With that parting shot, she once again turned her back on him and strode from the room.
He did not have a cold heart.
He had been wronged. Her father had disregarded his obligations in exchange for a night of folly, and now they were both paying the price. To make matters worse, his new wife irritated the devil out of him.
He stared at her as she sat at the opposite end of a massive table that had been in his family for generations. Beneath the linen cloth it was hideously scarred, but it represented tradition.
With a curt nod he signaled the butler to begin serving.
Gina’s head came up with a snap as the man ladled soup into her bowl.
“Aren’t the children joining us?” she asked.
“They have their meal in the day nursery.”
Even from this great distance, he could see her brow furrow.
“Always?” she asked.
“Always.”
“When do you visit with them?”
He sipped his wine while he was served his soup. When the servant had quit the room, he reminded her, “I visited with them this afternoon.”
“That was hours ago. Aren’t you at all curious as to what they’ve been doing between then and now?”
“Mrs. Tavers will give me a report.”
“A report?”
With a heavy sigh he shoved his bowl away. His appetite had deserted him. Why couldn’t his wife?
“Countess, the children are not your concern. We’ve managed quite well until now without your interference.”
She lowered her gaze to her soup and began to spoon it up and sip quietly.
“My apologies,” he murmured. “I know you mean well. It is simply that English children are not reared in the same manner as American children.”
“So I’m learning.”
It was not until dessert that he dared risk another conversation. “Did you find your chambers satisfactory?”
“Yes, they’re fine.” She met and held his gaze. “Does Millicent favor her mother?”
His throat tightened with the memories. “Very much so.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“As was Margaret.”
“How did you meet?”
He moved aside what remained of his pudding, snatched up his glass, and took a sip of wine before saying, “I gained an introduction at a ball.”
He swirled the liquid in his glass, contemplating how much more to reveal. Speaking of Margaret had the advantage of shoring up the wall around his heart, and so he decided to continue. “It was not an easy task to gain an introduction. Gentlemen flocked around her. Her dance card was filled within moments of her arrival. She was quite the toast of London during her first season.”
“And by the next season?”
He smiled wryly. “She was my wife.”
He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “I seem to have a penchant for marrying hastily.”
“But you didn’t regret your first marriage.”
“I regretted that I could not give Margaret all she deserved.”
With typical brashness she planted her elbow on the table and cupped her chin. “I can’t imagine that she wanted for anything of importance.”
“Because you do not view the world through the eyes of an aristocrat.” Wishing to end the thread of this conversation, he added, “If you are quite finished with the meal, you are welcome to excuse yourself.”
“I’d like to go with you when you say good night to the children.”
His initial reaction was to explain that he didn’t tuck the children into bed. Their governess did. But after her earlier chastisement regarding his failure to hug them, he decided that for tonight at least he could break with tradition.
She was exquisite. He wasn’t certain he’d ever noticed. Certainly the day she was born his chest had tightened into an unbearable but heavenly ache.
The first time he’d held her, he’d thought his heart would burst.
But he couldn’t remember ever gazing upon her small body, lost within the massive canopied bed in which she slept. Her head was nestled against the pillow, the blankets tucked beneath her chin. Her expressive blue eyes were filled with rapt wonder as she listened intently to Gina’s story of an Indian maiden named Serena who loved a man who failed to love her.
Equally entranced, Noel sat on top of the comforter, his back resting against the carved headboard.
Before she began the tale, Gina had taken her place on the edge of the mattress, and throughout the telling—as a wily fish worked his magic and transformed the maiden into a mermaid—she constantly touched his children. Millicent’s hair. Noel’s leg. Her hand. His chin. With each caress, their eyes softened more and their lips curled higher.
Standing at the foot of the bed, watching, he felt as though he was an intruder. A stranger to his own children. He had no idea what their nightly rituals entailed.
He was fairly certain stories were not involved, since Mrs. Tavers had protested that delaying their bedtime would spoil the children.
“They’re children for such a short time, Mrs. Tavers. They should be spoiled,” Gina had replied.
Apparently another rule the countess intended to put into play in his household. He couldn’t bring himself to object, not when his children had perked up with such delight.
Her story ended with betrayal and the maiden’s tears flowing through a river somewhere in Texas. Within Gina’s voice, Devon heard a lilting sadness. But in his children’s eyes, he saw their amazement that a fish had the power not only to turn a woman into a mermaid when the moon was full, but to cause the man she loved to love her in return.
“Can you believe it, Father?” Millicent asked, her eyes round.
“It does seem quite remarkable,” he replied.
“Does that mean it isn’t true?” Noel asked.
Gina looked at him, and he wasn’t certain if it was her faith he didn’t want to shake or his children’s.
“It’s a legend, Noel,” he said quietly. “All legends have at their center the seeds of truth.”
Gratitude softened the lines of his wife’s face much as the late afternoon sun had earlier. For so long he’d been absorbed with the greater goal of finding a way to improve Huntingdon that he was beginning to realize he may have overlooked the importance of the details.
