“That’s not the house’s fault,” Annabelle said. “That was Richard’s fault, and he’s somewhere in France, thank goodness.”
“Yet his influence lingers,” John said. Still, Genny would not look up. He tried to focus on the conversation while at the same time keeping an eye on her. “Last night, Black Bill gave us the name of the man he thinks is behind the attempted kidnapping, a fellow who supposedly works for Raventhorpe.”
“You don’t intend to take that seriously!” Dolly exclaimed. “Black Bill is a thief and probably a liar.”
“He’s not a liar,” Annabelle said. “He doesn’t like being called that.”
“I’ll call him more than that before I send him to h—to purgatory,” Virgil muttered, apparently recalling the presence of the ladies at the last moment.
Dolly frowned at her daughter. “I don’t like the way you’re defending him, sweetheart. He held us all at gunpoint and could have killed us!”
“But he didn’t,” Annabelle said. “He let us go. He gave John the information he needed, and he didn’t take anyone’s purse.”
“No,” Helen said. “Just your handkerchief, correct?”
Annabelle reddened. “Just that,” she agreed.
“Why did he do that?” the admiral demanded. “The gal was wearing diamonds and pearls last night. He could have made away with a fortune from that alone.”
“Hardly seems like an intelligent sort of brigand,” Sir Harry said. “Why take a handkerchief instead of gems? Unless, of course, Mrs. Wallington-Willis is correct, and the highwayman has taken a fancy to you, Miss Bailey.”
“I can’t figure what he was thinking,” Annabelle said. “I was there, same as the rest of you. I saw and heard what you did.”
“But you had encountered him before,” John said, setting down his silverware. He dragged his wandering attention from Genny and focused on Annabelle. “The day Raventhorpe drugged you and tried to escape with you to Scotland. You said he rescued you.”
“He did. He stopped the coach and held a gun on Richard so I could tie him up. Then he knocked Richard out with his own ring.”
“The one with the sleeping drug in it that Raventhorpe had used on her,” John clarified for the others. He flicked another glance down the table. Genny still was not looking at him. He had forgotten about her vulnerability. How fragile she was beneath that deceptive complacence. How he wished she would use her barbed tongue to put him in his place.
“Astounding,” Sir Harry commented. “Either Black Bill is the most foolish dolt who ever walked the earth, or he is stunningly brilliant.”
“He has an agenda,” John said. “He hates Raventhorpe.”
“I would expect that would put him and us on the same side,” Sir Harry said. “Do you agree, Miss Wallington-Willis?”
John stilled, every sense alert as Genny slowly looked up, met John’s gaze for one long, agonizing moment. The wretchedness shadowing her eyes shamed him, made him want to howl in denial. He had done that to her. He had broken her.
Genny looked over at Sir Harry. “If you will all excuse me, I do not feel well. I am going to lie down.” She set her napkin beside her plate.
“Of course, of course,” Sir Harry said, rising with the rest of the gentlemen as she got up from the table.
“Do you want me to come up with you?” Helen asked.
Genny’s lips curved in a bare hint of a smile though no such emotion lit her deadened eyes. “No, thank you, Mama. You enjoy your breakfast.”
“I hope you feel better, dear,” Dolly said. “Samuel and your sister are due back this afternoon, and I know you’ll want to see them.”
“That would be nice.” With a nod to those assembled, she left the room.
John watched her go, disturbed, agonized. He knew what he had done was for the best, but he had not counted on how his heart would ache at seeing the results of his handiwork.
“Is she going to be all right?” Annabelle asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Genny so quiet.”
Helen frowned as she looked after her daughter. “I hope so.”
“Bad night,” the admiral said. “But she’s young. She will be good as new by tomorrow. Now about that highwayman—”
“Robert, surely you care about your daughter’s health!” Helen said.
“Of course I do. But she’s gone to lie down, hasn’t she? Best thing for her.” He nodded to himself. “Now as to the highwayman . . . Find your enemy’s enemy is what I always said. Good strategic thinking. This Black Bill hates Raventhorpe. Might get an ally out of that.”
John tried not to think about Genny retreating to her room. Genny never retreated. Was she crying? The thought ripped through his heart as if it were paper.
“What do you think, Ready?” the admiral asked.
“Ah . . . about Black Bill?” His every instinct urged him to go after Genny, but he forced himself to focus on the conversation.
“Yes, yes.” The admiral reached for his coffee. “Perhaps we could get him to ally with us against Raventhorpe, eh?”
“I do not think that is a possibility, sir.”
“You just don’t like him because he shot you,” Annabelle said.
John sliced a look her way. “You would not feel fondly toward him either, Miss Bailey.”
“I don’t like that idea at all.” Dolly sent an anxious look toward her daughter. “Especially if he fancies my Annabelle.”
“But he seems to know a lot about what is going on in the area,” Helen said. “He might prove very valuable.”
“Probably makes it his business to know,” Sir Harry said. “Keep tabs on everyone so he can better move about in secret. I imagine he lives here.”
“Perhaps on Raventhorpe lands,” the admiral said.
“Maybe you should just ask him if he wants to help us,” Annabelle suggested. “Or is that a silly idea?”
