Page 88 of The Duke's Return
“I wish to call you Genevieve and for you to call me Julian,” he murmured just loud enough to be heard. “I wish to see you on your morning strolls and dine with you in the evenings. Nothing would make me happier than to have you making recommendations for my correspondence and laughing at my attempts to charm you.”
A shaky breath escaped her. “Julian…” His name came off her lips before she meant for it to happen.
His eyes shined. “I am not asking you to love me. That wouldn’t be fair for all I’ve put you through. But I cannot pretend for another minute that I don’t love you.”
Forcing a chuckle over the absurdity of all this, Genevieve put a hand over her heart. “You’re a rake, Julian. A snake charmer. We married as strangers and I… How am I supposed to know what this means to you?”
“All I’m asking for a chance,” he reminded her gently. “But I’m not going to leave you again. I’m not going to let my fear win again. We deserve happiness, Genevieve, and I would like for us to find it together. No matter what I must do––”
“Woo me,” she blurted out.
Julian hesitated before echoing, “Woo you?”
Sometimes I wish life didn’t give us so many options to make difficult decisions. How scared I am for what any of this could mean. For Julian to be wrong. But if I turn him away now… what sort of life am I giving myself?
The hope pounded so hard inside her chest that Genevieve supposed it might someday leave a bruise. She swallowed andnodded as she reached out a hand to rest it on his cheek, relieved she had not yet put on her gloves.
And then Julian pressed his hand over hers, holding her there.
“I will give you another chance,” she decided. A slight smile began to creep up her lips. “We may be husband and wife, but we never had ourselves a courtship. Woo me, Julian, and perhaps I will stay this time.”
His eyes widened. “Do you promise?”
Chuckling, she nodded. Genevieve struggled for words while he rose to his feet. He dropped his hand from hers to take her face in his grasp. The way his thumbs brushed against her cheeks collecting moisture told her she must have cried though she had paid that no mind.
“How fortunate I am for a forgiving wife,” Julian marveled.
“Only somewhat forgiving,” she interjected quickly.
That made him chuckle. The wrinkles in his brow were smoothing as he closed the distance between them. “Just forgiving enough. But I swear to you, this will be the worst time in our lives.”
“Worst?”
“Every day after this will be better,” he reassured her. Then he leaned forward to begin peppering small kisses all over her face. “So much better, I swear it.”
Closing her eyes, Genevieve let herself melt into him. “Good. I think that sounds perfectly lovely.” Then his lips found hers, and there was nothing more for them to say.
EPILOGUE
Groaning, Genevieve pulled herself up from the desk as she finally finished the last of her correspondence.
I never thought I would be so busy nor so popular as a duchess. But perhaps that was inevitable. That’s what everyone told me would happen. And here I am, three years a duchess who needs three days a week dedicated to her correspondence.
She made a face at the pile of letters to send. Today, there were four, and she had been holding them off for some time since they were committed exchanges between women of science and learning whom she’d met at various soirees and lectures in London within the past couple of months.
Everyone remained in the city now with the Season in full swing. Spring was right around the corner and the last of the snow had melted at Southwick only days ago.
“Your Grace.” Mrs. Waverly strode across the room with bright eyes, her version of a welcoming smile. “Is there anything I can fetch you?”
Genevieve shook her head. “I’ve finished my tea. The peppermint was just what I needed, Mrs. Waverly, thank you.”
“Shall I leave the biscuits for you?”
The household was getting rather nosy for Genevieve’s liking, truth be told. Since she had arrived nearly six weeks ago, there was always a servant coming or going. Everyone was finding excuses to come check on her, to pretend they weren’t staring or full of inquiries.
Thank goodness they can control themselves, because I’m tiring of such amusements.
“Thank you, but no. I’m sure I’ll eat something at supper this evening instead,” Genevieve felt the need to add when her housekeeper hesitated. For a moment, she wondered if the woman would consider force feeding her. “You can enjoy the biscuits yourself if you like.”
