Title: Illusion

Author: Angel LeeAnn

Summary: They've found their way off the plateau, but everything's not sugar and roses.

Disclaimer: You shouldn't even be here if you don't know this.

A/N: I know I said I was going to take a break, but this idea struck me and I was pressured into writing.  Dang it, I'm never going to get my assignment done for my British Literature class that's due August 26!

Chapter One

Adam

Sometimes he wondered if through this dark, forlorn world there was a chance that it was only the shadow of what was really there.  Maybe all the evil and corruption wasn't caused by the human being himself, but by some unseen force pulling the strings.  Then again, this could just be used as an excuse to escape the things that he had done.  Maybe he wasn't willing to accept the fatal mistakes he had committed so he conjured up this cognitive theory of not being in custody of his actions.

And yet, he chided to himself, I don't hold responsibility of Adam's death on anyone but myself.

The incident placed tremendous strain on his marriage.  Even though his wife never came out and directly blamed him, he sensed the accusation in her eyes every time they met his.  She kept insisting with the lame excuse: "The other driver was drunk."  Yet, even she had the unspoken feeling that if he had used their son's car seat, Adam could have possibly been alive today.

Lord John Roxton, who was a top hunter in his earlier days, never felt so impotent in his entire life.  Not even the loss of his brother, William, all those years ago made him feel so numb with agonizing guilt that carved his every breath.  The only reason he continued to get up and go through the routine of the everyday life was because Marguerite needed what little strength he had.

Roxton glanced across the bed where a vacant spot was calling out his name.  All he had to do was move a little to the left and slip an arm around her waist.  Yet, he restrained himself from such a contact and instead clambered out from under the covers, padding his way over to the closet.  His dress blouses hung crisp on the plastic hangers looking almost as new as when he bought them.  He pulled one out along with a brown sport jacket (the one Marguerite had given him last Christmas).

Under the blankets, Marguerite stirred and cracked opened her eyes in time to see her husband disappear into the bedroom's bathroom.  She lay there listening to his silent bustling then heard the shower turn on.  She fought the urge to creep in with him and instead managed to drag her sleep-fogged body to the kitchen.

They had servants at their back and call, but Marguerite preferred to start her day on her own two feet.  It gave her something to do; something to keep her mind from snapping with the thought of her dead son.

Anyway, as it was, they hadn't showered together since Adam died.  They barely even touched anymore as if they were afraid of shattering each other's fragile shells.  In the past five months, subsequent to the accident, they hadn't made love.  There had been one time they had sex, but that was what it was – raw, hungry sex where they ventilated their anger and frustration.  That was three months ago.

A few minutes later, Roxton showed up in the doorway wearing a ghost of a smile as he crossed his arms and leaned against the frame.  He watched Marguerite as she prepared coffee and eggs.  He would've stayed there all day if she hadn't glanced over at him with that raised eyebrow.  "Are you just going to stand there like a sexy idiot or are you going to come and eat?"

A grin teased at his lips as he approached the table.  Time was finally allowing them to heal.  This was the first time she used bantering since their son's death.  He decided to return the favor.  "You're even more beautiful when you're bossy."

Her eyes glazed over with an emotion long sense buried.  A little color even managed to creep its way up her neck.  Then, though, the moment evaporated as the shrill of the telephone interrupted whatever her response was going to be.  She answered the phone on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Lady Roxton?  It has been a long time hasn't it?"

"Who is this?"

"What?  Don't you recognize my voice?"  He chuckled.  "I'll try not to take it offensively due to the fact that it has been half a year since we last spoke.  Yet, I didn't call to have light chit-chat."  His tone dipped to a deathly serious key.  "I believe I have an answer to your recent dilemma.  If you'll only allow me to speak to you and Roxton in person at the east dock precisely at midnight."

Click.

Marguerite dropped the phone on its cradle and stared deadpanned at the marvelous invention.  Her voice was low and menacing as she repeated to Roxton what the caller had said.  Then she added, "I can't believe this!  Why can't they just leave us alone for one stupid moment?  It's probably another bloodsucking reporter!"  Tears swelled and trickled down her face.  "He's dead because of your stupidity!  Just like your brother who you shot!  End of story!"

Roxton flinched as if she had just slapped him.  His voice was quiet, devoid of all emotion expect for anguish.  "You…you blame me for William?"

Marguerite's pain was to heighten to realize the depth of his hurt.  She let out a bitter, hysterical laugh as she stepped forward with accusation written on her face.  "Yes, John, of course I do!  He's dead because you didn't protect him; just like you failed to protect your own child!"

The little piece that was left of John Roxton slipped away as her cruel and damning words rung in his ears with stinging clarity.  His throat was filled with a lump that he didn't even bother trying to swallow away.  Within seconds, silent tears streamed down his face and he turned away.

"I…I guess…I should leave."  Roxton headed towards what used to be their happy bedroom.  Yet, was now where two strangers slept in the same bed, but worlds a part.

The situation sunk in and Marguerite rushed after him, grabbing his arm to stop him from his actions.  "Oh, John, I'm sorry!  I didn't…I didn't mean that."

"You were only speaking the truth.  I killed William and Adam."  He gently pried his arm out of her fingers and backtracked into the living room where he retrieved his coat and went for the door.

"Roxton!" Marguerite cried after him.  "Where are you going?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know."  Then he slipped out the door.

Marguerite collapsed onto the floor, sobs wrenching through her body.  She hated the unfairness of it all.  Yet, the worse was the loss of her baby boy and now her husband…who she, herself, pushed away.

End Chapter One

So, what do you all think?