by Candace Camp
She sincerely hoped that her words would prove true, Genevieve thought after Lady Julia politely left her alone to rest. The room was indeed lovely, with a restful view of the gardens, but her chest tightened at the thought of having no room of her own. She had never shared a room with anyone—well, except for the past few days in the cottage with Myles, of course. But that had been out of the ordinary, a singular event. To live with someone else each and every day was something else entirely. She could not retreat into solitude when she was tired or worried. She could not send her husband away if she was irritated with him. What was she to do, where was she to go, when emotions swelled in her, threatening to explode?
At a noise in the hallway, Genevieve turned. Her maid, Penelope, was standing in the doorway, and she bobbed a curtsy. “My lady. Welcome home.”
“Penelope.” A smile broke across Genevieve’s face, a larger one, she supposed, than was warranted. But alone in this unfamiliar house, surrounded by strangers, however nice they might be, Genevieve was relieved to see her abigail’s familiar face.
“I’m very happy to see you, ma’am.” Penelope came forward, smiling. “Shall I help you out of your things? Perhaps you’d like to lie down for a bit. A nice cool cloth on your forehead would be just the thing. A drop or two of lavender, perhaps?”
“That sounds delightful.”
Penelope started toward the door to close it, but before she reached it, Myles stepped into the room. The maid curtsied to him, then turned back tentatively toward Genevieve. “Shall I come back later, then, ma’am? With the lavender?”
“Yes. That would be good.” Genevieve hid the little twinge of disappointment at the delay.
Myles strolled over to her, a faint frown forming between his eyes. “Is everything all right? Is the room to your liking?”
“Oh, yes, ’tis most pleasant. Your mother was very kind and . . . and pleasant.”
His lips twitched into a smile as he took her hand. “Good. I am glad that everything is so”—he raised her hand and kissed her fingertips—“pleasant.”
“You needn’t make fun of me,” Genevieve said coolly, and started to turn away, but Myles held on to her hand, stopping her, and his hands dropped to her waist, gently tugging her forward until she was flush against his body.
“Myles!” she said, shocked, and glanced toward the door. “Someone might see us.”
“I am sure they would be scandalized to see a husband holding his wife.” He grinned. “Now tell me, Genevieve, what is bothering you?”
“Nothing. I told you.” She scowled at him. “This morning I was wondering why I once found you so annoying. But now I recall.”
Myles chuckled and hooked his arms around her loosely, bending to nuzzle the crook of her neck. “Ah, Genevieve . . . I was beginning to wonder what had happened to my astringent girl. I feared I might have lost her entirely.”
“Don’t be nonsensical.” Genevieve strove for a severe tone, but somehow her voice came out more soft and affectionate than scolding. The feathery brush of his lips on her skin sent little shivers through her, as they always did. She raised her hands, resting them on his arms, her fingers digging into the material as the now-familiar desire washed through her. “Do stop,” she said without conviction.
“Not until you tell me what has made you stiff and prickly.”
“I—your mother put us both in this room,” she blurted out. As soon as the words were out, she wished she could call them back. She sounded petty and ungracious. She jerked away, and Myles dropped his arms, letting her go.
“I see.” He paused for a moment, then said carefully, “And you would prefer to sleep alone.”
“No,” she replied, startled, thinking of sleeping in an empty bed without Myles’s warm, hard body against hers. Without his arms around her. “That’s not what I—I mean, it isn’t done.” When he continued to simply look at her, she went on hastily, “You understand, don’t you? Husbands and wives have their own rooms. It’s the way of things. Not everyone, I suppose, but, well—” She stumbled to a halt and burst out, exasperated, “Oh, Myles, you know what I’m talking about.”
“Do you?” he retorted quickly, his eyes flaring golden for an instant. He started to speak, then stopped, pressing his lips tightly together before he went on calmly, “I am sorry. I am sure Mother did not intend to distress you.”
“It doesn’t distress me,” Genevieve said quickly, wishing more and more by the second that she had never brought up the topic. “It’s simply . . .”
