Chapter 13

CHAPTER13

Garmon had demanded she be ready by eight tonight and when she stepped up into the carriage, he drew her into his arms and kissed her with urgent heat, tempered by a tenderness that had not been there in their earlier exchanges. She felt it in the caress of his lips, the stroke of his tongue and the touch of his hands. He held her and kissed her as if she were something precious. It filled her heart to overflowing and made it ache. Because tonight, was their last night together.

He broke the kiss and said “We will spend tonight in an hotel, the whole night. I will return you at eight in the morning and not a moment before. We have twelve hours to savour each other, I intend to do so to the fullest capacity.”

She swallowed and nodded. Twelve hours. It was more than twice as long as any of their other encounters. He couldn’t surely, propose to make love to her for all of that time? She recalled the marathon of their second night together, when he took her to a place of sensitivity and arousal, she had never dreamed was possible. Did he intend a replay of that scenario? Her flesh twitched and throbbed at the notion even as her heart quailed.

Last night he had ravished her in public, like a common, Covent Garden whore. Yet it was deliciously, illicitly, wicked. She had never known she could be so wanton until Garmon took her on his desk that first night. She had never envisioned the half of what they had done in the last week.

“Keep your head down and your hood up,” he said as the carriage drew to a halt. She let him help her down from the carriage and shepherd her up the steps of Grenier’s Hotel. The Concierge recognised him and directed him to the stairs with much bowing and scraping. She listened to him order a meal and wine to be delivered to their room, which he had clearly booked earlier. She kept her face hidden and let him lead her up the sweeping staircase to the second floor. Where they were shown into a sumptuous suite of sitting room and bedroom. The Concierge, tipped handsomely for his service, was dismissed, and they were alone.

The room was beautifully and richly appointed with thick Aubusson carpets beneath their feet, luxurious velvet curtains in a deep burgundy with gold tassels and stylish and elegant gilt trimmed chairs and tables and a large very comfortable looking couch drawn up to the fire. Paintings, ornaments and vases of flowers finished the decor and gave it a homely feel, as if this were a private residence rather than a public room for hire. Candelabra gave sufficient light to see while providing the right note of intimacy. The fire had been burning for some time and the room was toasty warm.

“Let me take your cloak,” he said standing behind her and unlacing it. Drawing it off her shoulders he took the opportunity to kiss her neck and shoulder, his hand tracing a caress over her arm. Casting the cloak aside over a chair, he pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms around her stomach. “Do you like the room?”

“It’s magnificent. I’ve never seen anything so fine.”

“A setting fit for your beauty,” he said kissing her neck again.

A knock at the door interrupted further intimacies, and she went to the fire, placing her back to the room while the waiters brought in their drinks and meal. When all was settled, and the door closed again she came away from the fire to the table laden with a feast. “Good heavens this is enough to feed an army!” she exclaimed her eyes running over the array of dishes before them.

“A very small army love, come, sit and eat, and tell me about your day.” He invited.

She sat and let him serve her. Taking a mouthful of the duck she closed her eyes. “Oh, this is exquisite!” She chewed slowly, swallowed, opened her eyes and smiled across the table at him. He was clearly pleased by her pleasure, and so she allowed herself to be pleased by everything. This was their last night, and it should be savoured. The memories would have to last her a lifetime.

For never again would she experience such pleasure as she had in his arms, and indeed she had no intention of allowing herself to engage in this kind of indulgence again. As she intended never to marry nor take a lover in the future, she would not know another man’s touch after this. Which was fitting, any other man would surely be a disappointment after Garmon Lovell.

She passed her day under review and debated what to tell him. She resisted the urge to confide in him over her troubles with her stepfather. She needed to deal with the issue herself. To be further beholden to Garmon, would lengthen the time she was hostage to his power over her, and she most emphatically did not want that. As delicious as it was, this liaison must end.

They had been discreet to a point, but if it became public knowledge that she had been disporting herself with Lovell for a week, in this fashion, her reputation would be ruined, and the Tavern could suffer also as a consequence. To say nothing of what her stepfather would do if he got wind of it.

A second, and perhaps even more compelling reason to bring this to an end, was the fascination Lovell exerted over her personally. She had never been truly in love, although she had fancied herself in love with Jacob in the beginning. It became rapidly obvious that she had been duped by his surface charm into an infatuation that died abruptly the first time he hit her.

She was in perilous danger of falling in love with Garmon, and that was fatal. The man had shown her a great deal of consideration, but he was, by his own admission, a hard-hearted man. The brutality of his upbringing left little room for tender emotions, and she was not fool enough to think he had developed them for her in the space of week, no matter how passionate and tender their encounters. At best he was infatuated with her, and it would die a natural death when they stopped seeing each other. At worst he was amusing himself and nothing more. She suspected the latter.

