Forbidden Fruit. Erica Spindler

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СКАЧАТЬ truth, Philip had never had to work for anything, not for grades or girls or a living. Everything had been handed to him not only on a sterling platter—the St. Charles being the crown jewel on that platter of glittering gems—but with an adoring smile. For Philip, the years flowed effortlessly one into the other.

      Far from being bothered by his lack of effort in shaping his own life, he accepted it all graciously, as his due and his wonderful lot in life. He did feel for those poor souls who struggled and suffered, and he never forgot to give—and give plentifully—to the Church, both in thanks for his bounty and as a sort of insurance policy against guilt.

      Frankly, until thirty-six hours ago, Philip August St. Germaine III had thought, with justifiable arrogance, that nothing ugly or unhappy could ever touch him.

      Now, as he stood at the maternity ward’s nursery window and watched a stranger feed his baby, his beautiful, perfect daughter, that same arrogance mocked him. Now, he felt as if his idyllic life was crumbling around him.

      The last day and a half had been like a nightmare from which he couldn’t awaken. The wife he adored, usually sweet-tempered and genteel, had become a person he didn’t recognize. A person who frightened him.

      He brought a hand to his head, heavy and aching from stress and lack of sleep. It wasn’t only that she had cursed at him, spitting out words he would have sworn she didn’t, and couldn’t, know. It was more than the fact that she had told him she hated him when he had tried insisting they pick out a name for their child.

      No. It was the way she had looked at him, an almost maniacal light burning in her eyes, that frightened him. Because when she’d looked at him that way, he had felt, deep down in his gut, that the life he had known was gone forever.

      Philip jammed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and gazed at his daughter, sucking greedily on a bottle of formula. She was the image of her mother already. He couldn’t understand how Hope could look at her with such horror, how she could recoil from touching her. He pressed the heels of his hands to his burning eyes. When she looked at their precious daughter, what did she see that he didn’t?

      If only he could understand, if only he could crawl inside his wife’s head, maybe he would be able to help her. And then, maybe, his world would stop rocking around him.

      Her behavior had come out of nowhere. She had looked forward to the birth of their first child. Her pregnancy had been an easy one; she had suffered from neither morning sickness nor mood swings. They had talked about all the things this child would do and be. Other than her absolute conviction that she carried a boy, her attitude about motherhood had seemed completely normal.

      Now this. A shudder of fear moved over him. What would he do if he had lost her? If the woman he had known and loved so desperately had ceased to exist forever? How would he go on? He loved her beyond reason; he had from the first.

      Inside the nursery, the attendant finished feeding and burping Philip’s daughter and laid her in her crib. Philip watched, seeing instead Hope as she had looked the night they first met. He had been in Memphis on business; they’d been introduced by friends. She had been laughing, her head tipped to the side, her long, silky hair falling softly against her cheek. He’d had the urge to touch it, to bring the dark strands to his lips to test their texture and taste. He could recall the exact rose shade of her mouth, could recall the way she’d pursed her lips in amusement, could remember that he had become aroused just watching her speak.

      She had turned and met his eyes. He’d sensed that she knew exactly what he was thinking, that she was glad he was thinking it. In that moment, he had fallen madly in love with her. It had been as simple, and as complicated, as that.

      That night and for the remainder of his business trip, they had been inseparable. He had told her everything about himself, and she had shared her life with him. The tragic story of her parents’ accidental death while traveling in Italy, of how she had been left alone in the world at seventeen, had touched him deeply.

      Something about her had made him feel like the most powerful, the most important man in the world. He had wanted to shield her from the harsh world, had wanted to protect her from all of life’s unpleasantness. He had wanted to bring her into his charmed circle.

      If he had been a less cautious man, he would have proposed on the spot. Instead, he had waited six long, agonizing weeks.

      Family and friends had thought him insane until they met her. Then they, too, had fallen under her sweet spell. Even his demanding, ever-critical parents had thought her the perfect choice.

      Not that it had mattered what they thought. He had been prepared to defy them, he had been prepared to give up everything for her.

      Their wedding night had been an experience beyond his fantasies. She had done unimaginable, incredible things to his body, yet with such sweet, almost tentative innocence, that he had felt as if he were deflowering a virgin. Even now, standing in plain view of the world, his life in turmoil, thinking of that night brought swift, stunning arousal.

      Sometimes he felt as if his life revolved from night to night, from one opportunity to make love with her to the next. Those times when she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—were a kind of torture beyond his previous experience. No woman before Hope had had such a hold on him; it was as if without her his heart couldn’t beat.

      “There you are.” Hope’s doctor came up to stand beside him. Harland LeBlanc had delivered a host of St. Germaine babies, and although nearly sixty, he looked a decade younger. Since the man was considered the top obstetrician in New Orleans, Philip took some comfort in knowing Hope had the best care available.

      The older man motioned to the nursery. “You have a beautiful daughter, Philip. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful infant.”

      Philip looked at the other man, then returned his gaze to the nursery window. “Yet, Hope can’t bear to look at her. She’s yet to hold her. She won’t even consider a name.”

      “I know it’s been difficult, but—”

      “Difficult?” Philip said, his tone caustic. “I don’t think you do know, Harland. I don’t see how you can. You weren’t there this morning when Hope swore at me. When she told me she hated me. All because I wanted to pick out a name for our daughter.” He drew a painful breath. “The way she looked at me was…chilling. I never thought my wife would look at me that way.”

      The physician laid a hand reassuringly on Philip’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, I do understand what you’re going through. I’ve seen this type of behavior before, and it will pass. Everything is going to be all right, Philip.”

      “Are you so certain of that?” Philip drew a hand across his forehead. “What if it doesn’t pass? I couldn’t bear to lose her. She’s everything to me, she’s—” He cleared the lump from his throat, feeling exposed and foolish. He shifted his gaze to the nursery and his sleeping daughter. “I love my wife, Harland. Too much, I sometimes think.”

      The doctor gave Philip’s shoulder a comforting squeeze, then dropped his hand. “What Hope’s going through isn’t as uncommon as you might imagine. A surprising number of women experience depression after childbirth. On occasion, the depression is so severe, so all-encompassing, the woman abandons her family. Or worse.”

      Philip met the other man’s gaze once again. He lifted his eyebrows at the physician’s solemn expression. “Worse, Harland?”

      “Women СКАЧАТЬ