It Started with a House... (14 page)

Something changed then. She stiffened and he watched as she eased up on one elbow. He could barely see what she was staring at but caught enough to realize it was a frame. That was when he remembered what else was on that bed stand. Adam's picture. In the midst of all their passion, they'd both forgotten that they'd been in the presence of that all night. He groaned inwardly and wanted her to turn away from it and make her reach for him. Instead, he watched in growing misery as she carefully turned it facedown on the night table.

And then, abruptly, she bounded out of bed and ran to the bathroom. Seconds later he heard her gagging.

Marshall winced for her misery. Morning sickness was bad enough, but to know she had suddenly gotten so upset from realizing all that had happened in the presence of that picture was more than he could bear. His heart had been so full of joy a moment ago; now he felt as if he was being eviscerated. Throwing aside the covers, he reached for his clothes.

By the time he was dressed, things had quieted in the bathroom. He made himself go to the door. “Genevieve—are you all right?”

“I'm sorry. Not really. I—I just need a little more time.”

“I understand.” Turning to look back at the facedown frame on the bed stand, he thought,
More than you know.

He crossed the room and set the photo upright again. “You win,” he murmured.

 

Genevieve didn't immediately think anything when she emerged from the shower and found Marshall gone. From her perspective, she couldn't imagine any man wanting to witness what she was going through, regardless of how pleased he was about a pregnancy. She figured he'd gone and used the main bathroom or was making coffee in the kitchen.

“I'm drying my hair,” she called. “Join you in a few minutes. Could you make me a cup of instant decaf while you're brewing regular for yourself?”

When there was no reply, she still didn't think anything of it. It wasn't as if she needed it so badly that
she expected him to bring her the coffee back here. She wasn't even sure her tummy could handle more than a sip or two.

Time-wise, she realized that she wasn't really running late. It was barely past eight o'clock now and although Ina was often at the office by 8:30, she, Avery and Raenne sometimes didn't arrive before 9:00 if it was a slow day.

That said, when she finally was dressed in a black knit pantsuit over a red short-sleeved sweater, she came out into the living room, then checked out the kitchen, and was startled to realize that the house was empty. In fact there was no sign that Marshall had ever been there.

She looked for a note and didn't find any. That sent her back to check the other shower, and she discovered that it hadn't been used. It was when she looked outside and saw no Mercedes that she accepted the truth. He must have left right after she'd told him she needed a little time. Had he misunderstood and thought she'd meant space?

Returning inside, she went back to her bedroom and viewed her messages on the BlackBerry. There were several, but his wasn't among them.

Despite taking a deep breath and warning herself not to panic, another wave of nausea struck her. Setting the device right in front of Adam's photo, she ran to the bathroom.

Her phone was playing Beethoven's Fifth when she next emerged. Not in the mood to deal with her mother, but resigned that she'd better or else Marshall wouldn't be able to get through if he wanted to, she keyed the button to take the call.

“Morning, Mother.”

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“I thought I was fine the rest of yesterday and through the night, but almost as soon as I woke this morning, I was sick and ten minutes later I was sick again—and I haven't had so much as a sip of juice or water.”

“Poor dear. I'd hoped you would be one of the lucky ones to escape that condition. Where's Marshall? Does he know?”

No way was she about to tell her that they'd spent the night together. But she didn't quite know what to say instead. “I don't know where he is,” she said, trying to act casual. “That's fine. He's done enough. He needs his time and I certainly need mine.” Her heart wrenched painfully as she heard herself speak such nonsense, but she wanted to make her mother quit talking about him. “At any rate, I'm heading to the office shortly.” As soon as she applied another layer of foundation to try to hide the whisker burns. Marshall had shaved after bringing her to bed, but the number of abrasions on her body was testament to the intensity of their lovemaking beforehand.

