Page 119 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“You’ll do no such thing. You enjoy the full protection of my name. He can’t touch you.”
“What happened last night was Herr Wolf’s vengeance,” she cried. “I can’t help but think he wants to do more damage to youandMr. Beckworth.”
Marcus cast off the counterpane and jumped out of bed. “Listen to me. You’re not leaving. You’re my wife.”
“We both know this marriage is a sham. You’ll leave Cornhill eventually.” The floor creaked beneath her shifting feet. “I want to spare you future trouble.”
He took her in his arms, not liking the worry in her eyes. “How would you do that?”
“Desertion.”
The word left him cold. He’d swear her heart fluttered fast against him. She was scared, a woman with few choices in the world. He wanted to be the one she chose.
“We’ll work through this together.” He gripped her fiercely. “Do you understand?”
Genevieve slipped her arms around his waist. Her warm breath on his neck, the sweet smell of her hair, and his heart wanted to burst. Cosseting her was more intimate than a hundred nights of sweaty, naked sex. He craved her body as much as he craved her person.
“Do I hear a yes?”
Her head nodded under his chin. “I trust you with my life, Lord Bowles.”
He stared at the ceiling, branded by her soul-wrenching words.
“You’ve given me so much, and I’ve done nothing in return.” Her words were muffled against his throat.
He chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
“It’s true.” She pulled away, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “You read with me. Got the pamphlet for me. You gave me your protection, and I’ve not been the easiest housekeeper.”
“You are the best and only housekeeper I want,” he said, brushing a blond wisp off her cheek.
They stood together, lulled by rustic sounds outside his window. The rooster crowed again. A hammer pounded wood, likely Alexander fixing something. It wasn’t country quiet touching him. It was the peace.
Last night was a skirmish, and he’d lost. He’d heal the wounds of financial loss, the slip up with whiskey, and of disappointing his friend. There could be no doubt that the uncommon Genevieve had left her mark on his road to change.
She cupped her hand over his. “Then tonight we’ll read something of your choosing.”
“Saucy plays included?”
She smiled, her damp lashes spiked to sable points. “You, milord, are most persistent.”
“I take that as a yes.”
The air changed in their close confines, growing hot and needy. Her breasts grazed his chest, shifting up and down with the rhythm of her breath. His morning erection tented his shirt. Genevieve’s gaze dipped to the intrusion pressing against her skirt.
“I’d better go.” She retrieved the dish off the bed.
“There is one thing.”
“What?”
Her bodice expanded and contracted as though her breath worked harder. Did her control hang by a thread like his? She was maddening. Wrong in every way, yet more than right. She probably wanted a simpler man than him.
A sailor perhaps. Or a clockmaker. And a man who didn’t struggle with the drink.
Throat thick, he stroked the plain seam on her shoulder. “Say my name.”
“Why?” Her head cocked. “It’s proper to address you as I do.”
