The Welshman's Bride. Margaret Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ vibrant green eyes onto Genevieve, eyes that seemed to demand truthfulness. “So, you are going to marry my nephew, not Lord Kirkheathe.”

      “I have been told I must,” Genevieve replied, and not without a hint of bitterness.

      “You do not sound pleased.”

      Genevieve didn’t answer. She couldn’t, not with Lady Roanna’s steadfast gaze on her.

      “I gather your uncle has good reason for demanding this change.”

      “I was in your nephew’s bed.”

      Lady Roanna’s expression altered ever so slightly and in a manner that made Genevieve flush. “Dylan denies seducing you.”

      All Genevieve could do was stare at the floor and blush like a child caught in an outrageous lie.

      “Did he seduce you?” Lady Roanna asked gently.

      Compelled by the older woman’s sympathy, Genevieve raised her eyes and shook her head. “No, my lady. And so I told my uncle.”

      Lady Roanna smiled a little. “I see. I gather this was a plan on your part to avoid marriage to Lord Kirkheathe?”

      Genevieve felt her eyes welling with hot tears as she nodded. Suddenly, she felt silly and stupid and ashamed.

      “Then I would say you have succeeded admirably. But tell me, were you not consulted about the betrothal to Lord Kirkheathe? Did you not agree?”

      “No, my lady. That is,” Genevieve amended, “I did not openly disagree. I thought I had no other choice, until I met Dylan.” Her voice quivered. “I suppose you think I have behaved disgracefully.”

      The older woman reached out and pressed her hand warmly. “I think you have acted like a desperate young woman who believes herself in love. However, I must say I am surprised you are not happier at the prospect of marrying my nephew, since you must have suspected this would be the ultimate result of your scheme. Perhaps you have heard things about his family that have upset you?”

      Although they had not been uppermost in her mind, Genevieve remembered the epithets her uncle had hurled at Dylan and his hostile reaction. “I know my uncle thinks very poorly of his father and grandfather, but I do not know why.”

      Lady Roanna sighed deeply. “Dylan’s father and grandfather were selfish, cruel, vindictive men who craved power. They did terrible things trying to attain it. Thankfully Dylan is not like them.”

      “My uncle called him a bastard.”

      “He is. His mother was a servant girl at Beaufort.”

      Genevieve frowned, confused. “Yet he has inherited that estate?”

      “Yes.” Lady Roanna made a wry little smile. “The Welsh are not as concerned with legitimacy, and it is a good thing, too, or my husband would not be lord of Craig Fawr. He is a bastard, too.”

      “Oh, my lady, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

      “There is no need to apologize. I just thought you might hold Dylan’s birth against him.”

      “No, that is not what I hold against him,” she replied.

      She mustered her pride. “I was most unhappily misled, my lady. I thought he loved me.”

      “Why?”

      Genevieve was not quite prepared for the blunt question, but if Lady Roanna wanted to know, she would tell her. “He was very kind and pleasant, and flattering. No man has ever looked at me as he did. And then he kissed me, more than once, with great passion. And when he said farewell...”

      Her words trailed off into an awkward silence, for if she said more, she would perhaps reveal too much of her own wounded feelings, and that her pride would not allow.

      “I understand he never told you that he loved you and wanted to marry you.”

      “No, my lady. But his embraces were...they gave me some cause to think he cared for me.”

      “Dylan is a passionate man,” Lady Roanna observed. “He sometimes acts without much thought.”

      “Did he agree to marry me because my uncle forced him?” Genevieve demanded suspiciously.

      Lady Roanna smiled. “If I did not know Dylan better, my dear,” she admitted, “I might think that But I do know him. No one could force him to do such a thing.”

      “Then why did he change his mind and say he would marry me?”

      “I honestly don’t know,” Lady Roanna replied. “But he does seem very determined to do it.” She leaned forward, her gaze searching Genevieve’s face. “What I must know is, do you want to be his wife? If you do not, tell me. Neither my husband nor I believe in forced marriages.”

      A strange look crossed Lady Roanna’s face. “For very good reasons. So, if you would rather not marry Dylan, just say so and it will not be.”

      “My uncle threatens to send me away to a remote convent if I do not,” Genevieve replied warily.

      “We would convince him otherwise.”

      Despite Lady Roanna’s calm conviction, Genevieve found it difficult to believe they would be able to change her stubborn uncle’s mind.

      So now it was up to her to decide: marry Dylan DeLanyea, who only hours ago had made it very clear that he did not want her for his wife.

      Or be sent to a convent, forever unmarried and childless.

      Chapter Four

      

      

      Somewhere in the dim recesses of Dylan’s mind, he had always known he would marry one day. He had, however, envisioned doing so under distinctly different circumstances.

      Whenever he had taken a moment to contemplate his future spouse, for example, he had pictured a spirited Welsh woman of voluptuous build who would understand about his children and the women who had borne them.

      He had certainly never imagined himself married to a pale, blond girl-woman of Norman blood, especially one who had tricked her way into his bed, he reflected as he stood in the hall with his relatives, along with the baron’s assembled guests and the castle servants.

      They were all awaiting the arrival of his bride and the blessing of a priest hastily summoned.

      He had also naturally assumed he would be passionately in love with his bride, a passion beyond anything he had ever felt for the many and various women who had already shared his affection and his bed.

      Genevieve Perronet was attractive, of course, and she had been arousing—but he did not love her. Anwyl, he hardly knew her.

      And therein, of course, lay the biggest problem. Angry and frustrated, he had proposed a marriage with scarcely a thought of the bride-to-be, his primary motive being to annoy СКАЧАТЬ