Chapter 18

CHAPTER18

Genevra woke to the sensation of soft sheets on her sensitive skin and a raging thirst. Her lids were sticky, and her nose blocked, her chest felt tight. She blinked and the light made her shut her eyes quickly against the pain that seared them. Where was she? What happened?

She opened her eyes cautiously, squinting and looked around the room. It took her a moment to recognise it, she had never been here in daylight before. What was she doing in Garmon’s bedchamber?

She took an incautious breath and was seized with a coughing fit. Even as she fought for breath, fragmented memories of the night before filtered through. Beth! She pushed back the covers, trying to sit up and swing her feet around to stand up.

Garmon appeared in the doorway with a tray in his hands and seeing her trying to get up he spoke sharply. “Genevra stay where you are, you are in no fit state to get up!”

She waved at him trying to catch her breath and mouthed “Beth!” it came out more of a wheeze than anything else.

“Beth is safe, you have no need to worry, now lie down!” He set the tray on a table and came to the bedside, pushing her gently back against the pillows which were banked up to lift her upper body at an angle. Smoothing the covers back into place, he reached for a cup and offered it to her. “Here, this will sooth your throat.”

She drank the lemon and honey water and sank back against the pillows exhausted. Swallowing, she gazed at him, a thousand questions on her tongue. She asked the most pressing of them. “Where is she?” her voice was raspy.

“Mr Rooke has her.”

“Rooke?”

“My lieutenant. Don’t worry, she is in good hands.”

“Is she well?” her voice cracked.

He nodded. “There is nothing for you to worry about.”

She wanted to ask more about Mr Rooke, but she was too weary to push the point and nodded, closing her eyes.

He sat on the bed and took her hand. “Sleep my dear, recruit your strength, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Thank you,” she murmured and slipped over the edge into sleep.

Garmon watched her sleep,a half-smile curving his lips. Typical of Genevra that all her thoughts would be of someone other than herself. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, a warm feeling welling up in his chest and filling it to bursting. She was, he hoped, through the worst of it, but she could still relapse. He would do everything in his power to prevent that.

His heart warmed to the thought that in her most desperate hour she had turned to him for help. Perhaps his cause wasn’t so hopeless after all?

He forced his mind away from Genevra for a moment to consider her sister. Mr Rooke had sent a message via Ben during the night to advise him that he had recovered Miss Whittaker. She was currently sleeping off her ordeal, Rooke did not provide details, which made Garmon’s skin prickle with alarm. What had transpired? Had Rooke recovered her before any damage was done?

The second problem was what to do with her?By rights she should be returned to her parents. She was underage, but returning her to Robinson’s care went against the grain with him and would be the last thing that Genevra would want.

The best thing would be to transfer her to the tavern under Genevra’s care, but until Genevra was restored to health, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight. There was only one option. Rooke would have to keep Bethany safe until Genevra was well enough, and he could help her enforce her claim to take care of Bethany.

He drafted a note to Rooke to that effect, with the rider that he trusted the man to take care of the girl and to take no liberties with her, or he would cut off his balls and feed them to him.

He received a curt note back: No harm shall come to Miss Whittaker under my care.

Garmon smiled, Mr Rooke was offended.

When she woke some hours later, her first words were: “The Tavern!”

“Don’t worry I have sent men round to guard it until either Joe or yourself are ready to reopen it.”

“You think of everything!” she sighed with a smile, her eyes drifting shut. She opened them again and said, “How is Beth? Where is she?”

“Safe and well. My men are guarding her too, until you are well enough to assume responsibility for her.”

She nodded and yawned, which turned into a cough. He had gone to the apothecary for a cough serum for her while she slept, and he helped her sit up and take some of it now.

“You make a very good nurse, sir. How did you learn such skills?”

His lips twisted in a half smile. “In the brothel of course. I nursed a lot of the girls through their illnesses. Some recovered, others did not.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for this.”

“Do not mention payment in relation to this.” He held her hand tight, his voice rough with emotion. “I confronted the idea of losing you last night. It was–untenable.”

