CHAPTER ONE
"I saw you".
Edward leapt in fright at the menacing tone coming from the door. He whipped around and saw the tiny but furious figure of his wife walking into the room.
Well, waddling more like. Though he valued his life far too much to say so.
"Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?" he asked somewhat hesitantly.
Usually he would have no hesitation asking such a thing, Rebecca's welfare always being at the forefront of his thoughts.
It seemed, however, that lately even the most innocuous of questions were liable to draw blood. That held true for statements also. Comments about the weather. Even breathing at a louder volume than usual.
Edward gulped now as he awaited the answer. Would he have a pleasant conversation with his much adored but, presently, slightly deranged wife? Or would he suffer the wrath of a woman whose lying in was fast approaching and who scared the living daylights out of him?
"I said," she repeated and he saw with no small amount of trepidation, that her teeth were clenched, teeth clenching was never good, "I saw you."
"Saw me where, sweetheart?" he asked now as he made his way, slowly so as not to tip her off, around to the back of the sprawling mahogany desk in his study.
"Outside just now. What exactly did you think you were doing? Flaunting it in my face?"
It doesn't do to show fear when facing one's enemy, Edward reminded himself, or one's wife.
Edward had noticed, with a healthy dose of alarm, that the longer Rebecca's confinement went on, the more irrational she became.
He noticed. The staff noticed. Caroline and the countess noticed. The dowager noticed. Even the earl noticed.
Everybody noticed but nobody spoke about it since they all had a great fondness for Rebecca. And for their own skins.
Edward had learned quite quickly that the most innocent of questions could set off either a string of expletives, usually ending in something breaking, or a flood of tears, usually ending in something breaking. Namely his heart.
Anger he could handle. Temper, frustration, irrationality.
But he could not stand to see Rebecca cry. And she knew, the little minx. She knew that he could not handle her tears and had learned very early on in their relationship, how to use that to her advantage.
She was a formidable enemy. One not to be underestimated. Because even if she could not turn on the tears (and she was doing so more frequently than ever), she still only had to look at him with those damned doe eyes and he was eating out of her hands.
All this however, did not change the fact that he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. And continued silence could very well lead to his demise. So valiantly, he squared his shoulders and asked; "flaunting what, sweetheart?"
He did not realise he was holding his breath until he started to feel faint.
Her eyes narrowed menacingly and glinted rather attractively.
Probably not the best time to feel the familiar lust slam through him. Something told him she would not be receptive...or would she?
"Flaunting-" she bit out through gritted teeth. That would be a no then.
