The Earl's Pregnant Bride. Christine Rimmer
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“Leave it alone.”
“No. No, I’m not going to do that. I know what happened that night, the facts of the situation. Eloise told me. She said that you were driving home from a party at Fiona’s.” Fiona Bryce-Pemberton was a longtime friend of Brooke’s; they’d met as children, Brooke and Fiona, at St Anselm’s prep school in nearby Bakewell. At the age of nineteen, Fiona had married a wealthy banker. The banker had bought her Tillworth, a country house not far from Hartmore. “I know that it was two in the morning and Edward was driving. Brooke had stayed the night at Fiona’s. There was only you and Edward in the car when he drove off the road and into an oak tree. Eloise said that the investigation absolved you of any wrongdoing, that it was simply an accident, one of those terrible things that can happen now and then.”
Rafe lay very still. At first. And then, with slow, deliberate care, he eased away from her. They still lay side by side, but their bodies were no longer touching. “So, then. You know what happened. There’s nothing to talk about.”
She sat up, switched on the lamp by her side of the bed and turned back to look in his hooded black eyes. “There’s everything to talk about. There’s how you feel about what happened. How you’re...holding up. And there’s the question of why you won’t let a good plastic surgeon have a look at that scar.”
His eyes flashed dark fire. “I feel like bloody hell about what happened, thank you. I’m in one piece, in good health and I’m now the earl of Hartmore, so I would say that I’m holding up just fine. As to my face, it may not be pretty, but I really don’t give a damn. If you don’t want to look at me, then simply look away.”
“Oh, Rafe, that’s not fair. You can’t just—”
He cut her off by reaching for her, yanking her close and smashing his lips down on hers in a hard, angry kiss.
She shoved at his shoulders until he let her go. “What is the matter with you?”
“Leave. It. Alone.” Each word came out as hard and cold as a stone.
Her lips still tingled from the force of his kiss. She pressed her fingertips to them, soothing them. “This isn’t like you.”
“I mean it, Gen. Edward is dead. There’s nothing more to say on the subject.”
“Of course there is. There’s everything to say. I know you loved him, as he loved you. I know it has to be killing you, that he’s gone, that—”
“Enough.” He threw back the covers and got up. “Good night.” And then he left her, just like that.
She watched him stride through the door that led to the other bedroom, pausing only to close it behind him so carefully, hardly making a sound.
She longed to jump up and go after him.
But no.
She’d tried. It hadn’t gone well. She needed to let it be, at least for now. She settled back against the pillows, sliding her hand under the blankets, resting her palm on her belly where their baby slept.
It will get better.
They would somehow work through all the awfulness. Somehow they would find each other, as friends. As lovers. As husband and wife.
She absolutely refused to admit that she might have made a terrible mistake, that she’d married a man she no longer even knew.
* * *
It was after three in the morning when she finally fell into a fitful sleep.
She woke at a little past nine, feeling exhausted, as though she hadn’t slept at all. But she couldn’t stay in bed forever. So she rose and showered and dressed and resisted the temptation to check the other bedroom.
Finally, at the very last minute, before she went down to breakfast, she went to the door of the other bedroom and gave it a tap.
Nothing.
She knocked again. When he still didn’t answer, she went ahead and pushed it open. He’d already gone. No one had made the bed yet; the sheets were in tangles. She couldn’t help taking selfish satisfaction from the evidence that he hadn’t slept all that well, either.
Out in the hallway, her bodyguard, Caesar, was waiting. He followed her to the Morning Room, positioning himself just outside the door, ready in case she might need protecting.
Which she did not. But after her brother Alex’s kidnapping and four-year captivity in Afghanistan, everyone in the family had security whenever they traveled outside the principality.
Her marriage to Rafe changed that. Now she was part of Rafe’s family and as such allowed to choose whether she still wanted security or not. She chose not. Caesar would be going home with her parents. Nothing against him. He was quiet and unobtrusive and easy to have around. But she looked forward to getting along without a soldier following her everywhere.
In the Morning Room, the staff kept a buffet breakfast on the sideboard until eleven. The room was empty, the table set, the silver chafing dishes lined up and waiting.
Her stomach felt a bit queasy. Pregnancy and a wedding-night argument were not a good combination. She took toast and apple juice and sat at the table.
Rory came in as she debated whether or not to try the raspberry jam. “Any news?”
Genny glanced up from the jam pot. “News about what?”
Rory got some coffee and took the seat next to Genny. “No one told you?”
“Apparently not. What are you talking about?”
Rory set down her china cup without taking a sip. “Geoffrey’s disappeared. Brooke went to his room at eight to get him ready for the drive up to London. He wasn’t there. He’d left a note on his pillow saying he hated school and was running away and never coming back.”
Genny’s stomach lurched. “Geoffrey...ran away?”
Rory nodded. “Rafe, Eloise, two of the gardeners and a stable hand are out beating the bushes looking for him. I offered to help, but Eloise turned me down. She said maybe later, if they don’t find him in any of his favorite places.”
“What about Brooke? And Mother and Father?”
“Brooke’s in her rooms having her nineteenth nervous breakdown. Mother and Father are out on the terrace, waiting for Rafe or one of the others to come back—hopefully, with Geoffrey in tow.”
Genny pushed back her chair. “Where did they go to look for him?”
“They mentioned the lake trail and the boat jetty, the walled garden...a couple of other places, I think.”
“What about the castle?” Built in the thirteenth century, Hartmore Castle was now a roofless ruin. She and Geoffrey had spent an afternoon exploring there last summer.
“No,” said Rory. “I don’t think the castle made the list—and where are you going?”
Genny was halfway to the door. “To check the castle.”
“I’ll come!”
“No, stay here. I’ll be fine....”
Rory grumbled that she hated getting stuck at the house, but Genny hardly heard her. Caesar left Rory’s bodyguard by the door and fell in behind her as she ran to her room to change into a pair of jeans and some trainers. She left the house from a side door and took off on foot across open parkland in the quickest, most direct route to the castle. Caesar followed close behind.
She felt terrible about Geoffrey. She’d promised herself she’d make time for him yesterday. But in the last rush to get ready for the wedding, she’d never quite managed it. If she found him at the castle, they’d have a few minutes