The Marrying Season (35 page)

“Yes? What is it, Beck?”

“Lady Thorwood, sir.” The man extended the note toward him, and Myles grabbed it, breaking the seal. He read it, his eyebrows soaring, and let out an oath, then ran through it once again. The words did not improve on a second reading.

“The devil take it!”

“Myles? Is everything all right?” Gabriel asked, rising to his feet. “Can I assist you in some way?”

“No, everything is most definitely not all right.” Myles crumpled the note and shoved it into his pocket. “Thank you for your offer, but I will take care of this myself.” Turning, he strode rapidly away.

W
ell, Mr. Langdon.” Genevieve looked
down at the man sitting on the narrow cot. His thinning, sandy hair hung limply across his head, and he sported a day’s growth of beard. He wore no jacket, only an open waistcoat over his shirt, which was stained and rather the worse for wear. A manacle secured his ankle to the bedpost. “This is certainly a sorry sight.”

“My lady!” He sprang up from his seat, wiping ineffectually at his hair. “Thank goodness you are here! You must tell this madman to let me go.”

“Must I?” Genevieve gazed at him levelly. “I think you are hardly in a position to demand anything.”

“But you know I did nothing to you,” he protested. “This fellow says Sir Myles thinks I harmed you. But you know that isn’t true. I have nothing but the greatest respect and admiration for you. Perhaps my zeal exceeded my sense of propriety.” He paused in the midst of his grandiloquence and added more mundanely, “Is it true that you have married Thorwood?”

“Yes. I did. And he is not happy with you.”

“I did not realize that you and Thorwood—that is, it was clear you and Dursbury were no love match. Else why would you turn to me? But I did not know Sir Myles had stolen a march on me.” His voice died as he looked at Genevieve’s stony face. He cleared his throat. “That is, um, well, in any case, you will help me, won’t you? You will tell Thorwood that I never meant any harm?”

“No harm? What else did you think would happen when you lured me into the library?”

“Lured you!” He gaped at her. “My lady! Surely you cannot mean to deny that you asked me to meet you. How was I to know what would happen?” He gazed at her in righteous indignation. “I cannot help it if your fiancé followed you. When a beautiful woman seeks one out, ’tis difficult to deny her.”

“You have the audacity to say
I
asked
you
? That I told you to meet me in the library?” Genevieve’s temper ratcheted up several notches.

“But you did! Please, I know no lady likes to admit to making an assignation, but you cannot condemn me so unfairly.”

“Mr. Langdon. I never asked you to meet me anywhere at any time, and only a fool would believe that I had. Myles has a good deal more sense than Lord Dursbury; he will not believe the worst of me. I had meant to ask my husband to be lenient with you, but if you intend to blacken my character . . .”

“I will say whatever you wish!” he assured her. “Just tell this chap to let me out of this dreadful manacle. It
is excessively cumbersome. I shall leave immediately. I will go—”

At that moment, the door to the tack room slammed open and Myles walked in. “The devil! Genevieve, what in the world possessed you to come here?” He glared first at her, then at Parker, and finally his gaze fell on Langdon. His face tightened, and he started toward him.

“No! Myles, wait.” Genevieve stepped in front of him as Langdon scrambled as far away as the manacle and chain would allow. “Don’t be hasty. Mr. Langdon was about to tell me about that party.” She turned toward the other man. “I won’t let Myles hurt you, if you will only tell us the truth. Without any sort of embellishment.”

“I did tell you the truth!” Langdon said in an aggrieved tone. “You sent me a note.” He twitched when Myles made a low growling noise, and Langdon cast Genevieve an imploring glance. “Lady Genevieve . . .”

“Myles, please.” Genevieve held his gaze until he sighed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“Very well. Tell us your tale.”

“It’s not a tale.” Langdon turned his gaze back to Genevieve. “You asked me to meet you in the library. I was most astonished, I’ll admit, for I never could see that you had the slightest interest in me.”

“I didn’t,” Genevieve replied bluntly. “Nor did I send you a note.”

“But, my lady, you did!”

“What did it say?” Genevieve asked.

