THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (17 page)

Off in the distance, clouds gathered. But there was no imminent danger of rain. “Leave them for now. Ask Eloise when she comes back down. Or Brooke...”
If she comes back down.
“And, Frances, I think I’ll go for a walk.” She needed to do something, get away, clear her head, soothe her aching heart. “Around the lake, I think. Maybe out to the castle, too.” She had on her sturdy trainers, so suitable for chasing after party-mad children. “I have my phone if anyone needs to reach me. And I’ll be back by dark.”

“Good enough, then.” The housekeeper gave her a nod.

Genny dug an elastic from a pocket. She swiftly smoothed her hair up into a ponytail, out of the way. Then she left the terrace and headed for the lake, setting herself the goal of briskly walking the perimeter. That would take a good hour, minimum.

Time enough to have a nice cry and get herself under control.

The tears welled up and spilled over. She let them come, now and then lifting a hand to swipe them away. She hurried on, past the tents, the aboveground pool and the jetty. Several members of the house team were there, cleaning up. She gave them a wave and went on down that long stretch that led eventually to the graveled road around the walled garden.

Her unspoken love for Rafe seemed to be eating her up from inside. She ached to say the words, to have them out. He was a good man with a true heart.

And yet she feared to give him that kind of power over her. It was a mostly groundless fear. She knew that. Rafe would not betray her. He’d given her his word to be true, and he lived by his word.

Still, she kept flashing on that moment last night when Melinda had flung herself into his arms and slammed her open mouth to his.

To banish that image, she broke into a run—until she had to stop and catch her breath. She paced in circles, pausing to bend at the waist, sucking in great gulps of air, finally stretching her calves a little with the help of a sturdy oak tree to lean against.

Out on the lake, a couple drifted in a rowboat. They waved to her and she waved back. She put her hand on the slight swell of her belly.

All was right with the baby. He—or she—was safe and cozy in there. But Genny promised herself she would slow down a little, not push so hard. She only needed to keep going for a while, needed solitude and steady movement to think everything through.

She walked on at a brisk pace, Brooke’s furious accusations echoing in her head. It wasn’t that anything Brooke had said was news. It was only to have to hear it right out loud like that, in front of everyone. Because she
had
wanted Hartmore, more than anything. And no romantic illusions about Edward were left to her now. She would have married Rafe’s brother simply to get Hartmore, just as Brooke had said.

And she
had
managed to get herself pregnant, causing Rafe to insist on marrying her—and resulting in her getting what she’d always wanted: to be a DeValery and mistress of Hartmore.

She veered off the lake path and walked fast beside a crumbling stone wall. By then, she was hardly aware of her location, let alone of the direction her swiftly moving feet were taking her. The stretched-out elastic slid down her ponytail and fell off. She ignored it, shoving her hair behind her ears and letting it hang free.

Eventually, she did pause. She looked around and tried to figure out exactly where she’d come to. How long had she been moving blindly along this unknown path? She hadn’t seen a single soul since she’d waved to that couple boating on the lake.

And when had she left the lake trail? Definitely before she reached the road to the walled garden.

Had she come to the garden road along this path? She seemed to remember running across it, the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes.

Ahead, just off the path, she saw a stone wall and a heavy wooden gate. Ivy climbed the wall, growing thick, digging into the stone. She approached and pushed on the gate. It opened reluctantly with a creak of rusty hinges.

Inside, she found an overgrown garden and a small stone house with the thatch roof half caved in. She didn’t know the place. Perhaps a gardener’s cottage fallen into disuse, or maybe a tenant farmer’s house, abandoned with the changing times.

Fascinated by the magical feel of the place, she picked her way through all the undergrowth toward the house.

What time was it?

She took her phone from her back pocket and shook her head. Late. Almost eight. She needed to start thinking about getting back. A rotting plank creaked underfoot, but she didn’t really stop to think what that might mean to her.

Still walking, she auto-dialed the house and put the phone to her ear. Before she heard a ring, the plank gave way beneath her. With a cry of surprise, she plummeted into darkness.

