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He was blind. Blind, stupid and hopeless.
While Sam had been falling in love with some Venetian fool who couldn’t or wouldn’t love her and escaping her disappointment by marrying a man who would drive her to guilt and despair and solitude, he’d been writing her stories, tying her to him and talking to her in the only way he knew.
Like a juvenile admirer sending anonymous love poems.
‘My God, I’m pathetic.’
Rafe shifted in alarm.
‘Damn it, Edge, that’s not what I meant. Any woman would kill to have someone write masterpieces about her and for her. Don’t tell me Sam doesn’t appreciate them—her illustrations are a work of love in themselves.’
‘Not to me. She had no idea I was the author. That is just the way she is.’
‘But...you told her, didn’t you?’
‘She found out a week ago. In a bookstore.’
‘Oh. Well, that must have been...uncomfortable.’
Edge shoved his hands through his hair.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you mean to say you proposed to her, but didn’t think of telling her?’
‘I didn’t propose. She did.’
At least that silenced Rafe. His sigh, though, was eloquent.
‘I told you I am pathetic.’
‘No. Stubborn. Wary. And luckier than you deserve. What is wrong, then? You should be in seventh heaven.’
Edge laughed.
‘I was on fourth and climbing, but I’ve fallen a few rungs. I knew from the beginning Sam wanted to marry me because she wanted a family and a home and I was willing to make that devil’s bargain. This shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.’
‘What shouldn’t?’
Edge wished the doctor would come. He didn’t want to talk about this, even with Rafe. He wanted to push it underground as he’d been trying to ever since her revelations in Richmond. To be patient and woo Sam and hope he’d win her warm loving core. But he knew he was pulling away from her and he couldn’t seem to stop.
Rafe was right about him. He took his pain into a cave and hid. He didn’t want to be second best with her. Another Ricki—filling a void created by someone else. It was like living with a thorn lodged deep into his chest, gouging at him every time she smiled or touched him. He was greedy—he wanted to be at her centre as much as she was at his. He wanted to reach into her and rip out the bastard that had left her trying to patch her life around him.
He sank his hands into his hair again and told Rafe everything.
* * *
Sam stood outside the parlour door, trying to rally her courage. She staked her impatience to the ground and dropped a pyramid atop it, but it still had her by the throat.
She knew the doctor had come and gone, that Tubbs and Edge had moved Rafe to a guest room. She’d watched the various members of the Tubbs family come and go—with clothes and towels and food and shaving implements. Tubbs had taken pity on her and told her the doctor had cleaned and dressed the wound and given his opinion that it would heal well now. But other than that she’d asked no questions and made no demands aside from a pot of tea which was now cold.
She kept waiting for Edge to come tell her something...anything. That everything would be all right now. His brother was safe. Now he was free to...to what? With a strange sense of panic she realised she did not know what he wanted from her. The only thing she knew, with a clarity that ranked alongside a Cartesian certainty, was that she loved Edge. Everything else felt flimsy, like a set upon a stage. She thought she’d wanted a home, children, but she was no longer certain. Of anything.
Except Edge.
And he was fading away again.
She closed her eyes and knocked on the door.
Patience, patience, patience.
‘Sam?’
She opened her eyes. Edge stood in the doorway. He was in his shirtsleeves and had taken off his cravat and waistcoat. Just as he had looked on the Lark—beautiful but distant. Her heart squeezed; she wanted so desperately to reach for him, but of course she didn’t.
‘How is he?’
He glanced over his shoulder towards the open door of the bedroom.
‘Asleep. A little feverish, but the doctor believes that is more loss of blood than infection. He says he needs rest and feeding. I would like him to stay here a few days if you don’t object.’
‘Of course I don’t object, Edge. I am so happy for you...’
She stood like a fool, waiting for him to touch her, to ask her in or to take her to their rooms. Anything but stand there.
‘Did he explain? About disappearing and Miss Osbourne and everything.’
‘Yes. It is...complicated. Nothing that need concern you.’
She breathed in, her temper finally snapping into life.