“You want to be alone,” he finished evenly.
“I—I am not accustomed to . . . living with someone,” she finished lamely. She could not expect Myles to understand, she knew. Men always had places that were theirs alone—the study, a smoking room, their club; indeed, the whole estate belonged to a man, when one came down to it.
The stiffness in his posture eased, and Myles said in a warmer, gentler tone, “I think we managed it well enough this week.” He tipped up her chin, smiling down at her, and Genevieve could not help but smile back.
“Yes, of course.”
He bent and pressed his lips to hers lightly. “There are moments that you found enjoyable.”
Genevieve blushed faintly. “Myles . . . we cannot always be . . . like that.”
“Can we not?” he asked lightly, and kissed her again.
“We’re back to normal life. That was different. Special.”
“How special?” His lips teased at her earlobe.
“Myles, stop.” She giggled. “You make it difficult to think.”
“Good.” She felt his lips curve up in a smile against her skin. “Ah, Genevieve . . .” He let out a sigh, then, with a final little nip to her earlobe, he lifted his head and said lightly, “ ’Tis no problem. My old room is down the hall.” He smiled and turned away.
“Myles!” A coldness clutched her chest. “No, wait.”
He turned back, his brows lifting in inquiry.
“Your childhood bedroom isn’t suitable for the master of the house. Your mother was right. This room is much more appropriate.”
He shrugged. “I have slept well enough there for years.”
“Yes, but . . . I do not want your mother to think that I am ungrateful. She has been so kind.”
“Genevieve, what are you saying?” Myles regarded her quizzically.
“I—well, maybe it would be better, while we are here at the manor, at least, if we were to, you know, keep this arrangement.”
Myles smiled faintly and strolled back toward her. “You want me to stay here with you?”
Genevieve felt her cheeks warm. “Well, yes. I mean”—she shrugged—“I do not want to offend your mother.”
“No, we would not want that.” He pulled her into his arms.
Twelve
Genevieve came slowly awake. She shifted, feeling the sheets slide across her bare skin. A familiar sensation was between her legs, too satisfying to be called an ache, more a lingering awareness of the pleasure she had known the night before. But the warmth she was accustomed to feeling beside her was gone. She rolled onto her back, her eyes going around the room and settling on Myles, who was standing in front of the shaving stand, sliding a razor up the underside of his jaw.
She had witnessed his performing this male ritual before—every morning at the cottage. But she had yet to tire of it. She wasn’t sure why she enjoyed it, although she suspected that it had something to do with the sight of Myles’s bare back and the play of muscles beneath his skin.
He cast a sideways glance at her and smiled. “Good morning, my love. Did I wake you?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t mind. I like to watch you shave.” She had not meant to say so; the words had simply tumbled out of her. It was, no doubt, an entirely foolish thing to feel, let alone express. To avoid his eyes, she stretched, and the sheet slid down perilously close to the pink tips of her breasts.
Myles’s eyes followed the movement of the covering; she could
see the flash of desire in his eyes, the softening of his lips, and the signs of his arousal stirred her own passion. Genevieve thought of lifting her arms again until the sheet slipped off her engorged nipples, imagining how his gaze would darken then. She wondered what he would do, whether he would wait, watching her, or if he would cross the room and pull the sheet farther down, exposing her to his gaze.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice low and sensual. He wiped the remainder of the shaving soap from his face and walked over to sit down on the bed beside her. “I could see the mischief in your eyes from across the room.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Genevieve replied loftily.
“Naturally.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he hooked a finger beneath the hem of the sheet, edging the cloth down over the peaks of her breasts. “I believe you are thinking of seducing me, my lady.”
“Only thinking?” Genevieve retorted with a smile, and crossed her arms behind her head, gazing back at him boldly as the movement sent the covering sliding even farther.
