Chapter Seventeen

G enevieve did not know what to do. Rory was sleeping beside her, and she wasn’t certain if she should go back to her own chamber or if she was welcome in his. After his climax, he’d kissed her and rolled onto his back. She’d risen to wash, and when she returned, he was asleep. She’d donned her nightrail again and climbed back into bed, and now she lay beside him and stared at the shapes the firelight made on the ceiling.

Every few seconds, she peeked over at Rory and felt her heart skip. He was her husband now, and she had to keep peeking at him to believe it. Even in sleep, he was so handsome he made her nervous. He might have been even more handsome when he was sleeping, she thought, rolling onto her side and propping herself onto her elbow to study him. She’d tossed the bedclothes over him so he wouldn’t be cold, but they only covered him from the waist down. He had such a lean waist, and she followed it up to that muscled chest and broad shoulders. Where had he acquired those muscles? At one point, she’d wrapped a hand around his arm and had felt how hard his bicep was.

She felt like a voyeur but couldn’t stop herself from studying his face. He had a strong jaw, rather square until it tapered into the longer, more refined lines of his nose and cheeks. From the slant of his brows to the straight line of his nose, his features reflected perfection. He usually had a very stern expression, his lips pressed tight, but in sleep his mouth was soft and his features relaxed. She lifted a hand and traced his mouth, her finger hovering just above the skin. She could have spent hours kissing those lips. No two times he had kissed her had been the same, and in every kiss, he seemed to be thinking only of her arousal and what he could do to heighten it.

She was not overly experienced. She’d only had one lover and a handful of trysts. She hadn’t been unhappy with those experiences. After the first time, the act itself had been pleasurable. She knew that wasn’t always the case. Genevieve had heard enough women bemoaning having to do their duty with their husbands to understand that many men did not care if a woman found any pleasure at all. It seemed the more handsome a man was, the less he cared and the less effort he made—at least, that was the consensus among the fairer sex of her acquaintance.

And yet, handsome as Rory was, he’d made quite a lot of effort. She’d known what he was doing when he kissed her between her legs. She’d heard of such things, but she had never imagined she would be the recipient. There wasn’t any pleasure for the man in doing that. As a husband, Rory didn’t need to concern himself with her pleasure, but he had made every effort.

Even when he’d been inside her, he’d moved slowly and skillfully, bringing her very close to a second climax. She might have orgasmed with him if she hadn’t been distracted by the way he looked at her as he found fulfillment.

She had loved the man who was her first—at least, she thought she had loved him—but she had never shared anything so intimate with anyone as she had with Rory. She wished he hadn’t gone to sleep. She’d never have enough courage to ask if he had felt as she did about what they’d shared, but perhaps he would have given her some indication.

Genevieve lay back on her pillow and wondered again about what she should do. Stay or go? He hadn’t asked her to stay, but he hadn’t told her to go. Still, if she stayed, the servants would see her in his bed in the morning. Rory had teased her about being too loud. She had loved seeing he had a lighter side, was capable of teasing her, but she thought she would be mortified enough knowing someone might have heard her in the midst of lovemaking. She didn’t relish the idea of waking up to the staff sending covert looks at her in Rory’s bed.

Decided, Genevieve crawled out of bed, found her robe and the tattered tie, and slipped through the adjoining door to her own room. The weather had begun to turn colder, especially at night, and her feet felt like blocks of ice when she finally climbed into her own bed. Unlike the bed she’d had as a governess, this one was large and possessed a very soft mattress. Rory had said he had the chamber refurbished after his first wife died. This was not Harriet’s bed, and the furnishings were not hers, and yet she must have lain in her own bed, probably against this very wall of the room, and stared at this very ceiling.

Had Rory lain in bed beside her? Genevieve had the impression that their marriage had faltered very early. Had Harriet lain in her bed alone, Rory sleeping in the next room? Surely there had been nights when he kissed Harriet, held her, made love to her. Had he done all of the things with her that he’d done with Genevieve? Why had they become estranged? Was it true that Harriet had tricked him into believing she loved him, or was it something else?

Upon first meeting Rory, she would have placed the blame on him. He could be dictatorial and stubborn. He didn’t like to be told what to do or have his shortcomings pointed out. What man or woman did? But when she pointed out his mistakes, he had acted to rectify them. He hadn’t exactly knelt at Genevieve’s feet and said, “You were right about everything,” but he’d made sure Frances had glasses and mementos from her mother.

And he’d married Genevieve.

She had to remember he hadn’t married her because he wanted a wife but because he thought Frances needed a mother. He hadn’t been wrong. Frances had obviously had a close relationship with the woman, and when her mother died, she’d been sent away by her father, who then disappeared. Of course the child had rebelled. She needed her father to make a commitment to ensuring she had a stable environment. A mother could nurture her and love her, and keep Rory grounded.

