He’d kept the kiss light. This part was thewill youof the question he was asking. He teased and tickled her lips, pulling away before the kiss could intensify.
She closed her hand on his shirt, tugging him closer, and, without even thinking, he deepened the kiss, pressing his lipsfirmly against hers, taking her and giving more of himself. This was the heart of the question. The two becoming one.
With gentle persuasion, he coaxed her lips open and slid his tongue into her mouth for a quick taste. He didn’t invade, didn’t force, and she met him halfway, twining her own tongue with his for a heart-stopping moment. He hadn’t expected the jolt he felt when her tongue touched his. Hadn’t expected his body to react the way it did. He clenched the door to keep from winding his fingers into the flame of her hair and tilting her head up so he might claim her fully.
He pulled back from the kiss, very slowly, opening his eyes. She opened hers as well, her pupils wide and her lids heavy. “Genevieve,” he murmured. “Say yes.”
“Yes,” she whispered, and tugged him back to her. He resisted, sharpening his gaze.
“You meant that?”
“Yes.” She brushed her lips against his.
“You know what you are saying yes to?”
“Yes, I’ll marry you. Kiss me again, Rory.”
The use of his sobriquet gave him a start, making his heart clench like she’d reached through his chest and grasped it as she did the lawn of his shirt. For a moment, he wasn’t certain if he was struck with desire or fear or some combination of both.
He stepped back, stepped away. She leaned back against the door, seeming to need it for support. He could have used something solid behind him as well. “We’d better save any further kisses for after the wedding,” he said.
She nodded absently. “I…” Her voice trailed off as though whatever thought she’d had in her mind had vanished. “Frances,” she said finally. “You must tell her.”
“I thought you’d handle that.”
“You’re her father. You should give her the, er, good news. Better yet, you should ask for her blessing.”
“Ask for her—The child is seven.”
“And this marriage will affect her as well. She should have a say in it.”
Rory wanted to shake his… What was she now? His affianced? His betrothed? Apparently, she was nothing unless his seven-year-old daughter agreed. Certainly, the child would be thrilled to have a new mother. She obviously cared for Genevieve already. But if she did not want him to remarry, that wouldn’t stop him.
It might very well change Genevieve’s mind, however.
He’d just have to be certain Frances did agree.
Rory removed his hand from the door and reached past Genevieve to open it. “I’ll have the vicar come at ten,” he said.
“And Frances?” she asked.
“Leave that to me.”
He wanted to fall into bed and sleep for twelve hours. Instead, he made his way to his chamber, washed, changed for bed, and instructed his valet to wake him at dawn.
“Dawn, my lord?”
“That’s right.” His daughter always seemed to wake with the sun. If he hoped to win this battle, he’d better be ready and with provisions in hand.
*
Rory felt asthough he’d barely closed his eyes when Chaffer was shaking him awake. “It is just after dawn, my lord.”
Rory climbed out of his bed, groggy and disoriented. He was reminded of his school days, when he and the other boys had been unceremoniously shouted awake then forced to wash and dress quickly in the cold and the dark. His daughter would never be screamed at or forced to eat gruel or shiver in drafty classrooms. Rory dressed and made his way to the kitchens,where his cook whistled and clanged pots together. The plump older woman had her back to him, and when clearing his throat failed to garner her attention, he said, “Mrs. Donnelly.”
She spun around, dropped one of the pots on her foot, then squealed in pain, hopping on the other foot.
“Are you injured? Shall I call for Mrs. Mann?”