“I don’t remember!” His voice rose querulously. “I was
foxed! Drunk as a wheelbarrow. You wrote, ‘I must see you,’ or some such thing and put the time and the place. So I went directly to the library. I think I fell asleep.” He frowned. “Because I woke up and there you were. I had thought perhaps it was a joke, you see. But then you appeared. Like an angel, as it were.” He sighed. “Of course, it all fell apart.”

“Mr. Langdon, do you swear that you did not send me a note telling me to meet you in the library?”

“Send you a note?” He looked perplexed. “No. Don’t you understand?
You
sent
me
a note, not the other way around.”

Genevieve turned to Myles. He set his jaw.

“Langdon.” Myles strode forward and jerked the man up by the front of his shirt, his face more coldly furious than Genevieve had ever seen it. “If I were to hold a knife to your throat, would you tell me the same story?”

“N-not if you didn’t want me to,” the other man replied uncertainly.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Myles shoved him back down onto the bed. “Parker, release him. Langdon, get out of this city and don’t show your face here again. If I ever hear of you speaking a word about my wife, I swear I will hunt you down, and when I’m through with you, your own mother won’t recognize you. Do you understand?”

Langdon nodded mutely.

Myles swung back around and cast Genevieve a fulminating glance. “You and I are going to talk.” He wrapped his hand around her wrist and started from the room.

Genevieve went with him without protest. Myles handed her up into the carriage outside and settled down across from her, his face set in stone. Genevieve gazed back at him coolly.

“Are you planning to sulk all evening?” she asked after a few moments.

“I am not sulking. I am contemplating whether I dare leave you at home alone again. Blast it, Genevieve, haven’t you any sense?”

“No, I suppose I must not.” Genevieve’s tone was glacial. “If by
having sense
you mean never acting upon anything unless I have your consent.”

“Don’t. Don’t try to blame me for your willful disregard for your own safety. You went charging off without a word to anyone, going God knows where, by yourself, and then you act as if
I
am an ogre for wanting to protect you.”

“Charging off! I was hardly by myself. Mr. Parker, whom
you
hired, accompanied me. Mr. Langdon was manacled to the bed. It is still daylight, and we are in a respectable part of the city. Not to mention the fact that I sent you a message about where I was going.” Genevieve’s tone turned more acidic by the word. The carriage pulled up in front of their home, and she raised a sardonic eyebrow at Myles. “You may have noticed that we are scarcely any distance from our house. Am I supposed to wait for you to escort me everywhere?”

She opened the door and climbed down without waiting for his assistance. As they went up the stairs, she said coolly, as if anger were not churning around her insides,
looking for a release, “You will remember that we have the Dumbarton soiree this evening.”

“Damn the soiree! Genevieve, we are not through with this discussion.”

“I am.” She sailed into her room, Myles on her heels. “Ah, Penelope, you have drawn a bath for me, I see. Excellent.”

Her maid bobbed her a curtsy. “Yes’m. Shall I add the hot water now?”

“Yes, do. I must hurry. I am a bit behind, I fear.”

Penelope left the room. Genevieve, ignoring Myles’s looming presence, crossed to her dresser and began to take out her earbobs. She glanced in the mirror at Myles. He was standing beside her bed, gazing down at the clothes her maid had laid out on the bed for Genevieve to wear tonight. Beside the pale pink dress lay her new undergarments. As she watched, Myles reached out and took the delicate, lace-edged chemise between his fingers, his face bemused.

Genevieve suppressed a smile. She could not begin to identify what she was feeling at the moment—irritation, amusement, excitement, anticipation, all welling up in her, clamoring for release. She began to remove the pins from her hair.

“What are you about, Genevieve?” Myles frowned at her. “These clothes . . .”

“Yes?” Genevieve put the hairpins in their box and turned inquiringly toward him, combing her fingers through her hair as she spoke. “What about my clothes?”

“They, um . . .” He pulled his gaze away from her, finishing lamely, “They’re different.”

“Yes. They are. I frequently buy new underclothes and nightgowns, Myles. Do you object to your wife’s expenditures?”

“What? No. You bought nightgowns as well?”

“Yes.” Genevieve opened a drawer and help up a delicate nightgown. Sleeveless and high-waisted in the style of current dresses, its bodice was made entirely of lace, gathered beneath her breasts with a satin sash, and falling into a skirt of sheer voile. “It is a mite extravagant, I admit, but I thought it a pretty confection.” Feigning not to notice Myles’s stunned expression, she folded up the garment and replaced it in the drawer.