He chuckled and bent to lightly kiss each rosy tip. “You are a wicked woman. It is fortunate that I am a man of such willpower.” He rose to his feet. “I have a great many things to do this morning. I fear I cannot satisfy you right now.”
Genevieve swept out her hand and grabbed the pillow next to her, flinging it at his retreating back.
Myles let out a laugh as he continued to the dresser and picked up an object. “Now, now. You should not attack the man who is about to give you a present.”
“A present?” Genevieve sat up, intrigued, and pulled the sheet up to cover her.
He turned around and made a face. “How unkind of you to spoil my view.”
“You rejected me, sir,” she retorted. “Now show me the present.”
He grinned and came back to her, hiding his hand behind his back until he reached her, then holding out his palm in a flourish. A diamond ring lay in his hand, flashing its brilliance as a ray of sun hit it.
“Myles!” Genevieve let the sheet go as she leaned forward to look at the ring. “It’s exquisite. Is this—” She looked up at him.
“Your wedding ring. Yes. I meant to give it to you last night, but, um, as you remember, we were rather busy after supper.” He cast her a roguish glance. “Do you like it? If you do not, I will get you another; you need not wear my grandmother’s ring.”
“Don’t you dare. It is beautiful.” Genevieve held out her hand so that he could slide the elegant band onto her finger. “And I like that it was your grandmother’s.” She tilted her hand one way, then the other, admiring the square-cut diamond, flanked on either side by two smaller diamonds. Her throat felt oddly full, as if she might cry, which was absurd. There was no reason to wax weepy over a ring, no matter how lovely it was. She went up on her knees on the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him. “Thank you.”
He returned her kiss with fervor, his hands gliding down her back and pressing her against him. “I think,” he said, breaking their kiss, “that I have a little time to spare before breakfast.”
A good deal later, the two of them made their way downstairs to the breakfast room. A babble of voices came from the chamber at the end of the hall, and Genevieve glanced up at Myles apprehensively.
“You may have been spared meeting the onslaught of our family last night, but I fear that Amelia and her brood must have stormed the walls today at dawn,” Myles said sardonically.
“Oh.” Genevieve’s nerves began to dance. It had been far easier than she had expected last night, with only Lady Julia and Nell at the dining table with them, for Phoebe had felt too tired to join them.
“Courage,” Myles murmured. “I promise they will not bite.”
“Don’t be nonsensical. I am sure it will be quite pleasant.” But she could not keep from gripping his arm more tightly as they continued down the hall. “It is just—I am not adept at making conversation.”
“You needn’t worry about that. The difficulty with my family is managing to get a word in.”
When they stepped into the breakfast room, everyone turned to look at them, all sound dying instantly. For a frozen moment, it seemed to Genevieve as if the small room were stuffed with people. Myles began to introduce her around, and the crowd resolved itself into Nell, Lady Julia, and Myles’s sisters Amelia and Phoebe, as well as Amelia’s two adolescent sons, who had ridden over with her this morning. Amelia looked a much younger version of her mother, but Phoebe, heavy with pregnancy, seemed a faded copy of the other two women, lines of discontent forming grooves that ran down from her mouth.
“Genevieve, my dear, come sit here beside me,” Lady Julia said, rising to take Genevieve’s arm and slip her into the empty chair situated between her and her son’s seat at the head of the table.
Across the table from Genevieve sat Amelia and Phoebe, in whose eyes Genevieve saw the looks of curiosity and wariness that she had expected from all Myles’s family. These two, she thought, were not ready to take her to their bosom as his mother had. She braced herself for a subtle probing of the circumstances surrounding Genevieve’s whirlwind courtship and marriage to their brother, but to her surprise, it did not come. Though she could feel them studying her covertly now and then, there were no subtle barbs, no penetrating questions.
Indeed, as Myles had predicted, Genevieve discovered little need to worry about talking. The Thorwoods were a lively group, and there were no lulls. They chattered and laughed, conversations darting every which way across the table. Genevieve relaxed into her chair, listening with some amazement as Nell and Amelia’s sons chattered right along with all the adults. Genevieve’s grandmother had allowed Genevieve to join her and Aunt Willa in the dining room when Genevieve was fourteen, but only if no guests were present. Genevieve had known better than to speak unless one of the adults had directed the discussion her way.
