She turned around, a bunch of honeysuckle caught to her face. “This garden is worth the whole house!” she cried, ignoring his compliment. She never had been very interested in flattery, he remembered that.
“Did you know how honeysuckle gets its name?” he asked.
“I don’t,” she said, eyes alive with interest.
He plucked off one blossom and stepped even closer. “Because the blossoms taste sweet,” he said, brushing the frail white petals against her mouth.
She frowned. “Very funny. It’s just a flower. No one eats flowers.”
He turned the blossom around and showed her the narrow point. “Taste this, Genevieve.”
“I wish you would stop addressing me so informally!” she snapped, clearly curious but disliking the intimacy.
Tobias ran the slender point of the flower over the line of her lips. “Taste,” he said. His voice was as husky and dark as the gray-blue sky around them.
“I don’t nibble on flowers!” she said obstinately, pushing his arm away.
“You do itke this.” He put the point of the flower between his lips, and a drop of sweet fluid fell into his mouth. “Here, taste.” He put a large hand at the back of all that glorious hair and pulled her toward him. “Taste.” His mouth covered hers and then opened, inviting a taste, and she—oh, his Genevieve would never resist such a gift—her tongue slipped into his mouth with a tiny gasp. The sweet of the flower was gone, but the sweet of Genevieve’s mouth could keep him exploring all night. The honeysuckle fell between their bodies, crushed between his chest and hers when her hands rose to his hair and pulled him closer.
Desire ran through his veins like thick honey, like the heady smell of crushed flowers. He cupped her face in his and kissed her relentlessly, asking silently, deeply, a question he had no right to ask.
But Genevieve’s head was spinning, and she’d stopped thinking again. There was only Tobias and the taste of his mouth, and the feeling of his hands shaping her face, delicately, sweetly, as if she were precious, at the very same time that his mouth ravaged hers. His body was so large and warm: She could feel every ridge of muscle through the silk of her gown, and there were—there were several ridges to enjoy. It was all rather dim, her knowledge of kissing, since it was based on six brief hours, years ago. But it was coming back to her: the hardness of Tobias’s body, the way he almost growled in his throat, the way—yes, the way he had scooped her up in his arms, and now he would put her down on the carriage seat. Except there was a soft bank of grass instead, and the smell of flowers, and the irregular song of a bird who’d forgotten to go to bed on time.
She was forgetting something too, but it didn’t matter at the moment, not when Tobias was, his hands were, and his leg...it felt so good that Genevieve arched up against it, shaking with longing for that feeling she so barely remembered, like a blaze of fire it was.
He was talking, his voice was shaking too. “Sweet,” he was saying, “you’re so sweet, Genevieve. My Genevieve.” He moved his hand over her breast, and the mist slipped over her eyes again, just when she was about to stop him, so she pulled his head down to hers instead. She was burning, an ache spreading from between her legs, a fire that made her bite her lips before she demanded—begged—but he seemed to know. His hand was teasing at her breast, his thumb running over the silk of her bodice, caressing the soft skin just above her neckline. She twisted with an inarticulate protest. He was tormenting her, when all she wanted was that explosion, that passion and burst of light, that—
His hand moved back to her breast again. A yearning moan flew into the night air like music to rival the nightingale.
“Would you like to taste the honeysuckle, Genevieve?” he asked her. His voice was ragged with longing, but steady and controlled. He was brushing a flower across her hot cheek now, trailing its sweetness over her eyes, her lips.
She opened her eyes reluctantly. Opening her eyes meant coming back to herself. Realizing the fact that she had once again played the part of the depraved hussy: What was it about Tobias Darby? Why did he inspire her to play such a wanton role?
His eyes were black with longing. Carefully he took a flower and squeezed it against her lips. Her tongue caught the nectar,
“I can’t do this, Tobias,” she whispered.
“We aren’t doing anything,” he said to her, thick eyelashes covering his eyes. “We’re merely kissing, Genevieve.” His hand lay innocently on the side of her breast, not moving, as if he thought she might forget what he had been doing. “I haven’t pulled down your bodice, for example.”
