THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (11 page)

And then he stopped.

She moaned in protest and blinked up at him.

He gazed down at her, eyes low and lazy, soft mouth a little swollen, red from kissing her. “Just you and me, then,” he whispered. “No one else.”

“Good.” She lifted the hand that wasn’t tucked in between them and finger combed his thick, inky hair.

It hadn’t been so awful—not awful at all, really. To reveal an old secret. To find out what she needed to know. To come to a workable agreement between the two of them.

They should do that more often—and she intended to see that they did.

“Gen.”

“Um?”

He bent close and bit her chin. Lightly. “Did
you
miss
me?
”

“Terribly.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I think next time I go up to London, you’ll have to come with me. That way I won’t have to go to bed without you.”

“I
might
go with you.”

He rubbed his nose against hers. “You will.”

“Bossy, bossy, bossy. Just because I want us to be true to each other doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have time apart now and then. It’s healthy for a couple to have some separate interests.”

“You’re becoming very opinionated.”

She laughed. “You’re bossy. I’m opinionated. It’s good we found each other. Who else would have us?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got each other. And a workable agreement between us.
And
you missed me.” He kissed her. “Say it.”

“What?”

“You know what. Say you missed me.”

“I said it already.”

“Say it again.”

“I...I missed you, Rafe.” She breathed the words, a little bit raggedly, against his lips.

He eased his arm down with hers, between them. And he caught her hand and guided her fingers to the silky, hard length of him. “Now I want you to show me, Gen. Show me how much....”

She did what he wanted. With enthusiasm. Because it was what she wanted, too.

Chapter Eight

T
hey stayed in the bedroom for the rest of the afternoon. Rafe insisted that no one would fault them.

After all, they were newlyweds.

They made love; they shared a long bath. And then they made love again.

He told her he’d been to see Geoffrey.

She asked, “How’s he managing?”

“Better, I think. He says he’s on a team in Geography. They work together to do the assignments. There’s one other boy on the team he thinks he might be friends with. And he’s counting the days until the summer term is over and he can come home.”

“Brooke says she’s giving him a birthday party.”

Rafe was lying on his back, his hair crow-wing black against the white pillow. He put his arm across his eyes. “A small one, I hope.”

“Eloise suggested the same thing. Brooke seemed to agree.”

“You know how she is. You can tell her a hundred times that less is more. Not to Brooke.”

“So true. To Brooke, more is more.”

“Worse.” He put his arm down and arched a dark brow at her. “To Brooke, more is never enough.”

* * *

There were five of them at dinner: Rafe, Genny, Eloise, Brooke and Melinda. They ate in the family dining room.

“We have exciting plans.” Brooke beamed at Melinda. “We’re doing a fashion shoot. For Fresh. With Hartmore as the setting.”

Melinda said, “I think we could get some beautiful shots. I couldn’t pay a lot, but the pictures should get good exposure—in magazines and online. Fresh has a website, of course. We sell the clothes on the site as well as at the shop. I’ve been thinking of possibly doing a redesign of the website home page....”

“A home page featuring Hartmore as a backdrop for all those fabulous clothes,” Brooke finished for her. Then Brooke fluttered her long lashes in Rafe’s direction. “But of course, we’ll need to get permission from Lord Hartmore.”

He turned to Eloise. “What do you think?”

“It sounds lovely. Good for Hartmore—and for your shop, I would think, Melinda.” She told Brooke, “You would need to work with the house team.” The house team managed the public, income-producing face of Hartmore. They juggled tours, wedding parties and other events. And they handled the day-to-day running and upkeep of the State Rooms.

“No worries,” said Brooke. “We’ll clear everything with them.”

“We’ll be sure to stay out of the way,” Melinda promised. “There are so many good locations—the deer park, the castle, the gardens, as well as the house, the terrace, the lake... The possibilities go on and on. We can easily work around whatever’s already scheduled.”

Rafe turned to Genny then. “How do you feel about this?”

Melinda looked at her hopefully.

Brooke’s eyes narrowed—probably at the reminder that Genny now had a say in decisions regarding Hartmore. But then she forced a bright smile. “Genevra. Come on, now. You know it will be fabulous.”

Genny understood that the photo shoot would essentially be a favor to Melinda, who’d been careful to say that she could only pay a limited fee. That was no problem. Doing favors created goodwill. And after getting the facts from Rafe about his relationship with Melinda, she didn’t feel threatened by the other woman anymore.

As usual, Brooke wanted her answer and she wanted it now. “Well?”

Rafe said, “Don’t rush her. She’s thinking it over.”

