The Earl's Pregnant Bride

Her lips still tingled from the force of his kiss. She pressed her fingertips to them, soothing them. “This isn’t like you.”

“I mean it, Gen. Edward is dead. There’s nothing more to say on the subject.”

“Of course there is. There’s everything to say. I know you loved him, as he loved you. I know it has to be killing you, that he’s gone, that—”

“Enough.” He threw back the covers and got up. “Good night.” And then he left her, just like that.

She watched him stride through the door that led to the other bedroom, pausing only to close it behind him so carefully, hardly making a sound.

She longed to jump up and go after him.

But no.

She’d tried. It hadn’t gone well. She needed to let it be, at least for now. She settled back against the pillows, sliding her hand under the blankets, resting her palm on her belly where their baby slept.

It will get better.

They would somehow work through all the awfulness. Somehow they would find each other, as friends. As lovers. As husband and wife.

She absolutely refused to admit that she might have made a terrible mistake, that she’d married a man she no longer even knew.

* * *

It was after three in the morning when she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

She woke at a little past nine, feeling exhausted, as though she hadn’t slept at all. But she couldn’t stay in bed forever. So she rose and showered and dressed and resisted the temptation to check the other bedroom.

Finally, at the very last minute, before she went down to breakfast, she went to the door of the other bedroom and gave it a tap.

Nothing.

She knocked again. When he still didn’t answer, she went ahead and pushed it open. He’d already gone. No one had made the bed yet; the sheets were in tangles. She couldn’t help taking selfish satisfaction from the evidence that he hadn’t slept all that well, either.

Out in the hallway, her bodyguard, Caesar, was waiting. He followed her to the Morning Room, positioning himself just outside the door, ready in case she might need protecting.

Which she did not. But after her brother Alex’s kidnapping and four-year captivity in Afghanistan, everyone in the family had security whenever they traveled outside the principality.

Her marriage to Rafe changed that. Now she was part of Rafe’s family and as such allowed to choose whether she still wanted security or not. She chose not. Caesar would be going home with her parents. Nothing against him. He was quiet and unobtrusive and easy to have around. But she looked forward to getting along without a soldier following her everywhere.

In the Morning Room, the staff kept a buffet breakfast on the sideboard until eleven. The room was empty, the table set, the silver chafing dishes lined up and waiting.

Her stomach felt a bit queasy. Pregnancy and a wedding-night argument were not a good combination. She took toast and apple juice and sat at the table.

Rory came in as she debated whether or not to try the raspberry jam. “Any news?”

Genny glanced up from the jam pot. “News about what?”

Rory got some coffee and took the seat next to Genny. “No one told you?”

“Apparently not. What are you talking about?”

Rory set down her china cup without taking a sip. “Geoffrey’s disappeared. Brooke went to his room at eight to get him ready for the drive up to London. He wasn’t there. He’d left a note on his pillow saying he hated school and was running away and never coming back.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_5a765615-0c35-5ee1-af50-e2bbc194f14d)

Genny’s stomach lurched. “Geoffrey...ran away?”

Rory nodded. “Rafe, Eloise, two of the gardeners and a stable hand are out beating the bushes looking for him. I offered to help, but Eloise turned me down. She said maybe later, if they don’t find him in any of his favorite places.”

“What about Brooke? And Mother and Father?”

“Brooke’s in her rooms having her nineteenth nervous breakdown. Mother and Father are out on the terrace, waiting for Rafe or one of the others to come back—hopefully, with Geoffrey in tow.”

Genny pushed back her chair. “Where did they go to look for him?”

“They mentioned the lake trail and the boat jetty, the walled garden...a couple of other places, I think.”

“What about the castle?” Built in the thirteenth century, Hartmore Castle was now a roofless ruin. She and Geoffrey had spent an afternoon exploring there last summer.

“No,” said Rory. “I don’t think the castle made the list—and where are you going?”

Genny was halfway to the door. “To check the castle.”

“I’ll come!”

“No, stay here. I’ll be fine....”

Rory grumbled that she hated getting stuck at the house, but Genny hardly heard her. Caesar left Rory’s bodyguard by the door and fell in behind her as she ran to her room to change into a pair of jeans and some trainers. She left the house from a side door and took off on foot across open parkland in the quickest, most direct route to the castle. Caesar followed close behind.

She felt terrible about Geoffrey. She’d promised herself she’d make time for him yesterday. But in the last rush to get ready for the wedding, she’d never quite managed it. If she found him at the castle, they’d have a few minutes together. She could apologize for yesterday. And she could try to make him see that running away solved nothing. With a little coaxing, she hoped she could get him to return to school voluntarily.

On foot, at a steady clip, it was a good half hour to the ruins, past Saint Ann’s, through the old cemetery, onto a public footpath that once was a turnpike road. The path cut through the former pleasure grounds of the estate, from back before the construction of Hartmore House, when the DeValerys lived at Hartmore Hall, long since demolished. From the path, she crossed the deer park, and from there she took a heavily wooded trail that wound in upon itself, with the ruined castle at the center.

Before she rounded that last curve in the circular track, she turned to her bodyguard. “I’m hoping Geoffrey is at the castle and I want to speak with him alone. Will you stay out of sight unless I call for you?”

“Of course, ma’am.” The bodyguard stepped off the path and into the trees, vanishing almost instantly from her sight.

She turned again for the castle, emerging a few minutes later into the open space where the crenellated ruin loomed against the sky. The stone hall and courtyard fortress were beautiful in their stark, gray, weather-beaten way. The tower still stood, though the lower wing had been plundered over the centuries to get stone for other buildings. The empty rectangular windows and door arches gaped like dark unseeing eyes.

Genny opened her mouth to call for Geoffrey, and then shut it without a sound. Even on a sunny, almost-June morning, the place had a haunted, otherworldly feel about it. She didn’t want to scare him off.

And surely he wouldn’t go inside. He’d been warned, and sternly, that it wasn’t safe in there. More stones could topple at any time.

The castle was built into the side of a hill. She circled the structure, climbing the steep east slope, crossing around behind it on the tower side, keeping her eye out for Geoffrey along the way.

She found him as she started down the west slope. He was huddled against the outer wall of the castle, his legs drawn up, thin arms wrapped around his knees. He looked unhappy, but unharmed.

Relief, like cool water on a sweltering day, poured through her. “Hello, Geoffrey.”