Too Wicked to Love (18 page)

Cilla stared at her with mouth agape for a full minute before she shook her head. “Impossible. I know John. He would never do such a thing.”

“I agree. He says it was Raventhorpe, but it was made to look like John did it.”

“Raventhorpe? Well, that makes more sense.” Cilla gave a decisive nod. “I know John, probably better than you do. And what I know of that man tells me that he is most likely trying to protect you or some such nonsense.”

Genny blinked. “Yes. That is exactly what he said. If he cannot prove his innocence, he might well be hanged for murder. Even if he is a duke.”

“Which just tells you . . .” Cilla paused. “A duke?”

Genny tilted her head. “I did not mention that?”

“No. Heavens, this sounds like some lurid novel.”

“I know.” Genny sank down into her chair. “Try living it.”

“So John is a duke. Which one?”

“Evermayne.”

“Really? I always knew that fellow was far too well-read to be a mere coachman.”

“He must come forward to claim the title in order to save His Grace’s young daughters from being married off to lechers by the presumptive heir. When he does that, the law will come looking for him.”

“True.” Cilla came back to her chair, then sat down, tapping her chin with her fingers. “But he is a duke. So they may take their time before accusing him of anything.”

“I suppose.”

“This is going to be a difficult time for him. I have no doubt there are people who believe he truly did kill his wife.” She met Genny’s gaze. “Seems to me he is going to need someone on his side.”

Genny scoffed. “He does not want me anywhere near him. Clearly I am not fit to be a duchess. Not with my history.”

“Nonsense! You get that out of your head right now.” Anger tightened her sister’s features. “He is trying to be
noble,
silly. He thinks he is going to die, and he is trying to keep you out of it.”

“He said something along those lines, but—”

“You told me that you love him?”

Genny nodded.

“Then why are you letting him face this thing alone? Why are you not at his side?”

“He told me to leave.”

“And you obeyed?” Cilla shook her head. “Sweetie, I thought you had more gumption than that.”

Genny stiffened. “The man basically threw me out of his room. I will not go where I am not wanted.” When Cilla continued to stare at her, silent, Genny frowned, thinking back. “Unless . . . do you think he was trying to push me away? Make me hate him?”

“What do you think?”

The truth staggered her. “Yes. That is exactly what he did. Because he knew that the only way I would leave him is if I hated him.”

“Typical male logic.” Cilla rose and pulled her sister up out of her chair. “I have had the experience of a bad marriage, and I would not wish it on my worst enemy. I have also had the experience of falling in love and marrying a man who loves me right back. And that, little sister, is worth fighting for.”

“But . . . he might be executed. If he fails to prove his innocence, they will hang him.” Just the thought brought hot emotion clogging her throat. “We might not have enough time to be together.”

“How much time is enough? There is no way to measure it, not when it comes to love. Don’t you think you should steal the time you have, however long or short that might be, and enjoy each other while you can?” Cilla gave her a little shake. “Love him. Be by his side, through good and bad.”

“If I marry him, I would be the duchess,” Genny said, the idea taking hold. “I would be able to raise His Grace’s daughters, even if the worst happened.”

“Yes.
Now
you are thinking like the sister I knew!”

“Would there be the possibility of a child, do you think? Even in so short a time?”

Cilla laughed and hugged her sister. “Of course. It only takes once.”

“Oh! So I might even now be—”

Cilla’s smile faded. “Yes, there is a chance, depending on what actually happened between you two . . .” Her sentence ended more like a question, and Genny confirmed with a short nod. “All right, then.”

“The possibility of a child might be what I need to make him see reason. Perhaps if I go back to him. Propose again . . .” Genny set her jaw, bracing for battle. “I will not let him push me away this time. Not now that I know he is trying to protect me.”

Cilla leaned forward. “That is the spirit, Genny! You never know how much time you have, even under the best circumstances. Life is too short for regrets.”

Life is too short for regrets.

Genny took those words with her as she went to bed that night. Her time with her sister had helped her step away from the situation, to think it through logically. Would she regret letting John go, especially if he ended up being convicted of murder?
Yes.

