THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (4 page)

“Oh, Rafe, that’s not fair. You can’t just—”

He cut her off by reaching for her, yanking her close and smashing his lips down on hers in a hard, angry kiss.

She shoved at his shoulders until he let her go. “What is the matter with you?”

“Leave. It. Alone.” Each word came out as hard and cold as a stone.

Her lips still tingled from the force of his kiss. She pressed her fingertips to them, soothing them. “This isn’t like you.”

“I mean it, Gen. Edward is dead. There’s nothing more to say on the subject.”

“Of course there is. There’s
everything
to say. I know you loved him, as he loved you. I know it has to be killing you, that he’s gone, that—”

“Enough.” He threw back the covers and got up. “Good night.” And then he left her, just like that.

She watched him stride through the door that led to the other bedroom, pausing only to close it behind him so carefully, hardly making a sound.

She longed to jump up and go after him.

But no.

She’d tried. It hadn’t gone well. She needed to let it be, at least for now. She settled back against the pillows, sliding her hand under the blankets, resting her palm on her belly where their baby slept.

It will get better.

They would somehow work through all the awfulness. Somehow they would find each other, as friends. As lovers. As husband and wife.

She absolutely refused to admit that she might have made a terrible mistake, that she’d married a man she no longer even knew.

* * *

It was after three in the morning when she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

She woke at a little past nine, feeling exhausted, as though she hadn’t slept at all. But she couldn’t stay in bed forever. So she rose and showered and dressed and resisted the temptation to check the other bedroom.

Finally, at the very last minute, before she went down to breakfast, she went to the door of the other bedroom and gave it a tap.

Nothing.

She knocked again. When he still didn’t answer, she went ahead and pushed it open. He’d already gone. No one had made the bed yet; the sheets were in tangles. She couldn’t help taking selfish satisfaction from the evidence that he hadn’t slept all that well, either.

Out in the hallway, her bodyguard, Caesar, was waiting. He followed her to the Morning Room, positioning himself just outside the door, ready in case she might need protecting.

Which she did not. But after her brother Alex’s kidnapping and four-year captivity in Afghanistan, everyone in the family had security whenever they traveled outside the principality.

Her marriage to Rafe changed that. Now she was part of Rafe’s family and as such allowed to choose whether she still wanted security or not. She chose not. Caesar would be going home with her parents. Nothing against him. He was quiet and unobtrusive and easy to have around. But she looked forward to getting along without a soldier following her everywhere.

In the Morning Room, the staff kept a buffet breakfast on the sideboard until eleven. The room was empty, the table set, the silver chafing dishes lined up and waiting.

Her stomach felt a bit queasy. Pregnancy and a wedding-night argument were not a good combination. She took toast and apple juice and sat at the table.

Rory came in as she debated whether or not to try the raspberry jam. “Any news?”

Genny glanced up from the jam pot. “News about what?”

Rory got some coffee and took the seat next to Genny. “No one told you?”

“Apparently not. What are you talking about?”

Rory set down her china cup without taking a sip. “Geoffrey’s disappeared. Brooke went to his room at eight to get him ready for the drive up to London. He wasn’t there. He’d left a note on his pillow saying he hated school and was running away and never coming back.”

Chapter Four

G
enny’s stomach lurched. “Geoffrey...ran away?”

Rory nodded. “Rafe, Eloise, two of the gardeners and a stable hand are out beating the bushes looking for him. I offered to help, but Eloise turned me down. She said maybe later, if they don’t find him in any of his favorite places.”

“What about Brooke? And Mother and Father?”

“Brooke’s in her rooms having her nineteenth nervous breakdown. Mother and Father are out on the terrace, waiting for Rafe or one of the others to come back—hopefully, with Geoffrey in tow.”

Genny pushed back her chair. “Where did they go to look for him?”

“They mentioned the lake trail and the boat jetty, the walled garden...a couple of other places, I think.”

