Chapter Fifteen

G enevieve could feel her independence slipping away. It wasn’t as unpleasant as she’d anticipated. Clearly, one benefit to marrying the wealthy son of a duke was the ability to have one’s every whim catered to. Ten minutes after she’d taken her place at Rory’s side, he’d informed the staff he meant to marry her; ordered servants to fetch the vicar, prepare a wedding breakfast, festoon the chapel with flowers; and instructed the maids to dress Genevieve and Frances in their best.

He’d glanced at Genevieve, seeming to acknowledge her for the first time. “Anything else?”

“My mother,” she said. “I’d like her to come.”

He flicked a finger at a footman. “Who else?”

She had a few friends in the village, but as she’d been gone for extended periods the past fourteen years, she had not spoken to most except in passing. She wished her sister were not so far away and could attend, but it was unlikely Georgiana would be able to take an extended leave at any rate. Genevieve realized she would never again have her life circumscribed by an employer.

She wondered if a husband would be worse.

“Just my mother,” she said.

“Very good. Frances is in the kitchens planning a wedding breakfast that will rot our teeth. I’ll go fetch her.” Then he’d strode in that direction, his valet protesting that there was no time.

Genevieve stood still, not sure where to go or what to do. Mrs. Mann approached, her face looking strained and pinched. Genevieve didn’t have to wonder why. No doubt the last thing the housekeeper had expected when she rose this morning was to have to prepare for a wedding. “I suppose best wishes are in order,” she said.

“Thank you. I know this is a bit of a shock.” Genevieve refrained from pointing out she was probably just as shocked as the rest of them. She’d had the perfect opportunity to bow out of this wedding not a quarter hour ago. She had really thought she would take it. Despite the kiss the night before and her body’s insistence that she do whatever was necessary to ensure more kisses followed, Genevieve had awakened this morning with a queasy feeling in her belly and a lump in her throat. Yes, she already loved Frances, but she barely knew Rory.

There was no denying he had a dictatorial side. What if once they married, he began imposing his dictates on her? He could forbid her to see her mother or even leave the property. As her husband, he had complete authority over her. She’d seen women trapped in marriages with husbands who sought to control every aspect of the lives of their wife and children. She’d left those positions as quickly as she could find another. It didn’t escape her notice that the wives couldn’t escape. How many times had she told herself she would never marry—or at least never marry a man she didn’t know with certitude would not seek to rule over her. Her father had been the sort of man who never tried to assert his authority unjustly, but from what she’d seen of the world, those sorts of men were few and far between.

She’d come down the stairs that morning determined to tell Rory she’d changed her mind.

But that was when he walked through the door carrying Frances. The little girl’s head had rested on his shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck. The sight of the man who just days ago had barely acknowledged his child carrying her so lovingly broke Genevieve’s heart open. She wavered in her resolve to refuse his marriage proposal. She’d wanted a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts, but he demanded she stand beside him.

Over her years as a governess, she’d trained herself to smile and acquiesce to demands. As a potential wife, her ire rose. She’d opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought about his orders, but she’d made the mistake of looking at his face. His expression was as impassive as one could possibly make it, but she had been governess to many young boys who had been forced, at young ages, to behave as men. The look on Rory’s face was exactly that of a five-year-old who was terrified but trying to pretend he was brave.

She could see the fear in his eyes and knew if he had met her gaze, she would have seen vulnerability. He must have known this too, because he kept his gaze fixed on a spot above her head.

Instead of running away, Genevieve had come down the steps and stood in front of him, looking at his face and wondering if he was the sort of man who let fear make him into a monster or who might eventually reveal his fears and let her in.

One thing was clear—he cared more than he wanted her to know about her answer to his proposal. But of course he did. No man married beneath his station, traveling four days to obtain a special license then throwing his orderly house into chaos for a wedding, if he didn’t want that wedding very, very badly.

He had taken a chance by asking her to marry him. She would take the chance of accepting his proposal. She stood by his side, and now Mrs. Mann was asking her about which maid she’d like to dress her hair.

“I recommend Molly. Her own hair looks well enough. Of course, we will hire you a lady’s maid.”

Genevieve waved a hand. “Whatever you think, Mrs. Mann.”

Just then, Frances came skipping into the foyer. “Papa says you will be my mama now, Miss Genevieve,” she said.

“That’s right.” Genevieve knelt so she could look Frances in the eye. “How do you feel about that?”

“Papa says it means you will stay and never go away.”

