The Soldier's Poisoned Heart

“What is what?” She didn't look up from her book, but she pursed her lips.

“Why are you angry with me?”

“Angry with you? Whatever do you mean?” Still, she did not look up to him. Her eyes had stopped moving across the page.

The Colonel closed the book in his lap and stood up.

“Since the wedding.” He imagined feeling tired after so many months being very nearly unable to stand unaided. “You've been cross with me over something, and you won't tell me what it is.”

Lydia looked up at his remark. He had only seen her angry a few times, but it was easy to recognize. She wasn't furious; he wasn't sure that she could be that angry. Her expression was more subtle than that, but it was clear.

“Where should I start?”

Her chin jutted forward and Mr. Foster th

ought his wife looked very pretty when she was angry.

“At the beginning, my darling, and then proceeding to the end.”

“Very cute, John Paul,” Mrs. Foster answered in a voice that said it wasn't. “Very well, then. The beginning. You didn't trust me, and that's the worst part.”

“I know,” John Paul answered.

He had been racked with guilt in the days that had followed. He was absolutely unable to leave the bed for several days. They said he had a tiny puncture to his lung, and he believed it. Lydia came and sat with him more often than not, but when he was alone, the madness of the past year returned to him.

How had he been such a fool? It had stared him right in the face from the beginning. He should have known that his nephew was not trustworthy. He should have trusted his first impressions of Simon. He was too simple and eager to please to formulate such a plan. In the moment, it had all made good sense. Even now, the shame and guilt over his own foolishness was never far from his mind.

Lydia saw something in his eyes, then, and he saw her face soften.

“And that foolishness afterward. Dueling your nephew? You could have died, John Paul Foster, and left your poor wife alone.”

“I'm sorry.”

She marked her place in her book and set it aside.

“You'll just have to make it up to me.” She stepped up to him and put a hand under his chin. She pulled it up until their eyes met. He could see a joke twinkling in them that threatened to come and play.

“How can I ever make my foolishness up to you?”

Lydia pressed her lips into his.

“I have been hoping,” she said, a devilish grin crossing her face. “Perhaps you would help me start a family.”

“Oh?”

She pressed herself into him and he wrapped his arms around her. They stood there a moment, their faces only inches apart.

“I love you, John Paul Foster.”

“I love you too, Lydia Foster.” He pulled her in tight and kissed her. She tasted like spices and fruit and he found it intoxicating. “I suppose we could start now.”

“Supposing we could,” she answered. He picked her up in his arms. She was so light, and his strength was returning quickly. He kissed her again and started to walk toward the bedroom.

Sneak Preview:

His Black Baby

A Billionaire's Interracial Surprise