THE EARL'S PREGNANT BRIDE (7 page)

Chapter Six

“I
was wondering...” He held her close. They had turned off the lights.

“Mmm?” She floated on a gentle sea of satisfaction.

“Would you like some kind of wedding trip?” He kissed the top of her head.

She pressed her lips to the hard curve of his shoulder. “Maybe, sometime...”

He stroked her hair. “That’s not very specific.”

“Honestly, for now, I would just like to stay here, at Hartmore, to settle in, work with Eloise in the gardens, spend time with my new husband...”

He guided her hair behind her ear. “Fair enough. But remember, if all this domesticity starts driving you out of your mind—”

“It won’t.”

“Fine, but if it does, let me know and we’ll plan a holiday somewhere.”

She put her hand against his cheek—on the safe side, the unscarred side. “I’ve been thinking about the West Wing roof.”

“How romantic.”

She kissed his square jaw. “Listen.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“None. I remember you told me a couple of years ago that you’d pushed Edward into commissioning a structural survey of the West Wing...”

“I did, yes.”

“Last year, you said the survey uncovered exactly what we’d expected. There’s extensive roof damage, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So, then. I think we need to move on that and have the roof replaced. I’m more than willing to see it paid for out of my inheritance.”

He made a sound that might have been a chuckle. “So you think you’ll make the West Wing roof your wedding gift to Hartmore?”

“That’s a perfect way to look at it, yes.”

“Very generous, but that won’t be necessary.”

“But Rafe, if we need the roof...”

“We do. And the repairs will begin in November, when we close the house to the public for the winter. The work is projected to take the whole winter. As it turns out, the survey revealed that the entire roof needs replacing—both wings and the central block. So we’ll be doing just that, with extensive structural and interior repairs required in the West Wing.”

“You’ve already arranged to replace the roof...the
entire
roof?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Rafe, I’m...”

“Speechless?” He was definitely teasing her. “That’s a first.” For that, she bit his shoulder. “Ouch!”

She kissed the spot she’d bitten. “I know how to be quiet when I should.”

“Of course you do.” He said it way too fast to be sincere and she was tempted to bite him again.

But she decided to be nice and let it go. “I admit I’m used to thinking of Hartmore as barely struggling along.” So few of the best country houses were privately owned anymore. They simply cost too much to run and keep in good condition. Most had been put under a trust or in the care of one historical society or another. And there were rules for historic buildings in England. Hartmore House was a Grade I listed building, a building of highest architectural and historic interest. That meant the new roof would be required to match the style and materials of the original as closely as possible, as would repairs inside. It all added up to enormous outlays of cash.

“We’re doing all right now,” he said.

“Yes, we are.” She stretched up to brush a kiss across his lips. “You will let me pitch in, though? The damage must be extensive.”

“It is, and we are dealing with it.”

She pushed up on her elbow and peered down at him through the shadows. “All the rooms with water damage are going to need attention. And we need to do something about the castle, too, before it all falls in on itself.”

“One thing at a time. But yes, you will be allowed to spend your money liberally.”

“And to be
involved,
to be included in the decision-making...”

“Yes.” He stroked her hair again. “Of course.”

Satisfied for the moment, she settled into his arms again. “It’s so strange. I knew you’d done well for yourself. And I promise I
was
paying attention in all those meetings with the lawyers last week....” She tried to think how to finish.

But then she didn’t need to finish, because he understood. “You always pictured yourself coming to Hartmore’s rescue, didn’t you?”

“That’s it. I would ride in on a white horse, brandishing a giant checkbook.”

“That was when you were going to marry Edward.” He said it evenly, without heat, it seemed to her. But she couldn’t see his expression in the dark.

She dared to take it further. “Not that he ever came close to asking me.”

“He would have asked you.” The words were flat, bleak. The conversation had veered very close to forbidden territory.

Still, she pushed for more. “How do you know that?”

“Gen. Please. We all knew it. Just as we all knew you couldn’t wait to say yes to him.”

