Fury flared at both the words and tone. “Do not refer to yourself like that again. Ever.”
“Why not? We both know what you think of me.” She turned her back on him, head bowed. “Go away, John. I want to be alone.”
By God, she is going to listen. He came forward, took her by the arm, made her face him. “If you still want to be alone once I have finished, I will let you be.”
She shook off his hold. “It seems to me that you did enough speaking last night.”
“Damn it, Genny, I do not blame you for hating me.”
“Hating you?” She curled her lip. “I would have to feel some emotion to hate you, John. Does disgust count?”
He ignored the obvious lie. “If you are going to hate me, at least hate me for the right reasons.”
“Last night’s conversation is all the reason I need.”
Even through his frustration, part of him warmed to see the return of the firebrand he knew. “At least it is better than the imitation of death that you were doing earlier.”
She folded her arms. “Say what you came to say and leave, John.”
“You are making this harder than it needs to be, Genny.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She threw up her hands. “If you cannot even spit out what you came to tell me, I am going inside. My headache has not completely faded.”
“No. Don’t go.” He stepped in her path, forcing her to halt what would have been a spectacularly dramatic exit. “I lied to you, Genny.”
“As if I did not know that.” She looked down her nose at him, but her palpable pain broke through the attempt at haughty disdain. “The only time you did not lie to me was last night.”
“No, Genny.” He took her by the arms again, held her fast so he knew she was listening. “Last night was the lie.” He bent his head, trying to get her to look at him, but she stared with stubborn determination at the shirt buttons above his vest. “You gave yourself to me, and I let you think I did not care for you. But I do care.”
She jerked her gaze to his, and the moisture shimmering in her eyes hit him like a fist in the gut. “I am not interested in a quick romp before you leave for America. I do not want you, John.”
He stiffened. She sounded like she meant it.
She took advantage of his distraction to pull away from his grasp. “I need to go inside and rest before Cilla and Samuel arrive.”
“No, wait. You have to hear this.” He moved with her as she tried to step around him. “Genny, last night . . . I made a muck of things last night. I said the wrong things, did the wrong things. I did not know it would hurt you like that. I was prepared to deal with your anger, but I cannot bear your pain.”
She paused, giving him a moment’s hope, then tried to go around him again.
He followed her, blocking her exit with his body. “Please hear me out. I need to tell you the truth. About who I am and most especially about my feelings for you. Last night—”
She lowered her gaze. “I said I do not want to discuss last night.”
“Last night I said what I did to push you away.”
She stilled, cast him a look of disbelief. “Then perhaps you should have said no, John—to all of it. I would have left you alone.”
“I did not want to say no. God help me, Genny, but it took every ounce of control to make you go last night.”
“Why the need to get rid of me at all? I gave you what you wanted.” She folded her arms, her expression growing more mutinous than miserable.
“Because I am trying to protect you!”
She sighed. “From what? As you pointed out, I am no innocent.”
“But you are, in so many ways.” He held out a hand. “Please, come sit with me. There is a bench down the path. Let me tell you everything.”
Genny hesitated. He looked sincere. His voice rang with authenticity, and his eyes had that hopeful look that made her heart melt in her chest. She wanted to trust him. But what if she did, and he rejected her again?
Still, he was only asking for her to listen. If she did not like what he had to say, she could leave.
“I will listen,” she said, “but it will not change anything.”
He nodded. “That is all I ask. Come sit down with me.”
She allowed him to guide her down the path with a hand at her back, just the gentlest brush of his fingers against her spine. And still her traitorous body warmed beneath his touch. Would he always have this power over her?
Once they reached the stone bench hidden behind a copse of flowering bushes, Genny sat down, folded her hands in her lap and turned her attention to him. John sat next to her. She shuffled over a bit to allow more space between them. It was bad enough she could feel the heat of him next to her, smell the woodsy, leathery scent of him. If he touched her, even accidentally, she might beg him not to stop. “I am listening.”
He nodded. “I am not sure where to begin.”
“Start with last night.”
He gave a nod. “First of all, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. I had no right—”
“I was in that bed, too, John. I wanted it, too. Now it is over, so let us move on.”
“I cannot move on until I say this. Please believe me when I tell you I only meant to protect you and spoke to prevent you from entangling yourself with me. I had to make you walk away at any cost.”
“And you succeeded. May I go now?”
“No.”
She turned her head away. Let him make his apologies and be done with it. They had little left to say to each other.
“Genny, my name is not John Ready.”
She shrugged and poked at a pebble with the toe of her shoe.
“My name is John St. Giles.” He went on. “Do you recognize the name?”
“St. Giles?” She feigned disinterest. Why did he persist in drawing out this heartache? “Perhaps I have heard that name before, but I cannot remember where.”
“Maybe it was a few days ago when the magistrate was here. He brought a gentleman with him, Mr. Timmons.”
Genny nodded, a small smile curving her lips despite everything else. “I remember Mr. Timmons.”
