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Evelyn was not in the bathroom.
He made his way down the curved staircase of the Scarsdale Colonial that had been their home for the past twelve years, and into the kitchen. It was dark, and showed no signs of his wife. There was no steaming mug of cocoa on the counter.
His brows crinkled.
“Evelyn,” he called, his voice louder this time. Where is she? Chills snaked over his body as he back tracked and began a quick search through the rooms of the first floor. The slight pain in his back all but forgotten, he raced up the stairs, and did the same for the second floor. Panic settled in, though he told himself there was nothing to be panicked about He was just about to head back to the bedroom when he caught sight of a strange, white light peaking out from under Vivienne’s old room door. Odd, he thought, Vivienne had always favored yellow lights, while Cassie chose fluorescent. Had his wife changed the bulbs?
He quickly moved into the room. Evelyn was on the floor, her legs crossed and her back to him. He let out a deep sigh of relief and shook his head.
The woman was going to be the death of him.
“Evelyn, it’s two-thirty in the morning. What are you doing?” he asked softly, moving farther into the room. He’d been wrong; the lights were off. The strange light he’d seen must have been the moon.
When she didn’t move, Charles walked around and knelt before her. Her eyes were closed, her arms propped in a relaxed state with her elbows against her thighs, and one hand cupped in the other, almost as if waiting to be given something. Her hair, lustrous black curls that attested to her mixed heritage, streamed down her back, and cast an eerie contrast to her pale nightgown. Was his wife sleepwalking?
He reached out with both hands and touched her shoulders, a frown marring his lips. “Evelyn?” he called softly, giving her a soft shake. Her eyes opened immediately, and his widened. Her eyes….
What were usually a warm, honey color was now completely black. Everything was black, her irises, her pupils. Dear God! He pulled back and closed his eyes tightly before opening them again. A black void stared back at him.
Suddenly, she blinked and her eyes returned to normal. It was almost as if he’d imagined it, yet he knew he had not. Charles couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. What—her eyes—Evelyn—?
Evelyn began to speak in a language that was neither English nor French and he released her, pushing to his feet as he stared at her in open-mouthed shock. He didn’t know that language, and neither should Evelyn. She knew only her native tongue and English, didn’t she? They’d raised their girls bilingual because of that.
She continued to speak as she rose and faced him. Her face was calm, her body relaxed, while he was frantic.
“Evelyn,” he said, his voice shaky. Charles ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes, as he thought of what he’d just seen. What had he just seen? He’d been searching for his wife, and he’d found her in Vivienne’s old room.
He opened his eyes. Evelyn sat on Vivienne’s bed, a little smile on her face. She stood and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his larger body. At his six feet, one ninety pounds, Evelyn looked tiny next to him. She’d always been small of frame, the top of her head barely touching his upper chest.
“I’m sorry I worried you, Charles. I just miss them sometimes,” she told him in a low voice, leaning her head against him.
Charles nodded and smiled. He leaned down and kissed the top of her hair. He knew what she meant. His babies were now young ladies who no longer jumped onto his knee and demanded he tell them stories of princesses. Cassandre had been the bossy little terror, but Vivienne hadn’t minded, enjoying the princess stories just as much.
Evelyn looked up at him and he leaned down and kissed her lightly.
“Maybe we should have another,” he told her softly.
She chuckled and swatted him lightly on the bottom. “I’m too old to be having babies, Charles.”
“You?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Old?” He kissed her lips. “Never.”
Evelyn smiled, but he recognized it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Before he could ask what was wrong, she pulled away from him and took his hand in hers.
“Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”
He nodded and followed her, wondering at the sadness he’d just seen in her gaze. As she lay curled against him, Charles vowed to ask her about it in the morning. He hated when his wife was sad, and would do anything to remove that look from her eyes.
***
Vivienne awoke with a smile on her face, unable to suppress the moan of pleasure that left her lips. She felt…brilliant. She felt as she did after eight hours of rest, which had become rare and almost impossible in the past year. Yawning and pressing a hand to her mouth, she contorted her body as far as it would go, stretching out the tension in her muscles. As she did so, a dull, delicious throb erupted at her center, and she pulled her legs closer to her body even as her brows began to furrow. She’d never felt a throb there before. As if her brain finally took pity, memories flooded back to her. Of Conall between her legs, of her kneeling before him, eagerly awaiting his ministrations!
