The Marrying Season (36 page)

Delving downward, her hands were stymied by the waistband of his breeches, and she fumbled at the buttons. He reared up, straddling her, and ripped his shirt up and off over his head, throwing it away. Her hands went to his taut stomach, sliding over his skin. Now, looking at him, touching him, she was stunned by how much she had missed him, more than she had even realized. She
came up to press her lips against his skin, softly rubbing her cheek against him.

“Myles,” she whispered as her arms slid around him, and she clung to him, trembling, as tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, dampening his chest as well as her face.

“Genevieve?” Concern touched his voice even as she felt him tighten and swell against her. He moved off her, peering into her face. “Are you crying? Did I hurt you? I did not mean—”

“No, no.” She smiled at him, blinking away her tears. “It’s nothing. It’s only—I feel so—oh, Myles! I don’t know what I feel. I just want you to hold me and hold me and don’t let go.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him to her. “I want you,” she whispered, her hand going down to slide beneath his breeches. “I want to have you inside me.”

He made a low noise and shucked off his breeches. He pulled her beneath him, sliding between her legs, and she felt him probing at her flesh. Genevieve sucked in a ragged breath, moaning his name again, and moved her hips, seeking him. With infinite slowness, he sank into her, stretching and filling her, banishing the emptiness. She wrapped her legs around him as he began to move within her, stoking her passion with each long, hard thrust. Her fingers dug into his back as his movements quickened, turning faster and harder until she was panting with eagerness, yearning toward the satisfaction she knew waited just beyond.

He jerked against her, his muscles tightening, as he poured his seed into her. Genevieve cried out, pleasure exploding within her.

They lay locked together. He started to shift his weight from her, but Genevieve tightened her grip around him, and he remained. She wanted to feel the weight of him on her, bearing her down into the soft mattress. She wanted to feel his skin pressed against hers all the way up and down, to hear the ragged rasp of his breath in her ear, to feel the gallop of his heart against her chest. She thought of his words:
In his bed. Where she belonged.

Genevieve let out a breathy laugh and pressed her lips to his neck. She was gratified to feel the leap of his movement inside her. “Already?” she murmured, and stroked her nails lightly over the muscled curve of his buttocks.

“Mm.” He kissed the point of her shoulder. “It seems I cannot get enough of you.” He kissed her on the lips, his kiss slow and tender, tasting and caressing where before he had seized. “It has been an age since I’ve been here.”

“A few weeks.” She chuckled again, walking her fingertips up his body, counting his ribs.

“That is an age when a man is starving.” He raised his head to smile down into her face. “Tortured. Tormented.”

Genevieve laughed. “Through your own doing. ’Twas you who began it.”

“Did I? I cannot remember why.”

“To make me bend to your will, I believe.”

His eyes widened. “No, Genny. Not that. Never that.”

“I cannot be other than I am, Myles,” Genevieve said
a little desperately. “I know I am proud and”—she swallowed—“and somewhat cold.”

“Cold!” He grinned. “I never said that, surely.” He pressed his lips softly to the side of her neck.

“Yes, you did. I know you think it; everyone does. Do you think I don’t wish I were different? That I could please you and be as you like?” She put her hands on either side of his face, looking up earnestly at him. “But I am too much a Stafford. Look at my grandmother; in fifty years that is how I shall be. I will never be sweet and biddable; I cannot be just your wife. I shall always be Genevieve Stafford. And I fear that we will often be at war like this.”

“If all our battles turn out like this, I shall not mind a little war.” He smiled and gently kissed her lips. “Genevieve . . . I said a number of things that afternoon that I shouldn’t. I was angry. I did not mean them; I was . . . hurt. All I can do is ask your forgiveness. I don’t ask that you excise Genevieve Stafford from you; I merely want you to be Genevieve Stafford Thorwood.” He began to rain light kisses over her face. “I don’t want you to be a different person; I like you as you are. I like your will stiff and straight, exactly as it is.” He grinned, his hand gliding up between them to caress her breast. “Exactly as you make me.”

“Don’t be crude,” she said with mock severity.

“How can I not be? With you lying there so lovely.” He kissed her neck. “So luscious.” He kissed her collarbone. “So utterly, utterly naked.” He kissed the hollow of her
throat. “Ah, sweet girl, can you not feel the effect you have on me?”