“Was I so close to death?” Her eyes widened in shock.

“According to the doctor, yes.” And his own witness.

She sighed and said drowsily, “I am more in your debt than ever…”

He kissed her hand and watched her fall asleep again. He was bone weary himself, having had almost no sleep for forty-eight hours. He removed his shoes and stretched out on the other side of the bed beside her.

He woke sometime later to a darkened room, only the glow of the coals giving enough light to see by. She was restless and had flung off the covers. Sitting up with alarm he checked her skin; she was hot again. But not so hot as last night, yet.

He rose and fetched the bowl of water and cloth and resumed his bathing of her face and hands, wrapping the cloth round her wrists to lower the temperature of the blood that flowed there.

He sent one of his men for some food, reluctant to leave her while her temperature was spiking.

He fed her chicken broth and sponged her down, helped her to the chamber pot when she needed it and watched over her as she tossed and turned, lost in fever dreams. Offering her honey and lemon water and the cough serum when thirst and the wretched cough plagued her sleep. It wasn’t as fraught a night as the one before, but he got little sleep and did not count the cost. His whole focus was on her and ensuring her comfort and recovery.

He had plenty of time to contemplate what he would do when she was recovered enough to listen to him. He rehearsed a dozen different approaches and reasoned arguments to gain her cooperation and consent. One thing he was adamant about she could not be left to carry these burdens alone, she could not fight her stepfather over custody of Beth. The man had the law on his side. Only another man could challenge his authority and hope to win. And only one circumstance would give him the power to do so. As her husband he could do it, but would she have him?

Genevra woke with the dawn,fragmentary memories of the past thirty-six hours flitting through her mind. Her head was clearer, the pounding headache had receded, and she was no longer wracked with pain and shivers, she just felt light and weak. Her chest still felt tight, and her breathing was impeded by a slight wheeze.

Garmon was stretched out beside her on the bed, curled towards her on his side, his head pillowed on his arm. She watched him sleeping for several minutes, her heart so full it threatened to break open and spill the infection of love through her whole body.

The shock of it took her breath away. Panic followed swiftly. She couldn’t love him. She must not love him. Yet how could she help it?

Whatever possessed a grown man to turn nursemaid for an adult woman?

She sighed, the warm feeling flooding her chest. If she gave into that she would be lost. You’re lost already girl, whispered a traitorous voice in her head. You have been for weeks.

She shied away from the thought, her heart quailing. No more pain remember? She forced her mind away from that to Beth. He had promised her Beth was safe and well, but she really couldn’t lie here any longer. She needed to get back to the tavern and Beth.And away from the temptation that was Garmon Lovell. She pushed the bedclothes down and struggled to a sitting position. Putting a hand to her head, she waited for the room to stop revolving.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting up,” she said opening her eyes cautiously. The darkness had receded, and the world steadied.

He was already off the bed and around to her side to offer her his support. Helping her to the screen he said, “I hope you are not entertaining any foolish notions of going anywhere yet? You’re not strong enough.”

“I need to get back to the tavern and take care of Beth,” she said, emerging slowly. She wore one of his shirts, and it came to halfway down her thighs. Her legs felt horribly wobbly and her head, light, so it was a secret relief when he scooped her up and deposited her back in bed.

“Not today,” he said firmly. “You need food for one thing, you’ve barely eaten in two days.

Sinking back against the banked pillows she regarded him wanly. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Her stomach growled as if to confirm it, and she laughed, which made him smile.

The laugh turned to a cough, and it was a few minutes before she could say anything. Collapsing back onto the pillows exhausted by the coughing fit, she nodded. “Very well, you win. Feed me, I’m famished.”

He grinned. “Coming right up ma’am. Stay put while I fetch a meal.” He pulled on boots and coat and was gone.

Ten minutes later he was back with soft crusty bread, still warm from the oven, soft cheese, and a pot of hot chocolate and one of coffee. To this he added butter, olives, dates, honey, milk, sugar and salt from his own stores. Surveying this largess spread out on a tray over her knees she smiled ruefully. “Thank you, are you going to help me with this?”