“Then perhaps you will remember the client he had come to the country to visit. St. Giles is the family name of the Duke of Evermayne.”
“Evermayne!” Triumph edged her tone. “So I was right. You are connected to that family.”
“The Duke was my uncle,” John confirmed. “He died some weeks ago and left no sons. My father was his brother. Father died a few years ago, which means—”
She gaped at him. “Dear, God! You are now the Duke of Evermayne?”
He nodded.
She absorbed the blow as if kicked in the stomach. A duke. He could never go to America now. Never start over in that land where the past could be left behind. He had responsibilities. Lands to govern. He would be required to marry a lady of gentle birth—a virgin. A proper lady, fit to be a duchess.
Of course he could not marry her. She would be the most improper of duchesses, a woman lacking in modesty, one who enjoyed bed sport entirely too much. Once more, she had chosen wrongly, and once more, she paid the price for her foolish fantasies.
She spoke through stiff lips. “Now that you are the Duke of Evermayne, you will finally be able to stop hiding.”
He let out a long, slow breath. “That is the dangerous part. I need you to promise me that you will hear me out before you make any judgments.”
Fear surged like acid in her throat. “John, you are scaring me. Just tell me.”
“All right. Remember I told you I fled England years ago? I never intended to return.”
“Yes, I remember. And when you did return, you did so as Samuel’s coachman.”
“He needed my help, and the position of a servant was a way to stay out of sight. I could not let anyone from upper society recognize me.”
“Why? Were you hiding from your uncle? Did he disown you?”
“No, he encouraged m
e to leave England. Insisted, in fact.”
She frowned. “I still do not understand. Were you being punished?”
“Not exactly. He was trying to save me.” He took a deep breath then said, “Genny, I am a wanted man.”
She blinked. Frowned. “Wanted for what?”
“For murder.”
He was serious. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh. There must be some mistake. She could not have fallen in love with a murderer. A cad, apparently, but not a killer. “Who was murdered?”
“My wife.”
She shut her eyes, but the truth still rang in his words. “You were married?”
“A long time ago.” He closed his hand over one of hers. “I did not kill Elizabeth, Genny. You must believe me.” He squeezed her hand until she looked up. “Someone else did and made it look like it was me. I am innocent. I did not even intend to accept the title. I was going to let it pass to my cousin while I disappeared in America.”
“But you will not. And I understand why. Evermayne is a huge estate.”
“It’s not the money. I have money from the treasure Samuel and I found. I could have allowed the queen to declare me dead and lived a comfortable life in America.”
“But you decided you wanted to be a duke. Do not worry, John. I completely understand.”
“No, you do not.” He swiped a hand over his face. “Genny, I did not kill Elizabeth, but I cannot prove my innocence. Which means when I come forward, I might be facing formal charges.”
Her heart skipped. “Then do not come forward. Let your cousin have the title.”
“You believe me?”
“That you did not kill your wife? Yes. You are not the type of man to harm a woman—at least not physically.”
He winced. “Genny, what I said to you last night has haunted me since the words left my mouth. I wish I could call back every moment.”
“Pretty apologies will not work this time. You hurt me, John.”
He had the grace to look ashamed. “I know. I was trying to save you.”
“Save me? From what? Becoming a duchess? Do not try to pretend anymore, John. I know the truth. Clearly I am not fit material for a wife, much less a duchess.”
“Genny, I could care less that you have had some . . . experience.”
“I do not believe you.” She pressed her lips together. “You treated me differently once I told you the truth. That was when you started treating me like a . . . a tart.”
“No, oh, no.” He took her hands in his. “I was trying to save you from me. When I come forward, there is every chance I may be executed for murder. I will not be able to protect you from the ugliness of that.”
“Executed?” Dear God, she had not considered that.
“If they find me guilty. As a duke I would be hanged by a silken rope, but a noose is still a noose.”
“But you are not guilty! Surely there must be some way to prove it. And if not—run, John. Run to America. Leave tonight.”
He gave her a tender smile. “And there she is, my fierce little warrior.” He bowed his head, brushing a kiss over first one of her hands, then the other. “I knew last night that if I told you the truth, you would want to join the fight.”
He was right. If they were together, she would have fought for him. With him.
As her anger faltered, she forced herself to think of the matter at hand. “Surely you are not just going to accept this. I respect your loyalty to the title, but if it is going to cost you your life—”
“It is not just about me, Genny. The Duke had two daughters, just children, and my cousin does not care what happens to them, only about how his connection to them can make him richer. He wants to arrange their marriages to men who will make their lives a nightmare. I cannot allow him to do that.”
“So you are coming forward for these children.”
“Correct.”
“Not for the title or the power it holds.”
“I was perfectly happy as a coachman. I do not need power.”
“But you will take it to avert disaster for His Grace’s daughters.”
“Yes.”
“This sounds like something from one of Sir Harry’s plays,” Genny said.
