Page 9 of The Duke's Return
Her chest heaved, the emotions winding her even as the duke gave her no chance to speak. He pulled his booted feet from atop the desk to rise, moving around the desk as though to hover over her.
“You have wonderful timing. As you may have noted, I have decided it is time we spend some time together. In Southwick. An overdue honeymoon, so to speak.”
Genevieve’s lips parted in disbelief.
What was hedoing? She didn’t understand it. Or him. Balling her hands into fists, she glowered in frustration. He promised to leave her alone. What was this?
“Unexpected, to be certain, but I have no doubt the two of us are up to the challenge.” He offered his most charming smile for her. He took a step closer, and she tried to move away. But she couldn’t, forced to listen to whatever nonsense he made up for her to hear. “A public appearance was required at some point, and we agreed to deliver it. While I had hoped to manage it here in London, I’m afraid other troubles require us to be seen away from town.”
A shiver of dread ran down her spine. It froze Genevieve for a moment before she tugged on her courage. She had to know what he had done. Was it redeemable? Manageable? She thought of her mother and forced herself back to Julian to focus.
“What troubles?” she demanded. “You cannot drag me away from the life I know yet again to follow your whims.”
“If only it were my whims.” His smile tightened before everything smoothed out. But she had seen it and now she wondered. The outrage loosened, allowing her to better listen. “Perhaps you may not have noticed, but rumors have grown and spiraled out of control. Our name is being dragged through the mud, so it is up to us to salvage the issue.”
She let out a disbelieving huff. “I did nothing! There is no reason for my reputation to be tarnished. It is you who ran off to the Royal Navy. That should have been an honorable claim to your name. How did you manage to ruin it? Was it the women?”
It had to be the women. That was Julian’s weakness, or so she understood from the gossip rags. She knew that to be rumor and had dissuaded the few who dared mention it in conversation. And none of it came far enough to hurt her sisters who were still not wed.
Lifting a brow, he inquired in a soft murmur, “Is that jealousy I hear?”
It was awfully tempting to strangle him, she thought, especially since he was close enough now. But all she did was fix her shoulders. “No. Of course not. This marriage was in name only. We—you—made that quite clear before we parted ways right after the ceremony.”
While Genevieve thought that should be the end of all this, it appeared she was wrong. Julian’s eyes darkened as he smoothed his brow to give her a bold look she didn’t quite know how to interpret. Only that it made her heart pound and her mouth dry when he said, “I may be many things, Genevieve, but I’ve never broken a vow. In the eyes of God, we are wed; thus no woman has shared my bed or felt my hands or lips since the day I married you.”
She swallowed hard. But he wasn’t done.
“I may not have been the husband you deserved, but I am still your husband.”
Heart pounding unsteadily, Genevieve struggled to think. And breathe, because there was no air in this study. It had to be because her husband was crowding her out. Didn’t it? He was standing right in front of her. She studied his eyes before tracing those high cheekbones curving toward his nose that sat neatly above thin pink lips. Those lips curled upward in yet another smile she couldn’t quite interpret.
Oh dear, I’m staring.
She didn’t know what else to do but leave. Whipping around, she thought to storm out with her head high.
That might have worked had she not bumped into the nearby side table. She grunted. It hurt her hip and rattled, causing a candelabrum to tilt before catching on her sleeve. Before she could stop it, the thing toppled over.
It’s these blasted emotions. If only I could keep myself as well contained when I am calm as when I am upset. It’s so awfully embarrassing.
“No! Oh bother,” Genevieve groaned when one of the four pedestals broke off. She hastily bent to collect the pieces for repair when she jerked back at a pinprick of pain. A strangled sound escaped her lips.
“What is it? Are you hurt?” Movement happened behind her. Julian appeared at her side at once, catching her wrist before she could cradle it against her chest.
She’d sliced her second finger on a ragged edge of the broken bronze. Red droplets slipped down into her palm to pool.
It was going to get on the rug. Genevieve tugged to take her arm back, but Julian didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he neatly pulled a handkerchief out of somewhere to gently press into her palm. Her body stiffened at the contact but as it brought her no pain, she grudgingly began to relax.
Julian was careful as he tended to the injury and cleaned her palm. It wasn’t a terrible cut, after all, merely a little messy. But he knew just what to do. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to look away from his ministrations. He tied off the cloth around her finger as she noted his warmth. She had already pulled off her gloves once she was in the carriage on her way home, and he had since removed his.
Had she ever touched anyone else’s bare hand?
Silence settled between them for a minute before she watched how he carefully curled her fingers into a loose fist, nudging her hand back into her body like she had wanted it a moment ago.
Hastily she broke free just as he said, “What a lovely surprise you let me touch you.”
“That means nothing,” Genevieve told him shortly, her voice sharp as she tried not to show off how flustered she felt. She fixed her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m not a fool. I simply didn’t have my own handkerchief. But this… this tenderness shall not be mistaken for anything more.”
“Certainly not. I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured quietly.
