or—heaven forbid—make the mistake of caring about her again, but the wall he’d built around his heart developed a crack. Wickburgh had no doubt been a cold and unyielding husband, but her terror suggested it was more than that. Christian’s gut wrenched at the thought. Again he wondered what had driven Genevieve to marry Wickburgh.
Whatever had happened to her was real and terrible, and his duty as a gentleman was clear. Very well. He’d send her as far away as possible and dust off his hands, glad to be rid of her. Then he’d resume his efforts to rebuild a life without her. As he left the room, he built another wall around the fortress of his heart.
CHAPTER 8
Genevieve barely slept, always listening for the sound of his footsteps, her heart stopping at the treading of feet. But Christian was here. She was safe. For the time being. As morning light spilled between the draperies, Genevieve plotted her next move.
The maid, Ann, crept closer. “Miss? May I bring you a tray?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As Ann ducked through the doorway, the young Lady Tarrington entered, bearing her usual aura of serenity, and, despite being great with child, moving with grace. Lady Tarrington’s smile bathed Genevieve in the brightness of her cheer. She’d only spoken with Genevieve a few moments the previous day but now Lady Tarrington lowered herself into a chair near the bed.
“How do you feel this morning?”
“Surprisingly well, thank you.” Considering she was supposed to be existing in endless torment amid fire and brimstone. Fortunately, someone had saved her from the river. Now, at least, she had options.
“What can we do to make you more comfortable?” Lady Tarrington smiled so encouragingly that Genevieve was tempted to tell her everything. Almost.
Genevieve spread her hands. “You’ve already done too much.”
“Not at all. You are welcome to remain here as our guest while you convalesce.”
“It’s very kind of you,” Genevieve replied, “but I don’t wish to impose on your hospitality.”
Lady Tarrington drew in her breath sharply and rubbed her swollen abdomen.
Genevieve gave a start. “Are you unwell, my lady?”
Lady Tarrington shook her head, a peaceful smile touching her mouth. “I’m well. It happens a bit more often now. The accoucheur says it’s all in preparation.”
What a cruel twist of fate that Genevieve must find herself in the presence of a lady joyfully awaiting the birth of her child when Genevieve had so recently lost her own, the one good thing that might have come of her horrible marriage. Sorrow burrowed a hole through her heart, leaving a raw, gaping wound.
Lady Tarrington’s amber eyes opened wide as she looked at Genevieve. “Are you in pain?”
Genevieve tried to shake her head as a tidal wave of grief washed over her. Uncontrollable sobs seized her.
“I’ll send for the doctor!” Lady Amesbury cried.
“No,” Genevieve squeaked. “No. I don’t need a doctor.” She turned her head away and wept.
The bed sank under a weight next to Genevieve and a small, cool hand covered hers. Lady Tarrington watched her with concern and sorrow. “Forgive me. I’ve been terribly insensitive. The doctor told me you recently lost a baby. And here I am going on about mine.”
How long since she’d been touched in a gesture of friendship and affection! Starved for human contact, she gripped the woman’s hand. Lady Tarrington gathered Genevieve into her slender arms. She was soft and soothing and motherly. Welcoming long-absent contact, Genevieve clung to her. Lady Tarrington rubbed her back lightly while Genevieve unleashed her grief.
When her tears finally abated, Genevieve pulled away. “Forgive me.”
Lady Tarrington’s eyes were red-rimmed with shared sorrow. “No need to apologize. I cannot pretend to understand what you must have suffered.”
Ann came in bringing her fruit and croissants. “ ’ere ye are, miss.”
Wiping her eyes, Lady Tarrington
Whatever had happened to her was real and terrible, and his duty as a gentleman was clear. Very well. He’d send her as far away as possible and dust off his hands, glad to be rid of her. Then he’d resume his efforts to rebuild a life without her. As he left the room, he built another wall around the fortress of his heart.
CHAPTER 8
Genevieve barely slept, always listening for the sound of his footsteps, her heart stopping at the treading of feet. But Christian was here. She was safe. For the time being. As morning light spilled between the draperies, Genevieve plotted her next move.
The maid, Ann, crept closer. “Miss? May I bring you a tray?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As Ann ducked through the doorway, the young Lady Tarrington entered, bearing her usual aura of serenity, and, despite being great with child, moving with grace. Lady Tarrington’s smile bathed Genevieve in the brightness of her cheer. She’d only spoken with Genevieve a few moments the previous day but now Lady Tarrington lowered herself into a chair near the bed.
“How do you feel this morning?”
“Surprisingly well, thank you.” Considering she was supposed to be existing in endless torment amid fire and brimstone. Fortunately, someone had saved her from the river. Now, at least, she had options.
“What can we do to make you more comfortable?” Lady Tarrington smiled so encouragingly that Genevieve was tempted to tell her everything. Almost.
Genevieve spread her hands. “You’ve already done too much.”
“Not at all. You are welcome to remain here as our guest while you convalesce.”
“It’s very kind of you,” Genevieve replied, “but I don’t wish to impose on your hospitality.”
Lady Tarrington drew in her breath sharply and rubbed her swollen abdomen.
Genevieve gave a start. “Are you unwell, my lady?”
Lady Tarrington shook her head, a peaceful smile touching her mouth. “I’m well. It happens a bit more often now. The accoucheur says it’s all in preparation.”
What a cruel twist of fate that Genevieve must find herself in the presence of a lady joyfully awaiting the birth of her child when Genevieve had so recently lost her own, the one good thing that might have come of her horrible marriage. Sorrow burrowed a hole through her heart, leaving a raw, gaping wound.
Lady Tarrington’s amber eyes opened wide as she looked at Genevieve. “Are you in pain?”
Genevieve tried to shake her head as a tidal wave of grief washed over her. Uncontrollable sobs seized her.
“I’ll send for the doctor!” Lady Amesbury cried.
“No,” Genevieve squeaked. “No. I don’t need a doctor.” She turned her head away and wept.
The bed sank under a weight next to Genevieve and a small, cool hand covered hers. Lady Tarrington watched her with concern and sorrow. “Forgive me. I’ve been terribly insensitive. The doctor told me you recently lost a baby. And here I am going on about mine.”
How long since she’d been touched in a gesture of friendship and affection! Starved for human contact, she gripped the woman’s hand. Lady Tarrington gathered Genevieve into her slender arms. She was soft and soothing and motherly. Welcoming long-absent contact, Genevieve clung to her. Lady Tarrington rubbed her back lightly while Genevieve unleashed her grief.
When her tears finally abated, Genevieve pulled away. “Forgive me.”
Lady Tarrington’s eyes were red-rimmed with shared sorrow. “No need to apologize. I cannot pretend to understand what you must have suffered.”
Ann came in bringing her fruit and croissants. “ ’ere ye are, miss.”
Wiping her eyes, Lady Tarrington
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