“What happened that day in Bath?” he prompted.
Her words choked in her throat. But he was risking his life and the lives of his family to save her; she owed him the truth. She gathered her courage. “I did it to save my parents.”
He nodded and waited. Outside, a flower girl called out to passersby, a wagon rattled passed, horse’s hooves clopped in the street.
She moistened her lips. “He knew something bad about my father and was blackmailing him. That day he came demanding marriage to me. He said if my father refused, he’d go to the authorities.” All the pain, the anguish, the terrible sense of betrayal when she’d learned of her father’s crime came marching back into her soul, trampling her heart, stamping out her future.
“I can’t believe that I didn’t see through that.” He put a finger underneath her chin and lifted it until she looked him in the eye. The soft affection in his gaze was almost enough to make her burst into tears. “You were too loving, too soft in my arms to have been lying, or to have suddenly decided to marry a lord instead of a youngest son.”
“I would have married you had you been the youngest son of a blacksmith.”
He caressed her cheek. “You can tell me everything. All your secrets are safe with me.”
Emboldened, she plunged in. “Many years ago, when my father was the second lieutenant in the navy, the crew mutinied and killed the captain.”
Christian waited patiently, listening without condemnation. “Go on.”
“He looked the other way. He felt he was doing it to protect the crew from further cruelty. Apparently, Wickburgh’s brother got sick years later, and on his death bed, wrote a confession. He mailed the confession to Wickburgh. He used it to force my father to make me marry him. I still don’t understand why he was so obsessed with me in the first place, but he clearly saw the confession as leverage to get me. My father refused his permission, but I was terrified Wickburgh would report him and Papa would be court marshaled.” She opened up her hands which she’d clenched into fists and ran them over her skirts again, their moisture leaving dark smears. “If Wickburgh exposed my father, not only would he hang for mutiny, but the news would have killed my mother.”
Grimly, Christian nodded. “All your father’s property would have been seized which would have left her penniless as well as branded the wife of a traitor.”
She paused. “You do understand.”
He gripped her hand. His touch was warm and steady. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.”
She curled her fingers around his. He was so much larger than she, so much stronger, and yet she had no fear that he’d hurt her. He’d do what he must to protect her, but would never harm the innocent. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you; I feared you’d be horrified by what my father had done, and perhaps feel obligated to report his crime to the admiralty.”
He jerked back as if she’d struck him. “Do you really think I’d do that?”
“I wasn’t sure, but regardless, I am the daughter of a mutineer. My blood is tainted by his crime. You deserve better. I was so amazed that someone as wonderful as you would consider marrying me, and feared that it was too good to be real. Then when I learned what my father had done, I couldn’t tell you. I was so ashamed. And I knew you’d be horrified.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t trust me.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I cannot tell you how many times I regretted hurting you. I suffered every day with the knowledge that I could have been with you. But I had to save my family.”
“Jen ….”
“I know I should have gone to you. Trusted you more. Trusted our love more. But now it’s too late.” Tears fell and another sob ripped from her chest.
He gathered her into his arms and squeezed. She clung to him. If ever there was anything right in the world, it was being in Christian’s arms. He brushed her tears away with gentle fingers. Her senses filled with his bay rum aftershave mixed with his very own earthy scent. He tipped her chin up. Love shone in his eyes. He ran a finger down her cheek and cradled her face in both hands. Slowly, he lowered his head. Her heart swelled and warmth flooded her body.
Unwilling to wait another second, she raised up and kissed him. His warm, soft lips tugged gently, exploring, tasting, teasing. She’d forgotten how gently he kissed, as if he cherished her above all else in the world. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him as if she were dying of thirst and finally taking a drink of cool, clear water. He slid his arms around her, gathering her in close, deepening the kiss. She opened up to him and welcomed him in to her heart. All thought fled and she slipped into a state of feeling. Him. Her. Their union.
