Page 135 of A Wicked Kind of Husband

He jolted and leaped to his feet, crossing the room toward her, arms outstretched, talking all the while. “You’re awake. How are you? You should be resting. Why aren’t you resting? Let me take you upstairs. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“This will not do. I’m not having it.”

A shadow crossed his face. His arms fell. He stopped walking, though his body kept swaying toward her. He was as taut as a violin string, his eyes soft and dark and flicking wildly over her face.

“Please,” he said gently. “Let me—”

“No.” His shoulders jerked, but she hardly noticed. “All my life, I was well behaved and polite and never made trouble. Not any more. I won’t accept it. This is not how it will be and you will not run away.”

“Cassandra—”

“Stop.” She showed him her palms and glared. “I willnotbehave nicely and I willnotbe polite and you willnotobject because it is you who taught me to be rude. You are a coward and a fool, and you will not run away again, do you hear me? I know it hurts, it hurts so much, but you’ll have to stand there and take it like a—like a—woman! Yes, that’s what you’ll do. I want a husband, and you’re the only one I have and the only one I want, so you’ll…bloody wellbe a husband to me.”

“Cassandra—”

“And don’t you tell me not to curse! I’ll curse if I want to! I’m tired of being good. I’m going to make trouble for you, Joshua DeWitt, and you will be my husband if I have to knock you over the head and tie you up. You told me to fight for what is mine. Well, you’re mine and this time I’m going to fight.”

She stepped forward, but a wave of dizziness hit her, and her knees threatened to fail. In a flash, Joshua sprang, scooped her up, and carried her over to the settee. He laid her on it like she was the most precious thing in the world, then sank to the floor, holding onto her hands.

“Are you all right?” he whispered. “What do you need? Tell me what you need.”

“I’m all right, I…”

The dizziness had vanished, and taken with it her wits, for why on earth was Joshua kneeling on the floor? Holding her hands in his, big and warm and strong, stroking her fingers, staring at her as though his world was about to end?

“You want me to stay?” he said. “Really?”

Clearly he had lost his wits too.

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

His eyes did not release hers as he pressed her fingers to his lips. His fingers were so strong and sure, they could hold her whole body and soul, and his eyes could melt her bones, they were so hot and dark and liquid.

Liquid.

He had tears in his eyes.

“You didn’t want me. You sent me away.” He spoke in a whisper that tore at her already torn heart. “Earlier today. I broke us so badly that even in your greatest need, you pushed me away.”

“I never…”

“You said, ‘Not you.’ I wanted to help you, but you said, ‘Not you’.”

He pressed his lips together and briefly squeezed his eyes shut. Her own tears welled. She slid onto the floor and freed one of her hands to press it to his cheek.

“I did not want you to have to see what was happening,” she said softly. “I was losing our baby and I did not want you to see that. I feared you could not bear the pain.”

“But you had to bear the pain, so I should too. You had to be strong and brave, but you did not have to be alone.” He spoke firmly now, and took both her hands in his again. “Whatever the pain, whatever the burden, we bear them together.” A faint smile curved his lips. “Must I explain to you, Mrs. DeWitt, how marriage works?”

“You love me,” she told him. And herself. A simple fact, simply stated, for both of their simple minds.

“With everything I am.”

She heard her own words and his, and a breathless, tear-filled laugh shook out of her, releasing her pain into the night.

“I ought to have mentioned that earlier,” he said ruefully. “It took me a while to see it.”

“It took a tragedy.”

---