Because I wanted Hartmore,
she thought, but didn’t quite have the courage—or the integrity—to say out loud. Dear God. No wonder Brooke hated her.

She was a princess by birth. An heiress with money to burn. She had it all, but she’d wanted more. She wanted to be countess of Hartmore, to be a DeValery in fact as well as in her heart. She would have married Edward simply to get what she wanted. Deep down, she’d always known that.

But until recently, she’d been able to tell herself pretty lies about it—that she loved Edward, that he was the man for her and she was only waiting for him to see that and take action.

The pretty lies weren’t working anymore.

Not since two months ago.

Not since the first time Rafe had kissed her in the foyer at Villa Santorno.

“Sleep now,” Rafe whispered.

Sleep. Yes. A good idea—much better than trying to talk about the difficult things.

Much better than facing too much painful truth.

* * *

The next day, Monday, the Bravo-Calabrettis departed. Genny’s mother and father went home to Montedoro. Rory was on her way to Colorado. Genny, Rafe and Eloise saw them off after breakfast.

Genny spent half the day in the West Wing, looking over the rooms with water damage, trying to get something of an idea of what would have to be done. Many of the damaged areas were former servants’ quarters. The servants’ quarters and hallways were plain, the walls of stone or sometimes wood. The repairs would be simpler in those rooms, but no less critical.

Later, Rafe took her to his study and showed her the plans for the new roof. It was a truly impressive undertaking.

First off, extensive scaffolding and a temporary roof would be built above the existing one, so that the repairs could go on regardless of winter weather. Included in the project was a complete redesign of the West Wing roof structure, necessary because of design errors in alterations made back in 1838. The new roof would have a hundred-year design life upon completion and would require fifty metric tons of new sandstone to match the old, degraded stone, and eighty metric tons of continuously cast lead roof coverings to replace large sections of defective slate slabs.

“It’s so exciting,” she said.

They stood over his desk. He snaked out an arm and hauled her in close. Desire, like a pulse, coursed through her as he pressed his lips to her hair. “Only you would find roof repair exciting.”

She thought of the things they’d done the night before. Of what they would do in the nights to come. Of how good his big body always felt when he was pressing it against her....

And then she made herself concentrate on the business at hand. “Hartmore will get what it needs, and I do find that exciting—and I’m going to want to go through all the furniture that’s been moved into storage. I want to hire the best people to put the rooms back together. It all has to be done right, you know.”

“Your eyes are shining.” He touched the side of her face.

She realized she was as happy as she’d ever been. And that turned everything around again. The joy and excitement vanished. She wanted to cry.

Rafe eased his hand around her neck, his warm fingers tender, insistent. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” He tucked her head beneath his chin.

She sucked in the wonderful, arousing scent of his skin. “It’s only hormones,” she lied.

“Shh.”

She lifted her head and looked up into his unforgettable ruined face. “Lately, you’re shushing me a lot.”

“Only because you need it.” He kissed the end of her nose.

“You don’t understand.”

“Maybe you should explain it to me.”

“Oh, Rafe. My sisters are all so brilliant and accomplished. They each make it a point to do good things in the world. Rory’s a successful photographer. Arabella is a nurse who travels the world raising money so that poverty-stricken children can get the medical care they so desperately need. Rhia oversees acquisitions and restorations at Montedoro’s National Museum. She finds great art and she
saves
great art. Alice is a genius breeder and trainer of the world’s finest horses. And I? I have no calling. I have no real
work.
Except this, what we’re doing now. To be...in your family.”

“It’s
your
family now.”

“I have a liberal-arts education. I studied a little bit of everything. English literature, botany. Landscape design, architecture, interior design—it was all for Hartmore, so I would know how to take charge when the time finally came.”

“Gen.” So patient, so kind. “I know all of this.”

“It’s everything, all I ever wanted. To take care of Hartmore, to provide Hartmore with an heir.”

“And look how quickly you’ve managed that.”

“Rafe. It’s not funny.”

He chided, “Don’t sulk.”

