A Rake's Midnight Kiss (44 page)

“See His Grace out.” Fairbrother stumbled over the title. His outrage boiled closer to the surface. Cam had a feeling that if he asked for that signed paper now, Fairbrother would consign him to hell, whatever the consequences.

“Good evening, my lord.” Cam rose with a nonchalance designed to irk.

At the door, he turned back. Only to catch an expression of such despair and fury on Fairbrother’s face that briefly he almost pitied the fellow. Fairbrother stared at his priceless objects with such naked pain, it was like he surrendered his children. Then Cam recalled this man’s sins, and compassion dissolved into loathing.

Cam strode across the marble hall with its porphyry columns and coffered ceiling. In the huge space, his footsteps echoed eerily. This gaudy house seemed more mausoleum than home. He shook off the breath of evil and ran down the stairs. He tipped the groom holding his horse and mounted.

Instead of galloping off, he ambled along the lime tree avenue. Once away from the house, he circled off the drive toward the back. From here, he could see the gorgeous and oppressive room where he’d confronted Fairbrother.

He reined Gaspard in and bent to pat his glossy black neck, soothing the horse into stillness. The footman drew the curtains, the footman who would swear that when Sedgemoor left, Neville Fairbrother had been in perfect health, if a little bruised around the midriff and bearing abrasions from the previous night.

Darkness cloaked Cam. A faint rustle from the trees. The scent of clean air, purer and fresher than anything he’d breathed in Youngton Hall. A bird fluttered overhead, making him jump. Dear God, his nerves were more on edge than he’d realized.

Ten minutes passed. Half an hour. Still he sat.

Finally he straightened from his slouch and firmed his grip on the reins. It was time to go, to assure Richard and Genevieve that their future was secure from Lord Neville’s poison.

It was only then that he heard what he’d waited for.

A single shot rang out from the house, shattering the peaceful night.

L
ord Neville was dead.

Exhausted, dazed, overwhelmed, still aching from her recent trials, Genevieve lay in her luxurious bedroom at Leighton Court and struggled to accept that Lord Neville’s evil influence had ended. Even more important, Richard wouldn’t perish on the field of honor. Thanks to Sedgemoor, she and the man she loved were safe at last. The duke still made her shy, but she’d never forget what she owed him.

After a couple of hours, Sedgemoor had returned to Leighton Court. But they’d only received confirmation of Lord Neville’s death when the local magistrate sent the duke a note as a courtesy to the premier nobleman in the area. Until that moment, Genevieve couldn’t trust that the nightmare was over.

The clock struck three with Genevieve staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Sighing, she shifted on the crisp white sheets. She was so weary she felt close to tears, yet still she couldn’t sleep. If only Richard was here to hold her against the clamor in her head. In the last two days, she’d
lived through so much. Abduction. Losing her virginity. The revelation of Richard’s identity. Her father’s betrayal. Those blissful stolen moments in the barn. Captivity. Declarations of love. The escape. Lord Neville’s final defeat.

She’d never again complain about a dull life.

If she must be restless, why couldn’t she bask in the joy of love returned? Instead a quieter moment played ceaselessly in her mind. The doubt and self-hatred in Richard’s voice when he spoke of his bastardy.

She’d learned enough about him to realize that for every slight he described, he’d endured a thousand more that he’d never reveal. His long-concealed anguish made her stomach cramp with pity—and anger at those who disparaged him.

She’d once thought him a man who had enjoyed an unfairly easy ride through life, thanks to looks, wealth, and breeding. How appallingly wrong she’d been. How self-satisfied. How self-righteous.

Yet the miracle was that still he said he loved her. And she loved him. More than she loved anything else in the world. She wished she lay waking because she gloried in his love. But a sadder, more onerous truth pounded in her mind as she counted each slow minute toward dawn.

If she loved Richard, she couldn’t contribute to his misery.

When Richard entered the library, the sun just peeked above the horizon. Immediately, his attention leveled on Genevieve. She curled up in the bay window, staring pensively out at the dew-laden garden.

“Can’t you sleep?” He closed the door behind him. The servants were about, but he assumed that Sedgemoor and his guests were still asleep upstairs. Although he’d heard Consuela crying during the night, so that assumption might be a little optimistic for Jonas and Sidonie.

Genevieve turned toward him, the glow in her eyes setting his heart aflame. “No.”

Desire slammed through him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

He’d dressed before coming downstairs, but she looked as though she’d just risen from her bed. Her beautiful hair lay loose and she wore an extravagant green silk dressing gown. He loved to see her lush beauty arrayed in rich fabrics and colors like this or like last night’s gown. She’d always been a jewel. She’d only lacked the right setting to do her justice.

“Me either.” His step light—he was in love, his darling loved him back, and the sinister forces that had threatened their lives and happiness had receded, he hoped forever—he crossed to her side.

She raised her arms. “Kiss me, Richard.”

“With pleasure.”

Heat. Passion.
Love.
Eventually he raised his head and cradled her against him. He must look insufferably smug, but he couldn’t help it. To think that this magnificent woman loved him.

“We can’t make love,” she said breathlessly. “Anyone could come in.”

He pretended shock. “Why, Miss Barrett, the thought never crossed my mind.”

With a low laugh, she pressed closer. “I’m sure.”

