Chapter Nineteen

R ory had kissed Frances on the forehead before she went back inside. Bloom had come by the church with Admiral, and she wanted to play with the dog. The groundskeeper had promised to see her safely into Lady Emory’s care.

He envied his daughter her youth. She might weep for a half-hour in his arms and five minutes later laugh and smile and scamper away to play with a dog. He wished he could put away emotions so easily. He still sat near Harriet’s headstone. When he looked at it, his emotions didn’t tend toward grief. Once, he had felt anger when he thought of her. Now only guilt lingered.

He saw something move out of the corner of his eyes and turned to see Genevieve standing nearby. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she said. “But you didn’t come home. Should I leave?”

“No. It’s time for me to go back inside.”

“Frances said she cried so much she ran out of tears,” Genevieve said. “It’s good that she was able to express her grief. I wouldn’t blame you for still grieving Harriet.”

Rory looked up at her. “I’m not grieving her. I can’t seem to…” He shook his head and looked back at the gravestone.

After a few minutes, Genevieve sat beside him. She didn’t speak, simply sat there. When he took her hand, she squeezed his reassuringly.

“I can’t seem to let go of my guilt,” he said, staring at the headstone. “Maybe I’m not meant to.”

“You still believe her death was your fault? Because of the curse?” Genevieve asked, her gaze on the headstone as well.

“I’d believe it was my fault even without the curse,” he said. “I was the one who ordered her to come to Devon. I should have gone to her in London. What sort of man tells his wife to travel so far with two children, and one only an infant?”

Genevieve didn’t speak, and Rory knew she probably didn’t want to hear about his previous marriage, but he also owed her an explanation for his behavior the past few days.

“I think you know that Harriet and I separated early in our marriage. I won’t say she trapped me into matrimony, because I was hellbent on marrying her and nothing would have dissuaded me. I thought I was in love with her.” He stared at the headstone, not wanting to see Genevieve’s face as he spoke.

Rory let out a slow breath. “But the girl I married didn’t exist. While we were betrothed, she pretended she loved me. But once we were wed, she made it clear she couldn’t stand the sight of me. What’s more, she loathed my touch. I was twenty-two and as randy as any man that age, else I would have avoided her bed more than I did. But after Frances was born, we bought Lilacfall Abbey, and I spent more and more time here without her. Soon we spent all our time apart.

“I honored my marriage vows,” he said, finally glancing at Genevieve. “As far as I know, she did too. But I wasn’t a good father. It wasn’t Frances’s fault we separated. I shouldn’t have shut her out of my life. I thought she was too young to notice or even know who I was.”

“She knows who you are now, and you are well on your way to becoming an excellent father.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t say you didn’t have your doubts about me.”

She smiled back. “Maybe a few, but it didn’t take me long to realize that you are not as hardheaded as you pretend to be.” She tapped his head lightly. “Your first instinct is to refuse any and every request. But once you think about it, you’re willing to be reasonable.” She squeezed his hand again. “Your heart is not nearly as hard as your head.”

Her words left him feeling as though his greatcoat had been ripped off in the middle of a blizzard. He was exposed, vulnerable, and he wanted to burrow into the ground and hide there. Instead, he took a breath, and then another.

“It might have been more beneficial if I’d had a harder heart,” he said. “I would have given up on Harriet and our marriage years before she died. Instead, I tried to reconcile. Shortly after my twenty-ninth birthday, I went to London and made every attempt to woo Harriet. I bought her dresses, diamonds, took her to the theater and one ball after another. She’d always resented how, after our marriage, I had control of her dowry. I’m a younger son, and my father made it clear that, once I was of age, I’d receive nothing from him. I would have gone into the army if I hadn’t met Harriet. I wasn’t looking for an heiress, but when I was courting her, she made clear, over and over again, the benefits her large dowry would have for our lives.”

“She wanted your family connections,” Genevieve said. “To marry the son of the Duke of Tralee.”