She glanced at Lady Julia when Nell asked her mother to let her go riding with Amelia’s sons, expecting a reprimand, but Lady Julia only said in a mild tone, “But what about your schoolwork, dear? Miss Wilson said you were behind in Latin.”
Nell groaned. “I hate Latin. And Adam and William are allowed to ride this morning.”
“They are home from school on holiday,” Lady Julia pointed out.
“And they will be here for only two more weeks,” Nell reminded her, neatly slipping into a new argument. “I can do my Latin after they are gone.” Her mother looked uncertain, and Nell pressed on, “Myles can come with us to supervise. You know Putnam said I was taking my fences wrong. Myles could help.”
“Genevieve is who you should ask,” Myles said, nodding toward his wife. “She is an excellent horsewoman, not to mention more adept at riding sidesaddle than I, I’m sure.”
“Yes! Would you?” Nell’s eyes lit up and she turned to Genevieve. “It’d be ever so much fun.”
Genevieve glanced toward Lady Julia. “Certainly, I’d be happy to, if your mother does not object.”
“Wonderful! Then we can all go.” Nell turned her gaze back to Myles. “Say yes, do.”
He smiled at her. “I think it sounds like a grand idea. But, much as I would enjoy it, I have a number of tasks I must see to this morning. And there is still the matter of your schoolwork. You do your Latin today, and tomorrow morning we shall all go. I am sure the boys would be happy to return.”
Myles’s response surprised Genevieve, who would have expected him to be less strict about the rules. But Nell’s expression, while disappointed, held little surprise.
“I can help you with your Latin, if you’d like, Nell,” Genevieve offered. “I was never bookish, but I rather enjoyed Latin.” She grinned. “It was like having a secret language because Grandmama’s Latin was atrocious, but she was too proud to admit that she didn’t know what Alec and I were saying.”
“Would you?” Nell brightened considerably.
“Of course.”
So immediate
ly after breakfast, while Myles headed to the estate office, Nell and Genevieve went up to Nell’s bedroom. “Phoebe’s children are studying in the nursery,” she explained to Genevieve. “It’s impossible to get anything done there. And, anyway, Miss Wilson will be cross if we disturb them.” She handed her Latin text over to Genevieve with a resigned expression.
They worked for over an hour, and Genevieve could see that Nell was more bored than unable to do the work. “Perhaps you would enjoy reading Virgil more than Pliny the Elder,” Genevieve suggested. “We could try that tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Oh, yes, anything besides this. Though it is much more fun with you than with Miss Wilson. Would you mind helping me again?”
“No. Not at all.” Genevieve was faintly surprised to realize that her words were true. “Now . . . let’s work for a bit longer, and then I think we can safely say you’ve done enough to warrant a ride tomorrow.”
Almost an hour later, Nell closed her book with a satisfied thump. “There! Miss Wilson will be amazed. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.” Genevieve smiled and rose to her feet. “Perhaps—I wondered if you might show me the dollhouse you were working on. Lady Julia said it was quite remarkable.”
Nell’s eyes lit up, and she jumped to her feet. “Of course! If you really want to. Myles said I must not bother you.”
“I should like to see it. Very much.”
Nell led her up the back stairs to the nursery above. Down the hallway, they could hear April reading haltingly to her governess, but Nell ducked into another chamber several doors down from the schoolroom.
“Nell!” Genevieve exclaimed, following Myles’s sister into the room. “It’s amazing.” She turned around, taking in the whole room. “You mother said it was more a village now, but still I did not realize.”
Genevieve walked around, looking at the houses, ranging from a thatched-roof cottage to a tall, narrow town house to a sprawling medieval castle. The level of artistry varied from one to another, revealing Nell’s growth in skills.