“I can't see how that would be wise. At least wait a bit until you're sure the symptoms have definitely ceased. You'll have those women mad at you thinking you're exposing them to germs, and you won't be able to correct that without them putting two and two together. I've always believed our sex doesn't need a sixth sense in figuring out who's suffering from morning sickness.”

“You're not helping, Mother.”

“Well, if I'm not supposed to speak, do you want me to come over and run errands, clean?”

And see her stressing out as she waited for some
explanation from Marshall? Or falling apart if he didn't call? Or question her careful movements because of the love spots that had made it a small agony to put on a bra and panties this morning?

“No, not to worry. If things get any worse, we can discuss it.”

“All right then. But call your doctor!”

“That goes without saying.”

“And let me hear from you when you know something.”

“I should be in touch by noon.”

 

As he tossed his suitcase onto the bed, Marshall's gaze was drawn to the BlackBerry a foot away where he'd flung it earlier. He willed it to ring, but that didn't happen.

No, he couldn't do it. Genevieve had been clear—she wanted to be left alone. When she was ready to speak to him, she would let him know. In the meantime, he needed to do something and driving was a good start. He had no idea where he planned to go; he just knew he couldn't stay here in this house where he'd first held her and made love to her. He would finish losing what was left of his sanity if he did.

When the house phone began ringing, he frowned. Having been his real estate agent first, Genevieve had gotten into the habit of calling his BlackBerry instead of the house number. But on the chance that his assumption was incorrect, he grabbed the remote before the answering machine was triggered.

“Roark.”

“What's wrong?” Sydney demanded.

Marshall was surprised at her agitation, but wary, too. “Nothing that I know of,” he said evasively. “Why?”

“I just called Genevieve and she's planning to go to the office. Why aren't you talking her out of it? For that matter, why are you at home? You said you'd watch over her. You can't let her keep taking such risks with her health.”

“She must be feeling that she can manage that,” he said.

“You don't know? You two haven't talked? She says she didn't know where you were.”

She knew; he suspected that she just didn't want to tell her mother what happened last night any more than he intended to. “I was going to check on her after a while.” At some point he needed to let Genevieve know that she could still reach him if need be—although he doubted that was likely to happen.

“Did you two have a quarrel?” Sydney countered. “She said that you needed your space and she needed hers.”

Marshall all but dropped the phone. She'd said
that?
Only minutes ago? Things were even worse than he expected if she'd exposed that much to her mother, who didn't seem to be able to keep a confidence to save her life. “No. No quarrel.” He could barely get those words out.

“You didn't pressure her again, did you? Forgive me for venturing into personal territory, but she is my daughter. She told me that you had a tendency to be controlling. She quickly excused you, of course. She said it was a residual effect of having been Cynthia's caretaker for
so long. I hope that's all it is and not something deeper-seated.”

Marshall's insides roiled, even as he reminded himself that a daughter had a right to speak to her mother, particularly when she was the only family there was available to discuss things with. But that didn't mean he had to.

“Sydney, I really don't feel comfortable talking about my relationship with Genevieve with you. Just know that the matter has been discussed and leave it at that. All I care about is her health and happiness.”

“We both do, that's why I'm calling. I really am on your side, Marshall, leery though I am of rebound marriages. On the other hand, I'm walking proof that they work, aren't I?”

Her girlish giggle grated and had him all the more anxious to get off the phone. “Yes, you are,” he said politely, keeping his skepticism to himself. “And thanks for the vote of confidence. Now I need to finish packing.”

“Packing?”

“A business matter has come up.” It was the first thing to pop into his mind.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I'm not sure. Probably not more than a few days.” He figured his new security system was competent, but it wouldn't hurt for her to know that he wouldn't be around. Sydney Sawyer was undoubtedly better than a watchdog and equal to his house's alarm system.

“I see. Does Genevieve know this?”

“I…only just found out myself.” Pacing, he rubbed at his forehead, trying to keep his impatience from enter
ing his voice. “I intend to call her as soon as I finish packing.”