“Yes. My father warned me she only wanted to be Lady Emory, but I thought she loved me. In the end, he was right.” Rory shook his head. “He won’t ever let me forget it, either. I thought giving her gowns and jewelry and escorting her to the most exclusive Society balls might mend things between us. They didn’t, and it wasn’t even a month before I returned to Lilacfall Abbey. But I was there long enough for her to become pregnant with my son.” Rory squeezed his eyes shut. “I should have gone back to London. I should have been there when he was born. I should have gone to her, not demanded she come to me. Even without a curse, the journey would have been difficult and dangerous at that time of year. The roads might be icy, and the weather is rainy and unpredictable.”

“It was an accident, Rory. You can’t blame yourself.”

“And maybe I could move past it if I hadn’t made another grievous error.” He looked at Genevieve, whose green eyes were filled with concern. “You asked me if I thought marrying you had been a mistake. The truth is, yes. It was a mistake.”

He hated the pain he saw flicker in her eyes. She tried to hide it by quickly looking away, but he’d seen the way her mouth trembled, and her entire body seemed to start in shock at his words. He should have said it differently.

“Genevieve—”

“I should go inside,” she said. “Frances will want something to eat.” She gathered her skirts as though to rise.

“Mrs. Mann will fetch it. I didn’t mean it the way you think.” He grasped her wrist. “Do you know where I went a few days ago?”

She shook her head, still keeping her eyes downcast. Could she not bear to look at him? Harriet hadn’t liked looking at him either. She’d always looked at a spot just above his head, never directly at him.

“I went into the village and bought the tea set for Frances. But I also walked about, taking the time to think.”

Genevieve’s gaze locked with his. “About what? The counter-spell? I know you were upset about the letter from your friend.”

“I can’t get it out of my mind—the counter-spell or the curse. I came to a conclusion I hadn’t considered before.”

Genevieve sank to her knees. “And whatever that was, it changed everything.”

“I realized there’s no reason to believe the curse ended. I’m most likely still cursed. Why should having my wife and son taken away be the end of it? Maybe by marrying you, I’ve put you in danger.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You wanted to know why I’ve been avoiding you the past few days.”

Her expression changed then from one of disbelief to concern.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want Frances to lose you. It’s possible, if I come to care for you, I’ll bring the curse down on you. I shouldn’t have married you. You’re too easy to fall in love with. And I can’t let that happen.”

*

Genevieve stared at him. Had she heard him correctly? He was falling in love with her?

“One night with you,” he said, “and all I can think about is you. I can’t let that happen again.”

Genevieve sat down hard on her bottom. Her head was spinning, and she felt a mixture of relief—she hadn’t done anything wrong—and fear—Rory might allow this curse to come between them. She straightened her shoulders. She was stronger than any curse. Even if she’d believed in witchcraft, she would not have felt helpless against it. Good always overcame evil, and this curse was simply evil. Love was good and pure and true. Just let this witch try to harm her or Frances.

“And what if I don’t agree?” Genevieve said.

“I don’t understand.”

“What if I don’t agree to stay out of your bed? What if I want you to fall in love with me? What if I am falling in love with you right back?”

“You can’t—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. “I don’t want to be separated from you. I didn’t marry you just to care for Frances. I married you because I like you, and because you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and, well, I couldn’t really say no to that face.”

He raised his brows.

“And I am not about to allow some words an angry woman screamed at you seventeen years ago ruin my life. The curse doesn’t even make sense.”

“It does.”

She glared at him. “ Take tooth of giant; seize nail of dragon. What does that mean? There aren’t giants or dragons. Don’t tell me you believe in those now too?”

“I didn’t take that phrase literally.”

“Then why take the rest literally? She was trying to scare you. Perhaps she’d read Macbeth and devised her own ‘boil and trouble’ speech. But I refuse to believe that even the most powerful witch can cause a carriage accident. She can’t do that any more than she can cause your friend to gamble away his property or a duke to commit treason and be attainted by the House of Lords. It’s coincidence. Awful coincidence.” She took Rory’s too-handsome face in her hands. She had forgotten her gloves, and her cold fingers brushed over his warm cheeks. “Don’t let her ruin what we have, Rory. Let me love you.”

His gaze was unreadable, but she couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss him. Perhaps he’d push her away and reject all she’d said. But she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try one last time.