“I should hope not!” she said, but her voice trailed away as he did just that.
“Oh God, Genevieve, you’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said hoarsely. Her breast was as luminous as the honeysuckles in the moonlight, plump and overflowing his hands, her nipple like a tender bud.
Genevieve was struggling to make herself push him away. To reassert the fact that she was a dignified widow with—with dignity. Not the sort of woman who ran away with a man after knowing him three hours, not the sort of woman who could be seduced out in a garden. “You must think I’m nothing more than a light-skirt,” she whispered. “Did you come back because you thought that you could simply take me again—wherever you wished?” Her voice cracked.
He froze as if she’d stabbed him in the ribs.
“No!” he said. “No!”
She pulled up her bodice with one swift jerk and in a second she was on her feet and running back to the house, away from that scented garden and its promise of earthly delights. He caught her as she entered the ballroom door “Genevieve!” he said. “Don’t think such a thing.”
But Genevieve had noted the location of a ladies’sitting room off the ballroom, and she snatched up the lamp and darted in that direction. All Tobias could do was lean against the wall in the dark and curse himself. And then, once he could think rationally again, fetch her reticule and offer it to her.
The lady who emerged some twenty minutes later was no hurly-burly girl to be seduced in a corner. She was a lady, hair tamed into a dignified coil at her neck, gown in place as if it had never slipped below its moorings.
“Mr. Darby,” she said dryly, “I should like to go home, please.”
“Genevieve, you must listen to me.” The savage note in his own voice surprised him.
But she put a hand on his arm and smiled, for all the world as if he’d committed some small social solecism such as arriving late to an appointment. “I’ve given this some thought. I am embarrassed by what just happened.”
“But I wish to marry—,” Tobias said.
She cut him off. “I expect you do wish to marry me. I have no doubt but that you returned here precisely in the hope of assuaging your guilt over what happened seven years ago, and I honor you for that thought. I seem to be remarkably susceptible to your—your brand of foolery,” she said, and for a second a look of panic crossed her face. And then it was replaced by calm confidence. “I think it must be due to our early history. I did agree to marry you once, after all!” She laughed, but there was little humor in it, to Tobias’s mind.
He opened his mouth, but she fluttered her hand to stop him from talking. “I just wish to say this, Mr. Darby, and then I believe we should neglect the subject in the future. I honor your intention to marry me, if not the methods by which you hope to attain your goals. Still, those methods were successful last time, so in all fairness, I have to admit that you were perfectly correct in trying them. But I, Mr. Darby, am not interested in marrying you.”
Tobias looked down at her and thought about just how fast he could kiss her out of all this nonsense.
“I wish to marry Mr. Felton, you see,” she said to him, giving him a dimpled smile. “I may have been overcome by nostalgia on seeing you, but, in fact, I am quite ridiculously drawn to Mr. Felton, and I think we shall make a very happy marriage.”
Now Tobias didn’t feel like grinning anymore. “He looks like a shady
customer to me,” he barked. “There are rumors about his business dealings in the City.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He was my husband’s business partner, and if there was one thing that Erasmus understood, it was business.” She didn’t see any reason to add the fact that Erasmus reveled in shady dealings.
“You cannot marry such a man.”
“I beg to differ,” Genevieve said with hauteur. “Now, if you would be so kind as to return me to my own house, I would be most grateful. And I shall be certain to keep my eye out for a young lady to refurbish your house.”
Tobias pushed himself upright. He could play this game as well as anyone, and it was clear that his little love had made up her mind to be obstinate for the time being.
“May I escort you to the theater tomorrow night?” he asked.
“I am very sorry to say that I have to plead a previous engagement.” Any fool could tell from her smile that she was outrageously pleased to have that excuse.
“What is it?” he growled.
“I fail to see why that—”
He put an arm in front of her as she went through the door. “Genevieve?” His voice was just this side of control.
