THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (12 page)

“Let me guess. I was looking at you. That should tell you something, don’t you think?”

“This isn’t about me and you. It’s about Melinda.”

“From where I’m standing, I would say it’s very much about you and me. About whether you trust me—or not.”

“I do trust you.” For that, she got a grunt of disbelief. And she could easily grunt right back at him. He did have secrets, things he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—share with her.

But she didn’t believe that Melinda was one of them. He’d been frank and open with her about his former girlfriend.

It was Melinda she was worried about. “I think she’s still in love with you.”

He groaned. “That’s insane. With an extra helping of crazy sauce.”

“Oh, well. Thank you very much.”

“She was never in love with me. I told you how it was.”

“You told me how it was for
you.
You told me about the agreement you had with her. You really can’t have any idea what was going on inside her head and heart—and stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a few mallets short of a full croquet set.”

“I do not think you’ve lost your mind.”

“Oh, excuse me. Wasn’t it you just talking about crazy sauce?”

“I was exaggerating for the sake of affect.”

“Gee, Rafe. Good to know.”

“And Gen, I have to say, I do think you’re very...possessive.”

“Of course I’m possessive. You’re my husband. I’ve made it very clear I don’t want you fooling around.”

“Then we can stop this conversation right here. I’m not fooling around.”

“You’re also not understanding what I’m trying to tell you.”

“No kidding.”

Men were so dense. “Rafe, I’m not only possessive, I’m feeling insecure.”

“Why?”

“Oh, please. You married me because I’m having your baby.”

He blinked. Bright hope rose within her, that he might take issue with the point, say he’d married her because he
wanted
to marry her.

Didn’t happen. “So?”

So I’m in love with you, you idiot.
She opened her mouth to say it. “So, I’m...” And then she just couldn’t. She took the coward’s way. “I have...worries, doubts about whether we’ll make it together in the long run.”

“We’ll make it.” He said it grimly, with determination. As though their marriage was some long, hard slog he’d set himself on, a goal he would reach no matter the cost.

She held on to her patience and spoke with admirable calm, she thought. “Rafe, I’m only saying that a baby coming is probably not the best reason to marry someone.”

“It’s a fine reason. A damn good enough reason.”

“Yes, well. All right. It’s reason enough for us.”

“What in hell are you getting at?”

Oh, this was not going well at all. “I’m, er... We have an agreement, that’s what. Last night, you agreed to be true to me.”

He threw up both hands. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. How much clearer can I make myself? I haven’t for years and am never again, under any circumstances, having it off with Melinda Cartside. I don’t want anyone but you. If I’ve yet to convince you of that, let me see what I can do.”

And with that, he grabbed her by the arms, hauled her close and slammed his mouth down on hers in an angry, punishing kiss.

She twisted her mouth away. “Rafe. Please...” His dark eyes burned down at her. She fully expected to see smoke coming out of his ears. “Rafe...” She flattened both hands on his chest that time, to put at least a few inches between his body and hers. His big heart was pounding away in there, like a giant hammer against a thick stone wall. He looked down at her hands. But he didn’t take them in his this time. Then again, he didn’t jerk away, either. “Rafe, I’m... I don’t want anyone but you, either.”
Because I’m in love with you. Totally, completely, achingly in love with you.

“Then what is the problem? Why don’t you trust me?”

“But I told you. It’s Melinda I don’t trust. You can’t trust a woman—or a man—who’s all eaten up with unrequited love.”

“Eaten up? Gen, listen to yourself. What you’re saying is absurd.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

“Think again. What real proof do you have? You can’t just assume that Melinda’s carrying some decade-long torch for me. Not from just one look. You hardly know her.”

“Well, all right. When you put that way, I...”

“See? You don’t know. You can’t be sure.”

She couldn’t. And she had to admit that. “All right. I take your point. Maybe, just possibly, I have it all wrong.”

“Of course you do.”

She pushed at his chest. “Don’t make me smack you one.”

He caught her hands before she could escape. “You’re a violent little thing.” He dipped his head again.

And again, she turned away. “Listen. I mean it.”

“Say it, then,” he growled in her ear.

“I only... Well, just for the sake of argument, say I was right.”

“But, Gen, you’re
not
right.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.”

“Rafe. Please. Just for the sake of argument, let’s say that I’m right. Let’s say that Melinda is and always has been in love with you. And let’s say she did make a pass at you. What would you do?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“But what would you
do?
”

“Well, I would say no. That I’m not interested.”

“And then, not only would she be suffering from unrequited love, she would have to live with your outright rejection.”

He blew out a hard breath. “If a woman is going to make a move on a married man, she deserves what she gets—in fact, I’ll go further.”

“Oh, well. Please do.”

