Telling herself that she was mistaken and confused because of her own feelings, Genevieve moved forward.
When Constanza followed the path of Marcel’s gaze, her eyes widened and she blanched. With perceptible chagrin she eased away from Harlan’s side.
This only served to make Genevieve even more confused. She was not ashamed to show her perfidy before Marcel. Yet she was clearly shamed to have Genevieve see them together.
Her brow creasing with confusion, Genevieve paused. As she hesitated, Marcel rose and came toward her. He took her arm and she again noted that he seemed to be looking at her strangely. His voice, as he spoke, only seemed to further expose his uncertainty. “Please, come and talk with us, Genevieve. There is something that you must be told.”
Feeling more unsettled by the moment, she tried to push down her discomfort. She raised her head high as he led her forward to where the others waited.
Harlan bowed as she came close. “Lady Genevieve.”
She nodded in return, registering slight surprise that he knew her name. Harlan answered her unvoiced question. “Constanza has told me of your true identity.”
Genevieve looked at Constanza. “Has she?”
Marcel spoke up at her side. “All is well, Genevieve. Constanza has done nothing that I would not have her do.”
Genevieve could not help hearing his stress upon the word nothing. What was he attempting to tell her?
Marcel went on, clearly oblivious to her thoughts. “Constanza and Harlan have come to share their most happy news with us. They are wed.”
Genevieve could feel her eyes widening in utter shock but could not seem to control the depth of her reaction as she looked from one face to another in abject confusion. “They are wed?”
Constanza spoke softly, her cheeks flushing as she admitted, “I have just recently realized that I am with child. When I told Harlan, he insisted that we must marry while we were in port getting the mast repaired. He did not wish for the babe to be a…”
Genevieve shook her head with a disapproval and horror she made no effort to disguise. “That you would come here so openly and admit your betrayal of Marcel without one bit of regret does you no credit, madam.”
Constanza paled and Harlan frowned, moving to place a protective arm around her. It was clear that he was working very hard to keep silent.
Marcel put his hands on Genevieve’s shoulders and turned her to face him. “Please, Genevieve, there is no need to speak so. You defend me wrongly. Constanza owed me nothing. It is I who should bear the brunt of your anger.”
She faced him with confusion. “I do not understand.”
He frowned, his gaze dark with regret. “Constanza and I have never been aught but friends.”
Her tone was bitter. “As we have been, Marcel?”
His blue gaze held hers as he spoke so low that only she could hear him. “Nay, not as we have been.” His meaning was clear, but the words did nothing to ease her outrage.
Her gaze swept the three of them with disdain, coming to rest on Marcel’s unhappy face. “So the whole time it was nothing but a falsehood. You and Constanza were never…together?”
He nodded with obvious discomfort. “That is correct.”
She found her voice had grown louder when she went on. “You deliberately misled me.”
Again he nodded, with even more clearly displayed chagrin. “Aye.”
Genevieve had heard quite enough. She turned and left them without another word. But Marcel was not finished. He caught her on the stair, his hand clasping her arm, and he said, “You must hear me out this once.”
She stared at him, her anger rolling up inside her like a tide. He had lied to her, tricked her into believing he and Constanza were together. There could be only one reason for that.
She found her voice was far calmer than she had expected as she said, “I will not ask why you lied. The reason is obvious. Are you so full of your own conceit, Marcel, that you felt you must lie to me about being involved with another woman in order to protect yourself from my unwanted attention?” The very memory of how she had given herself to Marcel the previous night made her heart ache at knowing this. The deep flush that stained his neck was answer enough. “Did you think yourself so irresistible that I would not take no for answer? What a pitiful fool you have taken me for.”
Quickly he interjected, “That is not true. I did not think you pitiful or anything of the sort. I…” He raised his hands in appeal. “I know that it was wrong to lie to you. Yet I saw what you assumed of Constanza and myself and felt that it would be best for all of us if you continued to believe it.”
She could not even begin to control the rise of emotion inside her as she looked at him. Anger, hurt and pity warred in her belly, each feeling as overwhelming as the others. She looked at him with incredulity. “And you thought that this would be best for me?”
Marcel shook his head. “I knew what you wanted, Genevieve, and it was not truly me. You have wanted to be a part of my family from the very beginning.”
She faced him with amazement. “Do you truly think this of me after all we have been through?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “What else was I to think when you had proposed marriage to Tristan for the purpose of becoming a member of my family? Then you turned to me after finding out that Tristan was in love with Lily. You spoke of your renewed hope to be an Ainsworth.”
She took a deep breath, attempting to quell the urge to thrash him. “I turned to you because of your kindness to me. It is true what you say of my relationship with Tristan. But was I not honest with him on that? Did I ever make a pretense of wanting to marry him for any other reason? Are you so blind that you think I do not know my own feelings?”
He frowned, saying nothing.
She shook her fist at him, only further maddened by his expression. “Had I wanted you to marry me for such a reason, I would have told you the truth of it, Marcel. I would not have pretended an attraction toward you. I can hardly credit that you believe I would be so sly.”