She brushed her lips over his, and their mouths heated as they came together. The kiss was soft and tentative, and then Rory put his arms around her, pulling her close. She drank him in, kissing him with all the pent-up desire she’d felt these past days. She couldn’t quite stop her mind from chanting: He’s falling in love with you. He’s falling in love with you! She didn’t try to stop herself from savoring his warmth and the feel of his arms around her.

Abruptly, he pulled her to her feet. “If we keep this up, I’ll end up taking you on my dead wife’s grave, and as much as I disliked her, I won’t be that callous.”

“I much prefer a bed and seeing you undressed. Don’t lock me out tonight, Rory,” she whispered. “Forget about witches and curses, and let’s just be happy.”

They walked back to the house together and spent the rest of the day with Frances. Genevieve stole looks at Rory when she could, but his expression told her nothing. By the time she went to her chamber, bathed, and dressed for bed, she had no idea if he’d changed his mind.

Only one way to find out. She’d heard Chaffer leave a few minutes before, and now she took her hair out of its ribbon, stepped out of her nightrail, and padded, naked, to their adjoining door. She tapped on it, then, without waiting for a reply, lifted the latch. The door opened, and she let out the breath she’d been holding…until Rory turned from the hearth and looked at her.

His eyes widened and slid from her face down to her toes and then slowly, very slowly, back up again. Her breath caught in her throat at the way his gaze roamed over her. She’d known going to him naked was a bold choice, but perhaps it was too bold? He had said he didn’t like demure women. She was proving to be the opposite of demure.

Rory set his glass on the mantel and crooked a finger at her. “Come here.” She started walking, and he held up a hand. “Slowly.”

She slowed, taking her time reaching him. When she was within arm’s reach, she heard his quick intake of breath. His eyes burned into her face now, and there was no mistaking the desire there. He’d already discarded his coat, waistcoat, and boots, and now she reached for his waistband and tugged his shirt free. The buttons at the throat were unfastened, and his neckcloth hung down in a snowy river. She pulled the shirt up, exposing his abdomen and chest, then pulled the garment free and dropped it on the floor.

She reached out and placed her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers then sliding her hands down to grasp his own. His were clenched in fists at his sides, and she gently opened them and brought them to her hips. As soon as he touched her, she shivered. His hands closed on her flesh and slid over her hips, along her bottom, then up her back. He bent to kiss her, sliding his tongue lazily into her mouth as a hand skated down her back, following the line of her spine. She trembled when he reached her tailbone, and he grasped her bottom and pulled her against his straining erection.

He kissed her deeper, his hands roving over her to trace the curve of her breast. He’d claimed her mouth, arousing her with lips and tongue, and then his mouth roamed like his hands, finding all the sensitive spots beneath her jaw, behind her earlobe, at the base of her throat.

She was warm, too warm, and her brain felt like cream, but she managed to slip her hands down to his waistband and loose the fall. He came free into her hands, and she blew out a breath in appreciation of his hard girth. But when she reached to take him in her hands, he stepped back, slid the trousers off, and grasped her hand. He pulled her toward the bed, and she followed willingly, admiring the view of his tight backside.

This time he pulled her onto the bed with him, facing her on his side, and pulling her close enough to kiss. Time seemed to spin out as their lips met in soft, slow kisses. His hands moved slowly as well, learning every inch of her body and finding all of the places she was most sensitive. Genevieve had never been touched like this, kissed like this. Past matings had been frantic and fueled by the heat of desire. She hadn’t known that desire could be stoked and kindled until it infused every inch of her. When Rory finally slipped a hand between her legs to find her slick center, she was so aroused that she couldn’t stop a cry of pleasure. His hands on her felt so very, very good.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her, his gaze on hers as he parted her folds and slid one finger inside. She inhaled sharply as he slid the finger deep then withdrew and inserted two. She groaned, eyes still on his. The heat in his gaze told her he was enjoying this almost as much as she. His thumb found her most sensitive place and slid over it lightly. She jumped, bucking her hips as pleasure spiraled out. “I want you inside me,” she whispered, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw.

“In a moment,” he murmured. “I want to see you climax.”