She could not let him face this alone. Even if he walked to meet the hangman’s noose, he would know that she was there with him, praying for him, loving him.

But she refused to let it come to that. Raventhorpe could not win this time. She would marry John, stand by his side, defend him against detractors, take care of those little girls, and help him prove his innocence. Nothing would stop her.

Not even the man himself.

T
he Bailey picnic had gone off without a hitch. Hundreds of guests flooded the grounds, eating, drinking, playing games. In the afternoon, the Nevarton Players, as the group called themselves, launched their production of Sir Harry’s epic play,
The Improper Princess.
The guests had loved the performance and given a standing ovation at its conclusion. Genny had shone on the stage as the wicked Malevita. She had seemed better today. More herself.

It made it slightly easier to leave.

After all the guests had departed and all the props and tents had been hauled back to the house, after all the Nevarton Players had sought their beds, John finally got a moment alone.

He pulled his clothing from the bureau and began folding it in a neat stack. He would start packing tonight. Tomorrow, after he explained himself to Genny’s parents and the Baileys, he would be leaving for London to present himself to Mr. Timmons as the eighth Duke of Evermayne.

Then they would see what came next.

Inquiries probably. Scotland Yard would certainly still look into a murder, even an old one. He had fled England before they had ever questioned him, so perhaps they would not throw him in prison right away. He should have enough time to set up arrangements for the Duke’s daughters before they hauled him away in chains. And enough time to go through his father’s notes, searching for clues to his innocence.

He picked up his father’s battered journal and flipped it open, running a finger over his sire’s familiar, cramped script. Father had never given up on him, had always believed in him. Had intended to prove his innocence, so his son could come home. His faith had never wavered.

John cleared his throat, swiped the heel of his hand over his dampening eyes. The loss still throbbed, a fresh wound. Though Father had been gone these four years, to John it had only happened yesterday.

He paged through the book, looked at the last entry.
Jack Norman, Elford-by-the-Sea
. That was where he would start. Tomorrow, after he visited Tim Timmons’s office and proved his identity, he would pick up where Father left off. Who was Jack Norman, and what did he know about Elizabeth’s death?

The door clicked open behind him. He whirled, closing the journal with a snap. His mouth fell open as Genny slipped into the room, clad in a nightdress and wrapper, her hair loose around her shoulders.

“What the devil are you doing here?”

She closed the door and glanced at his bag on the bed. “You are packing already?”

“Yes. I am leaving in the morning.” He tossed the journal on the bed and took her arm, reaching for the doorknob. “And you are leaving right now.”

She flattened her back against the door. “I am not going anywhere.”

Determination shone in her eyes. He could make her leave, drag her away from the door, open it, and shove her into the hall. But he could feel the warmth of her flesh beneath his grip. Her scent made his head spin, that sweet honeysuckle. Now that he knew what delectable body hid beneath her clothes, he found it even harder to resist her. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

He sighed. “I thought we already talked.”

“I have more to say.” She pushed away from the door, sliding her arm from his grasp and wandering over to the bed. “I thought about everything you said, John. And I think you are making a mistake.”

“Is that so?” He folded his arms and leaned back against the door. Clearly she was not leaving. He would have to wait her out.

“Absolutely. Tomorrow you are going to see Mr. Timmons, are you not?” She picked up the journal off his bed, flipped through the pages.

“I am.” He yanked the book from her hands and placed it on the bureau.

She raised her brows at his defensive reaction, but continued, “You are going to step out into view of all the world, attract the attention of the authorities and remind people of the old rumors. And you intend to face this all alone.”

“That is the way it has to be. Things might turn ugly. Better it is only I who suffers.”

“Why would you do that, when I can be there to help you?” Her coaxing smile urged him to be reasonable.

“You cannot come with me, Genny. We already discussed this.”

“Why? Because of heartbreak? How is that different from what I feel right now?” She came toward him, her hips swaying in a way that every male understood. “Let me tell you something, John Ready . . . John St. Giles. If your intent was to spare me pain, you have failed.”