“Of course,” he shed his coat and sat down on the bed, offering her a plate upon which to pile her selection of goodies. “Coffee or chocolate? Or would you prefer tea?”

“Oh Chocolate! I haven’t had such a treat in a long time,” she said round a mouthful of bread and cheese. “Umm, this is so delicious, thank you.”

He shook his head preparing her a cup of the hot bitter chocolate. “Do you want sugar?”

She nodded. Taking the sweetened cup from him, she savoured the rich flavour with her eyes closed. “I have never been so spoiled in my life as with you,” she said quietly, setting the cup in its saucer carefully. “Why?”

“Why, what?” he said, chewing a date and spitting out the pit.

Instead of answering his question, which she took to be an evasion, she said, “I was warned against you, you know. Your reputation is-”

“Horrific. I’ve spent considerable effort over the years to make it so.” He pulled another piece of bread from the loaf and slathered it with butter, cheese and honey. “I’ve seldom had to kill directly in recent years, I’ve had other men to do that for me, but that doesn’t absolve me of the responsibility.” His eyes caught and held hers, and she flinched inwardly. His words were harsh, and the flat look behind his eyes, told her that he spoke the truth.

She ought to be horrified, terrified to be here with him, but it was impossible when he treated her with such kindness. Such tenderness even. How to reconcile the two sides of his personality? The one she knew existed but seldom saw any evidence of and the one before her now, that went to extraordinary lengths for her comfort and protection?

Was it all some ploy just to gain power over her? Was he so driven by the need to control her that he would do all of this just to lull her into a false sense of security, before springing a trap on her? It seemed a ridiculous premise.

Or was it possible that this hard-hearted man actually cared for her? Both seemed equally impossible. And yet...

She swallowed another mouthful of chocolate. Her heart yearned for that to be the case. That he genuinely cared for her. If that were so… The prospect was both tempting and terrifying.

After breakfastshe slept and he attended to correspondence, Ben having arrived with a bundle of papers for his attention. He was not going to his office, so it more or less came to him.

Rooke was managing the mudlarks and his other ventures on his behalf, ably assisted by Burridge and Fenwick. Rooke had stepped into the gap left by Connor’s defection, but the wound still rubbed him raw and at least once a day he found himself wondering what happened. All his efforts to find any trace of Connor had so far failed, but the mystery pricked at him like an unhealed wound.

His other unfinished business, the matter of Mowbray and the gaming hell, likewise had faltered. No one was interested in a bounty on a duke, too risky. Mowbray had very effectively created a protective barrier around himself that Garmon was having trouble breaking down. He needed someone desperate, with nothing left to lose to take the bait he was holding out. Admittedly, Mowbray wasn’t his highest priority lately.

He looked across the room to the bed where his priority lay sleeping. Genevra. Her hair was a tangle of light copper on the pillow and her face still a little pale, but her beauty to him was luminous. His obsession with her was showing no signs of abating. On the contrary it was worse than before. She was the most stubborn, infuriating woman he had ever met, and yet he couldn’t contemplate a world in which she didn’t exist. It was unthinkable, untenable.

He was not a man given to prayer. Raised as he had been, he’d seen little evidence of the mercy of God, but his desperate prayers in the early hours of yesterday morning had been answered. She had been spared. Not, he thought, because of any favour from the Almighty towards him, but because God favoured her. Surely, she deserved some good fortune after the hand she had been dealt? Could he be her good fortune? Would she let him?

He understood her reluctance, her wariness, after what she had suffered, to surrender herself to a man of his reputation. He had to earn her trust. He had to persuade her to let him look after her, protect her and her sister. He had to let her know he could protect her, that he would do anything to keep her safe. He could not hide what he was from her, she needed to know the worst of him and know that no matter what happened he would never turn that side of himself on her. He would only exercise it in her defence.

She stirred as if conscious of his scrutiny and her eyes opened. She smiled sleepily at him, and he rose moving towards the bed, towards her, as if drawn on a string. Her power over him was irresistible and the worst of it was he was so besotted he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but her comfort. Sitting down on the bed he took her hand and kissed it.