Genevieve knew she should be mortified at the thought of him watching her in so intimate a moment, but somehow she never felt the need to hold back with him. Why not show him how much she wanted him and how much his touch aroused her?

The stroke of his thumb became even lighter, making her body strain for contact and reach for release. “Rory!” she cried, and he caught her mouth in a kiss. Then, drawing back, he withdrew his fingers, only to slide them in again, so very slowly, until he filled her. His thumb whispered against that tight bud that seemed to be all she could think of, and she gasped as she convulsed and tipped over the edge. She tried to open her eyes, to meet his gaze so he could see how what he did pleased her, but the force of the climax seemed to strip everything away until she shuddered and went limp.

Rory’s mouth on her cheeks was gentle as he kissed her and murmured, “You’re so beautiful. I want you.”

“Yes,” she managed, though her body felt boneless and thrummed with aftershocks. She tried to lift her leg so he might slide into her, but he rose and pressed her onto her belly, sliding his hands down her back to cup her bottom again. She opened her eyes and looked back at him. She’d seen farm animals mate this way, but had never thought she might do so. He tugged her hips up and spread her legs with a knee. She felt the hard length of him on her tender sex, still slick and pulsing from orgasm. Slowly, he slid inside her, and she gasped as the ebbing pleasure of her climax was immediately enhanced.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“No.” She slid back, wanting to take more of him. When he was buried to the hilt, he rocked gently inside her, causing her sensitive breasts to slide against the bedclothes. He caressed her back, her hips, her bottom, kneading it as he began to breathe faster. Then, without warning, he pulled her tighter against him, lifting her back higher and reaching to fondle her breast so the tender nipple hardened. His hand traveled down her body until it settled between her legs, stroking her in that most sensitive place while he rocked deeper inside her.

“Rory,” she gasped as pleasure began to build again.

“You like that,” he said, and it was a confirmation, not a question. “You feel even better than I imagined. Genevieve, I can’t hold on much longer.”

She could feel him swelling, feel his thrusts becoming faster and harder. But his fingers were gentle and insistent, bringing her higher and closer to peak until, finally, she pressed her hand over his and felt the orgasm rip through her. He groaned and stilled, buried deep within her. She clenched around him, released, clenched again until she felt as though she might float away on the gloriousness of it all.

Gently, he eased out of her, lying beside her and pulling her close. She snuggled close to him and fell into sleep.

*

Rory did not regret allowing Genevieve to persuade him that the curse wouldn’t touch her just because he cared for her. He hadn’t regretted it that first night, or the three times the next day, or just about every night afterward. She was completely uninhibited, willing to try anything he liked and easy to pleasure. She didn’t need to tell him he aroused her just by looking at her. He could see she wanted him, found him desirable, sought his touch.

The feeling of being desired by the woman he wanted was novel, and he found himself seeking her out at all hours of the day and wanting to hold her every night.

He wasn’t convinced she was safe from the curse, but after their discussion in the graveyard, he’d realized that love and affection might have no bearing. Harriet had been killed, and he hadn’t loved her by that time. So perhaps love really had nothing to do with it.

He certainly hoped not, because his feelings for Genevieve were growing, and not only because she pleased him in bed. In the next couple of weeks, he spent as much time as he could with his wife and daughter. Genevieve seemed to have an endless supply of ideas for fun and games. She didn’t forget Frances’s lessons either, and her approach made learning much more enjoyable than his tutors had ever made it. The family had taken to spending the evenings in the drawing room with books and a fire. Mrs. Brooking had found several books Genevieve and her sister had enjoyed as children, and sent them home with Genevieve one afternoon after she’d gone to visit. Rory watched Frances read one now, her finger following the line of words, her little tongue stuck in one corner of her mouth, and her glasses slipping slowly down the bridge of her nose. Harriet was beside her, as always, but since their talk in the graveyard, the doll had been more of a companion than an appendage.

Genevieve sat beside Frances and read a novel. Rory himself didn’t care for novels. He had the paper before him, but nothing in the stories about war or Parliament seemed to interest him as much as his wife and daughter.

