by Lilia Ford
His tone brooked no argument, and she shivered at how serious he sounded.
He kissed her nose again and then continued. “One reason we work hard to root out even the hint of jealousy is that the tradition within our family is for the unmarried brothers to share the household with their married brother.”
“Your brothers will live with us? All the time?”
“That is our tradition,” he said, looking at her carefully, “so long as the bride agrees.”
“You mean if I said no, you would respect my wishes?”
Damian looked deeply pained but said, “Yes. It’s the bride’s right to say who will share her household. You may refuse one or both of my brothers. I would not hold it against you—no one would.”
“They’d really wish to?” she asked.
It made no sense to her that Derek and Donal would wish to be saddled with any responsibility for their brother’s wife, let alone live with her.
“You must trust my judgment on this, Genevieve. They wish it more than anything. Both of them.”
His tone was urgent and looking into his eyes, she could not doubt his sincerity. She knew at that moment that her answer was supremely important to her new family, though she still couldn’t understand it.
There was no hesitation in her response. “I will trust your judgment then, Damian. If you’re sure they don’t mind, I certainly don’t. I appreciate your giving me the choice.”
To her surprise, he clutched her tightly, and she felt how great his fear had been. It was a measure of his love for his brothers. She squeezed him back, feeling the rightness of her decision. Indeed she felt deeply grateful that she had found a man who felt such devotion for his younger brothers. It told her much about his priorities.
When he finally released her, she felt the need to lighten things after his solemn request. Her eyes brightened mischievously.
“So your brothers are to live with us.”
“I believe that is what we just decided,” he said with an answering smile.
She pretended to ponder and then said, “Damian, I do not like tongue—neither in a sandwich nor in any other preparation. I also do not like headcheese, mushrooms, or blood-rare meat. I detest liver and will not eat it under any circumstances, including starvation.”
She raised her eyebrows in challenge.
Damian laughed loudly. “Understood. Fortunately, it is the wife’s right to decide the meals. But I must warn you, darling. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Derek has decided that you do not take proper care of yourself. And now that I have made a promise to your mother, you will have the chance to discover why Declan calls him the most stubborn male in the history of the Black family.”
“Damian, no!”
“I’m sorry, darling, but it is the male’s right to intervene if he feels the bride is not taking proper care of herself.”
“You keep speaking of rights—what does that mean?”
“It means that in our home there are areas where you decide and none of us may challenge your decision. And then, my love, there are areas where I decide, and you may not challenge me.”
He gave her a devilish smile, which left her licking her lips, wondering that his look could promise wicked things, though she didn’t yet know about any wicked things.
Damian read something in her look because he pulled her up and pressed his lips to hers. He’d been giving her little kisses since they met, but none like this. This kiss was intimate, sensuous, and left her body humming with desire.
She reached up to grasp his shoulders, suddenly desperate to get closer to him. He responded, clutching her neck and tilting her head so he could take her lips more thoroughly. Gentle but insistent, he explored her mouth, guiding her until her lips parted just enough.
And then suddenly the kiss shifted. He drove his tongue into her mouth ruthlessly, as if he were demanding her surrender. As new desires cascaded through her, Genevieve felt helpless, desperate for things she didn’t understand, but which some part of her recognized she could only get from Damian.
“Children, children, the wedding night isn’t until tomorrow.”
Blessed Titania, it was Donal! Genevieve had never felt so mortified. She shoved away from Damian, who pulled her in so that she could hide her face against him.
“Donal, did you require something?” Damian asked impatiently.
“Nothing but my dear brother and sister’s company,” the rogue answered.
Damian shook his head in helpless resignation. “Where is Derek?”
“About,” Donal answered blithely.
“I give you leave to take back your consent, love,” Damian whispered in her ear. “My brothers can live in Devil’s Swamp for all I care.”
“Will you at least ban them our bedroom?” she whispered back, and then gulped, appalled at how wicked that sounded.
Damian’s eyes blazed, and he leaned her over and gave her a deep kiss, which left her breathless. “I don’t know how I will survive the next twenty-four hours,” he whispered, before turning to his brother, who was making the world’s poorest attempt not to laugh. “Donal, what shall I do with you? Here I have been using all of my powers of seduction, every bit of flattery and bribery I could think of, so that my poor bride will consent to take in my two good-for-nothing younger brothers, and instead of helping me make my case, you give the final proof of why you are utterly unfit for polite company.”
“Not so polite,” Genevieve muttered and then covered her face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Mama would faint if she heard her. Donal burst out laughing. She looked up nervously at Damian, suddenly worried that he would disapprove.
He was smiling merrily and gave her a reassuring tap on the nose. “You are adorable,” he said kissing the top of her head. “And altogether too sweet for such rotten brothers I am cursing you with. I should get you home, love.”
Genevieve noticed now that the afternoon was almost spent. Damian and Donal firmly ordered her to sit still, while they packed up the remains of the picnic.
Derek still hadn’t returned when they were finished, so Donal roared out, “Derek, you worthless oaf! Come and help us with these baskets, or will you make Damian’s bride play the pack mule for your lazy self.”
