The Welshman's Bride. Margaret Moore
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baron’s remark, although grimly said, made Dylan relax a little more. “I honestly have no idea how she came to be in my bed, naked or otherwise.”
“That is what I find most surprising of all. Is it possible you could have brought her here without remembering? Were you drunk last night?”
“I had some wine and ale, and I was very tired. But I’m certain I would have remembered making love.”
Indeed, as he recalled the perfect pale flesh of Genevieve’s shoulders and the pretty tumble of her blond hair, he knew he would have remembered. “She must have come into my bed after I was asleep.”
“I suppose that might be possible,” the baron replied with a dubious expression. “How do you explain the blood on the sheets?”
“I don’t. I can’t—because I don’t know how it came to be there. Maybe I’ve got a cut someplace and it bled.”
“That’s possible. Did you look?”
“Not yet.”
“Lord Perronet will no doubt want to see such a cut, if it exists.”
Dylan regarded the baron steadily. “There was no need for him to try to kill me, or to manhandle Genevieve that way.”
“Put yourself in his place, Dylan. He manages to get her betrothed to one of the most powerful men in the north of England, and then he finds her in your bed.”
“I didn’t—”
The baron nodded patiently. “I believe you. But he may not. He hardly knows you.”
“He seems to know of me, or at least my family,” Dylan replied dourly.
“Your grandfather was well-known, and your father had a certain...”
“Infamy,” Dylan provided.
“Yes. So you see, he knows no good of your family. When he saw her in that bed, the poor fellow must have nearly died of shock. God’s wounds, I almost did myself when I got here.”
“How did he come to find us together?” Dylan asked suspiciously. “Who told him Genevieve was with me?”
“I don’t think anybody did. It was rather obvious last night that she could hardly keep her eyes off you.”
“I gave her no encouragement last night. I didn’t dance with her, or even say a word.”
“Perhaps not, but if a man finds a girl missing, and that girl is clearly attracted to a personable young man, his thoughts might tend to certain conclusions.”
Dylan sighed heavily as he ran his hand through his thick hair. “That’s why I tried to ignore her last night.”
“Regrettably, your actions did not have the effect you intended.”
The baron leaned toward him. “What happened between you before last night, Dylan? It’s clear she thought if the betrothal was broken, you would wed her. Did you give her cause to think you wanted to marry her if she was free?”
Dylan smote his forehead. “God’s holy heart, that’s why she did it—to break the betrothal!”
“Obviously. Did you tell her that?”
“Anwyl, no! I said I would be sorry to see her leave or some such thing.”
“What else?”
“Nothing else!”
“What else did you do?”
“I...there may have been some kissing,” he muttered, looking at his feet.
“Kissing?”
“Passionate kissing,” he confessed.
“Just kissing?”
“A little more.”
“What ‘little more’?”
Frustrated, Dylan raised his eyes and regarded the baron resolutely. “You’re a man. You can guess. But I never made love to her, or even got close to it.”
“Dylan,” the baron began not unkindly, “do you never stop to think? Lady Genevieve has been with Lady Katherine DuMonde the past eight years. I doubt she’s even talked to many men that whole time. Now she’s traveling to be married to a man she’s never seen, and who she knows is not young. They stop here, and who does she meet but you?
“I won’t be telling you anything you don’t already know when I say you’re as handsome a young man as she’s ever likely to meet, and—” he grinned for an instant “—you’ve got a merry devilry that reminds me of myself at your age, so I know how attractive that quality can be.
“I do not doubt that you’ve grievously underestimated the effect you had on her,” he continued, serious again. “She thought you liked her more than you intended, and saw a way to get out of a marriage she didn’t want.”
“I suppose I should have listened to Griffydd,” Dylan muttered.
“What does Griffydd have to do with this?”
Dylan shrugged. “He tried to warn me, but I...”
“Yes, you should have paid attention,” the baron replied. “But that is past. The question before us now is, what can we say to assuage her uncle?”
“I won’t be forced to marry her just to save her honor, which she compromised,” Dylan warned.
“You know I am not a proponent of forced marriages, for any reason,” the baron replied. “We must think of a way to let the marriage to Lord Kirkheathe proceed as planned.”
As the baron regarded the silent young man he had known from his birth, his brow furrowed with concern. “You do want the marriage to Kirkheathe to proceed?”
Dylan shrugged again. “Naturally. But after all the racket Lord Perronet made, her reputation may already be too seriously ruined. Kirkheathe might spurn her.”
“That is true.” The baron sighed.
“Unless I can convince Lord Perronet that I did not make love to his niece and so there is no reason she cannot marry Kirkheathe.”
“You will convince him?”
Feeling a certain amount of guilt over what he had done with Genevieve, he nodded. “I will try.”
“So there is no reason at all she cannot marry Kirkheathe?”
Dylan rose and faced his foster father. “If there is, it is only in her own mind.”
“Or heart, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed after a short silence.
“Well, then,” the baron said, rising. “I suggest you waste no time. The longer Lord Perronet is on the rampage, the worse the damage to Lady Genevieve’s reputation will be.”
Dylan nodded and turned to go.
Before he could leave, the baron reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “She seems a sweet girl, if misguided. Do not fault her too much for her foolishness.”
Dylan smiled his irrepressible smile. “Because she claims to be in love with me, I will be chivalry itself when I talk to her.”
Then a scowl replaced the smile as he strode from the room.
“As for her uncle, I can make no such promises.”
Having hastily dressed in a gown of what she considered a most appropriate black, Genevieve sat staring at her hands folded on her lap. Her uncle was going to be here at any moment, and she was doing her best to compose herself.
It was not easy. Indeed, if someone were to offer her a means of being spirited out of Craig Fawr to the farthest reaches of Europe, she would consider