He said hesitantly, “Not deliberately sly, never that, but sometimes when we want something badly enough we are able to convince ourselves of things that are not completely true.”
She was beyond caring what she revealed by her next words. “You believe I could simply summon the degree of attraction I have felt for you in order to meet some unconscious need?”
He frowned again. “You lied to me as well. You allowed me to think that you were to wed Beecham. What of that?”
Now it was her turn to blanch, but she made no effort to prevaricate. “I told you that lie, yes, but I did so in order to hide my feelings for you from you. You lied to me, but it was not for the reasons you give. You lied in order to hide your feelings from yourself. You are afraid, Marcel, afraid that you will not be able to resist the secret desires of your heart if they are offered to you, which is to be in position of responsibility and leadership of your own lands.” Genevieve paused to look at him closely. “Aye, I have loved being a part of your family. Perhaps I have even wanted it too much. But I have not wanted you because of it. I wanted you for the reasons that any woman would want a man. I find you more than pleasing to look upon. You have merely to touch me and my body reacts. You are kind and gentle and intelligent. You would be a considerate and wise overlord to my lands, not just to my folk, but also in the matter of listening to my own opinions and desires. Dear heaven, are you so unsure of yourself that the only justification you can imagine for my attraction to you is my wish to be an Ainsworth? Aye, I have wanted to be an Ainsworth, but even I would not go so far as to fall in love with a man who did not want me.”
He stopped still. “You love me?”
She paled but faced him openly. “I did love you. Praise God that ’tis gone, for the affliction has brought me no joy.”
With that, she swung about and stalked away. She could see no point in continuing their discussion. She had revealed all there was to reveal.
It was now up to Marcel to be honest with himself. As she had told him, he had lied to her about Constanza for reasons he was not willing to accept. He was not so enamored of himself that he felt he was irresistible. He, in fact, seemed to hold himself with too little regard.
Aye, he had wanted something other than to hold her at bay. Yet his discovering just what that might be was not her worry.
She was well and truly shed of him.
Unfortunately, in spite of what she had told him about her love being gone, her battered heart did not appear to understand this. For it ached in her chest as if it might never cease.
As he watched her go, Marcel ran a shaky hand over his face. Genevieve loved him.
Had loved him. Dear God, what had he done?
For her words had made him realize what he had not been able to admit before. God help him, he knew it was true. He loved her. Had always loved her.
That he had destroyed her love because of his own fear brought a pain to his chest that was crushing.
He knew he did not deserve her love. What she had said was true. He had not been able to be honest with her because he could not be honest with anyone, least of all himself.
Marcel realized that he must stop denying what he was and how he felt. The first thing he could do to change that was to tell the truth about who he was.
He would begin by telling the two people who had become his friends. After what they had just heard between himself and Genevieve he did not believe his disclosures would come as a complete surprise. If they treated him differently because of being an Ainsworth, so be it. He was who he was.
He knew that this must be resolved before he could even think of approaching Genevieve, begging her forgiveness. He did not even consider begging for her love. Forgiveness was almost more than he could hope for. If she refused to forgive him for the way he had treated her, that too he must accept. For it was of his own making.
He squared his shoulders and went back to the hall where they were still seated. “There is something I must tell the two of you. For there are many things that I have kept from not only Genevieve, but everyone.”
Their expectant eyes met his.
Genevieve went immediately to Aunt Finella’s chamber. The elderly lady looked up from her sewing, her face registering concern the moment she saw Genevieve’s expression. “Whatever has happened, my dear? Has that nice couple from the Briarwind brought ill news?”
Genevieve wasted no time in niceties. Neither did she try to hide the hurt she felt as she said, “In truth they have not, but their coming has forced me to see what I must do. Please, I beg your aid. I must leave this place and with all possible haste. You were right in what you said to me before, though I did not know it at the time. I was in love with Marcel. Yet I can no longer be near him for he has no such feelings for me.”
Aunt Finella came toward her with her arms outstretched. “Oh, my poor lamb. How could he fail to love you?”
Genevieve closed her eyes, refusing to shed the tears that burned behind her lids. “I beg you, kind lady. Do not force me to speak of this in more detail. I can bear no more hurt than he has just dealt me. If you cannot help me then I must find another way.”
“Of course I will help you. You are so dear to me already, child.” She smoothed a gentle hand over Genevieve’s heated cheek. That gesture of kindness was nearly her undoing. But she kept the pain inside, forced herself to keep control. For she could not risk losing control now. If she did so, she might never regain it.
She must keep her head long enough to quit this place and the man who had hurt her beyond all bearing. Genevieve spoke as evenly as her aching throat would allow. “I must depart this very night.”
Aunt Finella frowned pensively. “Whither will you go, child?”
Genevieve took a deep breath. “To Brackenmoore. It has been home to me these many years. Marcel will not follow me. He has no desire to return there.”
The older woman nodded, obviously seeing that Genevieve’s mind was set. She said matter-of-factly, “I will see that you are able to depart this very night.”