“What about the castle?” Built in the thirteenth century, Hartmore Castle was now a roofless ruin. She and Geoffrey had spent an afternoon exploring there last summer.

“No,” said Rory. “I don’t think the castle made the list—and where are you going?”

Genny was halfway to the door. “To check the castle.”

“I’ll come!”

“No, stay here. I’ll be fine....”

Rory grumbled that she hated getting stuck at the house, but Genny hardly heard her. Caesar left Rory’s bodyguard by the door and fell in behind her as she ran to her room to change into a pair of jeans and some trainers. She left the house from a side door and took off on foot across open parkland in the quickest, most direct route to the castle. Caesar followed close behind.

She felt terrible about Geoffrey. She’d promised herself she’d make time for him yesterday. But in the last rush to get ready for the wedding, she’d never quite managed it. If she found him at the castle, they’d have a few minutes together. She could apologize for yesterday. And she could try to make him see that running away solved nothing. With a little coaxing, she hoped she could get him to return to school voluntarily.

On foot, at a steady clip, it was a good half hour to the ruins, past Saint Ann’s, through the old cemetery, onto a public footpath that once was a turnpike road. The path cut through the former pleasure grounds of the estate, from back before the construction of Hartmore House, when the DeValerys lived at Hartmore Hall, long since demolished. From the path, she crossed the deer park, and from there she took a heavily wooded trail that wound in upon itself, with the ruined castle at the center.

Before she rounded that last curve in the circular track, she turned to her bodyguard. “I’m hoping Geoffrey is at the castle and I want to speak with him alone. Will you stay out of sight unless I call for you?”

“Of course, ma’am.” The bodyguard stepped off the path and into the trees, vanishing almost instantly from her sight.

She turned again for the castle, emerging a few minutes later into the open space where the crenellated ruin loomed against the sky. The stone hall and courtyard fortress were beautiful in their stark, gray, weather-beaten way. The tower still stood, though the lower wing had been plundered over the centuries to get stone for other buildings. The empty rectangular windows and door arches gaped like dark unseeing eyes.

Genny opened her mouth to call for Geoffrey, and then shut it without a sound. Even on a sunny, almost-June morning, the place had a haunted, otherworldly feel about it. She didn’t want to scare him off.

And surely he wouldn’t go inside. He’d been warned, and sternly, that it wasn’t safe in there. More stones could topple at any time.

The castle was built into the side of a hill. She circled the structure, climbing the steep east slope, crossing around behind it on the tower side, keeping her eye out for Geoffrey along the way.

She found him as she started down the west slope. He was huddled against the outer wall of the castle, his legs drawn up, thin arms wrapped around his knees. He looked unhappy, but unharmed.

Relief, like cool water on a sweltering day, poured through her. “Hello, Geoffrey.”

He had a streak of dirt on his cheek and he glared at her mutinously. “
Now
you have time for me.”

She went over and dropped to the damp, patchy grass at his side. “Yesterday, it was just one thing after another. I kept meaning to...” She stopped herself. He deserved better than a bunch of lame excuses. “Geoffrey, I messed up. I didn’t make time for you. And I’m so sorry. Sometimes... Well, sometimes even a true friend will mess up.”

He pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m not going back. I’m running away forever and I’m
never
going back.”

“I wish you wouldn’t run away. We would all miss you way too much.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. You won’t miss me in the least. You don’t even care about me. Nobody does. My father has new children. He’s forgotten all about me. He lives all the way over there in America and if he never sees me again, it won’t matter in the least to him.”

She wanted to demand in outrage,
Who told you that?
But she had a very strong feeling that Brooke might have done it. Brooke too often forgot that she was supposed to be a grown-up. “Your father loves you,” she said, for lack of anything better. Geoffrey’s reply was a scoffing sound. She asked, “Do you want to go and live with your father?”

Geoffrey gasped. “No! I want to live here, at Hartmore, with you and Uncle Rafe and Great-Granny Eloise.”

“And you do live at Hartmore. But you go away to school.”

“Because nobody wants me here.”