“Can I fetch you anything?” he asked returning her smile. It was a delight to see her so much restored. He never wanted to see her so ill again.

She cleared her throat. “Perhaps a drink? I seem to be thirsty all the time.”

He nodded and reached for the jug of lemon and honey water he had kept topped up. Pouring her another glass, he helped her sit up and take it from him.

“Thank you,” she said sipping the drink and regarding him over the rim of the glass. “Why are you doing this?” She waved towards the table he had set up as a temporary desk. “You obviously have work to do that my presence is interrupting. You never do anything without a reason, an–agenda. I know this much about you. What is your motive for dropping everything to nurse me?”

His heart skipped with panic. She had given him an opening; was he brave enough to take it? He had thought to delay this, wait for a more opportune time, until she was recovered, yet when would be a better time? Once she was well, she would leave him to go back to the tavern, and he would have lost his opportunity.

He took a breath trying to steady his pulse. He wasn’t afraid of many things, but he was suddenly afraid of her reaction to what he would say. Could he say it the right way? Not to frighten her off? To persuade her... he gave himself a mental shake. He had to say something, he had been thinking too hard and too long.

“If I tell you the truth, will you believe me?”

She rested the glass in her lap, cupped in her hands. “If it’s the truth, yes.”

He took the glass from her gently and moved a little closer on the bed to take both her hands in his. Fixing her gaze with his, he said slowly and carefully, “My only motive is to ensure your comfort, health and safety. I have discovered in the last forty-eight hours that nothing matters more to me than your happiness and well-being.” He stopped, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. “Genevra I can’t pretend to be a good man. I’m not. I’ve done things that would truly horrify and repulse you if you knew about them. All I can promise you is that I will do anything to protect you, because you matter more to me than anyone on this earth.”

Her hands stirred in his grip, and he tightened his, afraid she meant to pull away. “Please let me finish.” He searched her face for a clue as to her feelings, but her expression was strangely blank, as if she had retreated behind a screen.

With a thudding heart he took another breath and plunged on, a sick feeling of dread in his stomach. He was committed to this course now, but he was very much afraid that the answer he was going to get was not what he wanted to hear.

“I never believed in love, not the romantic sort anyway.” His lips twisted. “I’ve plenty of experience of physical passion, and I thought that was principally what we had, an extraordinary degree of it admittedly, but just a physical connection that would eventually burn itself out.

“You were very right to be wary of me for that reason. But facing the real prospect that you might die in my arms, and I could do nothing to prevent it...” He stopped, his throat closing over, a cold shiver running up his spine at the thought. “That convinced me that this, whatever it is between us, is much more than a physical attraction.”

She bit her bottom lip, and her fingers squeezed his slightly, but still she said nothing. Encouraged he went on. “It was only with the dawn that I fully realised what this meant.” He paused and took a breath.

“I love you, Genevra.” Her hands jerked and her lips parted on a gasp, her skin flushed. He tightened his grip and ploughed on before she could say anything. “I love you with all my heart, soul and spirit. I love your strength, your intelligence, your kindness and compassion, your passion and yes, your infuriatingly stubborn independent spirit.”

He swallowed the lump that threatened to choke him.

“I want you to be my wife, I want the right to protect you from all harm and to ensure, to the best of my ability, your safety and happiness. Will you please give me that right, Genevra?”

He stopped and listened to his heart beating hard in ears, his eyes straining for some sign of what she would say. She had kept his gaze until the last, when her eyes had dropped to their linked hands. It was then he saw the tears on her cheeks. His heart cracked.

“Ah no! Don’t cry love. Please I can bear anything but that!” he let go of her hands to pull her against his chest and nuzzle into her hair.

She collapsed against him and wept, and he held her close and murmured nonsense, rubbing her back. “Please love, don’t cry. I shouldn’t have said anything while you’re so weak. But you asked and I wanted to tell you...”

Genevra gasped on a sob,her hands clutching his shirt, her heart so full it felt like it would burst. She tried to speak, but it came out a jumbled mess of sobs and broken words.