“I would not even know how to find him,” John said. He thought about Genny, alone in her room. Should he speak to her? Or would that make matters worse?
“Seems to me,” Sir Harry said, “that you just have to travel certain roads at night.”
“Madness!” Dolly exclaimed.
“Only if you want to be killed!” Genny’s mother said with a hand to her heart.
“Might work,” the admiral said. His wife glared at him, and he applied himself most assiduously to his breakfast. “I said ‘might,’ ” he muttered.
“Do not even consider it,” Helen said. “It is too dangerous.”
“He is quite unpredictable,” Sir Harry said. “Might quite possibly be a madman in the literal sense of the word. After all, he did shoot you.”
“Point taken,” John said.
“Enough of this foolish talk,” Dolly said. “Samuel and Cilla are coming home today, and I don’t want anything ruining their homecoming.”
“And we’ve got our final rehearsal for the play this afternoon,” Annabelle said. “I hope Genny’s feeling well enough to perform tomorrow.”
“I would not worry about that,” John said with a quick glance upward. “If I know Miss Wallington-Willis, nothing will keep her from the stage.”
He hoped.
Genny lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. John had seemed in good spirits this morning. He had shaved his beard, revealing a strong jaw and almost aristocratic profile. Even through her misery, she could not ignore the spark that ignited when she had glimpsed his bare, handsome face.
But then, anytime John was within a foot of her, she could not ignore her body’s reaction. She wanted him, no matter what he had done. She loved him, no matter what he had said.
She was a fool.
He had shown her a brief glimpse of Heaven last night, then torn out her heart and cast her away as easily as he had shorn his beard. She had dreaded seeing him this morning at breakfast. How was she supposed to pretend everything was all right? In the end, she had given up trying. Everything wasnot all right. She had given herself to him, and he h
ad soundly rejected her. Crushed her heart with his cruel words. And yet he behaved as if nothing was wrong.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Lord in Heaven, how could she possibly act in rehearsal later today? Sir Harry would be playing the prince in the actual production, but John was still standing in for rehearsals. Her character was supposed to be in love with him. It would be torture. But she would manage. She was certainly not going to permit him to drive her into solitude.
But hadn’t she already allowed him to do just that?
She had sat at the breakfast table, her broken heart bleeding openly for anyone who cared to see, and practically sobbed into her chocolate. Then when she could not bear the pressure of hiding her feelings any longer, she had fled to her room like a little girl. Was that the act of a woman who had boldly jilted her suitor after learning of his perfidy? She had trusted Bradley, but when he had betrayed her, she had taken a stand and broken it off with him, spiking his ambition of marrying the admiral’s daughter to advance his career.
Now John had used her body, then rejected her. Had she given as good as she had gotten in the face of his insults? No. She had just run away. Actually, she had not even run. She had slunk away, as if she were embarrassed about what had happened between them.
She was stronger than that.
Annoyed at herself, she got off the bed, went to the vanity table, and sat down in front of the mirror.
She looked like death. Her skin was pale against her dark hair, and her eyes looked like pools of misery. This would not do.
By the time they gathered for rehearsal, she would be back to her old self, even if it took the magic of the rouge pot to do it.
They gathered for rehearsal in the gallery as always. John had expected Genny to stay in her room—had actually thought the practice would be canceled because of her absence—and was surprised to see her join them right on time. Her color was better, and now when she looked at him, there was emotion in her eyes.
Icy rage, but still, emotion. Anything was better than that glassy-eyed stare.
“Miss Wallington-Willis, let us start with you and Mr. Ready,” Sir Harry said. “I want to go over the scene where Malevita comes upon Frederick sleeping in the forest and declares her love. Do you feel well enough to do that?”
“Of course, Sir Harry.” She sent John a polite smile that held more sharpness than sweetness.
“Excellent! Take your places.”
John went to lie down on the blanket Sir Harry had set out, and Genny took her place. As she moved toward him, reciting her lines, he could not help but remember the last time they had done this scene. How she had flirted with him, teased him. Aroused him.
Not so this time.
“O handsome warrior. O noble prince. My blood . . . my blood burns for thee.” She took a deep breath, then smiled at their stage manager. “I apologize, Sir Harry. Something was caught in my throat.”
“That is fine, Miss Wallington-Willis. Do continue.”
She nodded, coughed, then walked around John. “Malevita” was supposed to be admiring the form of her beloved, Prince Fredrick, but John noticed how Genny looked at the blanket, the floor, his shoes—anything she could to avoid perusing his face or body.
“O handsome warrior,” she recited, the words sounding wooden and awkward on her lips. “O noble prince. My blood burns for thee.”
She stretched out her hands toward him as they had agreed upon in previous rehearsals, giving the impression she wanted to stroke her palms over his body. Only he noticed her fingers quivering.
“Look upon him, all you sun and moon and stars, and know he is my love.” Her voice caught. She met his gaze, held it. “My mate. My future king.”
Her stance gave the impression of calm control, but her eyes revealed wild emotion rising and falling like ocean waves. Slowly, she began to circle him, a fairy princess longing for her lover. At the last rehearsal she had teased him by brushing her skirts against him. Now she seemed determined to avoid touching him at all costs.