Genevieve had just never imagined she would be the person who was tasked with doing all of that.

She hoped she was up to the undertaking.

*

“Why are you in here?”

Genevieve opened her eyes and blinked at the figure in her room. Was this her room? She didn’t recognize it or the bed she was sleeping in. She pushed her hair out of her eyes—she’d forgotten to braid it again—and sat up, trying to find her bearings.

“I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

Genevieve realized the figure speaking was Rory. At the same time, she realized sunlight filtered through the closed drapes of the bedchamber. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Half past nine,” he said.

“Frances!” Genevieve stumbled out of bed and tried to remember where the clothespress in this chamber was located. She was halfway across the room when she realized she should pull the bell and summon Molly to help her dress.

“She’s fine,” Rory said. “We breakfasted together. No flapjacks this morning, though, much to her disappointment.”

Genevieve paused. “You and she… Why did no one wake me?”

“Every new bride deserves to sleep late the day after her wedding,” he said.

Genevieve hadn’t exactly forgotten she was a bride, but hearing him say it brought back all the memories of the night before. She glanced at him, her gaze falling to his mouth. She couldn’t stop herself imagining that mouth on her breast and then her belly, and then… She felt her cheeks heat.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking about,” he said, “but the look on your face right now has put me in mind of picking you up and carrying you to bed again.”

Genevieve realized she was still wearing the flimsy nightrail, and she was standing in the middle of the room in nothing else. Her nipples had gone hard, and he could probably see that very clearly. She would have liked to strip off the nightrail and tell him to go ahead and take her to bed. She’d been so worried this morning would be awkward, and she wouldn’t know whether to acknowledge what they’d shared last night or pretend nothing had happened.

“Do I snore?” he asked.

Genevieve blinked. “I have no idea.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She had to attend to Frances and couldn’t have him dragging her back to bed, no matter how much she wanted him to.

“Then why did you leave my bed?”

“I didn’t know whether you wanted me to stay,” she said, feeling a bubble of happiness rise within her. Rory had wanted her to stay with him last night!

“I suppose I did rather roll over and go to sleep. Tonight, I want you to stay.”

Tonight? He wanted to bed her again tonight ? That must mean he liked what they’d done. She had liked it, but she wasn’t sure if he had felt what she had. The connection, that was, not the pleasure. It was rather obvious when a man experienced pleasure, even if she hadn’t been watching his beautiful face when he climaxed.

He cocked his head. “You look as though you don’t want to wait until tonight. I’ll tell Chaffer to get the hell out and—”

“I need to see to Frances this morning.” Genevieve had hardly spent any time with the girl last night. Before Rory could convince her his daughter could wait, she went to the bellpull and tugged it hard. “You’ll have to wait until tonight to carry me to bed.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, and the tone of his voice made her shiver.

Then he stepped back through the door of their adjoining chamber, and though she should have washed her face or cleaned her teeth, she stood by the bellpull staring after him like a besotted puppy.

Finally, Molly arrived, and Genevieve, who was quick about her morning toilette, was ready just a few minutes later and on her way to the nursery. She found Frances playing with Harriet and Marcella, while Mary looked on. As soon as she entered, Mary curtseyed and said, “Good morning, my lady.”

Genevieve glanced at her face, checking for any signs she knew what Genevieve had been doing last night, but the young maid wasn’t hiding a smile or trying not to laugh. “Good morning, Mary. I’m not quite used to being called my lady yet. I suppose we can’t go back to you calling me Genevieve ?”

Mary shook her head. “No, my lady.”

“Miss Genevieve!” Frances exclaimed, almost knocking Genevieve over with the force of her hug. She bent to hug the girl back.

“Good morning to you!” She looked up at Mary. “You’re dismissed. Go to your chamber and rest. If Mrs. Mann says you must do some chore or other, tell her I said you are not to lift a finger for at least three hours.”

Mary opened her mouth in surprise. “Thank you, my lady.”

Genevieve waved a hand then hugged Frances again. “I’ve missed you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

She pulled back and studied Frances’s face, which was clean. Her hair had been brushed and pulled into two plaits. “I know, but yesterday was so busy, I hardly had any time with you. Did you miss me?”

“No. I made two new friends—Kitty and Portia.”

Genevieve raised her brows. “Who are they?”

“They live over the road that way.” Frances pointed toward a wall. “They came because their papa is friends with my papa.”

Genevieve had a vague memory of three little girls running about outside the window yesterday while she was besieged with well-wishers attempting to engage her in conversation. It must have been Frances and these two little girls, probably daughters of local gentry Rory felt he should invite. Genevieve was certain she had met them, but she had met so many people. She had no idea how Rory had managed to attract such a crowd with only a couple hours’ notice of the wedding. “I’m very glad you had someone your own age to play with. I worried you might have been lonely.”

