apart from them most of the time!”

Maxwell sighed, “They’re missing you too,” he admitted, “I mean, you know Christopher does. And Diana,” he smiled, “She’s so young, but her face just lights up when she’s taken to visit you.”

Elizabeth smiled herself, remembering the feel of her baby nestled in her arms once more, with Christopher curled up next to them, watching his sister curiously, and Maxwell leaning against the bedpost, a half-smile in place, one hand reaching down wonderingly to caress Diana’s head, touch Christopher’s arm, or stroke Elizabeth’s cheek…

She had loved the past few nights like that, just the four of them, a happy, loving family…

“And I wished to speak to you, my lord.” She looked back up at him, leaning casually on the desk, sipping his tea.

He raised an eyebrow, “What about?”

She looked back down, steeled her resolve, and tilted her head back up, “I was wondering if it might be possible for the children and I to take a holiday to one of the country estates?”

“A holiday?” he echoed, and then shook his head, “Now is not a convenient time for me to leave London, Elizabeth.”

“You wouldn’t have to come,” she spoke up, leaning forward, “I know you have business to attend to, my lord. That’s why I suggested it be just me and the children. You could come visit us whenever you’re available, of course, but I really feel it would be best if we left London as soon as possible.” He was staring at her, and she nervously tucked a strand of hair that escaped her bun, back behind her ear. “My lord?”

“What has put this notion into your head?” he asked, sounding amazed. She opened her mouth to reply, but he continued. “Are you worried about DeLuca?” he demanded, “You needn’t, I’ve put him in his place, he won’t bother you again.”

Now it was her turn to stare. Why would she be worried about Shawn? She shook her head, putting the topic of Shawn DeLuca away. “No, my lord, it is merely something Dr. Hardy suggested, and I fully-“

“Hardy?” Maxwell interrupted, “The man’s a bloody idiot! You can’t take anything he says seriously.” She blinked in surprise at the anger in his voice, and drew back as he bagen to pace erratically around the desk. “That doctor is an absolute quack, a moron… He is never to set foot in this house again…” Maxwell continued to mutter as he sat down in his chair, and Elizabeth began to consider calling zanial in to calm him, but then he looked at her, gaze piercing, “When was he here?”

“Just the other day…”

“Devil take it!” he shouted, and jumped up, pacing again.

She was feeling alarmed by his behavior, and made an effort to pacify him. “My lord, never mind Dr. Hardy-“

“There is no bloody way that man should be referred to as a doctor!” he interrupted yet again.

“Maxwell!” she shouted, and he stopped, staring at her, “I feel it is in my best interest, as well as that of the children’s, to go. London is not a healthy environment for a newborn and her mending mother. The country would provide fresh air and more room to walk about…” she trailed off, recognizing by his hard face that she wasn’t going to win this argument.

“You are not leaving London,” he stated, and the finality in his voice made her heart drop. She gave a defeated nod and rose, collecting the tea cups and tray and making ready to exit the room.

“Good day, then, my lord,” she murmured as she passed him.

He caught her arm and when she looked up at him, his face softened, “Elizabeth…”

There was a knock, and Zanial entered. He bowed to them both and then straightened, looking at Maxwell. “The carriage is waiting, my lord.”

Her husband gave a frustrated sigh and gave her a mute glance of apology. “I have a ship coming in at the docks,” he said by way of excuse, “We’ll finish this conversation later tonight.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead, and then he left, casting one last look over his shoulder before the heavy door shut.

Elizabeth sighed and headed back to the kitchen, feeling stronger than she had this morning, though she was getting a little tired… Entering the kitchen, now perparing for dinner, Mrs. Ifer gestured her to put the tray down on the small table near the back door. A young boy was sitting there, he had obviously just delivered the milk the cook was using to make a cake.

She joined him, offering him a torte, and they munched together in silence for awhile, and then, inspiration struck her. She scrutinized the boy and then leaned forward. “Excuse me, do you think you could do me a favor?” she queried.

The boy swallowed, eyes wide, “What, yer Ladyship?”

“Could you find me a carriage and bring it here within the hour?”

He nodded and stood. Elizabeth stood also and drew out her purse. She handed the boy a pound, smiling at his stunned expression, and laughed when he scampered out the back door, repeating assurances.

When he had gone, she whirled around and hurried to the library. Christopher lounging on the settee, reading a book. He looked up as she entered, “Mama?”

“No lessons today, darling,” she told him, “We’re taking a trip.”