Brooke made a sour face and gulped down some wine. “Honestly. How difficult a decision can it be?”

Genny almost stalled a little longer, just to give Brooke a taste of her own medicine. But Rafe and Eloise were looking at her expectantly. So she said, “I think it’s a terrific idea,” and it was decided.

Melinda beamed and Brooke started in about which locations on the property were the ones they absolutely must include.

* * *

“Do you really think Melinda’s photo shoot is a terrific idea?” Rafe asked much later, when they were alone in bed, after they’d made slow, tender love.

She turned toward him and wrapped her leg across his and felt very comfortable and wonderfully intimate with him. “I think it’s a nice favor to do for her, yes.”

He admitted, “I always get nervous when Brooke gets a plan.”

“I get nervous whenever she looks in my direction.”

He made a sound low in his throat. It might have been a chuckle. “I know sometimes you want to pop her one.”

“It’s true. So far, though, I’ve restrained myself.”

“You’re a saint.”

“No. I just try to remember that she’s your sister and you love her.”

He shifted, rolling to his back and pulling her over to rest her head against his shoulder. “I keep thinking that she’ll work it out, find something to do that makes her happy. I’d hoped, when she married Derrick, that she’d be happy with him, in America. But she hated Atlanta.” Derrick Landers was from an old Georgia family. “The marriage lasted...what?”

“Four years?” Derrick was in property development. He’d done well for himself and he’d been generous, in terms of money anyway, when he and Brooke had divorced.

“Four years,” Rafe repeated, his deep voice echoing beneath her ear. “She came back to us angry. And she’s been angry ever since.”

“I don’t know, Rafe. It seems to me she’s always been angry, as far back as I can remember.”

“Maybe so.”

“Definitely so.”

He made a low noise that she took for agreement. “I’m continually amazed that Geoffrey’s so well-adjusted, to tell you the bald truth.”

“I do worry for him. But then I try to remember that Brooke loves him absolutely. She may not be very good at showing it, and she never met a situation she couldn’t make into a crisis. But I think he knows that she loves him, even if he’s often frustrated with her. It gives him a certain balance, a basic feeling of security—which is something Brooke herself doesn’t have.”

He touched her jaw, her cheek. She sighed in pleasure at the sweet caresses and he whispered, “You always see the best in people.”

She snorted out a laugh at that. “Your sister might disagree.”

He kissed the crown of her head. She felt his lips against her hair and knew complete happiness in that moment. Then his fingers strayed beneath the covers. He found her hand and guided it lower. “I have something to show you....”

She tipped her head up enough to press her lips to his throat. “I think I’ve already seen it.”

He lifted her chin higher with a finger and kissed her, his tongue meeting and tangling with hers, making her breath catch and her heart beat hard and deep. “Bored with me already, eh?”

Down beneath the blankets, she closed her fingers around him, stroking. “Not bored,” she whispered against his lips. “Not in the least.”

He groaned.

And she ducked her head under the covers, moving down.

He lifted the covers and peered under them at her. “Where
are
you going?”

“I’m going to have another look after all....”

His deep chuckle ended on another groan.

* * *

Genny woke up in the morning smiling.

Rafe was already gone. But he’d left her a note on her night table: “Off for an early meeting with the house team. Tonight, I have something to show you. You might remember it from last night.”

Laughing, she snatched up the note and pressed it to her chest. Her husband might not be
in
love with her, but he certainly cared for her. They had so much in common, shared a life they both wanted. And he wanted
her.
He’d proved that more than once last night.

Things were good between them—better every day.

She showered and dressed and went down to the Morning Room, where Brooke and Melinda had their heads together about the photo shoot. Genny dished herself up some oatmeal, adding blueberries and cream. Then she poured a tall glass of milk and sat down with them.

Melinda flashed her a warm smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she replied.

Then Brooke went on talking.

Genny left them to their plans and concentrated on her food. She was starving for some reason. Could be the baby. Or maybe all the exercise she’d had last night. She giggled to herself at the thought.

The other two women stopped chattering and swung questioning glances her way. Melinda seemed to be waiting politely for her to say something. Brooke wore her usual impatient glare.

“Oops,” she said. “Sorry. Just a happy thought, that’s all.” A very happy thought, as a matter of fact. She put on her most innocent expression and spooned up another heaping bite of oatmeal and berries.

The other two went back to their plans. The photo shoot was tentatively scheduled for the end of the next week. Melinda would call the photographer and the modeling agency right away and be sure that everyone she needed would be available. They were going to keep it simple, so Melinda could try to keep costs down. Brooke seemed happy, animated. Maybe it was having a project that interested her. Or maybe it was having a friend to laugh and make plans with....