Chapter Twelve

Rafe

A
s Gen had predicted, Rafe found his nephew in the stables looking broody and sullen, petting one of those rangy, big-eared kittens born to the mistakenly named Samson at the end of May. Rafe sat down with him. They played with the kitten for a long time until Geoffrey was ready to talk.

Rafe let him get his frustrations off his chest. Geoffrey whispered that he hated his mum sometimes—or he said that at first. As he kept talking, he admitted that maybe he didn’t really hate Brooke. But he hated things she did.

“Like how she never listens to me, Uncle Rafe. And like how she’s mean to Aunt Genny, who only wants to love us and have us all be happy together.” He also hated that his mum was always getting mad and yelling and then running off crying. “I hate that a lot, Uncle Rafe.”

Rafe said that he didn’t like it, either. And he thought about Gen, about the numb misery in her big brown eyes when he’d left her on the terrace.

He thought about what a damn coward he was. All the years of loving her. You’d think he could say it. Such a simple thing.
I love you, Gen. You are the only woman for me.

But he’d been a cheat and a liar—and not with Melinda. No. He’d cheated and lied in ways he didn’t know how to explain to her. The truth had a lot of ugliness in it. And he felt so bloody guilty about the way it had all turned out.

And once he told her how much he loved her, the ugly truth of what had really happened the night Edward died was sure to follow. That wouldn’t be fair. Wouldn’t be right. She shouldn’t have to know any of it. It was all in the past and best left alone.

He took Geoffrey back to the house, where Frances reported that Gen had gone for a walk around the lake and possibly to the castle. She’d promised to return before dark.

The lake
and
the castle? Before dark? What the hell?

He shouldn’t have left her on the terrace like that after the rotten things Brooke had said to her. But there had been Geoffrey to deal with....

It was all such a mess.

And maybe getting off to herself for a while would be good for her. Frances said she had her phone. So if she needed someone to give her a ride back from wherever she’d gone off to, she could simply call.

He and Geoffrey went on up to Brooke’s room. Granny was still with her.

Brooke seemed subdued. At the sight of her son, her face crumpled again.

Granny said, “Brooke, dear. Please.”

Brooke pulled it together and asked with surprising calm and real concern, “Geoffrey, are you all right?”

Geoffrey stood very straight. “Mum, I’m sorry for what I said. I love Aunt Genny very much, but I don’t wish she was my mum.
You’re
my mum and I’m happy that you are.” He pressed his lips together and then added bleakly, “Most of the time.”

Brooke drew a slow, careful breath. “I was awful,” she said, and seemed sincere. “I don’t blame you for what you said. I am going to find a way to be...better than I have been. I promise you. And I owe Aunt Genevra an apology, I know that. As for you, I only hope you can forgive me for the terrible things I said, and for pushing you into a party you didn’t want, for...yelling at you and crying and calling you ungrateful when I should have been trying to understand what was bothering you.”

Geoffrey looked down at his shoes and seemed not to know what to say to that.

Eloise caught Rafe’s eye. He nodded. She said, “Shall we leave you two alone, then?”

Brooke had eyes only for her son. “Geoffrey? Do you mind if Granny and Uncle Rafe go?”

He was still looking at his shoes. But finally, he answered, “All right.”

As soon as they were out the door and Eloise had shut it behind them, she asked, “Where is Genevra? How is she?”

He repeated what Frances had told him.

Granny frowned at that. “What time is it?”

“A little past eight.”

“Call her.”

So he took out his phone and dialed. It went directly to voice mail, without a ring. He left a message. “Gen. Please call me as soon as you get this.” He disconnected.

“She’s not answering?”

“No, and it didn’t ring. I think she may have turned it off.”

“That’s not like her, to take her phone so that we can reach her—and then to turn it off.”

“Maybe she just wants some time to herself. That was damned gruesome, what Brooke did.” And it had come right on the heels of that god-awful encounter with Melinda last night. Had it all become more than Gen was willing to put up with?

Had she left him?

No. She wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t a leaver. No matter how bad things got, Gen stuck it out and worked it through. It was one of the million and two things he loved about her.

