other. She didn’t dare borrow another pair; the maid probably didn’t have another one to give her.
Light poured from the windows of the castle in greeting. Fear arose. She studied Christian’s face, searching for guilt or a hidden agenda. Glancing at her, he flashed a reassuring smile. Animated, open, and guileless, Christian bore no lurking deceit despite that hardness she’d first seen in him. That had probably been a defensive measure he’d developed to shield himself from the wounds her presence reopened in him. It didn’t mean he’d suddenly changed. She squelched her apprehension and laid her head back on his shoulder while guilt for suspecting him swirled inside her in a dark maelstrom. Christian was nothing like Lord Wickburgh. He never would be. He would also never be hers.
CHAPTER 11
As her knight carried Genevieve toward the back terrace of the house, the other men split off, bidding Christian a good evening, and continued their boisterous talking amongst themselves. More comfortable than she ought to be in Christian’s arms, she lay still, her head on his shoulder, bathing in the fleeting safety Christian’s arms always brought her.
It wouldn’t last, but she’d revel in it while she could. He carried her through open French doors into the back parlor. Lord and Lady Tarrington waited inside. Worry showed clear in Lady Tarrington’s eyes but Lord Tarrington remained impassive as a block of marble.
“Jenny,” Lady Tarrington cried. “I was so concerned. Are you well?”
Her face heated with embarrassment that she’d caused such a scene. She nodded. “Forgive me for worrying you.”
Christian carefully lowered her to a settee. “She ran when she learned Wickburgh had come looking for her.”
Genevieve gave a start, her gaze flying to Christian. Had he revealed her secret?
Lady Tarrington leaned forward. “You didn’t think we’d turn you over to him when it was so obviously against your will?”
Genevieve stared at the floor. Lord Tarrington must have guessed the truth when Wickburgh arrived asking about her. She’d been selfish to expect Christian to lie to his family and foolish to think they wouldn’t figure out she was the missing Lady Wickburgh.
“I’m his wife,” she said softly. “He owns me.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Lady Tarrington said.
Christian lifted her bleeding foot to examine it. He frowned. “Alicia, ring for a servant, please.”
The countess tugged on a pull at her elbow then sat calmly, smiling in sympathy at Genevieve. Christian sat back on his haunches and looked up at her.
Silent and grim, Tarrington stood beside his wife. “Your husband wants you back, Lady Wickburgh.”
Genevieve’s heart began an erratic staccato. She briefly entertained the idea of bolting, but Christian could out run her. And he’d proven she could trust him so she had no reason to flee again. Besides, she had nowhere to go. She swallowed against a choking lump, feeling very small, and folded trembling hands together. “Yes, I know he wants me back.”
A footman arrived. “You rang?”
Christian replied, “Bring me a bowl of water and some towels.”
The footman bowed and left.
The earl continued, “Lord Wickburgh is telling people you suffered a collapse after you lost your unborn child and that you’re insane.”
At that, she lifted her head. “Do I appear insane?”
The earl’s sapphire gaze probed her. “You did try to take your own life.”
“Cole,” Lady Tarrington gently admonished him.
Genevieve raised her chin a notch higher and stared him down. “Yes. Clearly I was not in my right mind then. It was an act I sincerely regret and am not inclined to repeat.”
“As his wife, it is your duty to return to him.” Did she imagine the challenging glint?
Christian leaped up and faced Lord Tarrington. “She needs no reminder of her duty.”
“The courts would tell her the same thing,” Tarrington said evenly.
Christian took a step closer
Light poured from the windows of the castle in greeting. Fear arose. She studied Christian’s face, searching for guilt or a hidden agenda. Glancing at her, he flashed a reassuring smile. Animated, open, and guileless, Christian bore no lurking deceit despite that hardness she’d first seen in him. That had probably been a defensive measure he’d developed to shield himself from the wounds her presence reopened in him. It didn’t mean he’d suddenly changed. She squelched her apprehension and laid her head back on his shoulder while guilt for suspecting him swirled inside her in a dark maelstrom. Christian was nothing like Lord Wickburgh. He never would be. He would also never be hers.
CHAPTER 11
As her knight carried Genevieve toward the back terrace of the house, the other men split off, bidding Christian a good evening, and continued their boisterous talking amongst themselves. More comfortable than she ought to be in Christian’s arms, she lay still, her head on his shoulder, bathing in the fleeting safety Christian’s arms always brought her.
It wouldn’t last, but she’d revel in it while she could. He carried her through open French doors into the back parlor. Lord and Lady Tarrington waited inside. Worry showed clear in Lady Tarrington’s eyes but Lord Tarrington remained impassive as a block of marble.
“Jenny,” Lady Tarrington cried. “I was so concerned. Are you well?”
Her face heated with embarrassment that she’d caused such a scene. She nodded. “Forgive me for worrying you.”
Christian carefully lowered her to a settee. “She ran when she learned Wickburgh had come looking for her.”
Genevieve gave a start, her gaze flying to Christian. Had he revealed her secret?
Lady Tarrington leaned forward. “You didn’t think we’d turn you over to him when it was so obviously against your will?”
Genevieve stared at the floor. Lord Tarrington must have guessed the truth when Wickburgh arrived asking about her. She’d been selfish to expect Christian to lie to his family and foolish to think they wouldn’t figure out she was the missing Lady Wickburgh.
“I’m his wife,” she said softly. “He owns me.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Lady Tarrington said.
Christian lifted her bleeding foot to examine it. He frowned. “Alicia, ring for a servant, please.”
The countess tugged on a pull at her elbow then sat calmly, smiling in sympathy at Genevieve. Christian sat back on his haunches and looked up at her.
Silent and grim, Tarrington stood beside his wife. “Your husband wants you back, Lady Wickburgh.”
Genevieve’s heart began an erratic staccato. She briefly entertained the idea of bolting, but Christian could out run her. And he’d proven she could trust him so she had no reason to flee again. Besides, she had nowhere to go. She swallowed against a choking lump, feeling very small, and folded trembling hands together. “Yes, I know he wants me back.”
A footman arrived. “You rang?”
Christian replied, “Bring me a bowl of water and some towels.”
The footman bowed and left.
The earl continued, “Lord Wickburgh is telling people you suffered a collapse after you lost your unborn child and that you’re insane.”
At that, she lifted her head. “Do I appear insane?”
The earl’s sapphire gaze probed her. “You did try to take your own life.”
“Cole,” Lady Tarrington gently admonished him.
Genevieve raised her chin a notch higher and stared him down. “Yes. Clearly I was not in my right mind then. It was an act I sincerely regret and am not inclined to repeat.”
“As his wife, it is your duty to return to him.” Did she imagine the challenging glint?
Christian leaped up and faced Lord Tarrington. “She needs no reminder of her duty.”
“The courts would tell her the same thing,” Tarrington said evenly.
Christian took a step closer
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