But even though she was only playing a part, he could not help the way he reacted to the passionate words. Could not help imagining she meant the things she was saying to him. Still lying down, he bent one knee, hoping he would not embarrass himself.
“O love that lives as a flame inside me.” Her voice roughened. “Thou art my only reason for living. My heart—” She inhaled a deep breath. “My heart beats for thee.”
Her voice broke on the last word. Only he was close enough to see how she trembled, how she bit her lower lip to stop its quivering. How her green eyes revealed a storm of pain and misery.
The sound of clapping broke the strange spell that still held them. Genny ripped her gaze from his, her fingers curling into her palms as she held her hands at her sides and faced their stage manager.
“Brava, Miss Wallington-Willis! Such range of emotion. You are truly talented,” Sir Harry said, applauding with the script tucked under his arm.
She nodded her head in acknowledgment, then stepped away from John and the makeshift stage. She did not look at him again during the rest of the play, not unless she was required to do so by stage direction.
She had made her feelings clear, not by fiery anger, not by icy disdain, but by sheer painful despair. When he had come to breakfast that morning, he had expected some sulky behavior like any other girl her age, but not this bone-numbing anguish. Why had he expected such a thing, when Genny had proven herself time and time again to be more than just another feather-witted debutante? Perhaps because it might have been easier to rub along with her if she had acted like a pouty child. But Genny Wallington-Willis never did anything predictable.
She had given herself to the man she had expected to marry.
She had rejected her suitor when any other girl would have wed him out of fear of scandal, no matter her broken heart and shattered trust.
She had gambled when she demanded Overton’s silence by making it clear she was not afraid to put her own reputation on the line against his ambition. And she had won that bet.
She had charged to the rescue when she thought John was out to use Annabelle for his own ends.
She had bravely come to his room last night and revealed her secret, then offered herself in a completely honorable proposal of marriage.
He should be horsewhipped for taking her body, then refusing her marriage proposal, but by the time the passionate haze had cleared, the damage was done. Rejecting her had been the hardest thing he had ever done, but he was protecting her, both from heartache and from Raventhorpe. That bastard might well use Genny if he thought it would get to John. Genny was safer far away from him. He would not allow her to end up like Elizabeth. He had failed his wife; he would not fail Genny.
Her reaction had thrown him, though. He had expected her to be sad for a while, then bounce back. Be that firebrand of a woman who stood up for what was right no matter what the cost. Maybe hate him a little. He had seen a glimmer of that when she had first come to rehearsal.
But now, this empty desolation defeated him. He had rejected her for her own good, lied to her for her own good. But in trying to do the right thing, he might have destroyed one of the most amazing women he had ever met. The one woman he might truly love.
And for that, he would never forgive himself.
Chapter 15
After rehearsal, Genny took solace in the gardens. The house now felt like a prison, the walls closing her in with John. Thank God Cilla and Samuel were coming home today. Their return signaled the beginning of the end. Soon John would leave for America, never to return.
How grand his plans had sounded! Leave the mistakes of the past behind. Run off to America and start all over again. Was she one of those mistakes? Apparently so. His best friend’s sister-in-law. She clenched her fists. His dismissal of her still stung. But despite that, she knew it was not the true reason he had refused her.
John had always treated her with the respect due a lady of her class—until he had discovere
d that she was no longer a virgin.
Why had she expected him to be different from any other man? His acceptance of her body but rejection of her marriage proposal proved he was not. One foolish decision had rendered her used goods, and no man wanted used goods for a wife. Not even one running from his past to start anew in America. And she had no one to blame but herself. She had given herself to Bradley of her own free will, just as she had surrendered to John of her own accord.
Would she never overcome this stigma? What were her choices now? She was too truthful a person to fake innocence in her marriage bed, and if she had to trick a man into wedding her, then he was not the sort of husband she wanted. She would rather become the spinster John had predicted, dandling Cilla’s children on her knee, than live a lie.
Which was why she had fallen for John in the first place. She had thought that he, at least, would accept the truth—and her. But he didn’t, and he hadn’t, and his rejection had torn her heart to shreds. But that cut no less than knowing she had given herself—again—to a man who held her in such low regard. If a man like him—a man with secrets and a past he was fleeing—could not accept her for who she was, then she might well be destined to end up alone.
That was how John found her—alone in the garden, a solitary figure standing amidst the glorious rosebushes, her entire being the picture of dejection: shoulders slumped, mouth curved downward. She twirled the stem of an unopened rosebud between her fingers, her focus apparently somewhere other than here and now.
Just the sight of her made his heart ache.
He could not let this lie continue. She meant too much to him. Maybe she would still hate him after this, but at least he would know he had done the right thing.
He was going to tell her the truth.
She must have heard his approach because she turned before he could call her name. Stiffened. “What are you doing here, John?”
“Genny . . .” He hesitated, uncertain where to begin.
She glared at him, but he knew bravado when he saw it. The caution in her eyes betrayed her. “Have you come to humiliate me some more?” she challenged, tossing the rosebud aside. “Or did you think to amuse yourself with the little whore here in the gardens?”
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