Summer's Bride. Catherine Archer

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      Marcel was at first only distantly aware of a strangled gasp that came from neither himself nor the woman in his arms. Breathing heavily, he pushed back and looked in the direction of the sound.

      Lily stood in the entrance to the chamber, her fingers covering her mouth in obvious surprise, but he could see no hint of condemnation in those gray eyes.

      As her gaze met his, she spoke hastily. “I…forgive me.”

      Marcel felt Genevieve start and he reacted instinctively, pressing her face protectively against his chest as Lily went on, her expression seeming to display approval. “I did not know that you were…I thought Genevieve was alone. I will speak with her on the morrow.”

      With that, Lily was gone.

      That approval made Marcel realize just how wrong he was in what he was doing. He had no right to hold this woman, kiss her, and lead others to believe that he had feelings for her. Not only did his life at sea lie as a barrier between them but there was also her future marriage to Beecham to consider. He took a deep breath, concentrating on easing the erratic beating of his blood, calming the fierce need in his belly.

      Finally Marcel let his arms fall away from Genevieve’s and stepped back. Dear God, what had he done?

      He could not meet the probing weight of her gaze, as he spoke. “Forgive me, Genevieve. I…” There was nothing he could say that would not make things worse. His assurances that he felt nothing for her that was not brotherly seemed very foolish now.

      He squared his shoulders and went to the door. He paused only briefly when he heard her plaintive cry of “Marcel!”

      “There is nothing to say, Genevieve. I am very sorry.”

      He was more sorry than he could ever say. Sorry that no matter what his resolutions now and the last time he had been with Genevieve, he still had no power to resist his attraction to her.

      It was best that he was leaving in the morning. Not only for himself, but for both of them.

      He could only pray that time and her marriage would eradicate the wildly confused feelings that existed between them, for he had no wish to hurt her. The sorrow in her voice as she had spoken his name could not be missed.

      Though he felt a tug to return to her, he would not allow himself to do that. He would go back to the sea, to the life he had made for himself, where he was sure of what he wanted and why.

      Genevieve could only stand there staring at the closed door in stunned silence, her heart beating so fiercely and painfully that it felt as if it might surely break through the wall of her chest.

      Why had Lily come?

      The thought was immediately followed by a horrified thanks to God she had done so, for if she had not…Genevieve was afraid to even contemplate what might have occurred. She had been past reason and sanity, aware of nothing save the way it felt to be kissed and held in Marcel’s strong arms—save her own desire for him.

      Surely he felt something, too.

      Yet his distress at Lily’s having seen them together was more than evident.

      Genevieve put her hands to her head, her headdress falling unheeded to the floor as she ran her fingers through her too heavy hair. She gained no relief from her anguish, only a horrifying certainty that her feelings for Marcel were stronger than they had ever been.

      Stronger, the word was such an understatement. Heaven help her, she loved him. All these long months when she had tried to convince herself she did not care for him in that way had been nothing more than a lie. A lie to hide the truth of her own feelings from herself, for surely she had loved him all along.

      Marcel’s reaction to her told her that he was not immune to her, no matter how he might wish otherwise. Even she, as innocent as she was of such matters, knew that his kisses had been far from indifferent or even brotherly.

      Why should this displease him so? Whatever could make him wish to deny the depth of passion and sense of deep connection that had overtaken them?

      They were surely the same unknown reasons that had made him leave Brackenmoore two long years ago.

      If he would only talk with her she was sure his reservations could be overcome. Surely her love for him would be enough to turn his passion to true caring. The problem lay in the fact that he would have to be convinced to tell her what was troubling him, why he was holding back from her. His departure in the morning would severely limit any opportunities for them to speak.

      Who knew how long Marcel would remain gone this time?

      If they were apart, she could have no opportunity to overcome his unexplained reticence, make him see that with her love as a basis their feelings could grow. There was no conceivable way for a man to kiss a woman the way he had Genevieve lest he have some feeling for her.

      Suddenly Genevieve knew what she had to do. She could not allow Marcel to walk out of her life again.

      She would simply have to go to West Port, board the Briarwind and go to Scotland with him. Then she would have an opportunity to convince him that they belonged together. How she would manage this feat would take some contemplation, but Genevieve was not afraid of either planning or executing the deed.

      She had escaped from the unwanted advances of her cousin Maxim Harcourt by running from Treanly in the dead of night, when she was barely more than a child. She would find a way to get to West Port and board that ship.

      Her love for him would be her guide.

      A few hours later, Genevieve wrapped her hair tightly in a wide strip of fine cloth and tucked it into a floppy velvet cap of William’s. As she stepped into the other garments she had taken from William’s chamber, Genevieve knew a moment of regret. She did not care for the idea that she had taken his clothing without permission, but she dared not bring him into her confidence. She was very sure that he would only tell his sister Raine, and Raine would certainly stop her.

      It seemed like a sign of some sort that neither William nor Kendran had been in their rooms. Maeve had informed her that both of them were in the hall with the others, visiting with Marcel.

      Maeve’s expression had plainly shown her surprise that Genevieve was not there with them. It was to her credit that the head woman had held her tongue concerning the subject. A most unusual restraint.

      Surely these occurrences were a portent of the fact that she was doing the right thing. All would be absolved when she and Marcel returned together.

      Her feelings for Marcel were the only thing that mattered. The members of this family knew well that in the name of love one must ofttimes overcome difficulty and sometimes even behave in ways that one never would in other circumstances.

      Of all those involved, she was most concerned about the reaction of Marcel himself. She was well aware that he would be angry when he saw her. Of that she had no doubt, but she meant to hide her presence until they were well at sea and hopefully give them an opportunity to talk before he could return her home. Surely he would forgive her once he had seen the truth, that they must be together. He would realize that the two of them must be together, marry and have children, who would grow to adulthood in this wonderful loving family.

      Her heart swelled at the very thought. СКАЧАТЬ