Midnight Eyes, Brophy, Sarah [love story books to read txt] 📗

“So can I,” he murmured, and was unable to resist demonstrating that skill by finding it with his mouth. By the time he lifted his lips from hers, they were both struggling for air.

“Well, so you can,” she said with a tremulous smile, and he couldn’t stop himself from bending down to catch that smile as well. She forestalled his predatory move this time, placing her small hands on his chest and giving it a shove, but she couldn’t stop herself from tangling her fingers in the soft hair, enjoying the small contact a little too much to give it up. “Be that as it may, what I was saying before I was rudely interrupted…”

“My lady, I can really show you rude if you like,” he growled, but she ignored him, intent on her plans.

“…is that I have no real problem with the eating. It’s the food that often goes rogue on me. Mind you, I have improved. I nearly starved in the first six months, but I managed to subsist off the stains on my clothes till I got better at it.” Her tone was light, but Robert felt the pain that hid behind her levity. “And it has gotten better, but…” She shrugged as her other hand began fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “If you helped, perhaps—”

“What do you mean ‘if’? Of course I’m helping. As if you had to ask,” he scolded gently. “What kind of husband would I be if I let some bad table manners stop me?”

He spent nearly two whole days proving just what kind of husband he was.

They closeted themselves in their chamber. Surrounded by congealing food, they tried to devise a way to solve what Robert had jokingly come to call her nourishment annoyance. Imogen had laughed at that and so much else besides. It surprised her just how much laughter filled those days. Something Imogen had thought of as a torture had become an occasion for open joy.

Not that it had started out being quite that easy.

She had felt Robert’s intent gaze on her like a physical touch and it had made her nervous. Instead of things getting better, the nervousness made it all that much harder.

By noon on the first day she had almost been crying with frustration but instead of giving in to tears, she had thrown her spoon across the room. Some part of her had hoped desperately that the childish display might drive Robert away from her once and for all, leaving her alone with her mortifying incompetence.

That was what it should have done anyway.

Instead, he knelt in front of her and ran a gentle hand down over her cheek. “What is it, Imogen?”

“I think it is called blindness,” she said snidely.

“That display had nothing to do with blindness. It was a temper tantrum, plain and simple, and I think you will find that the sighted also have them every so often.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And your point is?”

He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and stood up, leaving Imogen obtusely bereft. “You’re right, Imogen, I don’t have a point. I was just trying to work out what was wrong with you. Sorry, I shan’t do it again.”

She hung her head, ashamed by her behavior. “You’re looking at me,” she muttered grudgingly.

“What?”

She threw her hand in the air and stood up. “What’s wrong is that I can feel you looking at me, and when you look at me I can’t seem to function,” she all but shouted.

He was silent for a second, then she could hear a chuckle start softly and the rumble grew till he was roaring. “All that because I was looking at you!” he spluttered. “Good God, woman, I’ll always be looking at you, given half a chance.”

She put her hands on her hips and began to tap her toe, which set him off again. She heard the air rush out of the cushion as he collapsed into a chair and began gasping for air.

“When you’re finished…” she bit out, her fury rising steadily. He didn’t seem to be that afraid, snaking out a hand and wrapping it around her hips, tumbling her onto his lap in a sprawl.

“Oh, Imogen,” he breathed, holding her close.

Slowly she could feel the tension begin to drain from her as her body bent itself around the warmth of his.

They sat in a silence broken only by the crackle of the fire on the grate.

“I suppose I was being a bit silly,” she said slowly, and Robert had to smile at the resentful admission.

“Well, I think throwing cutlery because I’m looking at you might be seen by some as a bit that way, yes.”

She sighed and absentmindedly nuzzled his neck. “I hate this feeling of helplessness. It’s the knowing you can see me being unable to do things any four-year-old can do that upsets me.” She smiled ruefully. “That is only fitting, I suppose, as it also seems to make me behave a little like a four-year-old. I don’t think I will ever manage to do it.”

“Of course you will do it.” He covered her mouth with his hand to forestall any protest. “Not instantly, no, but you will have to trust me when I tell you that you will do it.”

She lifted his hand away with both of hers. “You really think so?”

“Well it’s either that, or I spend the rest of my life ducking your cutlery.”

She’d smiled at him, rather enticingly, he thought, but as he went to kiss her, she clambered off his lap and went back over to the table.

She sat herself regally in the chair and raised her eyebrows at him. “Well, shall we begin again, or will it have to be a knife this time?”

“No, not the knife!” He spoke in mock horror, but his smile was real.

They worked on the problems, and in the absence of tension the time flowed easily between them. They