Everyone was startled to hear Derek’s voice a few feet away. “Cease your noise, Donal, I’m here.” He’d crept up so silently!
“I hate when he does that,” Donal grunted.
Derek picked up a basket and started off without waiting for the rest of them.
Genevieve made a sudden decision and without saying anything to Damian, she jogged after Derek. When she caught up to him, he only gave her one of his scowls. It should have been intimidating, but Genevieve was becoming accustomed to his ways and decided to imitate his brothers and not be put off by Derek’s hostility.
She took his arm. Luckily, he was too well-bred to shake it off, though his good manners did not extend to making conversation.
“I understand you and Donal are to live with us,” she said finally.
She could have sworn a wave of surprise flashed over his features before they resolved into an expression of stony indifference. Was he deliberately trying to offend her? It seemed incongruous behavior if Damian was accurate about his brothers’ wishing so much to share their house.
She couldn’t help wondering if despite Derek’s best efforts, he felt some lingering resentment. Far from being offended, however, Genevieve was becoming curious about this prickly new brother of hers, who unlike the other two seemed at the mercy of a difficult temper—much as she was.
Either way, she had no intention of living with a man who thought he could quell her with a look—or force her to eat foods she disliked!
In a tone that perhaps approached the border of saucy, she said, “Damian assured me that you and Donal both wish it. Of course he also told me that I’m to have charge of the meals. Please be aware, if you care greatly for tongue, you’d best get it at the vi
llage tavern for it won’t be served at our table.”
She gave him an excessively sweet smile and let go his arm to return to Damian.
But before she could go back, he caught her wrist and said in a low voice, “Don’t forget, sister, that Damian also swore you’d be tied down if you refused to eat your meals.”
There was nothing in his expression to indicate he was joking. Genevieve gulped a moment and then steeled herself. In a tone that definitely crossed the border over to insolent, she retorted, “You can try,” and ripped her hand away.
She jogged back to Damian and Donal, relieved that they could not have heard the little exchange. With a bright smile, she told them, “I was just informing my new brother that I would have charge of our meals now, and if he must eat tongue, he should get it at the tavern.”
The two brothers stared at her with such shock, she suddenly feared she’d displeased Damian with her forwardness. But before she could apologize, he dropped his basket and swung her up in his arms, kissing her on the mouth.
“Damian!” she protested.
“Must I do all the work?” Donal groaned, picking up Damian’s basket.
“You whine about carrying a basket!” Damian roared. “When my bride has braved that dyspeptic troll we call a brother.”
Genevieve giggled and gave him a little kiss back. Damian looked at her with such affection, she felt her heart filling.
It had been such a strange outing, spitting cherry pits with Donal, being fed bites of tongue sandwich by Derek, kissing Damian. She didn’t think she’d ever passed such an enjoyable day in her life, and yet there had been nothing out of the ordinary in it—no fireworks display or acrobats or dancing, just a simple picnic with her betrothed and his brothers.
Unfortunately, they arrived home to find her mother in her most querulous state, full of troubles over the flowers and something about icing that Genevieve couldn’t even pretend to follow. The many emotional tumults of the past few days were catching up with her, and Genevieve realized she was exhausted. It was not a good state for coping with Mama’s propensity to worry endlessly over things Genevieve considered trivial.
Thankfully, Damian and Donal came to her rescue. While Damian listened to her mother with admirable patience, making all the proper remarks, Donal jumped up, proclaiming that Mrs. Miran looked pale and was in dire need of a restorative tea. Though Genevieve would have been bristling, her mother was greatly soothed by this evidence of worry.
Genevieve was far less pleased when Derek rejoined them for dinner and got his revenge for her earlier taunts by again taking charge of her meal. After seeing that she’d just taken a small piece of chicken and a spoonful of peas, he picked up her plate and with her mother’s delighted support, piled it with potatoes, another piece of chicken, and a slice of cold ham.
She tried to refuse but found she was no match for her new brother, who pulled his chair closer and forced her to eat as he fed her until she grabbed the fork away and ate for herself. To Genevieve’s infinite irritation, even her traitorous father gave his hearty approval. Damian would only wink at her, while Donal repeatedly patted his face with a napkin to hide his laughter.
Damian seemed to sense that her nerves were dangerously strained by the end and announced that she must go to bed. Her parents seemed to have resigned themselves to their new son’s ways because neither objected when he swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
Genevieve, though exhausted, was no longer willing to be sweetly passive at Damian’s autocratic ways. She gritted her teeth in sullen silence as he brought her to the room with the water closet. When she was done, he was waiting in her bedroom, holding out a nightdress for her.
She ripped it from his hands and asked snappishly, “Are you locking the door?”
“Yes, darling.”
“I’m not a child, Damian.”
He gripped her chin firmly and forced her to meet his eye. “I never think of you as a child, Genevieve. We spoke earlier of areas where I make the decisions. This is one, and I expect you to obey me.”