She braced her arms on her knees and rested her cheek on them. “That’s not true. We want you here and we love you, Geoffrey.
I
love you. I know I let you down yesterday, but if you think back to all our times together, you’ll remember that I do care about you, that you’re very important to me. And if you left, if you ran away, well, I just couldn’t bear it.”

He looked at her then, narrowing his eyes, as though trying to see inside her head and determine whether she really meant what she said. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he leaned her way, sagging against her.

She dared to hook an arm loosely around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder. He smelled of dirt and clean sweat and she ached to grab him hard and close and never let him go.

“I hate boarding school. I’m only almost nine. Most of the boys my age there are day boys. I have to live in a house where everyone is older and they treat me like a baby. Why can’t I stay at Hartmore with you and Rafe and Great-Granny? Why can’t I go to the village school and have my tutor back until I’m at least thirteen like Uncle Rafe was when he went away? Or even go to St Anselm’s in Bakewell, like the Terrible Twins?” He meant Dennis and Dexter, Fiona Bryce-Pemberton’s ten-year-old sons. “Why can’t I just wait to go away until I’m old enough to attend St Paul’s?”

“Because you are very smart, that’s why. And it’s important for you to get the best education possible.”

“St Anselm’s is one of the top prep schools in the country. It’s not fair. Mum just wants to get rid of me.”

Even Genny, who was no fan of Brooke’s, didn’t believe that. Brooke was self-absorbed and a hopeless drama queen, but she loved her son. She just didn’t know how to deal with him. “No, your mother does not want to get rid of you. Your mother wants the very best for you and your new school
is
the very best.”

“I hate it.”

“Well, then, you will have to find ways to learn to like it.”

“I will never be able to do that.”

“Yes, you will. Also, I know it must seem that you’ll never get home, but doesn’t the summer term end soon?”

“No. It’s forever. It’s practically a whole month.”

“Well, a month may seem like forever now, but it
will
pass. You’ll be home for all of July and August, here, with us. I’ll be looking forward to that.”

“All the boys are awful. I don’t have any friends.”

“Well, then, you will find a way to make some.”

“Making friends takes effort,” said a deep voice from the ridge above them. “But you can do it.”

“Uncle Rafe!” Geoffrey jumped up, so happy to see Rafe that he forgot to be angry.

Looking much too big and manly for Genny’s peace of mind, Rafe hobbled his Belgian Black gelding and came down the slope to them. His gaze found hers—and then they both looked away, to Geoffrey, who stared at Rafe with mingled guilt and adoration. Rafe knew what to do. He held out his arms.

With a cry, Geoffrey flung himself forward. Rafe scooped him up, hugged him and then put him down again. They both dropped to the ground, Geoffrey on Genny’s left, Rafe on Geoffrey’s other side.

Rafe took out a cell phone and called the house. “Yes, hullo, Frances.” Frances Tuttington served as housekeeper for the East Wing. She took care of the family. “Will you tell my sister we’ve found him?...Gen did, yes.” He gave her a quick nod and she felt absurdly gratified. He spoke into the phone again. “He’s fine. He’s well. We’re at the castle....Yes. We’ll be heading back there soon.” He put the phone away.

Geoffrey was looking sulky again. “I mean it. I don’t want to go back.”

“We can see that,” Rafe answered gently. “But you will, won’t you? For me? For Gen? For yourself, most of all.”

Geoffrey groaned and looked away.

Rafe said, “You know, I hated school myself when they first sent me away.”

“But you were older.”

“I was, yes, a little. But still, I hated it. Until I started realizing that I could learn things there I couldn’t learn at Hartmore.”

“I like science class,” Geoffrey grudgingly admitted. “I don’t much care for cricket. But aikido is interesting.”

“Ah,” said Rafe. “And you wouldn’t be studying aikido at the village school, now, would you?”

Geoffrey picked up a twig and poked at the mossy ground with it. “Did you...make friends at St Paul’s?”