Leaning over, she kissed Millicent’s forehead. “Good night, Millicent.”
Devon knew a pang of regret as Millicent’s face lit with joy. He was fairly certain Mrs. Tavers didn’t kiss her good night. Millicent had been only two when her mother had died. Did she have any memories of her mother’s tender kisses?
He searched the recesses of his own memories and couldn’t locate a solitary image of Margaret kissing their daughter. At least not after she’d been moved from the bassinet.
Gina stood and stepped back as though she fully expected him to follow her example. He wasn’t about to let on that he had no remembrance of kissing his child since her mother’s death.
Stiffly he moved to the head of the bed and bent over slightly. Millicent flung her tiny arms around his neck, clinging to him as though he were her favorite doll.
“Good night, Father,” she whispered sweetly in his ear.
His throat clogged with emotion as he closed his arms around her and inhaled her innocent fragrance. “Good night, Kitten.”
Working himself free, he straightened and tucked the blankets around her. With a wink, he touched his finger to the tip of her nose.
Turning, he caught sight of Mrs. Tavers’s stern visage. He almost felt guilty that his daughter would carry that austere image with her into her dreams. “Mrs. Tavers, you’ll stay with Millicent until she falls asleep.”
“Yes, milord.”
It was only then that he realized Gina and Noel had slipped out of the room. He glanced at his daughter again. The flame flickering in the lamp beside her bed played over her delicate features. Millicent had inherited his eyes, his hair, but t
he rest of her delicate attributes had come from her mother.
When Millicent was a baby, he’d spent long hours watching her sleep. She was a marvel to him. He loved both his children, but a little girl had the power to wrap her father around her tiny finger.
He felt a need to protect her that he didn’t experience when he thought of Noel. Naturally he wanted no harm to ever befall Noel, but he knew his son would be adept at looking out for himself. Upon what sort of man would he bestow the honor of looking after his little girl? No matter how much she grew or how many years she acquired, he would always think of her as his little girl.
Had Nathaniel Pierce felt the same way at one time regarding Gina?
The man had certainly done a lousy job of seeing after his daughter’s welfare. Marrying her off to an impoverished nobleman and then squandering his own wealth without setting any aside for his daughter. What had the man been thinking?
He should have foisted her onto some unsuspecting man of wealth, regardless of title or position in society. Devon’s title certainly didn’t have the power to keep Gina warm, her stomach from growling with hunger, her body clothed in the finest of gowns.
Her body. Dear Lord, but she did have a sweet body. Swells, curves, and hollows that had driven him mad on their wedding night. He’d always shown such regard for Margaret in the dark beneath the blankets, respecting her modesty and only lifting her gown.
But with his Texas wife, he’d revealed every inch of her flesh, feasted on the sight of it.
His aching hand brought him to his senses. It was gripping the bedpost so hard he was surprised he didn’t see indentations in the wood when he loosened his fingers.
He gave Mrs. Tavers a curt nod before striding from the room. He’d only bedded Gina because of the bargain he’d struck with her father. He certainly wasn’t attracted to her, didn’t want her in his bed. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience, and the convenience had come to an abrupt halt with the death of her father. Or so he repeatedly tried to convince himself.
Perhaps, in retrospect, his canceling the conditions of the bargain had been a bit rash. But he had not gained the wealth her father had promised. It was only fair she not benefit beyond the title, of which he could not deprive her.
He stepped into Noel’s room. The boy’s eyes were fastened on Gina in a manner that could only be described as heroine-worship.
Did Mrs. Tavers normally tuck the lad into bed, or did he see to himself? If their situation were not so dire, the lad would have a valet. Perhaps Devon needed to speak with Winston. Surely one of the remaining servants would provide the service.
His eyes growing more round, Noel sat up and smiled so brightly that Devon feared his son might damage his jaws.
“Father, did you know that cousin Kit was a marshal? And that he fought in a duel with a bunch of outlaws?”
A bunch of outlaws? What sort of English was his child speaking? A bunch of grapes, perhaps—
“And he shot them all dead?”
Devon quirked a brow. His wife’s cheeks grew rosy as she avoided his gaze.
“And he’s a hero! He saved the whole town! I think it’s splendid! I wish to travel to Texas when I grow up.”
Devon cleared his throat. Kit had been sent to Texas because his disreputable ways were distressing his father. He hardly wanted his son behaving in a similar manner.
“Did you know cousin Kit?” Noel asked.
“Of course. He is Lord Ravenleigh’s twin brother. We played together as children, and while he was quite daring, I hardly think he was one to kill a bunch of outlaws.”
“But he did,” Gina said quietly. “His exploits are legendary.”
“Another legend, countess?”
She gave him a beguiling smile. “At the center of which you’ll find the truth.”
“I wish we had legends,” Noel said, fairly bouncing his bottom on the bed.
“We do have legends,” Devon said, distressed to realize his son wasn’t aware of them.
“What are they?”
“King Arthur and Robin Hood for starters.”