She swung her little nose in the air. “I am attending Lady Rickleshaw’s musicale. I’m very much afraid to tell you, Mr. Darby, that it will be a quite exclusive gathering.”
Tobias didn’t waste any breath with arguing. He could tell, within five minutes of making a public appearance the night before, that London matrons were exquisitely happy with the arrival of a single gentleman of excellent fortune. He didn’t anticipate being turned down at any event. appearaght="0em">
“The next night?” he asked.
“I am engaged,” she said airily, climbing into his carriage.
“The next?” he growled.
“Engaged!”
“Genevieve, I shall keep asking you from now until next week. When I was in India, I simply got used to taking what I wanted.” The warning in his voice was crystal clear, as was the look in his eyes.
“Well, you will have to learn differently!” Genevieve snapped at him. “I certainly won’t be going anywhere in the evening with you again, not after you took the opportunity to drive me to your house in this harum-scarum fashion! I may be a widow, but I still could be ruined by being seen unchaperoned in such a location. You’re just as much of a blackguard as you ever were, Tobias Darby! I shall never allow you to escort me in the evening.”
Tobias hadn’t gotten to be a nabob by ignoring possibilities. “An afternoon, then,” he said. “Are you engaged tomorrow afternoon, Genevieve?”
“Certainly!” she said.
“And one week from today?”
“I don’t wish to be seen with you,” she pointed out. “No, I don’t wish to be with you, Mr. Darby. Spending time in your company will simply encourage you in the mistaken belief that marrying me will compensate for your base behavior of seven years ago.”
“Are you so very sure of Felton, then?” he asked shrewdly.
She blinked. “Of course I am, although I might point out that your question is characteristically impolite.”
“Felton did kiss you in front of the ton,” Tobias said, nodding.
“Exactly!”
He loathed the way her face lit up when she remembered that lukewarm kiss from her lukewarm suitor. “But then he blithely sent you off with me,” Tobias noted.
“Felton has every confidence in me,” she said loftily. “And I do believe he didn’t understand the depths of perfidity to which you might sink.”
“Perhaps he has taken you a bit for granted,” Tobias said. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely amiss to give Mr. Felton a bit of competition.”
“Actually,” Genevieve said with a little smirk, “you may not believe this, but I seem to be quite fashionable amongst the London gentlemen. I have no difficulty finding competition for Felton.”
“Ah, but I am far greater competition than they are,” he said softly. “They are just town bucks, after all, whereas I represent your past. If you wish to encourage Felton into a proposal, Genevieve, you would do well to encourage me at the same time.”
“And why would you wish to help me?” she said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him. He tried to school his expression into one of innocence, but she suddenly said, “Oh, I understand! If I am married to such a worthy man as Felton, and you helped in the process, it would assuage your conscience.” There was just the smallest note of disappointment in her voice, which Tobias thought very encouraging.
“It is true that I would like to see you happily married,” he said. “After all, I feel indirectly responsible for your marriage to Lord Mulcaster.”
Genevieve took a deep breath. “Erasmus wasn’t so terrible.”
“I’ve heard he was a miser and an extremely ugly man to deal with on the business front,” Tobias said, watching her steadily.
“Those things are both true,” she admitted.
He touched her face. “I’m sorry, Genevieve. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s no need to be,” she said cheerily, the faint hint of sadness falling from her face. “If I hadn’t married Erasmus, I might never have met Felton!” She looked dismayed at the very thought.
Tobias was surprised by the surge of rage that choked him for a moment.
“Yet perhaps you are right,” she said a second later. “Felton may well be aware that he has no significant rivals.” She blushed a little, and Tobias wondered just what had happened between herself and that elegant lounger. “I shall grant you an afternoon,” she said.
He nodded.
“What shall we do?” she asked, looking adorably interested. “Shall we drive in Hyde Park?”