“Not at first. I was sure they all hated me and I was determined to hate them right back.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey muttered. “Exactly.”

“But then I found out that some of them missed home as much as I did. I found out that they were a lot like me.” He chuckled low. “Or at least, more like me than I had thought at first. It worked itself out. By second term, I got on well enough. I even made a lifelong friend or two during my years at school....”

Genny watched the two of them—the blond, delicate-featured eight-year-old boy and the scarred, dark giant. Rafe didn’t hurry things, didn’t rush them back to the house. He took his time. Watching him being so good to Geoffrey, saying just the right things to ease a confused eight-year-old’s loneliness and fear, Genny couldn’t help but be reminded of all she so admired about him.

Surely they could overcome this strangeness and distance between them and forge a union of mutual love and respect.

“All right,” said Geoffrey at last. “I guess they’ll all be waiting, wondering. Mum will be crying. We should get back.”

“Excellent,” said Rafe.

They stood up and brushed the bits of grass from their clothes.

* * *

They all three walked back together, the gelding trailing on a lead behind Rafe, Caesar taking up the rear. As they approached the East Wing, a groom appeared and took charge of the horse.

Brooke was waiting in the East Entrance Hall, still in her dressing gown, crumpled on a delicate white-and-gold side chair, sobbing into her hands, her long hair falling forward. At the sound of their footsteps on the inlaid floor, she yanked her shoulders up and raked all that hair back off her forehead. “Geoffrey. My God. You have scared me out of my wits!” She leapt up and ran to him. Dropping to a crouch in front of him, the long, filmy skirts of her robe fanning on the floor like the petals of some giant flower, she grabbed him in a hug and sobbed on his small shoulder. “How could you?”

Genny and Rafe shared a glance. She knew he wanted to intervene as much as she did, to try to get Brooke to ease off. But intervening would most likely only make things worse.

So they said nothing as Brooke cried, “You horrid, cruel little beast!”

Geoffrey turned his head away and mumbled in obvious misery, “Sorry, Mum....”

“Sorry? Sorry!” She grabbed him by the shoulders and glared at him furiously. “Don’t you ever, ever—”

“Brooke.” Rafe did cut in then. “He’s back. He knows he did wrong. Could you dial it down a notch?”

Brooke gasped, released Geoffrey and surged to her feet. She shot her brother a venomous look—a look that seemed to bounce off his huge shoulder and end up aimed straight at Genny. “You...” She let out a hard, ragged breath full of pure venom. Her blue eyes shone with righteous fury. “Rory told us you took off for the castle without telling a soul.”

“Well, but you just said it yourself, Brooke. I did tell Rory,” Genny reminded her hopefully.

Brooke sniffed, all wounded nobility now. “The point is you should have told
me.
I’m his mother after all. I’m the one who has the right to know every bit of new information first in a terrifying situation such as this. But you didn’t tell me, did you, Your Highness? You didn’t say a word to me. You just ran off to save him, to have all the glory for yourself.”

Rafe said warningly, “Brooke...”

Genny silenced him with a touch of her hand on his big, hard arm. “I apologize. I’m sorry you weren’t informed.” She spoke gently, hoping to diffuse the coming tirade before it really got going.

But that only brought another outraged gasp from Brooke. “Oh, please. You’re not the least sorry and we both know that.” Right then, Eloise and the housekeeper came in from the hallway behind Brooke. Brooke never turned, never even paused for breath. “I know you, Genevra, so sweet and
sincere.
So very
kind
to everyone.”

Geoffrey tugged on her robe. “Mum, don’t...”

She ignored him and went right on while everyone watched, struck speechless, like witnesses to a horrible accident. “They all adore you, don’t they? You are just the sweetest thing. And yet somehow you never fail to find a way to make yourself the center of attention.”

“Enough!” Rafe roared.

And Geoffrey fisted his small hands hard at his sides and shouted, “Stop it, Mum, you stop it! You leave Aunt Genny alone!” And then he whirled on his heel and fled up the stairs.