Picking up her wine glass she said lightly, “Business is going well, it was the usual busy day.”

Garmon regardedher over his own wine glass and pondered whether to call her out on her lie. But decided against it, he really wanted her to confide in him of her own volition. She had clearly been upset the last few days about something, which had prompted him to start gathering information on her stepfather, Hiram Robinson. And what he had learned today had him concerned.

“What about you?” she asked, picking up her fork. “Have you found any trace of Mr Mor?”

He shook his head. “No, unfortunately I have not. Try these, they are delicious,” he said offering her some buttered mushrooms. “Have you thought any more about getting a spirits licence?”

“I think it will be a good investment, but I need to clear my debts first before I incur anymore.” She tried the mushrooms and nodded. “They are good.”

“I’d be happy to help you with the investment.”

“No doubt,” she said with a smile. “But I prefer to clear my current debts first.”

“Even if the investment would enable you to pay them down faster?”

“Would it though?” she frowned at her plate. “I would need to do some sums to work that out, gauge the risk.”

“I could do that for you.”

She shook her head. “You’re very kind, but I prefer to do it myself.”

“I’m not kind!” he snapped, unable to hide his irritation. “I am a businessman, and I am offering you business advice, which it is in my best interests to do, since I am one of your chief debtors, but not your only one I fancy?”

She flushed. “That is true. I made no secret of that when we entered into our bargain. I do have another substantial debt that I need to pay.”

“Then let me help you!” he pressed, leaning across the table and grasping her hand.

“You are very kind, but I cannot!” she said withdrawing her hand.

“Damn, you’re a stubborn woman! Why not?”

“I should have thought, given what you know of my history, my reasons would be obvious!” she said placing her cutlery on her plate and pushing it aside.

“You cannot think I would treat you like he did!”

“I don’t! It isn’t that.”

“Then what?”

She rose from her seat and walked to the fireplace and back clearly very agitated. He watched her, two parts puzzled concern, to one part fury. He wasn’t used to not getting his own way and her stubborn refusal to let him help her infuriated him.

“I have told you that I wish to be independent. If I accept your help, I will never be free!” she said coming to a stop before the table. “Don’t you see? I’m tired of being controlled and manipulated by men!” her fists clenched in the folds of her skirt.

“I’m not trying to control or manipulate you! I’m trying to help!”

“Yes, that is what you tell yourself, but what happens when I don’t do something you want me to do? Or I do something you don’t like? You can call in the debt with a snap of your fingers, and I am hostage to what you want!”

“I wouldn’t do that-”

“You’re asking me to trust you!” she said with a note of despair in her voice that cut him to the quick.

“Yes, I am,” his voice low and husky, shook slightly. He realised with a shock that he desperately wanted her to trust him.

“Every man I have ever trusted to look after me has betrayed and hurt me, except my father, and he died!” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away, one hand to her mouth and the other to her belly.

He watched her pain helplessly, and for a moment he was five years old and watching his mother cry like her heart was breaking and knowing he could do nothing to ease her hurt. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and rose, going to stand behind her and put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Genevra?” his voice husky, he tried to clear his throat of its obstruction. Slipping his arms round her, he drew her back against him and rested his face in her hair. Her glorious, sweet-smelling hair.

And he was supposed to give this up after tonight? He couldn’t lose her. He just couldn’t. He would have to make her accept his help, but how to do it without pushing her away?

“I’m sorry,” she said thickly, wiping her face with her hands. “This was supposed to be a pleasant evening, and I’m ruining it!” She turned within his arms and looked up at him. “Truly I appreciate your offer, but I must politely decline it. Please don’t be angry with me.” Her eyes swimming in tears and her beseeching expression skewered him through the chest.

“Tell me why you’re crying,” he said softly.

“I was so angry with Papa for such a long time for dying and leaving me!” she confessed through her tears. “There was no one else to be strong, so it had to be me. Mama was devastated, Mary too timid and Beth too ill. I kept the brewery running after Papa died. Me! A mere woman! My uncle disapproved and tried to take it over, he threatened to take us to court to challenge Papa’s will. He refused to accept that a gaggle of women could run a business like that!”

She turned, her fists clenched and glared at him, as if it was his fault.

“So, your mother married again to stop him,” he said flatly.

Genevra sighed. “Yes. She meant it for the best, I just wish she had chosen someone other than Hiram Robinson.”

“You don’t like him,” he stated.

“I loathe him. The feeling is mutual. I offend his sensibilities with my frowardness. I am by far too opinionated and independent.”

“He’s a weak man, he is threatened by you.” His lips lifted in a half smile.

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“You’re not threatened by me?” She gave him a sideways look that did something to his chest.

“Do you think I am a weak man?” He spoke softly.