Genny ate the oatmeal and then returned to the sideboard for sausages and a scone slathered in clotted cream and jam made from Hartmore strawberries. She’d polished off the scone and was finishing up the last sausage when the other two women fell silent.

She looked up to find Rafe, in old jeans and a worn polo, standing in the doorway to the hall, watching her. He had a streak of soot on his unscarred cheek, and in his eyes she could see all the lovely things they’d done the night before. She swallowed that last big bite of sausage and reached for her napkin.

“Rafe, good morning,” said Melinda, her voice a little too bright. Genny slid her a glance. What she saw startled her. A look of...what? Yearning? Hurt?

Whatever it was, it only lasted a split second. The strange expression vanished, replaced with a sweet, agreeable smile.

“Melinda,” Rafe replied with a nod and turned back to Genny. “Almost done?” he asked her. She was still kind of stuck back there with that look on Melinda’s face. He prompted, “Gen?”

She tucked her napkin in at the side of her plate. “Finished, yes. Have you eaten?”

“Later. Right now, there’s something you need to see.”

* * *

Deep in the center of the house, below the State Rooms, they stared at the ancient oil heater that provided warmth to the rooms above.

He said, “I’ll have the man in from the village to look at it. I think he can keep it going until the end of the season, at least.”

“How old is it, exactly?” she asked.

“Twenty-three years.”

“That’s old, isn’t it—for a heater, I mean?”

He nodded. “It’s guzzling sixty thousand pounds a year now just for the oil, with another forty thousand for the electricity to run it.”

“We’ll have to replace it, won’t we?”

He hooked an arm around her, pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair. “I think we might, yes.”

“This winter, then, while they’re doing the roof and refurbishing the West Wing?”

He made a low, thoughtful sound of agreement as he rubbed his hand up and down her arm lightly, with a casual sort of intimacy that stole her breath—and made her feel she belonged to him, that they belonged together. “Visitors pour in and out of here every day,” he said. “They see rooms full of art, Chinese wallpaper and Chippendale furniture. It all looks so well maintained.”

She knew exactly where he was going. “But the trouble is behind the scenes, where people
don’t
see—and you know what?”

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You have an idea.”

“Maybe. Did you read about the new heating system they put in at Castle Howard? It was a few years ago.”

“That’s right. I’d completely forgotten. Ground-source heat, wasn’t it called? A system of coils filled with heat-absorbing glycol under the lake. The heated glycol is then pumped up into the house and through the radiators, same as oil.”

“From what I read, the savings are enormous for them. And they got government aid, because God knows the British government loves anything green.” She turned into his arms and tipped her head up to grin at him. “Heating oil is not going to get any cheaper, you know.”

He guided a curling lock of hair behind her ear. There was such warmth in his eyes. “We should look into it.”

“Definitely.” She reached up and rubbed that streak of soot off his cheek.

He gazed at her so...fondly. As though she were the only other person in the world. “Only you would have been reading casually about ground-source heating.”

“You know about it, too, which means you did the same—and yes. It’s what you said the day you showed me the plans for the new roof.”

He remembered. “You were born for this.” He bent his head to kiss her—a light, brushing, so-sweet little kiss. “We’ll whip this old pile into shape in no time.”

“Just stay away from Melinda.” She hardly knew she was going to say it until the words were out of her mouth.

He stiffened and his eyes grew wary. “What do you mean?”

She stared up at him, wordless at that moment. She’d shocked herself when she blurted it out like that.

Now he was looking offended. “I told you everything, Gen. There’s nothing between Melinda and me. Not for years.”

She drew a slow breath—and set about making amends. “I believe you.”

“Then, what’s this about? Why demand I stay away from her?”

“Rafe, I mean it. I honestly don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong.” She put a hesitant hand against his hard chest—and breathed a little easier when he wrapped his fingers around it.

“I’ll ask again,” he said low. “What’s this about?”

She tried to think how to explain it. “You’re going to say I’m imagining things....”

A hint of his former good humor returned. “Let me decide for myself what I think.”

“It was...the way she looked at you.”

He seemed bewildered. “Looked at me when?”

“In the Morning Room, just now.”

He shook his head. Slowly. “You’re basing your suspicions on a look?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. It was a hurt, hungry sort of look. A very intense look.”

“I have to say, I missed it completely.”

“It was very fast. There and then gone. Just like that. And you weren’t looking at her when it happened.”