“I can’t tell you how often I watched you stitching away on your window seat and wanted to have my way with you.”

“You’re a wicked man,” she said in a tone that told him she loved him.

He caught the hand fisted against his shoulder. “What have you got there?”

Her fingers unfolded to reveal the Harmsworth Jewel. Cam had passed it to her last night. Once it had offered
Richard a preternatural connection to a heritage that he now accepted wasn’t his by blood. And never would be. The realization was remarkably liberating.

He stared at the gold and enamel artifact. “How powerful our imaginations are. When I thought the jewel was real, it was magical. Now however beautiful it is, it’s just an object.”

“I’m giving it to you.”

His head jerked up. “It doesn’t prove anything about my birth.”

To his regret, she pulled away. His knowledge of her love was so new that any distance felt like a danger to his happiness. Then he caught her grave expression and knew that the chill trickling down his backbone didn’t entirely result from clinging insecurities. “Genevieve, what is it?”

She stood. The light strengthened, revealing that the silver had left her eyes. Instead they were a flat gray, like the sea on a rainy day. “Only you and I know that the jewel is a copy.”

He frowned, not sure where she was going. “Cam does.”

“You could swear him to silence.”

Deeply perturbed now, he too rose. “Why on earth would I do that? Once your article is published, the secret will be out.”

Her stare was unwavering. “I’m withdrawing my article.”

Shocked, he stepped back, bumping his legs against the edge of the seat. “What the hell is this?”

Her shoulders were as straight as a ruler. She looked like she faced a firing squad. “My article will harm you. I’m not going to publish it.”

Genevieve saw that Richard didn’t understand. Which was odd. Usually he was, if anything, too quick to pick up on things.

“Harm me?” He reached out to touch her before, thank goodness, hesitating. Despite knowing that this was her only course of action, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to persevere. If Richard cajoled her with tenderness or passion, she’d weaken.

She couldn’t weaken.

During last night’s long, dark watch, she’d realized that if she loved Richard Harmsworth, she couldn’t expose the truth about the Harmsworth Jewel. His words in the crypt, about a fraud of a baronet pursuing a fraud of a treasure, had haunted her. She couldn’t invite the world’s spite to his door.

“Richard, all your life you’ve suffered because of your birth. Turning the Harmsworth Jewel into a
cause célèbre
will only reopen old wounds.”

His lips twisted. “The gossip never goes away, my love. Your article won’t change that.”

She shook her head. “It gives the world another stick for beating you.”

He frowned. “What about your career?”

She twined her arms around herself. It was warm for October, but she was as cold as if she stood in a freezing north wind. After struggling to reach this decision, she thought she’d come to terms with her choice. Here, surrendering her dreams, she felt slowly and painfully crushed in a giant fist. “I won’t use my work to your detriment.”

“People will always snicker about my birth. You deserve your moment in the sun.” His tone developed an edge. “You’ve already sacrificed yourself for your father. You won’t sacrifice yourself for me.”

She fought tears. No joy could compare to her love for Richard. But she’d so looked forward to claiming a place in the wider world. Why was it that the two things she wanted,
Richard’s happiness and her personal fulfillment, had to clash? It seemed bitterly unfair.

The complaint of a spoilt child.
Time to grow up, Genevieve.

Shame steadied her voice. “That’s not your decision to make. When I go home, I’ll write to Dr. Partridge and tell him that I was mistaken about the jewel being a forgery.”

“You’re not mistaken,” Richard said harshly.

No, she wasn’t. But the image of the tormented boy building such powerful defenses against a malicious world broke her heart. She couldn’t love Richard and expose him to public ridicule, whatever it cost her.

“You should be pleased.” She knew by his unimpressed expression that her attempt at a smile was a rank failure. “You’ve succeeded in what you came to Little Derrick to do. You can now wave the jewel under the nose of anyone who dares to deride you and nobody will guess it’s not the real thing.”

If anything, he looked angrier. “It will be a lie.”

Her own temper stirred. “That should be no impediment. It’s not as though lying isn’t second nature to you.”

He whitened and retreated another step. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Eaten by guilt, she wanted to snatch the words back. But it was too late. She stared at him helplessly, wondering why the space between them suddenly felt like a thousand miles instead of a few feet. “This is what you wanted.”

“I was a damned fool,” he said bitterly. “How the devil did you expect me to react to this ludicrous offer?”

“I thought you’d be grateful,” she muttered.

His expression darkened. “Did you really? Apparently your opinion of me hasn’t changed since our first meeting.”

She flinched. “When you’ve had time to think—”

“I still won’t accept this unnecessary act of self-flagellation.”

She turned away, unable to bear the wretchedness and frustrated anger in his face. Right now, he thought of her welfare, not his own. She loved him for that, but it reinforced her decision. “I might come across something else that will make a splash in scholarly circles.”

“Nothing to compare with exposing the legendary Harmsworth Jewel as a fraud.”

No, nothing like that. Such discoveries were unique. But how could she regret saving Richard from hurt? Her hand shaking, she placed the jewel on one of the heavy mahogany tables that filed down the center of the long room. “Take it. Do what you originally intended. Use it to compel the world’s respect.”

“A jewel can’t earn me respect. Since I’ve come to Little Derrick, I’ve learned the world’s opinion doesn’t matter to me. Only yours does.”