“We all risk rejection any time we go after something we want—or some
one
we want. If Melinda was so in love with me, why didn’t she say a word about it all those years ago, when both of us were free?”

She looked at him, loving him, shaking her head, longing to demand,
If she had, would you have said you loved her, too?

But no. If he answered yes, she’d only die a little inside. And it wasn’t a fair question anyway. Better to stay in the here and now.

And then she found herself thinking about those two months after their four days at Villa Santorno. She had waited every day, every hour, every beat of her heart, for him to contact her, for him to tell her he wasn’t ready yet for it to be over. Thinking about that time had her understanding Melinda better.

“Oh, Rafe. Don’t you see? Eleven years ago, she was only waiting for a sign from you, a signal that maybe, just maybe, you felt what she felt.”

He stared down at her with a thoughtful expression. For a moment, she thought he understood. But then, just like a man, he argued, “And maybe you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She was so tempted to start yelling at him then. But no. She’d done the best she could with this. They needed to move on. “Just in case, will you please be careful around her? Be observant, watch your step?”

He snorted out a hard laugh. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known.”

“Not half as stubborn as you.
Will
you?”

He looked thoroughly put-upon. “I suppose, for the sake of peace between the two of us, I’ll have to, won’t I?” And then he dipped his head a third time.

She leaned back, so his lips couldn’t quite touch hers. “Was that a yes?”

He caught her by the shoulders. “Kiss first.”

She sucked in a shivery, yearning breath. “Will you?”

And he lifted one hand and cradled the back of her neck. His warm, knowing fingers slid into her hair. He held her there with very little effort as his mouth came down and plundered hers.

She didn’t fight it. It felt too good. She parted her lips for him, inviting his clever, hot tongue inside.

For a long, lovely string of moments, everything faded away. There was only his burning kiss and the pleasure zipping along her every nerve.

And then, when he finally released her mouth, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Gen...”

She asked, one more time, “Will you?”

He teased, “What were we talking about?”

“Answer the question.”

And finally, he gave in. “Yes, all right. I’ll watch my step around Melinda.”

Chapter Nine

R
afe had to go up to London again the next week. Genny went with him. They stayed at his house in Kensington. They ate out at good restaurants and attended the theater.

And they spent long, lazy hours in bed. They laughed a lot and discussed their plans for Hartmore. Genny felt relaxed and content with her life and her new husband. In her third month of pregnancy now, she was in excellent health and definitely eating for two.

Twice, they picked up Geoffrey after his school day was through. The first time, when he saw her, he let out a whoop and ran to her arms. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Aunt Genny. And you can come often, can’t you? Now that you live at Hartmore with us.”

She hugged him tight and agreed that yes, she certainly could and she definitely would.

They went to a film, the three of them. And they visited the Science Museum and ate at the Rainforest Café. He was cheerful and chatty. He said school wasn’t so bad after all. And he couldn’t wait to come home for two whole months.

Genny and Rafe returned to Hartmore late Friday afternoon. Melinda’s photo shoot was just wrapping up. The sky had clouded over with a promise of coming rain and a car waited to take the models back to London—or the train station, Genny wasn’t sure which.

The photographer and his assistant had already left, Eloise told them when they found her in the Blue Drawing Room.

“It’s all been so very exciting,” she said, and then lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Best of all, it’s almost over.”

The three of them—Rafe, Eloise and Genny—stood at the Palladian window and watched the five tall, willowy models get into the waiting car and drive away.

Eloise explained, “Melinda will be staying the night and driving her van with all the clothes back tomorrow. She and Brooke have really hit it off. Melinda has been here every day since you two left for London. She goes back and forth between us and the village. Evidently, there’s some tension between Melinda and her family. They never wanted her to leave the village all those years ago, from what I’ve gathered. They hoped she would stay home and marry some local man. So now they’re making it up between them, Melinda and her mum and dad. I must say, I’m happy for that. Melvin and Dora are getting on in years. It’s a time of life when you want to have peace with your children.”

Rafe put his arm around Genny. She glanced up at him. He gathered her closer to his side.

Eloise shrugged and added, “Well, at least that’s the sense that I have of the situation. I can’t say for sure, though. I’m just an old woman and no one’s been terribly forthcoming with me.”

Rafe teased, “Granny, are you feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Of course not. I have my gardens and my family. Genevra belongs to us now.” The pale blue eyes twinkled. “And in December I shall have another great-grandchild to spoil. Life is just as it should be—oh, and did I mention, Fiona’s here, too? She invited herself for the photo shoot and will also be staying the night.”

* * *

Fiona.

Genny knew she’d been unrealistic to hope she’d never have to see the woman again. But where Brooke went, Fiona eventually followed. Genny sometimes wondered about Fiona’s marriage. The banker husband seemed to have a completely separate life from his horrible wife. And what about her children? Fiona seemed to have no time for the twins.