“I was lonely at bedtime. I wanted you to tell me a story, but Mary said you were a wife now and couldn’t always tuck me into bed. Did you have to tuck Papa into bed?”

Genevieve bit her lip to keep from laughing. “No. I promise I will tuck you into bed tonight.”

“Good. Mr. Chaffer can tuck Papa in.”

Genevieve smiled, thinking what the valet would say if he were to overhear. “Do you know what I was thinking?”

Frances shook her head.

“We haven’t done any math in two days. I wager you have forgotten how to find the sum of two numbers.”

“I haven’t!”

“Fetch your slate and show me. I need to know the sum of four and three. Hurry now!”

Two hours later, Genevieve and Frances had done math, French, and a little penmanship. When they heard Admiral barking, Genevieve agreed it was time for fresh air. The day was sunny, but there was a chill in the air. She stuffed Frances into her coat and donned her own, following the girl outside. Her nose was cold after twenty minutes, and the groundskeeper agreed to watch the girl and dog while Genevieve fetched a scarf.

She was halfway up the stairs when she saw Gables come out of Rory’s library.

“Gables, is Lord Emory in the library?” she asked.

“He is…my lady.”

Of all the servants, Genevieve knew the upper servants, like Gables and Mrs. Mann, would be the slowest to accept her in her new position. People often said it was the upper classes who frowned upon anyone marrying below their class. While that was true, it was often the servants of a household who were the most rigid about enforcing hierarchy. She had turned everything upside down by marrying the master. Now she ranked above them, and that would take some time for them to accept.

Genevieve turned and descended the steps. “Thank you, Gables,” she said, which was a sort of dismissal. He sniffed and went on his way, and Genevieve tapped on the closed door of the library.

“What now?” Rory snapped. He probably thought she was still Gables, though the butler would have tapped and then entered without waiting for a response.

Genevieve opened the door a sliver. “May I come in?”

Silence for a long moment. “Yes.”

She pushed the door wider, and Rory stood. “What is it?” He seemed concerned, and she realized he probably thought she had come about a problem with Frances.

“Everything is fine.” She pushed the door closed and walked toward the fire, which felt good against her chilled skin. “I just wanted to see you.” She removed her gloves and stuck her hands out to catch the warmth.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Why?”

She hadn’t expected the question or this response, and was beginning to feel like an idiot. She was aware husbands and wives usually spent their days separately, each attending to their own affairs. She hadn’t remembered this until now. Her first impulse was to make an excuse and flee, but he quirked a brow at her, and she realized his question was still hanging between them.

“Because I like you,” she said, because she couldn’t think of any other answer to his question but the truth.

His expression changed from one of confusion to shock to what she hoped she read correctly as pleasure. And still he stared at her as though no one had ever told him they liked him before.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your work. I should go—”

“No. Stay.”

Oh, thank goodness he wasn’t ushering her out. First, because she was still cold, and the fire was lovely. Second, because if he wanted her to stay, perhaps he liked her too. “I cannot stay long,” she told him. “Frances is outside playing with Admiral. Mr. Bloom is watching them.”

Rory came around the desk. “Bloom will keep an eye on her. He was a midshipman in the navy for years before he came to work for me. If he can manage sailors, he can manage Frances.” He moved closer to her, and Genevieve began to feel too warm. Perhaps she should step away from the fire. “Not as well as you, of course,” he said. “You could put Admiral Nelson to shame with your ability at imposing discipline.”

“Not at all. Frances wants discipline. Children often act out so they might learn what the limits are and how they can better observe them.”

Rory crossed his arms. “You are saying that children deliberately misbehave so they might learn how to behave better?”

“That’s one reason for misbehavior. I believe it is Frances’s reason. Otherwise, it would have been much more difficult for me to manage her.”

To her surprise, Rory laughed. Genevieve straightened. “Why is that amusing?”

“Because I can’t imagine it being difficult for you to manage anyone. You crook your finger, and we all rush to do your bidding.”

“Is that so?” She rather liked the image his words brought to mind. What was the harm in testing it? Genevieve pointed a finger at him, deliberately crooked it, and motioned for him to come closer.

*

No woman had ever summoned him like this, and yet Rory was not about to argue with her. Genevieve liked him. She’d said she liked him. He knew she liked him, else she would never have kissed him that first time during the game of hide-and-seek. She wouldn’t have participated so enthusiastically in their lovemaking last night if she hadn’t liked him. And yet he hadn’t expected her to seek him out today, especially after he awakened alone this morning. When he’d reached over and felt the cold space where she should have been, he began to wonder if he’d misjudged. She might have been pretending to like him so he would marry her.

In which case, why was she still pretending?

And did it even matter? He’d gone into this marriage because Frances needed a mother. It didn’t matter if Genevieve liked him or not. He was providing her with security, his daughter with another parent, and himself with…well, all the benefits of marriage. She didn’t need to like him.

