The Brigadier's Runaway Bride (Dukes of War Book 5) by Erica Ridley

dress aside and leapt up to glare at him. “I said it would be usable .”
    He gripped her shoulders and lowered his face toward hers. “I want it to be beautiful. I want you to feel beautiful.”
    “I don’t want to feel beautiful.” Her lip trembled as she gazed up at him. “I want to be beautiful.”
    “You are,” he said quietly.
    Liar . Her throat tightened. They both knew she was not.
    She tore her gaze away so he wouldn’t see the hurt in her eyes. She couldn’t hide from the truth. Her post-pregnancy body was even less attractive than her pregnant body. A feat she hadn’t thought possible. She could scarcely stand to see herself naked, but Edmund had been avoiding her touch even fully clothed. A far cry from the man who nine months ago couldn’t keep his hands away from her.
    Nor had she wished him to. If she’d had any idea their intimacy then would lead to such a chasm today…
    “Those dresses are rags.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “Let me buy you a new gown. We can commission an entire—”
    “I don’t want a new gown.” She forced her eyes to meet his. “I want a home I’ll never have to leave. A husband who will never leave me. A happy, healthy family, with—”
    “I will never leave you,” he growled, gripping her shoulders. “I did not walk one hundred miles and sail two hundred more just to give you up. If you prefer hideous patchwork gowns, wear them. But for as long as I am alive, you will have a home and you will have me.”
    She stared up at hm. His gaze was hot and unwavering. His body mere inches from hers. She trembled, her entire body thrilling to finally, finally , be back in his arms. If he were not gripping her so tightly, she could lean forward just enough to brush her breasts against his strong chest.  
    Perhaps if she touched him, he would remember how much he had loved to touch her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes to concentrate solely on the feel of his body next to hers, the past would melt away. Perhaps if he kissed her, if he touched her, she could believe he still found her desirable.
    Pulse pounding, she reached for him with hopeful, hesitant fingers. If they could kiss, if they could at least embrace —
    The moment her hands brushed his waistcoat, he jerked away as if scalded by her touch.
    He released her shoulders and leapt backward, running a hand through his hair as though to rid his palm of the feel of her body.  
    Her heart broke. She slumped back down onto the chair and retrieved the fallen day dress. “Go mind your investments, then. I’ll take care of the mending.”
    “I can commission—”
    “ Go ,” she repeated without looking up. If he could not bear to touch her, then no gown on earth would make her feel beautiful. She would concentrate on being practical. On nurturing the twins. On resigning herself to a life without passion.
    She kept her eyes on her sewing. She would make it through this. One stitch at a time.

Chapter 12

    Within weeks of giving birth, Sarah could feed her newborn babies in her sleep. In fact, she was pretty certain that was precisely what was happening most of the time. She lived in a constant state of exhaustion.
    Sarah eased into a rocking chair to burp the baby. She was so tired. When was the last time she’d slept soundly? Long before the twins. Before discovering she was with child. Before learning Edmund was presumed dead. She hadn’t had a restful night’s sleep since the day he’d purchased a commission in the Army.
    Now he was back. A miracle. A nightmare.  
    Had she worried her husband’s interest would wane now that her bright eyes and slender figure had been replaced by heavy purple bags and a flabby, sagging stomach? A harsh laugh strangled in her throat.  
    His interest hadn’t simply waned . Edmund flinched if he so much as touched her.  
    Oh, he was a model husband. A model father. He was up with the babies just as often as she was, and did everything in his power to ensure she had