“Is that all?” Myles’s words came out in a croak.

“No. I have others ordered. Ought I to have presented a list of my intended purchases so you could approve it?”

“No!” He cleared his throat, turning away. “Don’t be nonsensical.” His fingers strayed again to the gossamer-light chemise on the bed. “I am not a demanding husband.”

“I would not have thought so,” Genevieve retorted lightly. “I am no longer sure what to believe. Apparently you do not approve of my leaving the house on my own or purchasing new garments without telling you or”—her eyes flickered toward the bed—“how I perform my wifely duties.”

“Wifely duties! Good gad, Genny, you know I—” He broke off as Genevieve’s maid bustled into the room, carrying
a kettle, followed by one of the other upstairs girls, similarly burdened.

He waited impatiently while Penelope poured the steaming water into the tub, then swirled her hand in it, testing the temperature.

“I know what, Myles?” Genevieve asked, lifting her hair and turning so that Penelope could unfasten her dress.

“Genevieve, stop.”

“Stop what?” Genevieve looked at him with clear, limpid eyes. “I must hurry or we shall be late for the party.”

He started to retort, then cast a frustrated glance at Penelope. “Oh, to hell with it!” He stalked out the door and down the hall to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Genevieve let out a giggle as she stepped out of her dress. She knew she should not have allowed this scene to play out in front of her maid. She and Myles had already given their servants a wealth of things to gossip about tonight. Oddly, she could not bring herself to care.

“That is all, Penelope. I’ll finish the rest.”

As the door closed behind the servant, Genevieve sat down to remove her stockings. She could hear Myles stomping about in his room, opening and closing drawers with excessive force, as well as one sound that she suspected was a boot being hurled across the room. She grinned as she peeled off one stocking and started on the other.

The connecting door into Myles’s room opened. “Genevieve, I—” Myles stopped, frozen in the doorway, his eyes going to Genevieve’s hands poised on her leg.

“Yes?” Genevieve looked at him with bland inquiry.

He was undressing, too, boots, jacket, waistcoat, and cravat gone, his shirt hanging outside his breeches. Genevieve continued with her task, hooking her thumbs under the top of her stocking and slowly traveling down her leg. She tossed the stocking aside and stood up, her eyes on Myles’s face as she grasped the bow tying the front of her chemise and slowly drew it open. Myles curled his hand around the edge of the door, his fingers digging into the wood.

With careful deliberation, she undressed, grasping the bottom of the chemise and pulling it off over her head. She continued to watch him, her eyes challenging, as she untied her petticoats and let them fall. She felt no embarrassment at her nakedness, only a fierce sensual pleasure as she watched desire settle on his features, softening his mouth and sharpening the hot hunger in his eyes. She stepped out of the last of her undergarments and sauntered over to the tub. Casually picking up the washrag on its edge, she stepped into the tub and sank down in it, leaning her head back against its rim as the warm water lapped around her body.

For a moment she thought he would not move, but then he shot across the floor, reaching down and pulling her up in one smooth motion. “I will not have it!”

His arms went around her, tight and hard as iron, and he buried his lips in hers. Genevieve melted into him, clinging, as his mouth plundered hers, turning her dizzy. Finally he broke their kiss and swooped her up in his
arms to carry her into his room. Little gentleness was in his face as he laid Genevieve down and stretched out on the bed beside her. Bracing on his elbows, he took her face between his hands, and stared deeply into her eyes, his face fierce.

“You will sleep in my bed. Do you hear me? You can keep that bloody room for your clothes or to bathe or to sulk in or to just shut everyone out; I don’t give a damn what you do with it. But at night you will be here, where you belong. In my bed.”

Genevieve’s lips curved up. “Yes, Myles.” She put her hands up to his face, in mirror image of him, and pulled him down to kiss her.

The breath left him in a low groan as their lips met. His mouth was hard and desperate, driven by weeks of frustration. Genevieve answered him with equal fervor. Passion, teased and repressed for too long, flamed in her, and she could not touch him or taste him enough. Her hands slid under his shirt, eager to caress his flesh. Myles’s skin was hot and smooth against her fingers, and she explored him eagerly, fingertips digging into his back as if she could meld their flesh together.