But the way she was smiling, the way she was looking at him right now—no one was that good of an actress. Were they?

He didn’t care. He crossed the space between them, caught her outstretched hand in his, and brought it to his lips to kiss. But just as he moved to release her hand, she reached out a finger and stroked his lips. Rory stood quite still, his body reacting to the contact as predicted, but his brain behaving as though he’d just been slammed over the head with a tree branch. He couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.

She ran her finger over his lower lip, tugged it down gently, then slid it into his mouth. He must have opened his mouth to allow the entrance, but he didn’t remember doing so. The next thing he knew, he’d closed his lips on her finger and sucked gently.

Her eyes were a dark green as she reached out and grasped his cravat. She pulled him against her body, and her finger was replaced with her mouth. The soft feel of her lips against his shocked his brain into activity. Rory wrapped his arms about his wife and returned the kiss. He should have kept things between them light and playful. It was the middle of the day, and they might be interrupted at any moment. But as soon as he felt the heat of her against him, as soon as her lips pressed against his, insistent and demanding, he wanted her enough to forget about anything else.

With one quick sweep, he lifted her off her feet and deposited her on one of the couches flanking the fireplace. She pulled him down on top of her and made a sound of pleasure when he slid over her. Desire shot through him, and he felt like he had at seventeen, when he experienced his first kiss and was thrilled that the pretty daughter of the local baker wanted to kiss him.

He wasn’t seventeen anymore, but the excitement of being wanted was still just as potent. Genevieve wanted him. She was eager to kiss him, touch him, be with him. Her desire freed his own. She hadn’t wanted anything when she’d come into the library but to see him. She wanted him and wouldn’t make an excuse to escape his touch or chastise him for behaving like a brute.

Genevieve’s mouth had trailed to his jaw and then the sensitive flesh of his neck, but now she paused. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing,” he said, though he knew why she asked. He’d tensed and pulled away from her slightly. She must have attributed his actions to her own.

“You don’t like that?” she asked, gesturing to his neck. “Where do you like to be kissed?”

“I do like it,” he said. “I like everywhere you kiss me.” As though to prove it, he took her mouth with his again, then reached down and began to slide the hem of her dress up. His fingers caressed her stocking-clad calf as he did so, and his breathing quickened as he thought about her silky skin above the stocking.

“My lord.” The door swung open, and Rory looked up to see Gables step inside, carrying the small silver tray he used to deliver the mail. The butler’s gaze shifted to Genevieve, and he turned without a word and stepped out of the door, closing it after him.

“Please tell me that was not Gables,” she moaned.

“Fine. I won’t tell you.”

“How mortifying.” She pushed the hair that had come loose and fallen over one eye out of the way.

“He’ll never say a word about it,” Rory told her, helping her by tucking the stray hair behind her ear.

“But he’ll look at me,” she said. “And I will never be able to meet his gaze again. If I do, I’ll probably turn as red as a turnip.”

“You look pretty when your cheeks are pink,” he said. Her green eyes widened, and her cheeks, which had been returning to their usual color, flushed again.

“You think I’m pretty?” she asked.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said. She pulled him down for another kiss, and this time he was certain Gables would make sure they were not disturbed.

“My lord.” Gables’s voice came from outside the door.

Rory sighed and lifted his head.

“I do not wish to disturb you,” came the muffled voice, “but you did instruct me to bring you any correspondence from Lord Kingston immediately upon receipt.”

“Damn it.” Rory pushed up and straightened his cravat. Beside him, Genevieve also scrambled up, tugging her skirts down and her bodice up. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I understand. I know you are worried about your friend.” She reached for her hair, which Rory was relatively certain could not be repaired without the help of her maid. “I shouldn’t have left Frances so long. I’ll leave you to your correspondence.”

Rory put a hand on her arm. He had no doubt King’s letter would concern the curse or his reduced circumstances, which he blamed on the curse. Rory had lived with the consequences of it for the last eight months now. He’d dealt with the anguish and the regret and the guilt on his own. He didn’t know if having Genevieve with him would help, but he knew he didn’t want to read King’s letter alone.

“Would you stay?” he asked, eschewing his first impulse to simply order her to stay.

Her green eyes softened to the color of a soft moss. “Of course.”

“I know you don’t believe in this curse or witches—what sane person would?—but perhaps a dose of skepticism is exactly what I need. Gables, come in.” Rory moved to his desk, pulling Genevieve with him.

The butler entered, keeping his gaze a good foot above the heads of Rory and Genevieve. It didn’t stop color from creeping into Genevieve’s cheeks. She ducked her head and stood beside Rory’s chair. He took the letter from the salver and dismissed the butler. The door to the library hadn’t clicked into place before Rory broke the letter’s seal and began to read.