Plus, if she was going, she would pack a bag and tell him to his face that she was done with him. No way would she promise to be home before dark and then just wander off on foot with only the clothes on her back.

But what if she’d finally had enough—of him and his sister, of Fiona and Melinda?

If she had, no matter what it took, he would find a way to change her mind.

“Rafe, are you listening?”

“Er, of course I am, Granny.”

She peered up at him doubtfully. “I
said,
Brooke’s behavior is completely unacceptable. She’s agreed to take steps to deal with her temper. She’s finally volunteered to see a therapist.”

He would believe that when he saw it. “It’s a start.”

“Even
she’s
finally seeing that she went too far and it has to stop—but right now it’s Genny I’m concerned for. She should be here, with us, where we can tell her how very much we love her and ask her to forgive us for all the ways we failed to protect her from the jealous spite of her own sister-in-law.”

“Are you lecturing me, Granny?”

“Oh, well, not exactly. I’m certainly as guilty as you are of not stepping in decisively before Brooke said all those unconscionable things to her.”

Did she want reassurance? He could use some himself. “I’m sure she’s all right. She told Frances she’d be back by dark.”

Eloise made a low, unhappy noise. “I just don’t like it. She wouldn’t turn off her phone. I think we should do something.”

He agreed. “Frances said she took the lake trail first. And she said she might go to the castle. I’ll saddle a horse and start with the lake trail.”

“Take your phone with you. And do not turn it off.”

* * *

It was full dark by nine. He’d been around the lake and hadn’t found her.

He tried her phone for the fourth time. Straight to voice mail, as each time before.

So he called Eloise. Gen wasn’t back yet.

Clouds had gathered overhead. He returned to the stables, got a torch and rode for the castle.

No sign of her on the way. And the old ruin was deserted except for an owl hooting somewhere up in the battlements. He returned to the house and turned his gelding over to one of Frances’s helpers who sometimes worked with the horses.

They were all waiting in the family’s foyer at the East Entrance—Granny, Brooke, Geoffrey and Frances—huddled together, looking worried. He had no idea what to say to them. He only wanted Gen back.

She’d said she would be home by dark. But night had fallen an hour ago. She wasn’t home and she hadn’t called. Every minute that ticked by now made it more likely that something had happened to keep her from doing what she’d told Frances she would do.

He didn’t want to think about all the things that might have happened to her.

At the same time, those things were
all
he could think about.

He called the number for the local policing team to report Gen missing. The sergeant was patient and sympathetic. He said it was more than likely she would return soon and that Rafe should call anyone who might know of her whereabouts. And then he told Rafe he would be at Hartmore in twenty minutes.

Rafe called Rory in Montedoro. Rory agreed that if Gen wasn’t where she’d said she would be, something wasn’t right. She said she would go and speak with her mother and Prince Evan and get back to him right away.

After Rory, he remembered the names of a couple of Gen’s school friends and managed to dig up their numbers. He left a message for one and the other answered on the third ring. She said that no, Gen hadn’t been in touch.

The sergeant arrived. He had a short list of questions, which Rafe answered. And he wanted a recent photo of Gen. Rafe gave him one of the pictures from their wedding album. The sergeant said he wouldn’t put the information in the system until tomorrow.

“One other question, Your Lordship. Does your wife have any health problems?”

The baby.
He’d been purposely
not
thinking about the baby. “Not a problem, exactly. But she’s pregnant. Almost four months along.”

“Any difficulties with the pregnancy...?”

“None. She’s perfectly healthy. She’s been to Dr. Eldon, in the village, and he says she’s doing fine.”

“Good, then.” The sergeant nodded, as though in approval. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from her tonight.” The man was clearly trying to be encouraging. Rafe wanted to grab him and shake him and demand some action,
now.
“But it’s good to have the basic information ready,” the sergeant went on briskly, “just in case.”

Gen’s father called a few minutes after Rafe waved the sergeant out the door. Rafe took the call in his study.

He told the prince consort the basic facts. That Gen had gone for a walk and not returned when she’d said she would, that her cell was dumping calls directly to voice mail. “She hasn’t been seen since around seven.”