“I know.” That honeysuckle scent teased his senses again, reminding him of their night together. Making his head spin. “I apologized.”

“You need to look at this practically.” She stopped in front of him and propped her hands on her hips. “I can help you.”

“No. I will not have you ask your father—”

She laid a finger on his lips, making him forget what words were and how to form them. “I said nothing about my father. We should get married.”

He shook his head, and her finger fell away. “No. I will not leave you a widow.”

“As your wife,” she charged on as if he had not spoken, “I can help you raise His Grace’s daughters. Both of their mothers both passed away some years ago. They have no one, John, and if you . . .” She cleared her throat. “If things turn out for the worse, then they will be alone again.”

“I will appoint a guardian.”

“Who will you appoint? Not Randall, certainly. And who is to stop the girls’ guardian from taking advantage of their wealth? If I am your wife, I would be their mother. I could look out for them, no matter who controls the financial matters. They would not feel like orphans if you were suddenly . . . gone.”

She paused, cleared her throat. Was she upset at the prospect of his execution?

He had been ready to dismiss her idea out of hand, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Whom could he really trust to watch over his cousins? He had been gone from England for years and so had no close friends he could trust except Samuel. But the Breedloves would be returning to America in a few weeks.

“In addition,” she said, pacing back over to the bed again, “I would like to point out that by marrying you, I become the Duchess of Evermayne. This grants me tremendous security. You would be taking care of the girls and me at the same time—assuming such a thing matters to you.”

“You know it does.”

“Actually, John, I do not know. I have no idea how you feel about me.” She paused, but when he remained silent, she returned to pacing. “There is another reason marriage might be a good idea. You might get me with child—an heir for Evermayne—which would assure that Randall never inherits.”

“An heir?” The thought had not occurred to him, not this way. “This would be a real marriage then.”

“Of course. Did you think we would marry for convenience?”

He shrugged. “I did not know your intentions.”

She gave him a slow smile that raised his blood pressure. “I would be pleased to provide you with an heir.”

If she had not already begun the process.

The thought popped into his mind and would not let go. Damn it. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “You might already be with child.”

She shrugged. “I might. But that is not why I am proposing this marriage. I think we can help each other.”

“It does not alarm you that you might even now be expecting? Genny, you would be ruined.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “John, you had better not even consider wedding me out of guilt. We have good, solid reasons for entering this marriage.”

“I still do not want you anywhere near this mess.”

“And I do not want you to face your accusers alone. I believe in your innocence, John. I will stand by you, no matter what happens.” She took a deep breath, then looked him straight in the eye. “I am in love with you.”

She waited for his response, barely breathing. She did not expect him to love her, maybe not yet. But if they had a chance at a lifetime together, love could come.

He stood stock-still for a few moments, then reached for her, pulling her into his arms. He caressed her cheek. “My little warrior.” He rested his forehead against hers, looked deeply into her eyes. “I love you, too.”

Her heart leaped. Had she heard aright? Then he cupped the back of her head and dragged her closer for a deep, hungry kiss that conveyed beyond mere words how he felt about her. She clung to him, reveling in the heat sweeping through her body as he crushed her against him.

Her pulse stuttered in her veins, her mind fogging with urgent, demanding desire. She pushed against his chest, freed her mouth. “John. What about—”

“Yes, I will marry you.” He swept her hair behind her ear, his gaze intent on her face. “I do not know how long we will have. Maybe weeks. Maybe days.”

“It does not matter.” She relaxed in his arms, laying her palm against his chest. “I will be grateful for any time we have.”

“I will need a special license.”

She grinned up at him. “I expect the Duke of Evermayne can procure one with little effort.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I expect you are right.”

She stroked her hand down his shirt, listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear, content, for now, simply to rest in his arms. “You will need to speak to my father.”

He gave a huge sigh. “You had to mention that.”

She lifted her head from his chest. “He can be a great ally.”

