He wanted her, and—oh,yes—she wanted him.
Even worse, her lingering dislike of him was fading. She felt acute empathy for him and his doomed marriage. She could imagine him as a young man, deeply in love. So in love, in fact, he went against his parents’ wishes and married the girl who held his heart.
Only to find out, after the marriage vows were spoken, that his wife didn’t love him at all and had only married him to elevate her own station. What must it be like to find oneself irrevocably linked to someone who had not only deceived you but seemed to actively dislike you? No wonder Frances had never seen him. It was a wonder she had been conceived at all.
Genevieve wished she could embrace him again and soothe his pain. And even as she thought it, she knew it was a dangerous idea. She could not touch him again, or they might both make a mistake they couldn’t undo. Genevieve clenched her fists, vowing to draw the line that they would never cross now.
Chapter Eight
“Ithink it’stime you made your way to London, Notley,” Rory said a few days later.
Munro Notley looked up from his soup, brows raised and expression hopeful. “I say! It’s about time you saw reason. Another few days in the country, and I’ll go stark-raving mad. Cocks crowing at all hours, children running about and squealing before noon, dinner in the middle of the day…”
“Clearly, country life does not suit you. You’ll be much happier in Town.” Even more importantly, Miss Brooking would be happier if Notley was in Town, and if Rory’s governess was happy, there would be no further midnight meetings. No more temptations.
Notley squinted at him. “Hold on now. Are you not joining me?”
“I’m not, no. I must stay here and deal with the squealing child.”
Notley had a point about Frances making enough noise to wake the dead practically before sunrise, but Rory found he didn’t mind. He rather liked hearing her laughter and squeals of delight, followed by the quiet murmurs of Miss Brooking.
“You have a governess, and from what I’ve seen, the woman is more than capable. Surely Miss Lumlee will be well cared for in your absence.”
Rory lifted his wine glass and sipped. “I don’t doubt it, but I am staying here.”
Notley gave him a hard look. Rory didn’t feel the need to explain himself, and Notley knew him well enough to read the signs when his mind was made up. “I’ll have my valet pack my things and set off in the morning.”
“Let me know when you’ve settled. The Clarendon Hotel is my preferred establishment.”
“Mine as well. I doubt I’ll stay more than a fortnight. If you tire of domesticity by then, you’re welcome to join me. I was thinking of traveling somewhere warm. Perhaps Portugal or Spain.”
Rory quirked a brow. “There is a war, you know.”
“Exactly why I didn’t mention France.”
The footmen removed the soup and brought the next course. Rory waved away more wine. He wanted a clear head tonight, one that didn’t pound in the morning. When all but Gables had departed, he took a deep breath. “I almost hate to ask, but would you do me a favor whilst in London?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“You remember my friend Kingston?”
“The one cursed by a witch who lost his title?” Strange how blithely the words rolled off Notley’s tongue.
“That one.”
“I’m not likely to forget. Don’t tell me you want me to find him.”
“I don’t know where to reach him. I sent a letter to his town house, but it was returned unopened. I have no idea where he might be or if he’s still in London. I would go myself, but…” Rory made a vague gesture, not wanting to explain again, especially to a confirmed bachelor like Munro Notley, that he felt obligated to stay here with his child at present.
“Shall I make inquiries for you?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all.” Notley pointed his fork at Rory. “But all bets are off if I see any signs of witches.”
Rory glanced at Gables, and the butler left the dining room. He took another sip of wine. “You really do believe in curses and witchcraft.”
“I’m hardly alone. A couple hundred years ago, innocent women were being burned at the stake.”
