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They’d made love in this very room. But then the curtains had been heavy, layered, ornate velvets over floral damask, the sofas and other furniture a gorgeous mash-up of baroque, rococo and neoclassical.
He asked low and a little gruffly, “Do you have to look so sad?”
“I liked it the way it was, that’s all.” Now and then during her childhood, various members of his family would come and stay at the villa to enjoy the Montedoran nightlife, or attend some event at the palace. Occasionally during those visits, her family had been invited to dine or have tea here. She could still remember her ten-year-old self perched on a velvet-seated straight chair beside the French doors to the garden, holding a Sevres teacup and saucer, scheming to get his grandmother, Eloise, aside and wrangle herself another invitation to Hartmore, the DeValery estate in Derbyshire. To Genny, Hartmore had always been the most beautiful place in the world.
He knelt at her feet and her breath caught at the suddenness of the movement. “I’ll have a look, shall I?” Before she could decide whether or not to object, he had her foot in one big, gentle hand and was untying the shoelace with the other. He slid the shoe off, set it aside and then began probing at her ankle, his touch warm and sure, making her heart hurt. Making her body yearn. “It doesn’t seem to be broken. Maybe a slight sprain.”
“It’s fine, really. It’s already stopped hurting.”
He glanced up, caught her eye. “Just to be safe, I think we ought to wrap it.”
Harsh, angry accusations pushed at the back of her throat, but she only said firmly, “Leave it, Rafe. It’s fine.”
“Fair enough.” He lowered her foot to the floor and rose to his considerable height.
She tracked the movement, and found herself staring up the broad, strong, wonderful length of him. Struck again with longing, her breath got caught and tangled somewhere in the center of her chest. How strange. She’d always loved him as a person, but found him hulking and coarse, unattractive as a man.
What a blind, childish fool she’d been.
“Tell me what’s brought you here,” he said, his eyes so deep and dark, seeing everything, giving nothing away. The man was like a human wall, always quiet and watchful and careful, as though wary of his own strength among mere mortals. “Tell me, Gen. Please. Whatever it is.”
“All right, then.” She drew in a fortifying breath—and suddenly, contrarily, she ached to delay the inevitable. But what was the point in that? He needed to know and she’d almost broken her neck climbing the garden wall to get to him and tell him. “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”
Did he flinch?
She wasn’t sure. Most likely he hadn’t. He never flinched. That for a moment it had seemed so was probably only her imagination working overtime.
“My God, Gen.” He said it softly, almost reverently. “How? We were careful.”
“Not careful enough, evidently—and if you want a paternity test, I’ll be happy to—”
“No test is necessary. I believe you.”
I believe you. The soft-spoken, calm words echoed in her head.
And she knew relief, just a hint of it, like a slight breeze in a close room. So, then. She had told him at last. And he hadn’t denied her, hadn’t turned away from her. He was still standing there right in front of her, still watching her patiently without a hint of rancor or accusation.
Letting her head drop against the soft back of the white chair, she closed her eyes and released a long sigh. “Well. There. It’s out at last.”
“Are you well?” His voice came from down at her level again.
She opened her eyes to find he had dropped to his knees in front of her once more. “Perfectly,” she told him.
“Have you been to your doctor?”
“Not yet. But I took four home tests. They were all positive. And the instructions on the box promised that the test was completely dependable.”
“You should see a doctor.”
“I know. I’ll do that soon—but I’m perfectly healthy.” She frowned. “Or maybe you somehow think I’m not pregnant after all.”
“I told you, I believe you. But I think a visit to the doctor is in order.”
“I... Yes. Of course. All right.”
“I’ll take care of everything.” His gaze never wavered.
Her stomach lurched. “What does that mean?”
“We’ll be married.” He said it without a pause, without the slightest hesitation.
And she wanted to cry again—partly from another, stronger wave of relief. And partly because, really, it was all wrong.
Once she’d dreamed of marrying his brother. It had to be beyond inappropriate simply to switch brothers. And since those four magnificent days two months ago, Rafe had made something of an art form of avoiding her. A man you marry shouldn’t spend weeks dodging you—and then at the mention of a baby drop right to his knees and propose.
“Rafe. Honestly. I don’t know if...”
“Of course you know. It’s the right thing.”
She should be stronger. Prouder. And seriously. Nobody married just because there was a baby coming, not anymore—well, except maybe for her brother Alex. And possibly her sister Rhia.
And come to think of it, both of those marriages were turning out just fine.
And she had such a thing for him now. Plus, their baby had a right to be the Hartmore heir, and to be the heir required legitimacy—or at least, it would all go much more smoothly, if the baby was legitimate. There would be absolutely no question then of who should inherit.
And then there was Hartmore itself. Her beloved Hartmore...
Mistress of Hartmore, temptation whispered in her ear. She could have her dream come true after all, though she’d been so certain it was lost to her forever with Edward’s death.
Edward.
Just thinking his name made her heart heavy with guilt and confusion. She really had thought that she loved him, that she was only waiting for him to make a move toward her so they could begin to forge the life they were born to have together.
Now, feeling as she did about Rafe, she wasn’t so sure about Edward, about all those plans she’d had to be Edward’s bride. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“Say yes,” the giant, seductive stranger who was once her dear friend commanded in a tone both tender and merciless.
She stared at him, trembling. “Are you sure?”
“I am. Say yes.”
