to his brother and folded his arms. “I’ve given her my word I won’t tell him where she is. And neither will you.”
Genevieve stared at Christian’s transformation. Brothers stood inches apart, glaring with enough heat to melt ice. Of similar height and build, they stood unmoving, nose to nose, Christian with clenched fists, his face set in hard lines. The earl stared back calmly. If he felt surprise at his brother’s passionate outburst, he failed to reveal it.
“We have no right to interfere,” the earl said. “She is married, therefore she owes her husband the truth.”
“She owes that snake nothing.”
“She owes him—”
“Cole, don’t be a bully,” Lady Tarrington interjected. “It’s most un-chivalrous of you.” Humor tinged the firm rebuff while calm, golden-brown eyes fixed on the earl.
Lady Tarrington stood and approached the men, moving with surprising agility for a woman who would soon be in confinement. Without a pause at the challenging stance between her husband and his brother, Lady Tarrington stepped unflinching between the men.
Genevieve gasped and leapt to her feet, prepared to throw herself into the fray to protect the gentle countess from such angry men. They dwarfed Lady Tarrington, those muscular, powerful men, who could so easily hurt her, but without a qualm she placed a hand on each broad chest.
“Boys. Do behave yourselves. Only Lady Wickburgh should decide what’s to be done.” She patted their cheeks until they broke their gaze and turned their eyes to her. With equal contrition, they backed away.
Genevieve let out her breath in relief, her knees weakening, and sat back down. Christian shot a last challenging, defiant glare at his brother. Amusement lifted one corner of Tarrington’s mouth, softening his hard stare. Christian’s eyes narrowed and their crystal blue turned to steel.
“Christian,” Lady Tarrington said in warning.
Under Lady Tarrington’s soft reprimand, Christian returned to the settee and sank in the cushion on the opposite end from Genevieve. The earl raised a brow and exchanged amused glances with Lady Tarrington. The countess touched his arm in a most familiar manner, intimate and affectionate. The last of Genevieve’s alarm faded. Her year with Wickburgh had shaken her faith in humanity, even those clearly worthy of trust.
Lady Tarrington sat between Genevieve and Christian on the sofa, and took Genevieve’s hand in hers. She clung to the countess, drawing strength from the offered friendship and that aura of serenity that accompanied her.
“Now then,” said Lady Tarrington, “what’s to be done? Cole, what are her options?”
Tarrington sat in an armchair opposite the settee and rested an ankle on the opposite knee. “She has many options. For one, she can go home and request to live apart from her husband in a legal separation.”
Annoyance flared and Genevieve spoke without thinking, her voice lowered to a tone that bordered on insolence. “Please do not speak about me as if I am not present. Or not of sound mind.”
The earl inclined his head and looked her in the eye with a piercing gaze. “My apologies, Lady Wickburgh.”
Genevieve met his gaze. “It’s Genevieve. And I will not ever go back to Wickburgh.”
The earl looked her in the eye. “You could arrange a meeting with your husband and your solicitor, and write up an agreement for a legal separation which states where you wish to live and the conditions, as long as they don’t conflict with your original marriage settlement.”
Genevieve said, “He would never agree to it.” He wanted to control her. And he couldn’t do that if they lived apart. Even bringing up the subject would merely invite a fresh round of horrible games.
Tarrington rested his arm on the back of the divan behind Lady Tarrington and turned to Genevieve. “You could also take your husband to court and sue for divorce. But Parliament seldom grants them to women.”
Genevieve shook her
Genevieve stared at Christian’s transformation. Brothers stood inches apart, glaring with enough heat to melt ice. Of similar height and build, they stood unmoving, nose to nose, Christian with clenched fists, his face set in hard lines. The earl stared back calmly. If he felt surprise at his brother’s passionate outburst, he failed to reveal it.
“We have no right to interfere,” the earl said. “She is married, therefore she owes her husband the truth.”
“She owes that snake nothing.”
“She owes him—”
“Cole, don’t be a bully,” Lady Tarrington interjected. “It’s most un-chivalrous of you.” Humor tinged the firm rebuff while calm, golden-brown eyes fixed on the earl.
Lady Tarrington stood and approached the men, moving with surprising agility for a woman who would soon be in confinement. Without a pause at the challenging stance between her husband and his brother, Lady Tarrington stepped unflinching between the men.
Genevieve gasped and leapt to her feet, prepared to throw herself into the fray to protect the gentle countess from such angry men. They dwarfed Lady Tarrington, those muscular, powerful men, who could so easily hurt her, but without a qualm she placed a hand on each broad chest.
“Boys. Do behave yourselves. Only Lady Wickburgh should decide what’s to be done.” She patted their cheeks until they broke their gaze and turned their eyes to her. With equal contrition, they backed away.
Genevieve let out her breath in relief, her knees weakening, and sat back down. Christian shot a last challenging, defiant glare at his brother. Amusement lifted one corner of Tarrington’s mouth, softening his hard stare. Christian’s eyes narrowed and their crystal blue turned to steel.
“Christian,” Lady Tarrington said in warning.
Under Lady Tarrington’s soft reprimand, Christian returned to the settee and sank in the cushion on the opposite end from Genevieve. The earl raised a brow and exchanged amused glances with Lady Tarrington. The countess touched his arm in a most familiar manner, intimate and affectionate. The last of Genevieve’s alarm faded. Her year with Wickburgh had shaken her faith in humanity, even those clearly worthy of trust.
Lady Tarrington sat between Genevieve and Christian on the sofa, and took Genevieve’s hand in hers. She clung to the countess, drawing strength from the offered friendship and that aura of serenity that accompanied her.
“Now then,” said Lady Tarrington, “what’s to be done? Cole, what are her options?”
Tarrington sat in an armchair opposite the settee and rested an ankle on the opposite knee. “She has many options. For one, she can go home and request to live apart from her husband in a legal separation.”
Annoyance flared and Genevieve spoke without thinking, her voice lowered to a tone that bordered on insolence. “Please do not speak about me as if I am not present. Or not of sound mind.”
The earl inclined his head and looked her in the eye with a piercing gaze. “My apologies, Lady Wickburgh.”
Genevieve met his gaze. “It’s Genevieve. And I will not ever go back to Wickburgh.”
The earl looked her in the eye. “You could arrange a meeting with your husband and your solicitor, and write up an agreement for a legal separation which states where you wish to live and the conditions, as long as they don’t conflict with your original marriage settlement.”
Genevieve said, “He would never agree to it.” He wanted to control her. And he couldn’t do that if they lived apart. Even bringing up the subject would merely invite a fresh round of horrible games.
Tarrington rested his arm on the back of the divan behind Lady Tarrington and turned to Genevieve. “You could also take your husband to court and sue for divorce. But Parliament seldom grants them to women.”
Genevieve shook her
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