Christopher sat up, “Really? Where to?”

“Kingston,” she replied, grinning at his enthusiasm, “Now, put the book away and go pack.”

“When are we going?” he asked, suddenly looking apprehensive, “Father won’t be back until tonight.”

“Your father isn’t coming, Christopher, and we’re leacing shortly, so go.”

“But Mama…”

“He’ll come visit us soon, sweetheart,” she consoled him, “He just has some business to take care of here in town.” He pursed his lips and then nodded, running from the room. Elizabeth followed at a more sedate pace, smiling as she heard his small feet pounding their way down the hallway to his room.

She went into her own bedchamber and began packing. When she had finished she set her two bags out into the hallway to pick up on her way downstairs and headed toward her son’s room. He struggled with the over-flowing bag and she laughed, dumping out the clothes and toys and reorganizing everything so that it fit. “Go put them with mine,” she ordered him playfully, “And if you’re feeling in a particularly helpful mood, drag them downstairs to the front door, while I get your sister ready.”

Once he rushed to do her bidding, she went into the nursery, stopping abruptly and staring at the person in front of her. “Laurie?”

The blonde girl gave a sheepish smile and clutched the small bag in her hand, Miss Diana is all ready, my lady,” she informed her mistress.

Elizabeth smiled gratefully and picked up her daughter. “Thank you, Laurie.”

They walked downstairs in silence and reached the front door just as a knock sounded upon it. Christopher opened it with effort, much to the women’s amusement, and his own pride, to reveal the delivery boy on the top step.

He bowed, “Here it is, yer Ladyship,” he said, gesturing to the waiting carriage.

She smiled at him, pleased that the carriage and driver looked respectable. “Thank you very much,” she praised him, handing him another pound, and then moved past him with her children and Laurie.

The footman came forward to take their bags and Christopher hopped into the dark interior of the coach. Laurie took Diana from her, and Elizabeth ascended inside herself, leaning out to take her baby.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea, my lady,” Laurie said, carefully passing Diana to her mother, “His Lordship won’t like it.”

Elizabeth shot a look at her son, who was too occupied with exploring the velvet seats to notice the conversation between his mother and her maid. “Everything will be fine Laurie, but I really feel that Diana and I will fair better in the country.”

“But, my lady, why can’t I come?”

“For the same reason I’m not telling you are destination, Laurie. If Maxwell asks, you know nothing and therefore can not be held accountable for my actions.” Elizabeth smiled at her friend. “I would hate to lose you, Laurie.”

She nodded her blonde head, “I understand, but I still don’t like it,” she said stubbornly. “Be safe.”

“We will,” Elizabeth said, “I’ll write as soon as we get settled in.” The footman was suddenly there, politely shutting the door, and Elizabeth waved good-bye as the driver gave the order to move.

She settled back into the seat, holding Diana to her, and lifted her arm as Christopher halted his exploring and cuddled up to her. “Mama?”

She looked down as he tilted his angelic face up to hers. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you sure Papa will come?”

She smiled and dropped a kiss on his black curls. “I’m positive, darling. He will always come.”

*Nineteen*

The night of Diana’s birth had been a tumultuous one. That night had caused him to reevaluate what he held most dear to his heart, and he had come to the stunning conclusion that what that was, or, rather who, was his wife.

That he cared for her, he had known for a long time, but that he loved her… It had been something of a revelation to him.

He was a coward. He knew it, even as he presented the façade of utter perfection to the world. He had almost started to believe the deception himself, but then Elizabeth had come into his life and he wasn’t able to hide the fact any more. She had changed him so much these past years together, and he had never managed to notice before that night.

He was afraid to open up to anyone, but most especially with her. He shouldn’t be though. She was his wife. She wasn’t going to ridicule him for falling in love with her. She wouldn’t consider him a fool for laying his heart on the line. But he was so afraid…

It had been almost involuntary that night, when he said those three small words to her, it was almost as if he had to say them, or he’d never be able to again.

But he hadn’t said them again, because he had let that same cowardice from before control him yet again. He had allowed himself to revert back into the man he had been before Elizabeth.

And she had fled from him…

By God, it hurt. He felt tears prick his eyes and his hand tightened unconsciously around the side of the crib. Maxwell stared into the empty bedding, where his daughter should have been lying peacefully, asleep.

But Diana was not in her cradle, and Christopher was not in his bed. His children were gone, as was his wife.

