Page 70 of The Duke's Return
“It’s late.” Julian’s tone was light. A curl fell across his forehead. He smiled that familiar teasing smile. “I should be on my way. Try not to steal all of my favorite stories, duchess dear.”
And then he left, walking away with his shoulders straight and his head bowed. If only she knew what that meant.
A shuddering breath escaped her, so she clapped a hand over her mouth in the hopes that he didn’t hear anything. Emotions whirled inside as she traced her way back through their conversation to see what could have pulled him away. And yet he had not left in haste or anger. He simply took his leave.
The book sat forgotten in her lap. Genevieve dropped her hands down. She felt the pounding her heart grow heavy.
Leaning against the chaise back, she closed her eyes. Whatever had happened was unlike anything that she had experienced before. A truth, an intimacy had been shared. She hadn’t thought it possible with Julian.
But, oh, his story… his childhood. How could he ever be vulnerable? No one was ever there for him.
She wondered if she could be that person. If she wanted to be that, and if Julian would let her. But there were so many questions in her mind that she couldn’t answer, and it weighed heavily on her. She sighed as another thought came to mind––
No matter what happened between her and her husband, their planned month together was nearly over.
CHAPTER 27
Another long night filled with regret loomed before Julian as he toppled into the blankets and pillows.
A heavy exhale escaped him. He closed his eyes. But that would offer him no proper retreat, not when he could feel Genevieve still so close to him.
He could still sense her though he had returned himself to where he belonged, trapping himself inside his bedchamber. Had he really thought of kissing her? Of brushing her cheek and tugging on her curls? He thought of her soft lips and pale feet, the way she sat so comfortably and cozy on the chaise like she belonged there.
The world belongs to her, so why not have it all?
“Genevieve,” Julian muttered and tossed an arm over his eyes as though that might help him block her from his mind.
There she still appeared. She lived there in his head like this was her new home. It was surely madness, he supposed, as he reflected on the day he had woken up drinking and convincedhis friends he wasn’t too drunk to stand before the vicar with his bride.
“We didn’t think you were serious,” Ronan had told them. “There has to be another way to retain Southwick. I mean, it’s your country seat.”
“But not the property, it’s not entailed. I can’t lose the house,” Julian had snipped back. He’d been saying it nonstop for a month while sorting out the situation he had somehow found himself trapped in.
There was only one way through after weeks of studying the law and corresponding with solicitors about his options.
So he had taken another swig and announced, “It is all going to work out just as I intend, I assure you. I browsed through my options of available ladies. While a widow would certainly have been more pleasant, there are plenty of available women on the marriage mart. Too many, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Ronan and Sebastian, still bachelors, exchanged looks. “We noticed.”
Julian smirked. “Of course you did. And I’ve picked myself the perfect bride.”
The three friends waited with bated breath. He let the tension rise between them until Ronan, ever impatient, huffed and spoke up. “Well? Who is it?”
“A desperate one.” Julian raised a hand. “But not the most desperate. I don’t think she even knows she is desperate. Her family is blue blood, but they’re not wealthy. She is one of several daughters, no sons, and her father has passed. While she is beautiful, the lady makes no waves and clearly doesn’t wish forit as she doesn’t frequent society half as much as the rest of us. I shall get myself a wife, shutter her away, and then leave for my own fancy elsewhere.”
“That is hardly kind of you,” Tristan groused while Ronan exclaimed, “Where are you going?”
“The navy, of course.”
He savored the shock on their faces before he turned to make his way down to the vicar. The archbishop should be around there somewhere, but had lost his voice and could no longer perform the ceremony. All Julian needed then was his wife.
When he next turned, he saw her. Lady Genevieve Harcourt, eldest daughter of the late Viscount of Richester.
Admittedly, she was lovely. Tall and classically beautiful with a certain sharpness to her. Her dress was neat and tidy. There was no veil. The flowers she carried had certainly seen better days. And yet she walked with her chin up and a certain grit that warmed his heart, finding she was not going to be a fool.
She will be fine,he had thought at the time.We’ll be perfect strangers.
That memory haunted Julian when he took leave of London. And it had haunted him through the days following when he went through basic training and then took to the ships with the Royal Navy.