Genevieve and Frances looked up in unison as the door to the drawing room opened, and Gables entered with a silver salver. Rory felt his hands curl into fists around the paper. He knew that salver. Knew it was a letter. Gables said as much, then held the tray out to him. Rory recognized Henry’s handwriting immediately and lifted the letter.

“When did this arrive?” he asked.

“Earlier today, my lord. One of the footmen received it and forgot to give it to me until just now. I assure you, he has been spoken to, my lord, and he will be punished.”

Rory waved a hand, dismissing Gables. The letter seemed warm in his hand. From the corner of his eye, he saw Genevieve stand and hold out a hand to Frances. “Time for bed, I think,” she said.

“Nooooo!” Frances said before putting a hand over her mouth. “I mean, may I read a little longer?”

“That was nicely done, Frances,” Genevieve said. “But no. Come on. I’ll tell you a story if you hurry with your toilette.”

“Fine.” Frances stomped to Rory, gave him a kiss on the cheek, which was a new addition to her bedtime routine, and then stomped out the door.

Genevieve gave him a concerned look. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

“It’s fine,” he said, hoping he sounded more optimistic than he felt. From the look on her face, he hadn’t succeeded.

When the door closed, he broke the seal on the letter and skimmed over Henry’s greeting. He’d wanted to write sooner, but circumstances and so on. The heart of the letter was that he’d been given another part of the counter-spell. He hadn’t seen the woman who passed it to a lad holding his horse, but the boy had said she had an accent Henry thought was most likely Scottish. He hadn’t wasted much time on the circumstances of receiving the spell. Instead, he had copied it in his large, looping hand.

If true love they find, they may return to thestart.

Changed, they may offer a sacrifice of theheart.

Then he’d added King’s part and put it all together.

Procure petal of flower, dash of dust of thefae.

Combine now in this goblet, please if youmay.

Hear me now, great goddess of good andlight.

Take mercy on these children. Ease theirplight.

Lose they may all they holddear,

But open a path to clean thesmear.

If true love they find, they may return to thestart.

Changed, they may offer a sacrifice of theheart.

Rory didn’t know how long he stared at the words. They swam in front of him by the time the drawing room door opened and Genevieve returned. “What’s wrong?” she said as soon as she stepped inside. She knelt before him, touched his cheek. “No fever.”

“I’m fine,” he croaked.

“It’s the letter?” she asked, crossing the room to the brandy decanter and pouring him three fingers. “Drink this,” she said, her skirts swishing as she moved back to him. He took a sip and set the glass down.

“Really. I’m fine.” He lifted the letter. “Read it.”

She did read it, and when she finished, she lifted his brandy and finished it in one swallow.

Rory raised his brows. “Thirsty?”

“Terrified,” she said.

“I thought you didn’t believe in witchcraft.”

“I don’t.” She went to the brandy and poured another three fingers, bringing it back to him. He took it, sipped, and this time held on to the snifter. “But I know you do, and I’m scared you’ll take this to heart, and”—she swiped at her eyes, and he realized she was about to cry—“push me away again.”

Rory put the snifter down and rose, taking her in his arms and kissing the top of her red curls. “It’s too late for that now,” he said. “It was probably too late before I married you. You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

She looked up at him. “I don’t want to be rid of you. But the spell—” She shook her head. “I don’t like it.”

“Which part? The finding true love?”

“The sacrifice. A sacrifice is never good, Rory.”

“Well, if it was easy to rid oneself of a curse, everyone would do it.”

She laughed and gave him a playful punch in the back. “I couldn’t seem to focus on anything after I read the spell. How does the duke end the letter?”

“He says he thinks we should return to Scotland. He’s written to King as well to see if he agrees. If so, we’ll meet there—at St. Andrew’s.”

“The school you attended? You said you never wanted to go back there.”

“I don’t, but I may not have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, but if you feel it’s something you must do, I want to go with you.”

He shook his head.

“And don’t argue. I won’t let you do this alone. Besides, if I don’t go, who will keep you from killing the headmaster? The last thing we need is your being brought up on murder charges.”

“I’m sure the man is no longer there.”

“And if he is?”

“Then you’re right. I’ll have to kill him.”