Summer's Bride

He saw color stain her cheeks as she realized just what he was saying. “They would not dare.”

“No,” he informed her immediately. “They would not dare. But I prefer not to be forced to confront the matter. I have enough to occupy my mind.”

He was moved by the relief she tried to hide. He was aware of the fact that Maxim Harcourt had tried to force himself upon her when she was in his care, though she had refused to reveal any details of that ordeal. He had no wish for her to fear being in such a position again and was, in fact, sickened by the very idea that she would feel such anxiety.

But he did not wish her to know the degree of his reaction. Quickly he turned to Constanza. “Genevieve will stay with you in the cabin this day and share the bed with you each night. I cannot have her sleeping out on deck.”

Genevieve spoke up hurriedly. “I could not—”

His brows arched. “You certainly could and you will. It was your decision to come aboard, Genevieve. You will simply have to accept the consequences of that.” He looked at her for a long moment and saw the displeasure on her face. “Unless, of course, you do prefer to sleep on deck.”

She scowled at him fiercely. “Nay, how could I possibly prefer that? But—”

“Then it is done.” He moved to the table where he had been going over his charts when Charley first pounded on the door—before his life had exploded in chaos with the arrival of the very woman he so desperately wished to put from his mind.

He could feel the seething anger of Genevieve at this very moment, but he did not acknowledge it. He must show an appearance of indifference no matter how difficult it might be. She must return home and marry Roderick Beecham, leaving him to the life he had worked so hard to make his own.

He was glad that he had already folded his own blanket and tucked it in the chest beneath his padded bench. There was no sign that he had not spent the night in the bed with Constanza.

His regretful gaze went to Constanza’s unhappy face. Again he resolved to explain his reasons for putting her in such an awkward position as soon as possible.

Now he had to go out and secure his ship against the storm that had begun to rage as loudly as the one in his heart.

Chapter Four

As she watched the other woman disappear behind the screen, Genevieve felt her stomach churn with rage toward Marcel. What madness had ever possessed her to believe he wanted her, that he was anything other than a black-hearted knave?

She recalled her first sight of him in the great hall at Brackenmoore the previous day—thinking that he had changed. He had indeed changed, and more than she had imagined. The Marcel she had known would never kiss her as he had when he was in love with another woman. For surely he was in love with Constanza.

He had her near him. Poor Constanza, Genevieve could not even look at her as she came from behind the screen, now garbed in a heavy velvet gown. Marcel had betrayed her as surely as he had betrayed Genevieve.

For was that not what he had done by kissing her, touching her the way he had? And she, fool that she was, had cared for nothing but the feelings that were racing through her own body. She had been able to think of nothing beyond the mad thought that her physical reactions meant she was in love with him.

Her miserable gaze flicked back to Constanza. She had not known that he was bound to another.

The other woman was watching her closely and Genevieve could not hold that gaze, for fear of the woman’s reading all that had passed between her and Marcel. She suspected that Constanza knew more of the truth of the situation than she had been told.

Loving Marcel as she must, Constanza would surely feel that something was wrong between Marcel and Genevieve. Loving him as she did, and feeling that he loved her in return.

Genevieve’s heart twisted in her chest at the thought of their feelings for each other. Again she told herself that she was a fool, a poor mad fool. It did her no good to pine for a man who loved another, who had not had the decency to make his position clear before kissing her.

Hopelessly she moved to stare out the portal.

The other woman’s gentle voice interrupted her tortured thoughts. “You must be tired and hungry. Sit and I will get us some food, por favor.”

Genevieve spun around to look at her, knowing that her surprise must be obvious. “You are concerned for my comfort?”

The other woman’s brown eyes measured her with a surprising depth of kindness. “Of course. You have been through much.”

Genevieve looked away. She did not know what to say, could not even understand her own tumultuous emotions. She went to the long bench beside the table and sat down, drawing her knees up to hold them tightly against her.

Misery gripped her, making her throat tight and her chest ache. She was determined not to cry. Not in front of Marcel’s woman.

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