“That’s right.”

“I like that. I want you to stay.”

“I want to stay as well. And I wanted to tell you something. I would never try to take the place of your first mama, of Harriet. If you want to keep calling me Miss Genevieve, that’s perfectly fine. I suppose we had better dress and have our hair done for the wedding.”

Frances put her hand in Genevieve’s. “I’m already dressed,” she said, indicating the brown dress she wore to play outside.

Genevieve gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid you’ll need to put on one of your frilly white dresses.”

“The ones I must be careful not to stain? No .”

Genevieve laughed and pulled Frances upstairs with her. After two hours of poking and prodding, Genevieve’s hair was tight enough to make her head ache. She’d changed into her Pomona-green dress, the one she wore when she came to apply for the position of governess. Molly had pinned her matching hat into place, and then she was led to the chapel. She’d thought she would have time to settle her nerves on the walk, but somehow the distance passed in only a matter of steps. Then she was walking down the aisle, with Rory and the vicar she’d known since childhood waiting for her at the front of the church.

Genevieve had barely a moment to lock eyes with her mother, but it was enough time for Mama to raise her brows and give her a look that Genevieve knew meant, If you want to run, I’ll be right behind you .

She tried to give her mother a reassuring smile, but her mouth felt as wobbly as her legs. And then she was standing across from Rory. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and her legs felt even weaker. This man was about to be her husband. This man would be hers. He was far too handsome to be marrying someone like her—someone with unruly red hair, freckles, an imperfect figure, and more experience below stairs than up.

And yet he was looking at her as though he was quite satisfied with his choice. His expression mirrored a cat’s after he’d lapped all the milk from a bowl. Genevieve tried to focus on the ceremony, but it took all her focus to keep her legs from turning into jelly under her skirts. She had to be prompted to say her vows, and when she’d finished, she was propelled out of the chapel on what seemed like a waterfall of lilac flower petals. At least she had someone to support her. Rory had taken her arm, but when she stumbled, he put his arm about her waist.

“Are you well?” he asked, putting his lips close to her ear as they exited the chapel and began to walk back to the house.

“My legs haven’t stopped trembling,” she said.

“I know the feeling. I have you. You may sit down as soon as we finish with the receiving line.”

*

Later, Genevieve didn’t remember the receiving line. She might have attributed that to the fact that they didn’t have many guests to receive, as the majority of those in attendance had been staff. The only problem was that she didn’t remember anything else about the day either. She must have eaten something, but she had no idea what it was. She recalled her mother pulling her aside, but Genevieve didn’t know what they’d discussed. The vicar and several of the prominent people from the village had come to offer her their wishes for her happiness, but though she’d known them all her life, their faces were a blur when she tried to remember them.

When she finally came to herself, Molly was wrapping her in a large towel and telling her to sit by the fire so her hair might dry. Then she took the tub away, and Genevieve blinked at the unfamiliar room, realizing she was alone. It was the first time she’d been alone all day. The first time she’d had a moment to take a breath and allow her expression to fall from the pleasant smile she’d plastered on it.

Her cheeks ached from smiling so much, and her shoulders felt as though she had bricks on top of them. She looked behind her, trying to determine where she might be. Was this Rory’s room? If so, he might come in at any moment, and she wanted to be wearing more than a towel. She spotted a nightrail and a robe on the bed, pulled both on, then used the towel to try to dry her damp curls. The more she looked about the chamber, the less she thought it was that of the master of the house. More than likely, it was the mistress’s bedchamber, which meant… Ah, yes. There was the adjoining door. Just the sight of it gave her a feeling of birds fluttering wildly in her chest. Was he on the other side of that door, preparing to come into her chamber and do his husbandly duty?

Was it wrong that she was looking forward to that part of the marriage? She had been thinking all day about how she wanted to kiss him again. It wouldn’t be long now before she could touch him. Would he allow her to touch him all over? Would he allow her to remove his clothing? He had no shortage of muscles. She wouldn’t mind seeing how he compared to some of the sculptures of men she’d seen.

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she fanned herself.

Her nipples had hardened at the direction of her thoughts, and she looked down at what she was wearing. The robe was modest enough, but the nightrail was quite thin and almost transparent, made of a fine silk the likes of which she’d never possessed. She quickly fastened the robe closed, knotting the tie four or five times to ensure it would not come loose and reveal more than she intended to Molly, or one of the other maids or footmen putting the house back to rights after the day’s celebrations.

