Genevieve took one look at Cortland and she knew he must have had an altercation with his mother. She had never saw anyone look as though they could commit murder—until now. Although she was still upset about finding the WD ring, she pushed that aside for now.
“Cortland?”
He pinned her with a dark glare. “What did she say to you?”
She was taken aback by his open hostility. She had never known her husband to look as though he could strike out at her, but she also knew that he wouldn’t act on the impulse. She took a deep breath. “She demanded her allowance to be doubled and said I should regret it if I didn’t convince you to do so. I told her she would have to speak with you.” She decided not to anger him further by their full conversation. In truth, she would rather have forgotten that conversation had even occurred.
Some of the stiffness eased from his shoulders, but his frown was still present. “I need a drink,” he grumbled, and then headed for the library.
Genevieve followed at a more sedate pace. She could tell his mother was a sore subject with him, but something told her that speaking about her was the only way he might be able to heal and move past his wounds.
She gently shut the door behind them. It would be best if the servants didn’t overhear their conversation, because hopefully, it would cause her husband to speak more openly.
“Cortland?” she spoke gently, and slowly moved closer to him, but not to the point she would anger him even further. She had to be delicate, like soothing a spooked horse.
He had his back to her, but she heard the decanter as he set it down firmly on the sideboard. “I have despised that woman as long as I can remember.”
Genevieve kept her hands clasped before her and waited patiently for him to continue. If he spoke, at least it was better than keeping all of his hurt and frustration bottled up inside.
“She made a cuckhold out of my father. It would have been bad enough if she’d been discreet, but she chose to parade her numerous lovers in front of him.” He paused, and she could see his hand tighten on the glass tumbler. “She is the reason he died. The strain was more than he could bear. The part that I found unforgiveable was that she didn’t shed a tear at his funeral. Standing at the gravesite, she looked as though she was bored with the entire ceremony. I know my father wasn’t cruel to her. He never raised his voice, nor his hand. She had no reason to treat him as she did, and yet, my father still doted on her, giving her anything that she asked for. She nearly bankrupted the estate with her extravagant lifestyle. She took numerous trips to the continent, and even though it was obvious she was enjoying her life to the fullest, she still drained everything that my father had—his money, his devotion, and even his love—to support her amusement.” He released a heavy breath. “I hate her because of what she did.”
Genevieve’s heart went out to him, not in pity, but in empathy. She felt sorrow that he hadn’t been able to have the sort of loving family that she’d grown up with. There was no doubt in her mind that her parents loved one another and continued to do so.
Perhaps if she told him that he wasn’t alone anymore, he would be able to let go of that strong emotion. “I know she hurt you, and I’m sorry for it.”
He snorted and downed the remaining liquid in his glass.
“I hope you know our marriage won’t be like that, because I love you.”
She knew she’d said the wrong thing because he suddenly stilled, and then spun back around to face her. His face was twisted, distorted. “Do you?” he returned snidely. “My mother said the same to me just moments ago. I don’t trust her, so what makes me think I should believe you?”
Chapter 11
A rawness swept over Cortland; he was a man with a bruised heart. When his mother told him that she was dying, he had been inclined to deny her claim. But what if she spoke the truth for once? Although he had cast her to the wilds of Scotland, he wasn’t sure how he would feel if she wasn’t actually on this earth any longer.
His gut was tormenting him with a twisting sensation, so he wanted a way to forget, if just for a while, but then his wife had followed him into the library, where he’d foolishly poured out his misgivings like some sort of child that was looking to be consoled.
He wanted to demand that she leave him, but before he got the chance, she was slipping her dress off her shoulders. “You need proof that I love you?” she challenged softly, as she began to fully disrobe in front of him. “How about the fact I trusted you enough to marry you? I gave up my freedom and my innocence to someone I barely knew. Now that I know you are part of the alliance, my confidence has faltered, but my devotion to you continues to remain steadfast. In my heart, something told me that I was making the right decision.”
When her chemise pooled around her feet on the floor, leaving her unclothed, except for her stockings and slippers, she slipped out of the material at her feet and started to walk toward him. He was captivated by the gentle sway of her hips and the light movement of her breasts. He clenched his fists at his sides, eager to take her into his arms and love her thoroughly. But how did he know she wasn’t another charlatan like his mother? A female who wanted to control him and use him for what she could gain?
When she reached out a hand to touch him, he closed his eyes, as his cock sprang to full attention.
“I want you, Cortland. Say that you want me too.”
He couldn’t stop himself. He opened his eyes and reached out and crushed her to him, his hands roaming over her back then down to cup her buttocks. “You drive me mad with wanting you,” he said harshly. He reached between them and freed himself and then lifted her into his arms, impaling her straight on his eager cock.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him with abandon. He held her tight, not wanting anything to separate them. Finally, when they were breathless, he buried his head between her breasts, and laved one pert nipple and then the other. Her head fell back on a moan, and Cortland couldn’t take any more. He carried her over to the settee where he switched positions and kept her on his lap. He gritted his teeth as he grabbed her hips and started a sensual rhythm of thrust and retreat. Her breasts swayed and teased him until his body tightened in preparation for his release.
Just as he was about to be overcome, he realized what he was doing. This was his wife, Genevieve, and he was treating her as some common whore, rather than with the respect and attention that he should be showing her. He was acting just like his mother, without any care to her—only himself.
He cursed and moved her off of him. Her eyes were dazed, confused and hurt with his sudden withdrawal. His cock was just as upset, but he shoved the stiff member back inside his trousers with a shaking hand. “Forgive me,” he muttered, and then he left the room without any further explanation.
For the days following, Genevieve didn’t know where her husband was. She was told later that day that he’d left, but he hadn’t found it necessary to tell her where he was going, or when—or perhaps if—he would be back. She wasn’t sure what had caused him to leave her so abruptly in the library, but until she understood his reasons, there was nothing she could do but wait.
Tears were her companion in the interim, and she was grateful that he wasn’t there to see her red-rimmed eyes, knowing that he was the reason for her upset. But perhaps he wouldn’t care. Anytime she thought of that possibility, she burst into another round of self-pitying waterworks. She thought that the start of her courses might have had something to do with her emotional upset, but she had cried more in recent days than she ever had in her entire life.
Love truly could be a wicked thing.