Her lips twisted and she shook her head.

“And I do not think you are a weak woman.” He added, bringing her into the circle of his arms. “Jacob was threatened by you too. That’s why he hit you. It was his only way of controlling you.”

She nodded; her face buried in his shoulder. He tightened his arms round her. “Only a weak man uses his fists on a woman.” Her body relaxed and pressed closer against him. He rested his face in her hair and drew in her scent, gardenia and vanilla.

“I have a niece you know. My half-brother’s bastard daughter.”

Genevra raised her head to look at him, her expression questioning. Why was he telling her this?

“She came to me at age fourteen. She had nowhere else to go because my brother was dead, and his family threw her out of the house. She is a strong woman too.” He smiled ruefully. “That is partly my fault. I was hard on her. I set her to work in the hell and taught her how to defend herself. I made sure she was protected as best I could, but I knew she had to know how to fend for herself. She was a bastard like me, and the world isn’t kind to us.” He laughed but there was bitter edge to it that he couldn’t disguise. “I guess she never realised why I was so tough on her, because she betrayed me in the end.” Like Connor has too! Taunted a voice in his head that made his shoulders twitch, and his hands tighten on her convulsively.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “How did she betray you?”

“She stole from me.” He turned his head aside and coughed, clearing his throat. “Anyone else, I would skin them for that.”

“What did she steal?”

“Some jewels to start, but then she helped the Duke of Mowbray take my hell from me. And she shot me.”

“Good heavens! Is that the scar you have on your shoulder? I thought it looked like a bullet wound.”

He nodded.

“Yes, the damned thing festered and almost killed me.”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“If I tell you that she is the Duchess of Mowbray now, her motives should be pretty clear.” He shrugged. “I taught her to take every opportunity offered and turn it to her advantage. I can hardly blame her for learning her lessons well, can I?”

“A Duchess?” Genevra’s eyes widened in awe.

“Not bad for a bastard, eh?” In a perverse way he was proud of Diana. She had done well for herself, even if it was at his expense. He had to admire her grit and determination. “He adores her.”

“The duke?”

He nodded. “And he’s a prick! They used to call him the Devil. He’s got flaming red hair and a temper to match. But Diana tamed him, he’s a pussycat with her.”

Genevra smiled. “How sweet!”

“How nauseating!”

“You’re the strangest man,” she said with a smile that made him want to kiss her.

“How so?” he asked lowering his head to capture her divine lips.

She dodged, pulling back to look up at him. “You are capable of some of the most romantic gestures I’ve ever known, and yet when romance is right in front of you, you scorn it.”

“My gestures aren’t romantic Genevra, they’re erotic. There is a difference. I know a lot about the latter and nothing about the former.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“God no! Lust yes. Love never.”

“So that is what this is? Lust?”

He frowned down at her, aware he wandered onto dangerous ground. “I’m not quite sure what this is. Obsession perhaps. Connection certainly. I’m not certain that I know what love is Genevra. I’ve not had a lot of experience of it.” He spoke matter-of-factly. But her eyes teared up anyway. Which was what he was afraid of.

“Don’t cry sweetheart. I’m no object of pity nor am I a hero out of romance, in fact I’m more likely to be cast as the villain. Certainly, Diana saw me as such.”

She shook her head. “Jacob is a villain. You-” she paused. “I think you loved your mother.”

A twinge in his chest made him wince, and he stared down at her flabbergasted. “How could you possibly know that? I’ve barely mentioned my mother.”

She smiled and traced a finger down his cheek that made his skin tingle. “Do you remember your father at all?”

He shook his head. But then realised that wasn’t entirely true. He had a memory of a man with his mother. He was laughing and had his arms round her. It was faint and fleeting, and he’d never known where to place it in his history. But when he learned the truth about who his father was, he’d wondered if the man he remembered was him. “I may have a fragment of memory. I’m not sure.”

She nodded as if something made sense. “I think your father loved your mother.”

“She said that he did. I never really believed it. I told you I thought Gatwick was my father for years.”

“Deep down you knew that wasn’t true.”

“I hoped it wasn’t true,” he corrected her. “I loathed him so much I strove very hard to be his opposite.”

“I think you succeeded,” she said softly.

He kissed her, unable to resist any longer the pull of her allure. He was afraid for one heart stopping moment that she would reject him, push him away, but she didn’t. After a moment she parted her lips, and slid her arms round his neck, giving back kiss for kiss.

The glory of her lovely curves pressed against his body sent his blood surging and the sense of pleasure and home that she seemed to bring in her wake enveloped him. Which was ridiculous, because he’d never truly had a home in the traditional sense.

He’d had places he lived for a number of years, the brothel, the hell being notable. But a home was something he abstractly associated with a wife and children, not something he had ever experienced or hoped to.