She should go down and—

Frances! She hadn’t put Frances to bed, and she realized, with a start, she had no idea what had happened to the girl or when she had last seen her. How could she have forgotten? She hurried to the door, flung it open, and spotted Molly coming back down the corridor.

“What is it, my lady?”

Genevieve jolted back at the title. She’d forgotten she was now Lady Emory. Her , a lady! “Molly, I think you had better call me Genevieve, as you always have. If you refer to me as my lady , I won’t know whom you are speaking to.”

Molly smiled. “Lord Emory told the staff we are to give you every respect.”

“I certainly do not wish to cause you any trouble with”—Genevieve was not at all ready to call him husband —“er, with Lord Emory. I need to see to Miss Lumlee. I don’t know what I could have been thinking to have left her unattended all day.”

“She’s not been unattended, my—Genevieve. Mary has been at her side all day and is in her room right now. The child has been asleep for over an hour at least. She was exhausted after all the excitement today.” Molly gestured toward the door to Genevieve’s new chamber. “We had better comb your hair before it dries.”

Genevieve allowed Molly to comb and plait her hair. Finally, the maid pulled the bedclothes back and Genevieve got in. Once Molly had gone, she got back up, donned her robe again, and stepped back into the corridor. No one was there to stop her now, and she padded to the other end and paused outside the nursery door. She lifted the latch and opened the door softly. She spotted Mary in the light of the fire and put her finger to her lips. Mary smiled and nodded at her.

Genevieve tiptoed inside and looked down at Frances, who was indeed asleep with her doll clutched to her chest. Her nightcap had fallen off, and Genevieve placed it on the bedside table and brushed the hair back from the child’s face. This was her daughter now. Not simply her charge.

Her daughter .

Suddenly, she wished her own mother was here or that she could recall what they had discussed this afternoon. Mama had been confused but happy for Genevieve. Even if she couldn’t remember the words, she could remember that feeling from her mother, who had always made her feel loved and accepted. Now Genevieve wanted to make sure Frances grew up with those same feelings.

She tucked the covers around the little girl, nodded at Mary again, then tiptoed back out of the room. Quietly, she closed the door. She started back toward her room and ran right into a large form blocking her way.

*

“Don’t scream,” Rory said. Genevieve made a squeak, her hands going to her mouth to forestall anything louder. He hadn’t meant to scare her. He’d waited outside the nursery, certain she would see him when she stepped out, but she hadn’t looked before she started back toward her chamber. Consequently, she’d almost plowed right into him. Now, he had both hands on her arms, keeping her from falling backward after the near collision.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. She seemed to realize his hands were on her, and she stepped away. He wanted to touch her again but stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robe instead. Like her, he had bathed and dressed for bed. He wore loose trousers under the robe but hadn’t bothered with a shirt.

She motioned for him to follow her, away from the nursery door. He did so, following her to the chamber adjoining his, the one he’d had prepared for her. He’d tapped on the adjoining door a few minutes before and, hearing no response, peeked inside. Finding the chamber empty, he’d gone to look for her. It hadn’t surprised him she was in the nursery. She was an excellent governess, and he thought she’d be an excellent mother as well.

Frances needed her, and now, with Genevieve firmly ensconced in his life, there would be no more outbursts or crises from his daughter. He’d enjoy peace and quiet…and the other benefits of marriage.

He looked down at Genevieve now as she paused at her chamber door. “I didn’t mean to stop you from checking on Frances,” she said. “I didn’t want to chance waking her. I didn’t put her to bed myself, and wanted to make certain all was as it should be.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He reached past her and pushed her door open. “I didn’t come looking for Frances.”

Genevieve turned and glanced into her chamber.

“I came looking for you.” He gestured toward her chamber, indicating she should go before him. For a moment, her eyes widened, and she looked one way and then the other, like a cornered animal searching for escape. Rory tensed. He’d seen that look before. Harriet had given him that same expression…until she’d learned to mask her repulsion with indifference.

He took a step back. Genevieve was his wife, but he had no intention of forcing himself on her. He’d thought… Well, he’d been wrong before.

He started to take another step away, but she grasped his hand and yanked him inside her chamber before closing the door.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“The staff is still about. I didn’t want them to see us.”

“Why not?”

She opened her mouth then looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I suppose I didn’t want them to know you were in my chamber. I didn’t want them to know we were”—she cleared her throat—“doing what married couples do.”