“I didn’t know they were legends. I thought they were only stories! Do you know them, Gina?” he asked, his eyes wide.
Devon ground his teeth together. They really were going to have to come up with a more appropriate name for her. The informality was beyond bearing. What sort of example was she setting for the heir apparent?
“No, I don’t,” she told Noel.
Noel bounded upright with such enthusiasm that Devon thought he might actually come off the bed.
“I can tell them to you. Shall I?”
The smile she bestowed upon his son as she combed her fingers through his hair was almost breathtaking. He couldn’t quite comprehend where it had come from. He’d certainly never seen it before.
“How about tomorrow? I think it’s time we all went to sleep now.”
Noel plopped back onto his pillow, and she brought the blankets up to his chin.
“I shall tell you about King Arthur first. And Merlin. He was a sorcerer. He knew magic!”
“He sounds very interesting.” Bending over, she kissed his brow. “I look forward to hearing his tale tomorrow night.”
She stepped back, as she had earlier in Millicent’s room, a subtle movement of her eyes indicating that Devon could give no less to this child than he had to the other.
He strode forward, leaned over, and stilled. His son watched him with eyes the same shade as his. With his toothy grin, he seemed incredibly innocent and remarkably trusting. Trusting his father to ensure he would have a worthy estate to inherit.
Pierce’s reckless gambling had ensured that Devon never could. Resentment rose like bitter bile. He brushed a quick kiss over his heir’s brow. “Sleep well.”
“I will, Father.”
Noel bounced over onto his side. Devon lowered the flame in the lamp before striding from the room. He turned back in time to see Georgina bring the blankets up to Noel’s chin.
She walked slowly from the room, as though she loathed leaving it. He hadn’t expected her to show such remarkable interest in his children. Although he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, the bargain had revolved around his willingness to give her a child.
She joined him in the hallway. “They’re wonderful children, Devon.”
He agreed wholeheartedly but found himself at a loss for words to express his sentiments. “I’ll escort you to your chambers.”
Her laughter tinkled around the hallway like a thousand bells at Christmas. “That’s not necessary. I’ll admit your house is about as big as the town I grew up in, but I can find my way to my room. Good night.”
She headed for the stairs. He had this uncomfortable need to have her tuck him into bed. With long strides, he caught up to her. “I insist on accompanying you.”
She shrugged and floated down the stairs.
“I find it difficult to believe you’ve never heard of Robin Hood or King Arthur. What sort of schools do they have in Texas?” he asked.
She gave him a sly glance. “I know all about Arthur, Lancelot, and Camelot. Not to mention Robin Hood and Little John.”
“You lied to my son?”
“The truth would have removed the sparkle from his eyes. That’ll happen soon enough as he gets older. Besides, what harm can come from allowing him to have the joy of believing he is the first to share with me stories of magic and good deeds?”
“None, I suppose. Still, I do not wish their lives disrupted overmuch. They have a routine, a schedule. Children need constancy.”
“They need love.”
“Which they have,” he ground out.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and he escorted her through the grand foyer. He grabbed a lamp from a nearby table and followed her into the east wing and up the stairs that led to the next level. A musty odor assailed his nostrils. This part of the house had lain dormant since Margaret’s death.
Without her,
he’d had no desire to host parties, to invite guests, to share his life with anyone. He could not remember the last time he had walked these halls.
Georgina came to an abrupt stop beside a door. He tried to envision what the room on the other side looked like, but he had no recollection of it. He was certain he’d seen it at some point in time. When his father had died, he’d taken a careful inventory, so he could determine what, if anything, he could part with.
She opened the door and peered inside. Then she turned to him with a smile. “It seems the servants have been busy. I have a lamp, a low fire, and the bed is turned down.”
“Is there anything else that you require?”
“I need you to forgive my father.”
“That’s not likely to happen.”
“Good night, then.”
She slipped through the door and out of sight. He briefly wondered if her request meant she had forgiven the deceitful bastard.
He strode back toward his study. He needed a good, stiff drink.
Chapter 14
W earing her nightgown and wrapper, Georgina sat in a chair before the hearth. Even with the fire, the room held a chill that she associated with abandonment. She thought some time had passed since this section of the house had been used.
How appropriate that her husband would exile her here.
She didn’t mind the loneliness. She’d lived with it long enough and thought of it as more of a companion than an enemy. She understood it, could almost reason with it.
She did, however, resent that Devon had no plans to allow her into his life or that of his children.
She was here in this decrepit old house that chilled her to the bone. Yet she could not help but feel that it possessed much potential if she was only willing to look below the surface.
Somewhere in the house, a clock began to chime. She counted each bong that echoed between the walls. Twelve. Midnight. The magical hour.
She should tuck herself into bed, as she had Devon’s children. What a delight they were!
Watching Devon, she’d been struck by the various emotions playing over his features. At times he’d seemed almost in awe of his children, as though he was only just discovering they existed. At other times the love reflected in his eyes had caused her chest to ache.
To Marry an Heiress Page 15