Her breath caught and her body shuddered in a way that was becoming familiar to her. This time, however, she noticed that Damian wore a small look of triumph. He knew exactly how he affected her! The very thought produced another jolt of desire, but this time it was countered by an unbearable idea.
“You know! You know what you’ve been doing to me,” she cried. “It’s deliberate, but I’m not always like I was today—I’m not like Mama. I’m not mild and sweet. I tried to tell you at the picnic. I’ve had… troubles in the past.”
“Genevieve….”
“You’re a grown man. You’re responsible for your actions. You ask me to live with your brothers, as if I might object, but did you warn them about me! I tried to tell you before—if you accuse me of pretending, of acting different before we were married, I won’t be able to bear it.”
“You are overwrought, darling.”
“Yes I am,” she cried passionately. “Say it! Say that I tried to warn you—before you leave and lock me in my room!”
She broke out into hot tears, not even sure why she was crying, but fixated on the notion that Damian might think her easy and docile because of the way she’d been acting with him. Damian moved quickly, pulling her onto the bed with him, where he just held her.
When she’d calmed a bit, he said softly, “I swear on my honor that I will never accuse you of any pretense, any deception. To do so would be the height of absurdity, since you must be the least deceptive person I have ever known. I fear that you will accuse me, with far more reason.”
That was enough to stop her sobs. “Why would you say that?” she asked.
He paused for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. “I was afraid,” he said finally, “almost for the first time in my life.”
“I don’t understand—what could you be afraid of?”
“Before the picnic, I could hear what the other girls were saying—about my brothers, my family. Our ways are different, Genevieve.” She tried to interrupt, but he stopped her. “I feared you would be afraid to marry me. Yesterday in the wood, I forced things. I knew you were mine, so I pushed you until I was sure your box had changed and then used Declan to convince your parents to agree to a speedy marriage—so you wouldn’t have a chance to back out.”
Genevieve was stunned, though she realized she shouldn’t be. It was obvious enough now, but she’d been so confused, so overwhelmed, she hadn’t grasped what he was doing. She turned so she could look him in the face. She could see fear and also intense desire there—it was dizzying.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how they were different, but Damian touched her chin with his hand. “Don’t ask that, Genevieve,” he said huskily. “Trust to the heartwood. It has never failed our family.”
“Yet you fear,” she whispered.
He smiled ruefully. “Not the heartwood, but if your mother or friends came to you full of dire stories about the Black family, if your father refused to give you to me at Titania’s Altar….”
“So that’s why you’ve posted a guard outside my room,” she said, shaking her head at the strange ways of males. She gave him a light kiss. “We will both have to trust.”
Chapter Eight
Morning dawned on the first wedding of the season. In houses all over the village, the family cook was up with the sun to make sure their special casserole, stew, or pie did credit to the household. Though the weather promised to be clear, tents had already been set up on the green next to the tavern where they would remain until after the final couple was married.
No lunch would be served by Mr. Richards that day. As soon as the morning meal was over, the grooms and serving-men would begin hauling out the long tables and benches for the feast.
At the Mirans, Cyrus was already out of the house, preferring the tavern and the relaxing company of his friend, Mr. Richards, leaving his wife and daughter to cope with his new in-laws.
Unlike
the previous morning, the conversation around the breakfast table was subdued. Genevieve couldn’t help feeling all the usual nerves of a bride on her wedding day—and perhaps some that were less usual, considering she was marrying a man she’d known for less than two days.
Her stomach was in turmoil, and she was gearing up for her usual battle with Derek, when rescue appeared from an unexpected quarter. There was a loud rap on the front door, and before her mother could even rise, Sally and two other girls pushed their way into the small dining room.
“We’re your bridesmaids,” Sally announced with a mischievous smile. “I knew you’d be too big a goose to ask anyone, so Emily, Jane, and I decided to volunteer.”
Poor Mrs. Miran was put in a terrible quandary. She’d rather have died than turn away a guest without offering refreshments, but though she’d again made enough food for twenty, the small dining table couldn’t possibly fit three more people, especially with three giant Black brothers already seated.
She wrung her hands, begging the girls to be patient so that she could set something up in the parlor—or perhaps squeeze in some chairs….
Sally’s shrewd gaze took in the situation in an instant—Mrs. Miran’s dilemma as well as the conspicuous silence of the Black brothers, who in her opinion should have been jumping up to offer their seats.
Her eyes twinkled knowingly as she looked at each brother in turn and then said, “We’d love some breakfast, Mrs. Miran, especially some of those famous sweet-cheese rolls of yours. I’m sure these boys have eaten enough. It’s time for you three to be on your way, anyhow. Today is for the girls. You’ll see Genevieve at the altar—don’t you worry.”
It was enough to startle Genevieve out of her uneasy musings. She wanted to laugh at the long silence that followed Sally’s pronouncement. She easily read Damian’s annoyance, Donal’s smirking defiance, and Derek’s indignation. Good manners or not, none of the Black males would like taking orders from this girl.
Poor mama was fluttering on the verge of panic, and Genevieve realized it was her responsibility to settle this. She took Damian’s hand and kissed it. “Trust,” she whispered in his ear.