And it was his fault, as usual. He always seemed to muddle things up with Elizabeth. This afternoon, it seemed, he had gone too far. Maxwell sighed, recalling the argument they had had earlier. It seemed Elizabeth had not submitted meekly to his will and had escaped from her horrid husband to the countryside, where that halfwit of a doctor had suggested she go.

That was his fault again. He had let his anger with Dr. Hardy overpower his common sense, and not let Elizabeth in on his personal misgivings. He really had no problem with her wanting to go live at one of their country estates. In fact, he preferred living there than in London, but he had business to finish up in town, and if he had succeeded in making her understand his need to talk to her later in the evening, he would have informed her of his wish to wait so that he could go as well.

But she had not desired his presence. Hadn’t she made that very clear when she said, ‘for the children and I to take a holiday.’ There had been no mention of him coming, no hint that she wanted her husband there as well.

It was like having a dagger stab him in the heart and then twisting it around to procure the greatest damage possible. It seemed he had lost what little affection he had managed to gain this past year…

His mind replayed that bright afternoon not even a year past, when Elizabeth had smiled up at him so seductively, her beautiful brown eyes so full of want… And Diana’s birth, her whispered confession of love, how he longed to hear it from her once again…

But chances were he never would, not if things continued on thusly. Maxwell suddenly straightened and turned from the empty crib determinedly. He would hear those words from her lips again, even if he had to go to the ends of the world to find her.

Fortunately, that would not be necessary. All he needed to do was discover which country estate she had fled to. Unfortunately, he had a lot of holdings spreading in all directions from London. But he was quite certain she would not go too far, not with their precious children. He stalked down the hall, looking for Laurie, she would know where Elizabeth had gone…

Maxwell Evans was tired of playing the coward.

Maxwell caught Laurie fidgeting in the middle of Elizabeth’s bedroom. “Laurie, might I have a word?”

The maidservant spun, her face as white as a sheet. “M-m-my lord?” she stuttered. Maxwell just watched her, eyes inscrutable. She knew something.

“Lady Kingston is missing, as are my children,” he informed her coldly.

Her blue eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, voice a mere breath.

“Where do you suppose she could have gone to?” he inquired.

“I-I don’t know, my lord,” she whispered, wringing her hands.

“I think you do,” he countered.

She bounced up and down on her toes. “Please don’t do this to me, my lord,” she pleaded, obviously torn between loyalties. Tears sparkled in her eyes. Maxwell knew it wasn’t right, but he really needed to find Elizabeth.

“Laurie.” And the warning in his voice was obvious to the twenty year old.

“I really don’t know, my lord, she said it would be best if I didn’t know.” Laurie stepped closer to him, distraught. “She didn’t want me to get in trouble with you for withholding information, so she didn’t tell me. Honest, Lord Kingston.”

He relented. “I know she’s gone to the country, Laurie, I just don’t know what estate, and I don’t want to waste time searching each one. Perhaps you could give me your opinion?” She wavered, biting her lip. “Please Laurie,“ he begged. Letting his desperation seep into his voice and expression.

“My lady seems to prefer Kingston Manor,” she said softly, glancing around as if afraid to be caught in her betrayal. “She considers it her sanctuary.”

Maxwell grinned, “Thank you, Laurie!” he exclaimed and then ran from the room.

He roared for Zanial on the way down the front stairs, and the manservant appeared immediately. “Prepare my horse,” he ordered, and then went into his study to write a note for Michael. He handed it to Zanial with instructions as he mounted the gelding, and then he spurred the horse into a gallop, towards Kingston Manor and his wife.

The ride was hard and long. He had left from his townhouse at dawn and attained at his final destination in the middle of the next night. He had not stopped for rest or food all day long.

Mrs. DuPris met him at the front door after he let a stableboy lead his horse away. “My lord Kingston!” she exclaimed as he strode past her, “What’s the matter?”

“Is Elizabeth here?” he demanded, looking at her.

She blinked, but nodded, dropping into a bobbing curtsey, “Her Ladyship arrived yesterday with young master Christopher and little Diana. She’s just putting them to bed now, would you like me to inform her of your arrival?”

“No,” he said, walking away, “I will tell her myself.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the housekeeper called to his back.

Maxwell ignored her, climbing the stairs to the third story of the old estate and walking down the hallway. He could see lights coming out of the rooms at the far end of the hall. The nurseries. Elizabeth’s low voice floated out to him and his body tightened, and then he smiled as he heard his son’s questioning voice.