“I’m not—or at least, not exactly.”

“I can see I have no choice but to distract you.” He tipped up her chin with a finger. And then he lowered his mouth to hers.

It worked. For a lovely string of thrilling moments, she thought of nothing but the pleasure of being held by him, the heat and beauty in his kiss. When he finally lifted his head, he said, “All right. You were born for this. And now you are living the life you were born for. What’s wrong with that?”

She let out a small, bewildered laugh. “Well, nothing. When you put it that way.”

“What other way is there to put it? It’s the simple truth.”

“But not
all
the truth.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t borrow trouble, Gen.”

She knew he was right. And her mouth still tingled from the press of his lips. “I love it when you kiss me.”

“Good.” He traced a lazy finger down the side of her throat. Her eager flesh seemed to rise to meet his touch.

She’d had two lovers before him, because Edward had never got around to proposing and she had started to feel that no man would ever want her.

Two lovers before Rafe. Nice men, both of whom she remembered with a sort of vague fondness. They simply did not compare.

She went on, “When you kiss me, I...well, I just didn’t know, before you, what a kiss could be. What sex could do, that it could hollow me out and fill me up, both at the same time. That it could carry me away to a place where nothing else matters but to have you putting your hands on me, kissing me, doing all those things to me that you do so very well.” She stared up at him, a little embarrassed, certain she’d just given him way more information than he needed.

But he didn’t look uncomfortable with what she’d just said. On the contrary, his eyes had changed, gone darker, deeper. “Keep talking. We’ll be trying out my desk.”

Her breath got all tangled somewhere in the bottom of her throat. “Now, why does that sound like a really good idea?”

He turned for the door.

“Rafe, wait. What did I say? Where are you going?” He shut the door and turned the lock. “Oh!” she squeaked, finally putting it together. She watched him come back to her, all muscle and man, so tall, so broad. He hollowed her out, all right. And now he was going to fill her right up. “Ahem. Well. The desk it is, then.”

He closed the program with the roof plans and put his laptop on a guest chair, the mouse on top. Then, with one broad sweep of his arm, he cleared the wide, inlaid desk of everything else. Pens, a paperweight, the desk pad, a stack of books, they all went flying.

“Oh, my...” she whispered, wide-eyed.

And then he grabbed her hand and yanked her close. “You shouldn’t talk like that unless you’re looking for action.”

She licked her lips. Like a tiger scoping out the slowest gazelle, he watched her do it. “I, well, yes. I think that I actually am, er, looking for action.”

He smiled then. Or something close to it. And then he dipped his head and claimed her lips.

Not two minutes later, she was naked on the desk. He’d peeled all her clothes off in record time. Most of his were still on. She kept thinking she wanted them off him.

But then he unzipped his trousers and positioned her just so at the edge of the desk. She stared up into his black, black eyes.

And everything flew away but the wonder of him touching her, caressing her, filling her in one long, slow, deep glide. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around him and let him sweep her away to that place where there was nothing but the two of them and the sweet, mindless pulse of pleasure beating between them.

* * *

In the week that followed, the scandal sheets and royal-watching bloggers got hold of their story. Their pictures were all over the internet. The headlines were silly, as always: The Earl’s Princess Bride, Princess Genevra Takes an Earl, Princess Genny’s Hasty Wedding.

Rafe grumbled about the invasion of their privacy.

Genny told him to be grateful she was so far down the tabloid food chain. Her older brothers couldn’t go anywhere without some paparazzo popping up, snapping pictures frantically and shouting rude personal questions.

“That’s just so wrong in so many ways,” he said.

And she replied, “Maybe so. But it’s a fact of life if you’re a prince of Montedoro.”

During that week, they moved forward with their plans to repair the West Wing interiors. Rafe commissioned structural surveys of Hartmore Castle and the stables, as well. Genny toured the gardens with Eloise. They discussed enlarging the range of income-generating events at Hartmore. Within the next few years, they wanted to add a Medieval Faire in the late spring and an annual Christmas at Hartmore celebration.