Page 80 of What a Lord Wants

Since the moment they met, no part of him had been left untouched by her. Including his art.

But he couldn’t think about the implications of that. Not now, not when the pressure of the painting and the exhibition were closing in upon him, not when Constance’s increased threats hung over them. He had to keep his head clear, his heart focused—everythinghad to be sacrificed to his art. Hadn’t he spent his life learning that lesson? To turn his back on it now when he was so close to achieving his dream would destroy him.

“I understand that, but—” Her hand went to her belly as she drew in a deep, jerking breath, as if she might be ill. “But before everything else?”

“Yes.”

She turned to face him. Her anguished expression pierced him, made worse by the way she stared at him.Neverhad he seen such pain in her before, such wounding. She’d been hurt when Burton Williams read her letters, devastated beneath the scandal of the painting. But this—

She lookedbroken.

She stared at him, her tear-bright eyes a kaleidoscope of emotion. When her slender shoulders sagged in surrender, the small gesture nearly ended him. She walked stiffly toward the door.

“Eve, wait!”

She stopped but put up a hand to hold him at bay. He knew he should let her go, even though every inch of him ached to grab her to him, kiss her, make love to her—simply make her understand and save the marriage that was unraveling around them—

But he never could, because he could never give her what she wanted.

If he gave his heart, he’d lose his soul.

“Stay here, Dom. Don’t come home tonight.” Her whisper emerged as a plea. “Or tomorrow, or…” She inhaled a jerking breath. “Not until you’re finished here. Not until you’ve proven to yourself whatever it is that you need to prove and can be a true husband, in every way.”

The desolation in her watery eyes shattered him.

“Don’t come home until you’re ready to give me your heart.” Her voice broke, as she surely realized the ultimatum she was giving him and their marriage. “Because I won’t settle for anything less.”

Chapter 23

Four very lonely weeks later

Eve peered into the bassinette at her one-week-old niece, all pink, plump, and still a bit pointy-headed from her journey into the world, one that came two weeks earlier than anticipated.

She was asleep, with her tiny mouth open and her pouty little lips trembling with each deep inhalation. Still dressed in her white lace cap and long christening gown, she kicked in her sleep, the little knitted booties running in the air as if she were attempting to make an escape.

With a soft laugh, Eve brushed her finger over the baby’s cheek. “She’s beautiful.”

As if agreeing, the babe made a gurgling sound and waved her tiny fist in the air.

She frowned. “And feisty.”

“Just like her mother,” Robert Carlisle commented, then leaned in to place a kiss to Mariah’s cheek as she sat beside him on the settee, the bassinette on her other side.

Before Robert pulled away, he whispered something into her ear that made her flush.

Now that she was married, Eve recognized that look and knew what Robert’s whisper had been about. If Mariah wasn’t careful, she’d be with child again by spring.

Struck by a sudden pang of emotion, and missing Dom so much today that she ached, she stepped away from the bassinette to pour herself a fresh cup of tea from the little table of refreshments served for those guests who had come by to celebrate Genevieve’s christening. Sebastian and Miranda would make for wonderful godparents, although Eve, as her other godmother, wasn’t so certain about herself. The dowager duchess had brought to the church the same gown in which Robert had been christened. Josephine and Chesney had been there, too—another couple who might be expecting a new baby by spring if their smiles were any indication of how loving their marriage was. This afternoon, other guests too numerous to count had filed into Papa’s house to meet the newest Carlisle.

Poor Papa! He sat flanked on the settee with Hugh Whitby, who was Mariah’s best friend, and Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper from the Gatewell School where Mariah was the leading patroness. His chest pushed out as proud as a peacock’s at the celebration for his first granddaughter, yet the last few weeks had surely been a trial for him. Mariah had chosen Papa’s house for her confinement because she’d wanted to be surrounded by the servants she loved, who were like family to her. Having a womanenceintebeneath his roof could not have been easy. Neither, Eve was certain, was the birth itself, during which Papa wisely handed a pacing Robert a bottle of bourbon and left for the shipping offices in Wapping, where he remained for the duration of the delivery.

But this afternoon, they were all together.

Except for Dom.

When she’d notified him of Genevieve’s birth, he’d sent his congratulations to her on becoming an auntie and offered to attend today’s festivities at her side. But she’d declined, unable to bear pretending to her family that all was well in their marriage when it had almost certainly ended. Yes, she knew what she was getting herself into the day he proposed, that theirs would never be a love match. In that regard, her marriage was no different than most society marriages.

But she had never expected his lack of love to hurt this much.