He did not intrude on their time together. Instead, he crept silently into Elizabeth’s room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He stared at the unchanged room and let the memories wash over him as he tread slowly over to the bed.

He remembered their first night together as husband and wife. He recalled the way her body had tempted him through the thin nightgown, her innocence, her eagerness, her gorgeous eyes fixed on him… The pleasure he had found in her arms, and the peace.

Elizabeth was his. He had claimed her that night, and he was determined to keep her. He loved her too much to let her go…

Now, he just had to convince her. And so, Maxwell waited.

*Twenty*

The nursery was quiet. Diana had finally fallen asleep and Elizabeth tiptoed across the room and out the door. She continued down the hallway and opened another door. The shaft of light let in from the corridor pooled around her sleeping son.

She studied him from her position, noting with wistfulness how much he resembled his absent father. Same face, same ears, same dark hair, and the same amazing eyes. The only difference was that when Christopher turned those golden brown orbs on her, they were filled with love.

Maxwell had never once looked at her with any sentiment akin to love. The most she could get out of him was an indulgent fondness and, in the beginning, passion.

Elizabeth sighed and shut the door with a soft click. She wouldn't think of Maxwell now. He'd come soon enough, and the weight of his anger would…Well, he wouldn't be happy with her.

He was just being so arrogant! Ordering her around like that… London wasn't the right environment for her or the children. Even the doctor agreed to that. She didn't understand how Maxwell could be so callous about their health. It was true that he often disregarded her feelings, but he would never intentionally cause her harm, and she knew he'd rather die than hurt his children…

She sighed again as she shut the door to her bedroom. She undressed in the dark room, having the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. Quickly she tied her dressing gown over her thin lawn nightgown and spun around.

His eyes were assessing her, but not in the cool, indifferent way she was accustomed to. The amber dark depths were sparking with some unfamiliar emotion, deeper than anger, or even passion. It was something she had never seen in his eyes before. Something that made her heart beat faster. Something that sent delicious shivers down her spine.

His arresting eyes burned into her, making her tremble. "Maxwell," she rasped.

"You ran away from me," he stated, tone low and reproachful.

She shook her head. "I ran from London, not you my lord. I would never run from you."

He came toward her, the shadows moving across his face, making his expression impossible to read. She stood, waiting, watching the play of moonlight on his body. He was still dressed in the clothes she had left him in yesterday when she walked out of the library to pack for Christopher.

When he was standing before her, she realized he hadn't shaved, hadn't slept. There were bags beneath his eyes, made all the more hollow by the blue and gray dimness of the room. Her heart went out of her and she reached up, cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch, pressing his own large hand against hers.

"I've been a coward," he said quietly.

She blinked in surprise. Maxwell had never, in all the years they'd been married, spoken to her like this. Like he was confiding something to her he could barely admit to himself. "You are the most courageous man I know, my lord," she countered, not understanding his thinking.

But he shook his head, moving away from her. She let her hand drop to her side and stared after him, not sure what he wanted from her, or what he needed. All she knew was that he was hurting, and she wanted to help him. "Mari and Bella…Michael, everyone… They're all right."

"Right about what, my lord?" she inquired, stepping hesitantly toward him until she grasped his arm. He swung around to face her, eyes clear in the light from the window. She refrained from crying out at the confusion in them. "Maxwell," she begged, "Tell me."

He gripped her arms, blunt fingers digging into the tender flesh of her arms, but she didn't care. If only he'd tell her…As long as she could help him, it was all right.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely, his grip tightening, as if afraid she'd run from him again. Her eyes widened at his words and she blinked rapidly, hoping against hope this wasn't all some dream…but no, the pain from his hold was real.

"Maxwell-"

"I've been too weak to tell you," he continued, releasing her again and pacing about the bedchamber, "When you were pregnant with Christopher I was so afraid, and then with Diana…You almost died…" He stopped, staring at something only he could see. "I only acknowledged it then, that night, when I found out you were okay. That you would be all right." He turned to her again, eyes pleading, "I think I've loved you forever, since the first time I saw you, I just wouldn't let myself see…feel… But I'm telling you now Elizabeth, I love you."

Every single thought in her brain had been in suspension during his ardent speech, and now, all she could think was 'he loves me' over and over and over again. The concept hadn't surfaced yet that this was what she'd been waiting for. That he finally felt for her what she felt for him, it was just 'he loves me'.

"Elizabeth?" he questioned, voice unsure.

She looked up into his soulful, honest eyes, and she ran to him.

*The End*