“And it’s after eleven there now. I don’t like it. She wouldn’t turn off her cell phone like that.”

“I know.”

“Something’s kept her from returning when she said she would.”

“Yes. I think so, too.”

“We should have made her keep Caesar with her, at least for a while...” Rafe’s gut twisted. Evan was right. Dear God in heaven, were they going to be getting a ransom call, then? But then Evan asked, “Was anything bothering her when she went for that walk?”

And Rafe hesitated too long before answering.

“You had better tell me,” said Evan, his tone surprisingly patient.

“All right. Brooke’s always been jealous of Gen. Today, Brooke threw a party for Geoffrey’s birthday...” He told the rest of it straightforwardly, making no attempt to pretty it up.

“Anything else?” Evan asked.

Rafe had always trusted and respected Evan. And besides, at this point, with Gen’s safety in question, her father had a right to know. As simply as he could, he explained his epic fail involving Melinda the night before.

“I take it you’ve yet to tell my daughter that you love her.” It was gently said, but an accusation nonetheless. Evan knew way too much—because Rafe had told him. On that Sunday night, the day after the wedding, when the two of them had spent hours drinking brandy and smoking excellent cigars, Rafe had told the prince the truth: that he was in love with his bride, but he’d yet to tell Gen. “And never mind,” added Evan. “Your silence is your answer. The good news is that if she’s upset, it’s possible she did turn off her phone, that she decided she needs more time to sort things out.”

“God, I do hope so.”

“We’ll wait until morning,” Evan said. “If she hasn’t contacted you by then, her mother and I will be on our way to Hartmore.”

After ringing off with Evan, Rafe hardly knew what to do with himself. He was tempted to put on his walking shoes, grab another lantern and scour the pitch-dark countryside shouting her name all night long until he found her at last. It was raining by then. He stood at the window looking out on the darkness, watching the raindrops slide down the panes. He prayed that, wherever she was, she was safe and dry, with food in her belly.

There was a tap at the door.

Gen?
He spun around at the sound.

But it was only Brooke. “I need a minute. Please.”

He went to the desk, dropped into his chair and demanded flatly, “What?”

She shut the door and came over and stood facing him with the desk between them. She looked awful, hollow-eyed. Troubled.

He had no sympathy for her. She
should
be troubled.

“I just got a call from Melinda.”

He swore. An ugly word. “I don’t want to hear about Melinda.”

Brooke didn’t crumble. She wrapped her arms around herself and kept her spine straight. “Melinda told me what she did last night. I had no idea. I swear it, Rafe. Just now, she said you two had been together, years ago, before she left for Paris.”

He stared at the paperweight in the corner of the desk. It would be so satisfying to grab it and hurl it at the far wall. To resist that temptation, he fisted his hands on his thighs. “Let me make myself clear. I don’t give a good damn about Melinda. And what is the point of this, I’d like to know? Gen is missing. Nothing else matters right now.”

“I just... I didn’t
know,
all right? I had no idea that Melinda was after you. It’s not like with Fiona. I mean, Fiona was my friend first,
before
anything happened with—” He surged upright again, so fast that she gasped. “Rafe! What?”

“Have you lost your mind completely, to come in here tonight and talk to me about
Fiona?
”

Brooke put up both hands. “All right. I’m sorry. Forget about Fiona.”

“Go to bed.”

“I will, yes. In a minute. It’s just, well, I mean it when I say I had no idea that Melinda had a secret agenda. I actually believed that she only wanted to be my friend.”

“Surprise,” he said, more cruelly than he should have.

Brooke didn’t even flinch. For once in her life, she just stood there and took it. “Melinda apologized for her behavior. She won’t be back.”

“Damn right she won’t.”

She hesitated. Then, “Please, Rafe. Can you tell me, is there any word about Genevra?”

“None. If we aren’t in touch with her by morning, her parents are coming and an organized search will begin.”

She swallowed, hard. “Oh, God. I’m a terrible person, aren’t I?”

Wearily, he waved her off. “Go to bed, Brooke.” He waited for her to start crying and carrying on. As soon as she did, he planned to march around the desk, grab her by the arm, put her out the door and lock it behind her.