Rory crossed his arms over his chest. Genevieve’s cheeks had gone pink, and he liked the color on her. “It won’t matter if they see me entering your chamber or not—they will assume we are consummating the marriage tonight. Everyone will assume that.”

“Oh, Lord.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “I don’t know how I shall face them in the morning.”

“I thought you said you were not a maiden.”

“That certainly isn’t common knowledge! They will all give me knowing smiles tomorrow and snigger behind their hands. I would have done the same thing in their place, though I can be more circumspect.”

Rory had brought a bottle of wine with him when he came through the adjoining door, and now he went to fetch it and two glasses from her dressing table. “How would you have acted more circumspectly?” he asked, opening the bottle.

“I’d just look at the lady’s face and see if I could detect any changes.”

He held out a glass of the ruby liquid to her. “I think you had better have a glass of this. You look like you need it.”

“Thank you.” She took a long sip.

“I had thought we might toast, but don’t let me stop you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m nervous. My legs have been wobbly all day, and I was just feeling stronger, and now you’re here and they’re trembling again.”

He sipped his wine, needing a moment to control his feelings. She feared him. She was shaking at the thought that he might touch her. “I’m certainly not about to force you to do anything,” he said. “If you’d rather, I’ll say goodnight now.”

He lifted the bottle—he would need it if he was to spend his wedding night alone—and started away.

“Wait!”

He paused, not daring to look back at her. “What is it?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t rather,” she said.

He risked a look over his shoulder. She was clutching the wine glass with both hands in front of her chest. “Pardon?”

“You said ‘if I’d rather you’d say goodnight now.’ I’d rather you stayed. Or I could go to your chamber, if you prefer.”

Heat began in his toes, traveled up his legs, and settled in his belly. His cock stirred at the prospect that it might be needed tonight after all. He held out a hand. “Let’s go, then.”

Even though he’d had Harriet’s chamber stripped and decorated anew after her death, he still felt her lingering there. Harriet had never come to his chamber. He couldn’t even remember her ever opening the door between them.

Genevieve put her hand in his, and he drew her through the adjoining door and into his bedchamber. She looked about with obvious appreciation. “I hadn’t expected this,” she said, gesturing toward the peacock-blue fabrics on the chairs and the bed. Shades of that blue could be found in the rug and the paper on the wall as well.

“I like bright colors,” he said, eyeing her hair. She did look lovely with the blue and gold in his room.

She smiled. “So do I. As a governess, the closest I ever came to wearing colors was the gown I wore for the wedding today. Staff are expected to blend into the background.”

“We’ll have to remedy that,” he said. He hadn’t released her hand, and she didn’t seem to mind. “I’d like to send for a modiste to outfit you and Frances.”

“Frances has certainly grown, and her dresses will be too short and tight in a few months. My wardrobe is good quality, and I don’t have need of anything.”

“Your wardrobe is fitting for a governess. You are my wife now, and you should dress as such.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” She lifted her glass to her lips, but it was empty.

“More wine?”

“Please.”

He refilled her glass, noting her hands were shaking. “Do I really make you that nervous?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She sipped more wine. “Perhaps if we talked for a few minutes before we—” She gestured to the bed.

He tugged her forward and indicated a mahogany chair upholstered in a darker blue with gold filigree on the legs. She sat, and he took the chair opposite. The fire was warm, as now that summer was turning to fall, the evenings had grown chilly. She seemed more at ease now that she was seated, and he thought it was probably the right time to get straight to the point. “I mentioned before I had a few questions.”

“About my past? You should ask them now, of course. Perhaps you should have asked them before the wedding.”

He waved a hand. He wasn’t the sort of man who prized a woman’s virginity above all else. He understood the concept as important only to ensure that a man’s heirs were legitimately his own. “I have only two questions, really,” he said. “The first is whether there is a chance you might be with child. If you are, I’ll acknowledge the child as my own, of course, but I’d rather know the truth of it.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t comprehend then took another sip of her wine. She was drinking more slowly now.

“There is absolutely no chance I am with child,” she said. “It’s been a very long time since I…” She colored. He didn’t want her to flounder, so he nodded and went on.

“And since you were a governess, I feel I should ask if any of the men you worked for took advantage of your position in the household. If so, I’d like the name in case I see the gentleman about Town.” He would make certain to seek the man out, ruin him, then bloody him.

Something of his true intentions must have shown in his face, because she gave him a slight smile.