Her heart fluttered like a flame on a new candle and every nerve tingled. How long since she’d been held like this, by this amazing man who made her complete! She’d been a fool not to keep him in her life. Saving her parents was important, yes, but if she’d gone to Christian, together they would have found a way to help everyone. If only she’d trusted him more.
In Christian’s arms, courage returned to her. With him loving her, she was a better, stronger person. She was finished running and hiding. She’d confront Wickburgh. She would free herself of Wickburgh and find a way to be with Christian. And she’d never, ever let him go.
He ended the kiss and held her close. They sat quietly, so still, as if afraid to break the warm peace enfolding them.
Finally he spoke, “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She smiled. “I kissed you, remember?”
“I cannot say I regret it.” He gave her a squeeze before pulling away. “I’ve wanted to do that for days.” Then his smile turned pained. “But like it or not, you’re still married.”
He was right. Shame washed over her. She should have known better than to kiss Christian until she was truly free. “I know. You’d never have an affair with a married woman. You’re far too honorable. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
He gripped the back of his neck with one hand. “You give me too much credit. Despite that taunt of my brothers, I’m not perfect. Far from it.”
“I’m not saying you’re a saint, but you are a good man. And I’ll try not to tempt you until I’m free.”
He took her hand and kissed it. Then he turned it over and kissed the palm. “I love you.”
She sucked in her breath, tears of joy filling her eyes. “Oh, Christian. I love you. I buried it deep inside, but I never stopped loving you.”
“I vow I will not rest until we can be together.” He kissed her hand again.
She gave a half laugh through her tears. “Is that a proposal, Mr. Amesbury?”
“No, not yet, but I plan to propose properly as soon as you are free.”
“That sounds perfect.” Again she vowed to free herself of Wickburgh and never let Christian go.
CHAPTER 22
Early the next morning, Christian prowled the house, looking out every window, checking every door, exchanging words with the guards. They couldn’t live like this forever. Sooner or later, he’d have to ferret out Wickburgh and deal with him. Grant was sleeping, and according to the guard, Genevieve was in the garden, guarded, of course. Still, perhaps he should ensure she was well. As he headed to the back door, it opened and Genevieve, followed by one of the guards, came in.
The chill early morning air had turned her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkled. She smiled so brightly that his heart flipped over. How he loved this woman!
But he shouldn’t have kissed her. Despite the circumstances that led to her marriage, despite the man she married being a monster, she was still married. And that was a boundary he should never have tried to cross. He made a silent vow not to kiss her again until she could be free to truly be his.
“Good morning.” She took off her hat and smoothed her hair.
Smiling, he brushed a stray curl back from her face. “You look radiant.”
She smiled. “I feel wonderful. Being here with you has turned me into a new person.”
He smiled, aching to take her into his arms. He’d lain awake in bed the previous night remembering her touch, her kiss, her words of love.
She moved within arm’s reach and smiled up at him. Unable to stop himself, he touched her face. She was so soft.
Soberly, she looked up at him. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I want to sue for divorce.”
Christian let out a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to hear that. Because today I’d planned to give you all sorts of reasons why you should do that very thing.”
“I realize it will be long, difficult and scandalous, but I refuse to be subject to his bullying.” Emotions played across her face—a darkening fear in her eyes, the resolute set to her chin. Standing up to the man who’d terrorized her for the past year was an act of admirable courage.
His mind raced. She could sue on grounds that she was coerced into marrying Wickburgh, but that would drag her father into it, and they didn’t dare risk that. Not yet. There must be a way to help her father with that problem, too. Perhaps his friend at the admiralty who helped him manipulate the near hanging that saved Jared’s life ….
“But if I divorce him, it may taint you. Possibly the whole family.”
“It won’t matter as much as you think it will.”
“Your suing for divorce will embarrass and infuriate Wickburgh,” Grant’s voice rang out.
Christian jumped. He hadn’t even noticed Grant enter. He let out a sound of exasperation. “Don’t
do
that.”