The rain was coming down, a dreary drizzle, by dinnertime. They ate in the family dining room. Brooke, Melinda and Fiona chattered away, sipping too much wine.

Genny tried not to look at Fiona. She feared if she did, her dislike would show on her face.

Melinda, on the other hand, seemed friendly in an easy, unpretentious way. She offered Genny smiles, asking her questions about her childhood in Montedoro, about how she was settling in at Hartmore. And she really did seem interested in Genny’s answers. Not once did Genny catch her looking longingly at Rafe.

Had Rafe been right, then? Had Genny made a big deal about Melinda when there’d been no need? Genny really did begin to wonder if she’d completely mistaken that glance in the Morning Room a week before.

Apparently, Genny’s pregnancy was now general knowledge. Which was fine. Good, even. It wasn’t a secret anyone could keep for all that long—and somehow, in the past few weeks, she’d moved beyond wanting it to be a secret anyway. Melinda said how happy she was for her and Rafe.

And Fiona suggested, “Enjoy yourselves while you can. Once they’re born, they’re always in your hair.”

Genny longed to reply that Fiona’s sons didn’t seem to be cramping her style one bit. But she didn’t. She only gave Fiona a nod and quickly looked away.

Then Brooke started in about the party she was giving for Geoffrey’s birthday. She’d decided to invite several children from the village. And Fiona’s twins would be attending, as well. There was talk of paintball—a child’s version, Brooke assured them, with smaller paint guns and softer ammunition, perfectly safe, totally painless—a petting zoo, a balloon act and a magician. The menu went on forever. The cake would be shaped like the main characters from Geoffrey’s favorite video game. And there would be loot bags. Big ones.

Rafe reminded his sister, “I thought you were going to keep it low-key.”

Brooke dismissed him with a wave of her wineglass. “He’s only nine once, Rafe. I want it to be a party he’ll remember.”

Rafe let it go at that. Genny understood why. Once Brooke had decided to do something, it caused nothing but misery to argue with her plan.

Before dessert, Genny excused herself for a quick trip to the loo. She used the half bath not all that far from the East Dining Room. It was down a rather dim corridor. She took care of business, washed her hands and primped her hair.

When she pulled open the door, she almost ran into Fiona. “Oh!” It came out like a shriek of fright. And in a way, it was. “Fiona, you surprised me.” She wanted out of there, and fast. “All yours, then.” She dodged around the redhead.

But Fiona caught her arm. “Just a minute. Please, Genevra.” Her voice was frantic, the light in her eyes nothing short of desperate.

Genny’s stomach rolled, the baby making it clear yet again that he or she didn’t appreciate intense emotions. She longed to jerk away and race toward the light at the end of the hallway.

But she didn’t. She pulled it together, gently disengaged her arm and said, “All right. What is it?”

Fiona put her hands together—and started wringing them. “About that night last week...” Her mouth twisted, her misery obvious even in the darkness of the hallway. She tried a laugh. It came out a frenzied little screech. “I’d had a lot to drink and I have no idea what I might have said or done. It’s all a complete blur to me. And I do hope you won’t take whatever I said that night seriously. I...I could have said anything. Made up things, you know?”

Genny ought to let it go. There was nothing antagonistic in Fiona’s attitude now. On the contrary, she seemed to want to reassure Genny that the things she’d said last Tuesday night would never cross her lips again. But then, who could tell with Fiona? “Which things, exactly, are you talking about?”

More hand wringing. “Well, I...I told you, I don’t really know—because I can’t remember, you see? I only wanted to apologize for barging in on you like that. It was so rude and disgusting of me.”

“Then you do remember coming to my room?”

“I... Yes. I do. I remember you let me in. And after that, it’s all a blur. All of it. Everything. I woke up in the morning in my room with a blazing hangover and I had no idea how I—”

“Gen?” Rafe stood down at the far end of the hallway, his broad form silhouetted against the light. “Everything all right?”

“Oh!” Fiona cried. “Rafe, hello there. Everything is fine, fine...” She flashed Genny a huge, ghastly smile. “Well, wonderful, then. Wonderful.” She whirled, darted into the powder room behind her and quickly shut the door.

Genny went to Rafe.

He looked her over as though checking her for injuries. “After you left the table, she jumped up and said she’d be right back. I didn’t like the look in her eyes.”

“So you came to rescue me?” She went on tiptoe and brushed a kiss against his jaw.

He was still frowning. “What was that about?”

Scary question. Genny considered blowing the whole thing off, reassuring him, the same as Fiona had, that it was nothing. But he was no fool. He would know she was lying. And they’d been doing so well together. Truth mattered. They needed, slowly, to work their way through all the sad secrets of the past.