“Yes.” She grinned and reached up to comb her fingers through his hair, wriggling her hips to emphasize her words. “It’s a very intriguing sensation.”

His lips lingered on her throat, then moved downward. He took his time, loving her with long, soft kisses, arousing and tempting and pleasing her. It seemed to Genevieve that he explored every inch of her body, until she was almost writhing in anticipation, and only then did he begin to move within her. He was achingly, blissfully slow in this as well, building the heat in her with long, fluid strokes, until finally they came together in a powerful cataclysm of passion.

Later, as Genevieve lay snuggled against Myles’s side, both of them sated and drowsy, Myles said in a contemplative voice, “I fear we shall miss the Dumbarton soiree tonight.”

Genevieve laughed, stretching lazily. “That will be no loss, I suspect. But I do regret that my bath has gone quite cold.”

“I shall have the maid bring a kettle of hot water to warm it.”

“No! Myles! She will know!”

“You think she does not already?” He chuckled.

Genevieve groaned, burying her blushing face in his chest. “Oh, Myles . . . the servants will think us both lust-driven animals.”

“They will think us newlyweds, I imagine.” He kissed
her hair. “And since they have been witness to our bad tempers till now, I suspect that they will be well pleased that we have come to an agreement.”

“I can’t imagine why it’s so important to you that I sleep in here,” Genevieve said, sitting up and stretching.

“Can’t you?” He ran a lazy finger down her spine. “ ’Twill be far warmer, come winter. And the company is pleasant on long, dark nights.”

She looked sardonically over her shoulder at him. “And that is your reason?”

“No.” He wound a strand of her hair around his forefinger. “Do you dislike it that much? The idea of being with me?”

A smile softened her face. “No.” She leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips. “I don’t dislike it at all.”

D
id you believe Langdon?” Myles
asked as they sat in front of the fire two hours later. Genevieve’s bath had, unsurprisingly, turned out to take a good deal more time than it normally would since Myles decided to join her, and after that they had shared their supper in his room, too hungry to care that the long delay had rendered it dry and somewhat tasteless.

“Yes.” Genevieve sat on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. “He is a poor excuse for a man, but I think he was genuinely confused and surprised when I accused him of luring me into the library with a note.”

“I did not hear all his story since someone was too eager to wait for me to join her. But Langdon seemed willing to tell whatever story would deliver him from us.”

“True.” Genevieve sat up straighter to look into Myles’s face. “But if you think about it, could Langdon have had the intelligence to come up with such a scheme? He scarcely seems a bright sort.”

“True. And he was right in saying he was badly foxed that night. I have to admit I am inclined to believe him.
Else I would not have let him go.” Myles paused, then added candidly, “Though, of course, my desire to get you alone and ring a peal over your head may have had something to do with it.”

“No doubt,” Genevieve agreed drily. She leaned forward and kissed his ear, nipping gently at his earlobe.

“Now, don’t distract me.” Myles snaked his hand beneath her dressing gown.

“Me distract you! I like that,” Genevieve exclaimed indignantly, her attitude undercut by laughter.

“Do you?” He nuzzled her neck, his hand wandering farther afield.

“Stop!” She swatted at his arm. “We are having a serious talk.”

“You began it,” he reminded her, but his hand stilled. “The very bizarre question this raises is, if it was not Langdon, who sent you that note?”

“Someone who dislikes me, that is clear enough.” Genevieve settled her head back on his shoulder.

“Or someone who wanted the result which occurred.”

“For you and me to marry?” Genevieve asked, puzzled.

Myles laughed. “No, my dear, though I must say, it is balm to my wounded pride that you consider that the important thing. I meant the result of you not marrying Dursbury.”

“Oh. Oh!” She sat up straight. “You are right. It
was
overly fortuitous that Dursbury and his friends walked into the library at that precise moment. Two notes to assure that Langdon and I would be in the library together
at that time—and anyone who knows Langdon would guess the way he would act in that situation. Then all one would have to do is to maneuver Dursbury to the library.”

“Precisely. My bet would be on Miss Halford.”