Grant leaned against the wall with his arms folded, somehow still managing to look as if he were about to spring into action. “He’ll lash out at you both and hang the consequences.”
Christian raised his eyebrows as Grant voiced the very fears nagging at him. “You sound as if you know him well.”
“He’s mentally unbalanced. Which means he’s completely above logical behavior.” He turned a piercing stare on Genevieve. “If you expose his lies, he’ll have nothing to lose by killing you or dragging you home and torturing you in ways he has not yet explored.”
The color drained from Genevieve’s face. Silence descended upon the room. It was frightening, really, how well Grant understood ruthless men like Wickburgh. Christian suppressed a shiver and rested his hand on his gun. Wickburgh would never touch Genevieve.
Genevieve spread her hands. “Now what?”
Christian glanced at Grant and their gazes held. For probably the first time in his life, he could almost read Grant’s thoughts; it would never be over, not as long as Wickburgh was alive.
Christian would have to duel Wickburgh after all. Too bad he couldn’t simply beat the man with his bare hands. One way or another, Genevieve would be free from Wickburgh’s tyranny.
CHAPTER 23
Genevieve sat quietly in the sun-drenched front parlor, her hands folded demurely in front of her while Rachel fingered swatches of material. The modiste gushed over Rachel’s lovely hair and willowy figure in her fake French accent. Genevieve almost smiled. Many of the
haut ton
were so obsessed with French fashion that they insisted on a “French” modiste to create their wardrobes. Silly, of course. Their success ought to be due to their design and workmanship rather than whether or not they were French.
She glanced at Christian who sat at a secretary desk catching up on correspondence. He seldom left her side, a clear mixture of wanting to be near her and fearing to let her out of her sight for safety’s sake.
Grant Amesbury’s silver gray eyes watched with an overt alertness even as he appeared to lounge casually. Although he’d been perfectly terrifying at first, there was something reassuring about his commanding, albeit formidable presence. The other guards seldom appeared, spending most of their time patrolling the area; they clearly protected her with diligence.
Outside, horses clopped past pulling rattling carts. Merchants called to shoppers to try their wares. A pieman walked by and the fragrant savory smells of pies wafted in through the open windows.
Rachel moaned as she gestured at fashion plates scattered around her. “I cannot believe how much fashions have changed since I left the city.”
Genevieve shook her head in surprise that Rachel suddenly cared now that she was in London, after being so unconcerned about her appearance at her cottage. Perhaps being the daughter of an earl prodded her to make a good showing in London where she would be in the public eye, if nothing else, for the sake of the family image.
The dressmaker held up a new swatch. “Ah, mademoiselle, dees one, eet ees more flattering for your complexion, I think,
non
?”
“I like it but I’m still in mourning for my father. I’ll take the silk.” Rachel tugged Genevieve’s arm, drawing her to the bolts of fabric the modiste had brought. “Now you pick some. No companion of mine will be any less than the height of fashion.” She fired off a list of gowns she considered absolute necessities.
Genevieve shook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t need—”
Rachel held up a hand and affected a regal air. “We’re in London, my dear, not the country. Here we must uphold an image.” She smiled and rolled her eyes.
Genevieve closed her mouth and nodded. If she were going to be traveling abroad, she’d need some clothes. She acquiesced to the process of measuring, tucking and pinning. Since September was far from the London Season, the modiste had few other orders and she happily bustled about finding new things with which to tempt them. By the time they had finished, Genevieve had ordered far more than her wages would earn all year. Staring at the daunting pile, she began mentally choosing items she could order now and which to order later.
“Now, now. Nothing goes back. It’s all part of room and board, you see.” Rachel nodded emphatically.
“No, I–”
“No use arguing with her,” Christian called from the desk. “You should know by now Rachel always gets her way.” He leaned back, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Did you put her up to it?” Genevieve demanded.
“I take offense to that,” Rachel interjected with an exaggerated huff. “I put him up to many things. He never puts me up to anything.”