“Gen?” he prompted.

Right now, however, was not the time. “Long story. How about if we talk about it later?”

He hesitated. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I am, absolutely.”

He offered his arm and they returned to the dining room.

* * *

All evening Genny stewed over what she would tell him when they were alone.

Everything,
demanded her conscience.

Nothing,
said the coward within who only wanted this fragile happiness they shared to continue forever, no matter the cost.

After dessert, Brooke, Fiona and Melinda went off to watch a film on the big-screen television in the Back Sitting Room. Eloise seemed to want to visit for a while. Rafe suggested Scrabble, as he knew his grandmother enjoyed trouncing everyone at a good word game. They played for three hours. Eloise won. She always did.

By midnight, Genny and Rafe were alone in the East Bedroom. She waited for him to ask about Fiona, but he only undressed her slowly and took her to bed.

Maybe he’d forgotten.

Or maybe he really just didn’t want to go there.

Fine with her. The coward inside her was perfectly content to forget all about it. He worked his usual magic on her willing body and she let herself get lost in the beauty of every sensation.

Afterward, he turned off the lights and she lay tucked against him, drifting toward sleep, when he said, “Have you changed your mind about telling me what happened tonight with Fiona?”

She stifled a groan and lay very still in his arms, knowing they needed to talk about it, yet still longing to forget it and pretend she was already fast asleep.

“Gen?”

She tipped her head back and looked at him through the darkness.

His black eyes were waiting. “Well?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

He touched the side of her face, a tender caress that did her heart good. “Given that it concerns Fiona, you’re probably right.”

“Great. Go to sleep.”

“Fat chance.” He reached through the curtains and turned on the light.

No getting out of it now. She plumped the pillows and sat up beside him. “Last week, while you were in London, Brooke and Fiona came back together. Fiona stayed the night. There was a lot of wine at dinner. Both Fiona and Brooke got pretty drunk. Eloise and I came up to bed early, essentially to get away from them. Much later, there was a knock on the sitting room door....”

Rafe sat silent at her side as she told him everything, all she could remember, of what Fiona had said to her that night.

When she’d finished, he asked gently, “Is that all?” His calm, his seeming unconcern, surprised her. She had thought he would be angry. But he took it all with a hint of a smile—or maybe that was just the crescent scar making it seem that he was smiling.

Mixed in with her relief that he hadn’t shut her out, she found she was angry
for
him. “It’s more than enough, don’t you think? I swear, Fiona is such an evil cow.”

“She has her agendas,” he said wryly.

“What agendas?”

He shook his head. “What was that in the hallway tonight?”

She considered pressing her point, asking again exactly what agendas he meant. But she let it go. “Fiona seemed frantic to convince me that she couldn’t recall a thing she’d said that night last week, that none of it was true anyway—which is funny, considering she said she didn’t know what ‘it’ was. I think she meant to have me believe she’d had some kind of blackout during which she babbled nonsense, and I should simply forget it ever happened.”

He framed her face in his wonderful, huge hands. “My poor love, it must have been gruesome.”

“It was. I wanted to slap her until her ears rang and tear out her hair. Instead, I gave her tissues to mop up her tears and then I dragged her back to her room.”

He brushed her cheeks with his thumbs. “And you were never going to tell me?”

“I was, yes. Eventually. When...I thought the time was right.”

Those obsidian eyes gleamed at her. And then he kissed her, slow and tender. “Would you hate it so much to know you were married to a gardener’s bastard and not a true DeValery after all?”

That one was easy to answer. “I wouldn’t, no, not at all. I’ve always known anyway.”

“Known what? That I’m a bastard?”

“No. That some people
think
you are.”

“What people?”

She was in all the way now. She confessed, “Some English girl I went to school with, a boy in the village years and years ago...”

“People love to carry tales.”

“Yes, they do.”

He made a chiding sound with his tongue against his teeth. “And you never once brought it up to me.”

“I told you, I didn’t care. And I was afraid that it would hurt you. I didn’t want that. You are the finest man I know and I...” She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite say the most dangerous word. “I’m so very, very fond of you.”

He studied her face for a long, uncomfortable moment. And then he said, “As I am of you.”

She was thinking that she should try again, make herself say it.
I’ve fallen completely in love with you, Rafe.
But before she could work up the nerve, he shoved the covers back and jumped from the bed.

“Rafe, what in the world?”

“I want you to come with me. I’ll get you a dressing gown.” He turned for the dressing room.

She stared at his magnificent backside as he walked away from her. “Come with you where, exactly?”

He disappeared in the other room for a minute. When he returned, he wore track pants, a T-shirt and house shoes. He carried her favorite kimono in one hand and her slippers in the other. “Here you go.”