Now it was Genevieve’s turn to reach out and hug her. “You have my most heartfelt thanks. I will never forget your kindness to me.”
The other woman held her for a moment before she pushed back and looked into her eyes. “Follow the road your heart tells you to take, Genevieve, and you will never err. It is what I have done in my own life.”
Genevieve nodded. She meant to do just that. She would go home, first to Brackenmoore and the folk who had given her a family. Then on to Harwick. She had a duty to her folk. They were not responsible for the pains of her childhood, nor those of her adulthood. They worked the lands, loved and died. It was through their work that she prospered. Their efforts were not to be treated with disregard.
She would make a new life for herself that had nothing to do with Marcel. She would remove him, and the memory of his touch, from her mind, heart and soul.
Even if it took the rest of her days.
Chapter Fourteen
Neither Constanza nor Harlan had seemed the least bit surprised to learn that Marcel was a nobleman. Constanza’s only reaction had been to call him every kind of a fool for letting Genevieve slip through his fingers.
He could not find it in him to deny her words, for he knew they were all too true.
It was not until the next morning that he went in search of Genevieve. He balked at the delay, lying awake through the whole of the night, but he felt he had put her through enough for one day without pressing his apologies upon her.
When he did not find her after seeking her out in every conceivable location, he sought out his aunt.
She answered his question before the words were even spoken. “I am sorry, Marcel, but Genevieve has gone. She left last night.”
Marcel swayed.
“Gone?” The sorrow on his aunt’s face told him that what she was saying was all too true.
Genevieve was gone. “I must stop her.”
Aunt Finella shook her head. “You’d not find her. She’s with several of my most experienced men. They have been instructed to have the utmost care in disguising their route.”
“But why?”
Her gaze did not waver. “Because she asked it of me and I could not deny her, seeing the pain she was in.”
Marcel raked a frustrated hand through his hair. She’d walked right out of his life as unexpectedly as she had entered it only weeks ago. Though the time had been short, the impact she had had on him and his life could not be measured did he spend the rest of his life trying.
He loved her, as the moon loved to see the silver sheen of its light upon the sea at night and knew that his life would never be complete without her. That he might have hurt her too badly for her to ever forgive him he knew.
Surely he must try. Although she no longer loved him he realized that it was his only hope of happiness. Perhaps if he had not been so blind and foolish, bent on taking the course he had set no matter what the cost, he would have seen sooner, before he had destroyed her love.
Marcel’s tormented eyes met his aunt’s sympathetic gaze.
She returned that look in full measure. “I no longer require your presence here at Glen Rowan, though I have taken great joy in having both you and Genevieve, my lad. You have done what I asked you to do and more. I have no real fear that there will be any more trouble from McGuire. Methinks in fact that judging from his recent demeanor he might very well act as the champion I may require in future.”
Marcel took a deep breath of both relief and regret. This dear lady had helped him to come to terms with his past, however unwittingly, and he would always be grateful, no matter the outcome of his relationship with Genevieve. “You have my love, Aunt, and always will. Should you ever need me again, I will gladly come.”
She hugged him close and he returned her embrace for a long time before stepping back. He sighed. “Though I know not what Genevieve will say, I must go after her.
”
She smiled, gently laying a hand on his arm. “I was praying that would be your decision, lad. You never know what might come of things lest you try.” She went on encouragingly. “I think the lady will not be averse to seeing you.”
He took another deep breath, his voice filled with doubt and undeniable longing. He could not give credit to her words, but in the deepest recesses of his heart he felt a flicker of hope. Quickly he snuffed it. He had no right to hope for anything.
Marcel had made the journey back to Brackenmoore with all haste. Yet even then he had far too much time to think. And because of that he realized that he must be willing to offer Genevieve all of himself, his heart, his hands, his life—and without reservation—no matter that the possibility of her accepting him was nil. She must see that he was willing to risk all.
And he would gladly do so. He had nothing to lose.
If Genevieve would not have him he had no future. Thus he did not care how he might appear to his crew, his family or anyone else.
Benedict had been more than a little surprised when he had informed him that he no longer wished to be captain of the Briarwind. He’d ended by saying, “If it is agreeable, I have given the position of captain to Harlan.”
Benedict shrugged. “You have no need to ask my permission about anything concerning the Briar-wind.”
Marcel frowned. “And why would I not?”
Benedict smiled. “I have long since signed ownership over to you.” Marcel sat very still in his chair. He faced his brother across the table in the library and shook his head. “You need not have done that. You inherited the Briarwind, not I.”
“Marcel, you have paid for the cost of the Briar-wind many times over in the years you have captained her. Never in the years previous to your stewardship did she bring in such profits. I have collected enough for my own share to commission the building of another ship. How many ships should one man own on the work of another, especially if that man is his brother? I give you nothing that you have not earned. You went from Brackenmoore determined to prove yourself your own man, and though there was no need for you to do that, you have surely done so even by your own standard.”
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