“So can you, love.” He tilted her chin with one finger and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

She closed her eyes as her body responded. “Make love to me, John.”

He tensed. “We should wait. We will be getting married . . .”

“We do not have time to wait. No moments should be wasted.” She opened her eyes, hoping he would see the arousal coursing through her. “Now is the only certainty; it is all we have. We cannot count on tomorrow.”

He stroked her hair. “I do not want to think about anything coming between us. What if we cannot get the special license in time? What if we cannot wed?”

“Now is all we have,” she repeated. “Tomorrow will take care of itself.” She untied her robe and shrugged it off, letting it pool on the floor. Beneath it she wore a silky nightdress with lace trim.

He raised his brows. “Where did you get this?”

“It was part of Cilla’s wedding trousseau. She let me borrow it.”

“She knows?”

“Yes, she is my sister.” She cupped his face. “Tomorrow everything will be out in the open.”

“True.” He took one of her hands, pressed a kiss to the palm. Her pulse fluttered. Holding her gaze, he slipped her finger into his mouth, tickled the sensitive pad with his tongue, sending tingles flooding up her arm.

“Oh, my.” She had not realized she had spoken aloud until he chuckled.

“If you like that, I have more I can show you.”

Her insides melted. “I am yours.”

With a pirate’s grin, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. His clothing and traveling bag took up one side, so he set her down on the side that was clear, then scooped up his belongings, shoved them in the bag, and set it on the floor.

Genny stretched out on the mattress, her body humming with anticipation, and extended her arms above her to touch her fingertips to the headboard. John came back to her then, pressing her into the bedding with his warm, muscled body and pinning her hands above her head with his hands on her wrists. The position plumped her breasts toward him, and he took advantage, claiming one nipple between his teeth right through the thin material of her nightdress. The playful nip seared a path of heat straight to her private parts. She gasped, arched closer, gave herself up to whatever he wanted from her.

And it seemed that what he wanted was to tease her into madness.

He toyed with her breasts, nipping, licking, sucking through the provocative nightdress. He dipped his tongue into the valley of her bosom, nibbled a path from her collarbone to her ear and back again, kissed her long enough and deeply enough that she began to wonder if he could bring her to climax with just that alone.

He took his time learning her, playing with her, tormenting her. Priming her for his possession. He kept his weight on her so she could not spread her legs, and soon she was begging him to touch her there, take her, anything to soothe the ache. She arched her hips against him, tugged on her arms to free them. But he held her firm and drove her higher with his lips and teeth and tongue.

“Please, John.” She tossed her head. She burned. She wanted. The place between her legs swelled with heat and dampness, preparing for him. Only him sliding inside her would stop this torment.

Finally, he released her hands and took his weight from her, settling beside her rather than on top of her. She barely had a moment to protest before he was sliding her nightdress up her legs, bunching it at her waist. Anticipation stiffened her spine and sent excitement roaring through her body. Eagerly she spread her thighs. After long moments, he stroked the slick folds with gentle fingers. Once. Twice. Driving her insane with need.

“My, my,” he murmured. “Look at how wet you are.” He slid his fingers inside her, out again, then repeated in a rhythm that left her shaking.

She could not speak, could only whimper, arching into the thrust of his fingers. Every touch left a trail of fire. He toyed with one breast at the same time, cupping it, seeming to enjoy its size, its weight in his hand. He kissed her, nipped at her lips, touched his tongue to hers as he squeezed and fondled the plump flesh.

She jerked at his clothes, wild to feel his skin against hers. He allowed her to indulge herself, and eventually he was naked. She reached down, closed her hand around his hardness. He hissed a sharp breath between his lips, pumped once, twice in her grasp. Then he pulled her hand away and took her face between his hands, holding her head still.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his dark gaze boring into hers. “Feel me take you.”

She gasped as began to enter her, an inch at a time. She arched her hips, clenched her internal muscles, tried to make him move faster. Harder. Deeper. Still, he kept the same excruciating pace, finally sinking all the way in, his loins locked to hers. Her eyes drifted closed.