Tobias was sure of one thing. “Absolutely not,” he said brusquely. “I took my sister-in-law around the promenade this afternoon”—they’d been looking for Genevieve, although there was no need to mention that—“and a more tedious encounter I have never experienced. Nothing but limp hand wavings at the pace of a snail. I thought the horses might die of boredom before we made the whole circuit.”
Genevieve giggled. She was aware, deep down in her soul, that she too had been rather disappointed by the ritual-istic drive in Hyde Park. It wasn’t nearly as interesting as it appeared in the gossip pages. “What shall we do, then?” she inquired.
“Wait and see,” he said.
Chapter 5
Genteel Behavior Is Not Always Called For
“Well, I think it’s so romantic!” Lady Carola Perwinkle cried.
Genevieve;s friend was an enchanting little madam, with her cap of fairy curls and just the smallest evidence of an interesting condition. Genevieve couldn’t help smiling at her. “It’s not romantic, you silly thing,” she said. “What’s romantic about Tobias wishing to make amends? His behavior toward me in the past was utterly unscrupulous.”
Carola was shaking her head. “You can’t mean to say that you don’t find it utterly quixotic that Tobias Darby came all the way back from India, just to ask you to marry him! He’s waited for you all these years, and now finally you’re free,” she sighed. “My husband would have just found a trout stream and drowned his sorrows.”
“Tobias may have returned to England, but it was only to find that I’ve fallen in love with someone else,” Genevieve pointed out. “Truly, Carola, you make everything sound like a novel.”
“I love novels! If this were a novel, Felton and Darby would duel to the death.”
But the very thought made Genevieve feel slightly ill. “Luckily, Felton at least is a gentleman and quite restrained in his behavior.”
“Well, Tobias Darby doesn’t look restrained,” Carola argued. “I think he’s precisely the kind of man who would be a hero in one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.”
“Tobias as hero? Never! He’s nothing more than the wild boy he always was. He merely hopes to clear his conscience by marrying me.”
“A boy? Are you blind?” Carola asked, incredu
lous. “My friend Neville has been desperately in love with you for weeks, even though you likely didn’t notice. He almost wept last night when Darby strode into your box. We all saw the way he looked at you. The net result was that Neville tore up the dreadful poem he was composing for you.”
“I didn’t know that you and Mr. Charlton were friends,” Genevieve said. “How long have you been friends and what does your husband think—”
“Don’t try to distract me!” Carola scolded. “Which one are you going to take, Genevieve? Felton or Darby? I know who I would marry!”
“Who?”
“Darby, no question about it. Felton is all very well. He has a sinister kind of attractiveness and of course he’s quite handsome. But the way Tobias Darby looked at you last night...a woman would be a fool to give that up.”
“Felton looks at me with a great deal of appreciation,” Genevieve said, nettled. “And he did kiss me in front of the entire ton. I suppose you saw that as well?”
“Yes, but was that kiss due to your attractiveness or his jealousy?” Carola asked.
Genevieve had considered that very question half the night. “Jealousy simply indicates the depth of Felton’s feelings for me, don’t you see?”
“No,” Carla said. “I don’t. I think the look on Darby’s face indicated the depth of his feelings for you.”
“I can tell you precisely who I would choose to marry,” Genevieve announced. “Felton asked me to marry him this very morning.” A tinge of triumph turned her cheeks pink.
“Did you say yes?” Carola asked, with an irritating lack of excitement in her voice.
“Of course I did!”
“Oh, well, in that case, congratulations, darling,” she said, hopping up and giving Genevieve a kiss. “Felton’s town house is only two streets from mine. So we can ride in the park together every morning!”
But Genevieve heard the tinge of doubt in her voice as clearly as if she’d spoken it out loud. “How did your husband propose to you?” she asked.
“Tuppy?” Carola rolled her eyes. “He stammered. We barely knew each other, and I was truly horrified by the whole circumstance. Of course, he had spoken with my father beforehand, and my father had instructed me to accept, so there wasn’t much I could do.”
A Fool Again: A Novella Page 4