“I know such things happen, my lord, but I’ve been fortunate enough never to attract that sort of attention. I simply fell in love with a man, and he said he loved me too. Neither of us had money to marry, and eventually our paths diverged.”

Rory didn’t know what he had thought her answer might be, but he hadn’t thought she would say she’d been in love. And he really didn’t anticipate the stab of jealousy he’d feel at hearing she’d been in love with another man. He’d eat hot coals before he let her see that jealousy. The feeling was nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t love her, but she was his wife now. Any man would pause for a moment hearing that his wife had loved another— did love another?

“Do you still love him?” Rory asked, doing his best to keep his tone level.

She stared at the fire in the hearth, seeming to consider. “In a way,” she finally answered. “I suppose a part of me will always love him. But I don’t love him now. I don’t think of him or wish we could be together.”

Rory still didn’t like it, but she had been honest with him, and he supposed that was all he could ask for.

And now he should probably get on with consummating this marriage. He set his wine glass aside.

“Was there anyone for you besides Frances’s mother?” Genevieve asked.

Rory suddenly wanted his wine glass back again. He’d been in the process of rising, and he did so. But instead of going to Genevieve, he went to the fire and stared at the flickering flames. “She was not my first,” he said, “but we married very young, and there had only been one before her. There were only a handful after.”

“A handful” was a bit of an exaggeration. Though he and Harriet had been estranged, he’d kept his wedding vows.

“I’m aware,” he continued, still staring into the fire, “of the speculation.”

“Speculation?” she echoed.

He glanced at her. “I know what people are saying about my travels on the Continent. But far from what has been whispered, I did not visit every city and sample the best of every brothel. I’ve never once touched a woman in a brothel.”

“I don’t imagine you would ever lack for female companionship,” she said.

He almost laughed. He’d lacked for female companionship for years, virtually all the years of his marriage. “You’d be surprised.”

“I haven’t ceased being surprised since I met you.” She rose. “I suppose I have kept you waiting long enough. If you don’t have any other questions, should we begin?” She gestured to the bed.

Rory felt the heat that had been simmering throughout his body shoot straight to his loins. She reached for the knot of her robe, and his heart clenched and began to pound. She fumbled with the knot for a long moment, and he clenched his fists to keep from ripping the garment off her. He wanted to see what she wore beneath. Was it too much to hope it was nothing?

She finally loosened the knot, but then it seemed there was another to undo. She struggled with that one while Rory tried to catch his breath and slow his heart. The knot came loose, and he waited to see her robe part. But there seemed to be yet another knot. “How many times did you knot it?” he asked.

“A few,” she said, glancing up at him before going back to her task. This knot appeared quite secure, and after a dozen heartbeats, he stepped forward.

“May I be of assistance?” If he didn’t lend a hand, he might spend all night watching her struggle with her robe.

“Yes. I apologize.” She lifted her shaking hands. “I’m anxious.”

Rory reached down at lifted the tie at her waist, studying the tight knots. He began pulling at one. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you or force you,” he said. He was close enough now to smell the scent of her soap, which must have had notes of mint, under that the scents of the sachets his housekeeper stored with the clothing, and then, very faintly, a scent that must have been hers. “I’m in no rush,” he said, which was one of the more blatant falsehoods he’d ever told. His fingers were desperate on that damn knot. “We could simply talk tonight and come to know each other better for a few days or weeks…”

“No!”

Her tone was so vehement that he looked up at her face. Her cheeks had gone crimson, her eyes wide with embarrassment. But Rory was even more aroused now as he realized the truth. “You want to lie with me.”

She closed her eyes. “This is mortifying.” She kept her eyes closed. “Of course I want to lie with you. Look at you. What woman wouldn’t want you?”

He could think of one woman, in particular, but for the moment he was speechless.

She opened her eyes. “I don’t understand why you want me .”

Rory did smile then. Her situation was too ridiculous. He had been thinking all night that she didn’t want him, while she’d been worried he didn’t want her. “I wanted you the first time I saw you,” he said. “You have those eyes, that hair, and your gowns tease at a bottom I might someday see if I can ever get this blasted robe off.”

“I’m sorry. The nightrail is thin and transparent, and I didn’t want the robe to come open by accident.”

Thin and transparent . Rory felt his mouth go dry. “Is this your robe?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I found it on the bed after my bath.”

“You have no attachment to it?” he murmured.

“Not particularly.”

“Good.” And he took the tie in both hands, tore the cloth, and watched as the robe fluttered open, revealing what was indeed a very thin, very transparent garment beneath.