Page 91 of The Lord Meets His Lady
“The man’s chased her all this way, and you’re keeping what he wants. Be ready.”
“You make this sound medieval,” Marcus said, standing over the chamber pot to answer nature’s call.
“It is.” Samuel eyed the rumpled bed. “Especially if he discovers you’ve sampled what belongs to him.”
“She’s not chattel.” Marcus caught sight of himself in the mirror. He’d not untied his queue, and strands of hair had come loose from sleep and Genevieve’s frantic fingers.
“He doesn’t see it that way.”
Marcus buttoned up his placket and poured water into the basin. He splashed his face, but there’d be no time to shave. “Proper steps have been taken. We’re legally wed.”
“Legalities won’t stop a man like that. You should’ve wed herandhid her.”
A new weight pressed against Marcus’s shoulders. He forgot about breakfast and the tangle of last night’s encounter. He needed to fend off the Wolf. Under Samuel’s watchful eye, he retrieved a pair of Spanish wheel lock pistols and a powder horn from the walnut pistol box on his bedside table. One pistol went to his boot; the other he tucked in his back waistband, hidden under his coat.
“We go about the day as usual, but I’ll stay close.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than the floors creaked and the amber crown of Genevieve’s head came into view behind Samuel’s shoulder. Skirts clutched in one hand, she walked into Marcus’s chamber, carrying a steaming mug.
His breath stopped a split second. Visions of her bare skin and full breasts swam before him. Of course she was dressed, but he couldn’t shake the image of the woman he’d touched last night.
Steam curled from the mug. Genevieve’s supple lips curved with a secret smile. “Your coffee, milord. I thought you might need it.”
He accepted the mug and took a sip. Scalding and a little sweet, just like the woman who’d handed him the hot brew.
“This is a first,” he said.
Her brows arched. “A first of what?”
“Bringing me a morning offering…upstairs.” And he took another sip, resenting the burgeoning stiffness in his breeches. She had no right to be so…collected. So refreshed. He was miserable from a bad night’s sleep, but his wife was clear-eyed and rosy-cheeked.
Genevieve slipped both hands into her apron pockets. “I never said I wouldn’t bring food or drink.”
“You never have.”
She grinned. “You never asked.”
“Obviously my negotiation skills are lacking.”
“And it’s not an offering.”
“No?” He took another sip, aware his housekeeper-cum-wife’s smile wilted.
“No.” Her gaze darted between him and Samuel. “There is something I need to tell you.”
“Another piece of information withheld?” Samuel interjected.
“I know.” She sighed. “Forthrightness with men doesn’t come easy.”
Marcus snorted at that and set down his cup. Her cheeks colored a darker red. Samuel frowned, his gaze beetling back and forth between them. This quick exchange with Genevieve had to sound odd. Because it was personal. History formed sharp and intimate between them.
How could he be vexed with the woman he wanted to hold?
“You don’t have to put yourselves in harm’s way on my account,” she said boldly. “It was wrong of me to pass it on to both of you.”
“Having second thoughts about being Lady Bowles?”
“It’s not that. It’s Reinhard. He’s a soldier.”