John laughed. “You are correct.” His expression softened, and he trailed his fingers along her cheek. “If things were different . . .” He stopped, dropped his hand.
She sighed, glancing down. The rosebud she had discarded lay bruised and beautiful on the stone path. “But things are not different. You have this duty to fulfill. The lives of children hanging in the balance. And even if you did not have those things . . .” She fell silent.
He waited, but she did not continue. “Genny? Even if I did not have those things . . . what?”
When she looked at him, she wished she could say the things he probably wanted to hear. But truth deserved truth. “It comes down to this. You were not honest with me about your true identity, nor last night about your feelings for me.”
“Genny, surely—”
She held up a hand, and he fell silent. “Please listen. I believe that you did what you did last night because you were trying to protect me from the unpleasantness that may await you. I understand that. But I would have appreciated being given a choice. I have already suffered the punishment for one man’s lies. I thought you at least would respect me enough to allow me to choose for myself.”
“Damn it, Genny, you would have stuck by me no matter what the cost. I could not let you do that. Not when everything points to Raventhorpe being Elizabeth’s killer.”
“Raventhorpe!”
“We were rivals. They were having an affair. The short version is, I am in no position to be anyone’s husband.”
“Well, you do not have to worry about any more marriage proposals from me, John,” she said, cold fury driving her words. “Because you have destroyed any trust we had between us by not telling me the truth when it mattered.”
He clenched his jaw, gave a short nod. “I understand. I wish things could be different. But with Raventhorpe involved and the uncertainty of the future—”
“We go our separate ways.”
Slowly, he nodded. “Perhaps it is better that way.”
“This is how it must be,” she whispered.
“This is how it must be,” he agreed.
They sat in silence for long moments, as if neither wanted to be the first to leave. Genny glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but he stared at the ground, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. He would not be returning to America now. No grand adventure awaited them. Only the unknown future.
A future apart.
“There you are!” Genny’s mother appeared on the garden path outside the clearing. She glanced from one to the other with a hint of concern, but her tone gave nothing away. “Genny, dear, your sister’s carriage is coming down the drive. Dolly wants us to meet the newlyweds in the foyer.”
“Of course.” Genny nodded. John got to his feet as she did.
“You should come too, Mr. Ready.” Her mother pursed her lips and gave John a hard look. “I am certain Samuel will want to speak with you.”
John nodded and gestured for Genny to precede him. “I would be honored to escort you both back to the house.”
“That would be lovely.” Helen waited until they reached the path, then, with a smooth move, her mother hooked one arm through John’s and the other through her daughter’s, inserting herself neatly between them. “How lovely to be a family again. I am very excited to see my daughter, Mr. Ready. My children are everything to me. You are aware of that, are you not?”
The implication was clear, but John met her mother’s gaze without flinching. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I am glad we understand each other. Come, my dears. I am anxious to see my Cilla again.”
The confrontation with John had left Genny on edge. She hoped that someday her feelings for him would lessen, perhaps become little more than a nostalgic memory. But she did not thin
k so. She did not believe she would ever be able to relegate him to the attic of her mind, though common sense dictated she should try and forget about him.
But she knew she would not. A woman did not forget a man with whom she had been intimate, much less the man to whom she had proposed marriage. Especially when her heart throbbed in time with his every breath.
As she, her mother and John joined the other guests in the foyer, she caught sight of Cilla. Her heart squeezed as she noticed the way the new bride’s face glowed with happiness. Perhaps now was the ideal time to set things to rights with her sister. The strain in their relationship had gone on too long.
And it would be nice to have someone to talk to again.
But was it too late to seek forgiveness? As she thought back to her behavior in the weeks before Cilla’s wedding, she wanted to cringe. Dear Lord, she had acted like a child, so angry at her older sister for eloping to America with her first husband that she had nursed the resentment like a flourishing poison. But now, as the newlyweds crowded into the foyer, she realized the true cause of her antagonism toward her sister. When Cilla had returned to England, widowed and independent, Genny had tried to tell herself that she was angry with Cilla for breaking tradition, for hurting their parents and causing some scandal. But now she could admit the truth to herself.
She felt as if Cilla had abandoned her.
Genny had been only fourteen, not even out of the schoolroom, when Cilla had eloped. But what if Cilla had never left? What if she had remained in London, married a suitable gentleman, and had been there for Genny when Bradley had arrived on the scene? Genny could never have confided her feelings about Bradley to her mother, but she would have felt comfortable telling Cilla. And maybe Cilla could have stopped the disaster before it happened.
But now she realized that, Cilla or not, things might still have gone the same way. Had anyone tried to tell her that Bradley was deceiving her, she never would have believed it. At the time her passion for Bradley had swamped her like an ocean tide, sweeping her along the path she had chosen to take. It was only her own frustration at having ruined her chances at a respectable marriage that prompted her outright rudeness in the presence of her sister. Somehow, it had seemed easier to blame Cilla for everything.
Too Wicked to Love Page 18