“Oh, good. Well, then have a safe trip, dear. I'll watch for your return.”

Disconnecting, Marshall muttered, “I'll bet you will.”

He hadn't intended to try calling Genevieve until he was on the road, but under the circumstances, he keyed her number within seconds. He didn't need her mother beating him to it—and adding her twenty cents.

“Marshall,” Genevieve said upon immediately answering. “I'm glad you called. I'm sorry—I mean, I obviously upset you.”

“Well, it was pretty clear you were embarrassed, although there was no need to be. But I respected that you wanted some space.” He used those words specifically hoping she understood that he knew about her chat with her mother.

After a slight hesitation, she replied, “I am having more trouble adjusting to this condition than I expected I would.”

With her condition
and
with being his lover, he thought, feeling as though he was bleeding internally. As painful as that truth was, he still cared too much to make things more difficult for her. Rubbing at his forehead, he said, “Maybe when I get back, you'll have some answers.”

“You're going somewhere?”

“Yes, a business matter has come up. It can't be helped. It should only take a few days, but—look, you have my number. If you want—if you need anything, you know how to get hold of me.”

She didn't answer right away and he knew she was waiting for him to explain said business. He didn't dare try because he didn't have a clue.

“Did we get disconnected?” he asked instead.

“No, it's…oh, this horrible condition. I needed a second to let it pass. Okay then…I'll see you when you get back?”

Where was the “Don't go!” entreaty he was desperate to hear? He'd become addicted to hearing her say it last night as in, “Don't stop,” “Don't let me go.” He could even survive with a bland, “I'll miss you.”

“Yes,” he replied gruffly. “Take care of yourself, Genevieve. Keep that doctor's number handy.”

“Actually, we talked minutes ago,” she replied. “I'm going in today. The near fainting spell worried her and she's determined to fit me in.”

“That's good. Excellent.” That was at least one bit of good news. “Will you let me know if she voices a concern about anything?”

“I never forget that this is your baby, too. I just didn't know if you'd mind since you'll be busy and all.”

What he minded was that they were talking as though last night hadn't happened—or more accurately, that it was the biggest mistake of her life. “Call,” he rasped. Then he disconnected because it hurt too damned much to listen to any more.

 

In the end, Genevieve bought herself more time from the eagle-eyed trio at the office and never bothered going in. Her appointment was for ten o'clock and she gauged it would take a half hour to get to the clinic. Besides, after her conversation with Marshall, she didn't yet trust
her emotions and could use the extra time to pull herself together. She called Ina and told her that she would see them after lunch. Ina was sympathetic but relieved to hear of the appointment. Genevieve let her continue believing that she was seeing her regular doctor. Considering Marshall's abrupt departure from town, there was now even less of a rush than before to disclose her true condition.

What she hadn't anticipated was to start getting weepy every few minutes. She hadn't been so bad since she'd suffered the blow of Adam's loss. As if the morning sickness wasn't punishment enough. But her heart was aching from the remoteness she'd heard in Marshall's voice. What had happened to the man who couldn't stop touching her last night? Was the business trip even real? Surely he didn't have to do such a convoluted thing to show her that he wanted to put some distance between them?

Could it be that with Cynthia's suffering still fresh in his memory, her condition had become too much for him? He had to know that it was temporary?

As a new wave of nausea assaulted her and she rushed for the bathroom, she thought,
Please, God…let it be temporary.

 

Although Dr. Tracy Nyland explained that she wouldn't be able tell anything regarding her blood and urine tests until the results came back from the lab in a few days, Genevieve underwent a full exam and was deemed in good shape…with conditions. From the answers to her questions, Dr. Nyland did suspect she was slightly anemic and prescribed vitamins. She also
listened to Genevieve's rendition of her usual workweek, and recommended she start reducing her hours closer to fifty rather than seventy-five. She explained that alone should reduce some of the stress.