“What was that love? I can’t hear you,” he said pulling away a little to look at her face.

She swallowed and wiped her face, trying to stem the flow. “I said, w-was afraid to l-love you. But I can’t h-help it.” She sobbed some more.

“Help what? Be afraid?” he asked, his hand cupping her face. “I know sweetheart, you have good reason. I understand that.” He swallowed. “How can I convince you not to be afraid of me? That I’m not Jacob Tate, that I would never-”

“No!” she shook her head. “I meant l-loving you!” she said on a sobbing rush.

“Oh.” He blinked hard and hugged her tight. “Does that mean-? Will you marry me, Genevra?”

“Y-yes!” She said flinging her arms round his neck and hugging him, a rush of relief coursing through her body. The surge of love filling her heart was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. “I’ve been in l-love with you for w-weeks,” she confessed. “I just wouldn’t admit it, even to myself!”

“That’s my stubborn girl,” he said with such a look of love her heart melted all over again. His face had softened from its usually harsh lines, his eyes mellowed to a warm hazel. “Can I kiss you?” His voice hoarse and low, sent a thrill through her body and rush of heat that had nothing to do with the fever.

“Of course,” she said softly. It felt so wonderful to allow herself to feel all the emotions she had been suppressing, the softness, the warmth, the melting longing. His lips were gentle, the kiss searing and loving at once, his arms held her tight as he deepened the kiss and made her head spin.

Breaking the kiss he said, breathing quickly, “that will have to be enough for now, you’re in no fit state to be ravished.”

“I don’t know, I’m lying down, I can’t fall any further,” she said drunkenly.

He groaned and kissed her again, bearing her back into the pillows.

After a bit he raised his head and said with a smile that melted her bones, “You have made me the happiest man in the world you know. We will be married just as soon as you are well enough.”

She nodded, tracing his cheek and jaw line with a finger. “I swore I would never marry again, but I didn’t bargain on you.”

“You will not regret it, I promise.” He kissed her hand and her wrist and then her mouth again, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “I’m ravenous for you, I want to eat you all up!” He said, nibbling on her neck.

She giggled, and he raised his head to look at her. “I didn’t mean- who am I kidding? Of course, I did.” his eyes darkened, and he licked her neck and kissed it. “You taste delicious, slightly salty and sweet.”

“I need a bath,” she said arching her neck for his attention.

“I’ll give you a tongue bath,” he said with a wicked smile.

“That should sound icky, but it doesn’t,” she said on a sigh.

“No,” he said sitting up. “You’re not well enough for all this yet, I’ll fill up the bath for you.”

“Who said I’m not well enough?” she said reaching for him. “After all I just have to lie here, don’t I?”

“Genevra-!” She tugged him down, and he gave in with very little resistance.

“If you start to cough-” he said burying his face in her breasts.

“I won’t” she said softly.

He wanted to take her,ravish her, love her. But he wouldn’t. He would wait. Wait for their wedding night, save all the feelings and passion up for a special joining that would mark the beginning of a new life for both of them.

Instead, he stroked her and kissed her and licked her to the edge and over while he came in his trousers, so aroused by the erotic delight of her surrender. Then he held her while she fell asleep in his arms, and he let tears of happiness roll silently down his cheeks into her hair.

When she woke a little while later the first words out of her mouth were “Mama. I must tell Mama that Beth is safe. She must be out of her mind with worry.” She sat up her eyes fever bright and two flags in her cheeks.

Cursing himself for causing her to relapse, he said soothingly, “I will let her know, you need to rest and not agitate yourself.”

“But I must tell Mama-”

“I will do it, you’re in no fit state to get out of bed, and I am not subjecting you to an interview with your stepfather. Stay put. Ben will come and sit with you while I’m gone.”

“But Mama doesn’t even know you-”

“I have no qualms about introducing myself to her as her future son-in-law.” He kissed her hand. “Trust me, hm?”

She sighed and nodded. “I’m so wretchedly weak, or I wouldn’t let you do this without me!”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “You stay here and rest, I’ll be back before you know it and I’ll tell you all about it.”