The word was there, inside her, waiting. She simply pushed her guilt and confusion aside and let that word get free. “Yes.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_7363cc0f-0c15-5fe5-ad7f-8626700bc933)
Before Genny left the villa that night, they agreed to be married at Hartmore on the following Saturday. He said he would call his grandmother first thing in the morning; Eloise would make all the arrangements. He also got her to promise that they would face her mother and father, the sovereign princess and prince consort, right away.
“And we will face them together,” he added, dark eyes determined, that wonderful soft mouth of his set.
It really wasn’t necessary and she tried to tell him so. “Rafe, you know how my parents are. They’re not going to disown me or anything. They’ll be on our side and they’ll just want to be sure we’re making the right choice.”
“We are making the right choice.” He said it flatly.
“I’m only saying that you really don’t have to—”
He put up his big hand. “Yes, I do.”
As he seemed so inflexible on the subject, she agreed—after which he called a car and sent her home.
Home for Genny was the Prince’s Palace, perched high on Cap Royale, overlooking the Mediterranean, where she had her own apartment. She was up half the night worrying, second-guessing her decision to marry Rafe, feeling guilty and confused. Very late, she finally drifted off.
The phone rang at eight, jarring her from much-needed sleep. It was Rafe, calling to remind her to set up the talk with her parents. “And don’t tell them about the baby, or that we’ll be married, until I’m there with you.”
She grumbled at his bossiness. “I already said I wouldn’t.”
“Excellent.” He made the single word sound almost affectionate. And that made her feel a little better about everything.
“Did you call Eloise yet?”
“I’m doing that next.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should wait. We should tell her together.”
A pause on his end of the line, then, “Gen, the wedding will be Saturday. I’m sure your parents will want to be there. Someone has to make the arrangements.” He was right, of course. And his grandmother was a rock. She would take care of everything.
Genny answered with a sigh. “All right.”
He instructed, “Call me as soon as you’ve set up the meeting.”
“I will, yes.”
They hung up and she showered, ate a light breakfast and was waiting in the reception area of her mother’s office at the palace when her mother arrived at nine.
Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne, looking ageless and elegant as always in one of her classic Chanel suits, smiled at her fondly, agreed to the meeting with her and Rafe and then asked, “Darling, what is this meeting to be about?”
Genny knew that her mother would understand. She longed to just get it over with, to tell all. But she’d told Rafe that she would wait. He would soon be her husband. She wanted him to feel he could trust her to keep her agreements with him.
Rafe. Her husband...
Dear Lord. Was this really happening?
Her mother touched her arm. “Darling? Are you all right?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. And we’ll explain everything when Rafe is here, I promise.” She asked that her father be there, too.
And her mother asked again what exactly was going on.
Genny hugged her and whispered, “Two o’clock. We’ll tell you all of it then.” And she escaped before her mother could ask any more questions.
Back in her apartment, she called Rafe and told him when to be there. He arrived at one-thirty and came straight to her rooms as she’d asked him to do.
She gestured him in. “It’s good you’re here early. We’ll have a little time to plan.”
“There’s more to plan?” He sounded doubtful.
She stepped back to get a good look at him. “You look...terrific.” She felt oddly breathless suddenly. Because he did look wonderful in a fine lightweight jacket and trousers. Wonderful in a completely feral, un-English way, with his thick black curls, full lips, black velvet eyes and huge, hard body. A savage in a suit. The scar only added to the impression of otherness.
“And you are beautiful,” he said in that carefully controlled, formal way he had.
She wasn’t, not really. Her mother was beautiful. And her four sisters, too. Genny was the most ordinary looking of all of them. With wispy blond hair and brown eyes, she was pretty enough, but nothing spectacular. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her fitted white jacket, which she’d worn over a simple jewel-blue shirtwaist dress, an outfit she’d deemed demure and appropriate for this particular meeting. “Thank you—did you reach Eloise?”
“I did.”
“Did you tell her there will be a baby?”
“Yes.”
Genny gulped. “How did she take it?”
“She was pleased on all counts.”
“She wasn’t surprised...you know, that you and I were, um, lovers?”
He looked at her with infinite patience. “Nothing surprises my grandmother. You should know that.”
“I...” She started to say something vague and dishonest. But why lie about it? “Yes. I suppose I do.” Eloise had never made a secret of her desire to have Genny join the DeValery family and had openly encouraged a union between Genny and the lost Edward.
Not only did Genny adore the DeValerys and Hartmore, she had money. Pots of it—and giant old places like Hartmore needed serious infusions of cash on a regular basis. The lion’s share of Genny’s money came down to her from her godmother and namesake, Genevra DeVries. Aunt Genevra had never married. She’d had no children of her own and had always considered Genny the daughter of her heart.
Now that Edward was gone, the supremely practical Eloise would see nothing wrong with Genny marrying her other grandson, the new heir. Genny only wished that she could be half as indomitable as Eloise.
“Grandmother loves you,” Rafe said. “Never doubt that.”
“I don’t. Of course I don’t....”
He watched her steadily. She had that feeling she too often had with him. That he could see not only through her clothes to her naked body beneath, but even deeper, right into her heart and mind. And then he said, “Now. What are these ‘plans’ you need to discuss with me?”
She stared at him, chewing her lip, trying to decide how to begin.
He shook his head. “You had better just tell me.”
“Ahem.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well, I’ve...I’ve been thinking that we shouldn’t actually come right out today and tell my parents that I’m pregnant.” He arched a thick black brow, but said nothing. She added airily, “I’m thinking we can do that later.”
“When is later?”