Genevieve nodded. “She is the one who has benefited from the incident. There are rumors flying around that the two of them will soon be engaged. And she would have noticed that Langdon was always hanging about, making a nuisance of himself. Well, well . . .” Genevieve leaned back against him. “Interesting. One feels one should do something to retaliate.”

“Mm. Particularly when one is a Stafford,” Myles added, idly rubbing her arm.

“I haven’t any idea what I would do to her, though. Miss Halford is welcome to Dursbury; marrying that dull fish should be punishment enough for anyone. I don’t like to be the subject of gossip, but, aside from that, I have been the real beneficiary of her scheme.”

“Have you?” Myles hand went still on her arm, and Genevieve felt the sudden tension in him, though she was not sure why.

“Why, yes.” Genevieve kept her voice light, not wanting to make a misstep, as she slipped her hand in under his robe and glided it over his chest. “I have found out several interesting things.” Her forefinger circled his nipple teasingly as she leaned closer, her lips almost touching his ear. “The first being that Grandmama was very, very wrong about the duties of the marital bed.”

She felt his body relax, and he nuzzled her neck, pulling the loose knot of her sash apart and parting her dressing gown. “Then let us see what else I can teach you.”

Life, Genevieve decided, had become
pleasant once again. Or, really, if she thought about it, life was more pleasant than she could remember it ever being. She did not mind not attending as many parties; indeed, she looked forward to staying at home with Myles. It was a bit shocking how much she enjoyed being with Myles and how often she thought of him when he was not around. How everything inside her seemed to turn warm and liquid whenever Myles walked into a room. Now and then she told herself that she was becoming like Damaris, utterly enthralled by her husband, but she could not find it in herself to care.

A few days later, Lady Julia came to town, bringing with her not only Nell but also Myles’s oldest sister, Amelia, who had decided to leave most of her brood in the care of their father and governess, taking only the youngest, along with his nurse. Amelia, Myles told Genevieve in an aside, could not bear not to be in charge of whatever was going on, but Genevieve could not help but be touched by her unexpected support. Genevieve was even more pleased to see Nell, as was Xerxes, who leapt into Nell’s arms with a most unusual lack of dignity.

The girl laughed and scratched the cat behind the ears, then began to chatter to Genevieve about the trip, her first to London. She was eager to see all the sights, especially
Astley’s Amphitheatre and the lions at the Tower, to both of which, Genevieve assured her, Myles would be pleased to escort them.

While the three of them spent the next afternoon, as promised, visiting the Tower, Lady Julia and Amelia called on Julia’s friend Lady Penbarrow. The following day Lady Penbarrow and Myles’s mother whisked Genevieve off to visit Lady Penbarrow’s aunt, the Duchess of Terwyck. The duchess, a rather formidable woman of advancing years, was one of the pillars of English society. Disdainful of the current fashions, she wore her snow-white hair up in an intricate and towering arrangement—though, thankfully, she left it unpowdered—and her dresses still had the lower waists and wider skirts popular fifteen years earlier.

She was in many ways the opposite of Genevieve’s own grandmother, for she reveled in being considered an eccentric and cared not a whit what anyone else thought of her. However, she had a towering pride similar to the Countess of Rawdon’s, and she cared for nothing as much as family. Luckily, the duchess extended her definition of family to include her niece’s lifelong friend Lady Thorwood and, by extension, any member of Lady Thorwood’s family. Therefore, she invited Genevieve and Lady Julia to tea and even took them along with her to an exceedingly boring lecture on the various important families of Norfolk, among which the Duke of Terwyck’s family held the central place.

As intended, this sign of the duchess’s favor quickly
brought a number of other ladies back to paying calls on Genevieve, and her social life picked up. It even, Genevieve found with a notable lack of pleasure, caused Lady Dursbury to pay them a visit. Genevieve would have escaped Elora’s visit if she had been able, but unfortunately she was absorbed in helping Nell pick out a tangle in her embroidery thread and was not aware of the woman’s arrival until Bouldin announced her.

“Lady Thorwood, I am pleased beyond words to meet you,” Elora gushed to Myles’s mother. “And this young lady must be Myles’s sister.” She patted on Nell on the head, which Genevieve was certain set Nell’s back up, though Elora was blissfully unaware of that, turning to Amelia to fawn over her, as well.