Of Fate And Prejudice

Chapter Twenty Five

Leaning down, Roman placed a kiss on Frances' sweaty brows. "Frances," he whispered, tugging gently on her shoulder. She sucked in a sharp breath and opened her eyes.

"Roman?" She frowned up at him.

"You were having another nightmare." He touched her pale cheek, thinking for the umpteenth time that week, since she birthed Violet, how sickly she appeared. Her collarbones were more pronounced, her eyes sunken from fatigue. They were both sleep deprived. Violet kept them up for most of the night with her needs for either food or a diaper change or both. When they were finally opportune to crawl back into bed, Frances suffered from nightmares. Roman would wake up in the middle of the night to find her kicking and flailing and often times gasping for breath.

She kissed his wrist. "Did I awaken you?"

"No," he lied. Being deprived of slumber did not bother him as much as the woman before him and the nightmares that plagued her.

Frances touched his shoulders, trailing the length of his arms with the heat of her fingers. He closed his eyes, surprised, yet thrilled by the effect she had on him—by how much a mere graze of her fingers could utterly disarm him. She curled her arms around his bare waist and tugged until he brought his weight down on her; until his forehead rested on hers and his lips touched hers. He'd discarded his nightshirt for a loose trouser tonight, and in this moment, he decided he liked the feel of her palm against his skin.

"Tell me what you dream about," he murmured against her lips. "What troubles you so?" Her countenance fell as her arms weakened around him. Seeing the pain that immediately clouded her misty eyes, he rolled over, pulling her with him. Settling her on top of him, he kissed her collarbone, then hugged her to himself. "I do not mean to upset you with my question, mon ange." He knew she was hesitant about speaking about her nightmares, which was why he'd been loath to ask until now. He thought it might ease her fears to speak about it.

"I'm not upset, Roman."

"You're afraid." He leaned back slightly, enough to look at her. When she made did not deny it, he placed a small kiss on her forehead. "You have nothing to fear, Frances. I'm here. I'm right beside you. I won't let anything harm you, not now, and certainly not ever. Not for as long as I shall live." He meant it. She was his to protect, and so was Violet. He would not fail in protecting them like he'd failed in protecting Layla.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. Nodding, she rested her forehead on his.

"Go back to sleep."

She sniffed. "There is no use. I believe Violet will soon wake up to eat. I shall wait."

"I'll come with you." He made to rise, but she placed a stilling hand on his chest.

"You look worn, Roman. You've not slept in days."

"Neither have you."

"Yes, but I don't have to wake up early to engage in all that hard work on the farm. Perhaps it was a terrible idea to have you move into my room. It won't do to have Violet Marie keep us up all night with her crying, or to have me wake you up with my nightmares!" Her voice broke on the last word. She turned from him, but not before he saw her tears.

"Frances!" He hurried after her, pulling her into his embrace before she could escape into the nursery. He braced her to his chest, his heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage as he listened to her broken sobs. It was a few minutes before her sobs quieted.

"Roman..." She glanced up at him.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You need to—"