The Lady’s Guide to Marrying a Viscount (The Lady’s Guide to Love #8)

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Lisette had been far from happy, being instructed to pack up everything at such short notice. Geneviève had helped, bundling possessions into the trunks. It wasn’t ideal, and unfair on Lisette, who’d been looking forward to Christmas in the servants’ hall. However, it was unthinkable for Geneviève to remain.

She could bear no more, and leaving was the only answer, regardless of how inconvenient that might be.

Lisette was sulking now, staring resolutely out of the window on the other side of the carriage.

Taking a last look at Wulverton Hall, as the coach reached the top of the avenue, Geneviève thought back to when she’d first entered the gates. Had so little time passed?

Since then, much had happened. Most importantly, she’d come to know a man unlike any she’d met before. Despite a past that might have embittered him, he remained generous-hearted and honorable. As master of these lands, he offered neither condescension nor arrogance, but sympathy and protection. Admiring him more than she could say, she’d wanted to become part of the world she’d glimpsed through his eyes.

But, she’d offered him all her faith and hope, and it hadn’t been enough.

She wiped away a welling tear. No matter that her heart was breaking, she wouldn’t cry as she had over her mother. Better to have no heart. Better never to show her true self to anyone again.

What use was there to think of it? He’d made himself clear, even while stumbling to choose the words. He believed she would betray him. Perhaps not straight away, but eventually, and he wasn’t prepared to risk his heart.

He wanted everything to be safe! As if love could ever be that.

Not that she was an expert, but all things precious were worth fighting for, were they not?

She told herself to stop. The affair was at an end and that was that.

It had begun to snow—thick, fat flakes falling steadily, quickly dusting the heathland in a layer of white. The tops of the hills were already covered. Quite beautiful, though it would make her onward journey difficult on the morrow.

Despite being Christmas day, she’d been assured there would be a coach she might join early in the morn. As to where she’d sleep tonight, she hoped the inn would have a room. She and Lisette could share if necessary.

Where she’d go, she wasn’t sure, but she needed a new beginning. It just wouldn’t be here, on the moor, with the man she’d come to feel so deeply for.

Scroggins was driving the countess himself, the stable lad told Mallon, taking her as far as The Saracen’s Head. Mallon thought of several things he’d have liked to have said about that, but bit them back. He wasn’t his father, taking out his temper on those who were blameless.

And there was still time to catch them on the road. They’d been gone not half an hour, and it took but a few minutes to saddle his stallion.

Riding out, he was thankful for the moon. How long had it been snowing? Long enough to already be covering the wheel tracks from the carriage ahead.

Mallon had thrown his heaviest coat over his shoulders but, in his haste, had ignored the need for hat or gloves. He gritted his teeth against the snow blowing into his face and the biting cold on his fingers. All that mattered was having the chance to tell her what a huge fool he’d been and to beg her forgiveness.

He urged his horse up the hill, clearing the summit. From there, he could see some distance. Princetown, far off, and the prison, closer. There wasn’t time to linger, but Mallon sent a silent prayer for those men incarcerated. He wished some small light of hope might penetrate their bleak lives.

One, at least, would be spared, for Silas had been put to bed in one of the rooms usually reserved for visiting servants. He’d be safe there, and have time to recover his strength.

Mallon scanned further down the road, and his heart leapt. He saw the carriage. Giving his horse a swift kick, he galloped down the hill, hoping the stallion’s footing would remain sure.

“Scroggins!” Mallon called as he drew closer. “Stop, I say!” His voice was swallowed by the whirling snow on his first shout, but the second did it, and the carriage pulled to a halt.

Someone else had heard him, too, for the carriage window was drawn down and a head appeared, looking back at him.

As he brought himself alongside, he saw her nose was pink and her eyes a little bleary, but she had never looked more beautiful to him.

He hadn’t known what to expect. Tears perhaps. Instead, she was looking at him in just the way he’d hoped, her eyes full of tenderness. He felt a rush of wonder, tumbling headlong into her gaze.

However, she suddenly turned to sneeze, fumbling with a handkerchief, and when she looked back, she appeared rather cross.

“You came to find me, though you’ve told me more than once that it would be better for me to leave Wulverton. You’ve won, at last. I’m going, and there’s no reason for me to return.”

The stallion tossed its head, unhappy about being kept standing in the snow. Mallon was obliged to tug on the bridle to keep the mount from skittering. “Hear me out, Geneviève. ”

“You think I have no feelings…but it hurts to see you, and I’d rather not be hurt.” She was biting at her lip, reluctant to look at him now.

He reached for the edge of the window and located her hand, clasping his fingers through hers. At her touch, a terrible ache swept over him, as if his heart would burst and break. He needed to convince her, though he hardly knew where to begin.

She tugged her hand away. “If you think so little of me, what more can there be to say? You care for me, I know, yet you won’t fight for us. Instead, you run away.”

“I’ve been a fool.” Blurting it seemed the best way. Mallon knew he had to tell her everything. “I was a coward and an imbecile, but I’ve realized what you mean to me, Geneviève. I was living a half-life, pretending that I didn’t need anyone, refusing to allow myself to love.”

“I want to believe you, Mallon, but I’m not sure I can make things right. I’ve tried…” There was a tremble in her voice. She was certainly holding back tears, but one escaped.

“I need you.” He drew closer. “Forgive me for hurting you. Forgive me for being so damn blinded.” He spoke softly yet with urgency and sincerity. “Forgive me Geneviève, and love me, just as I love you.”

It was the first time that he’d said it aloud—that he loved her—and he was shocked to hear the words. He’d thought they would be hard to say, but they felt easy and natural now.

Her lips were parted, her beautiful eyes wide, looking back at him.

“You love me?” She raised her hand to wipe away the wetness upon her cheek.

“Of course, I do. And I want you to belong to me. I love you and I never want to let you go.” He meant every word.

“Never?” She sniffed again, but managed a smile.

“I want for us to be together always. I’ll adore you, with all that I am. I’ve been waiting long enough for my life to begin. Now I’ve found you, I don’t want to waste a single day, not an hour, even. I’ll have Reverend Wapshot read the banns at the next Sunday mass.”

Leaning out of the carriage window, Geneviève threw her arms about his neck, pulling him to her kiss. In it he tasted forgiveness, love, and a promise of what might be, of the future they might forge together. When she broke off, it was to gather her skirts. She pushed open the door and stepped down, onto the crunch of snow.

“You’ve room for another in your saddle, I suppose?” As she looked up at Mallon, he felt that his heart had been aching for this since their first encounter, though he hadn’t known, then, what those feelings had meant.

He quickly dismounted and helped her climb up, to sit in front of him, pulling her into his warmth, just as on the day she’d been thrown in the mire.

“You might have stayed warm in the carriage, you know,” said Mallon, brushing her ear and her neck with his lips.

“Except the carriage is going the wrong way, taking Lisette back to the hall.” Geneviève twisted to look at him, with mischief in her eyes. “If you want our lives together to begin right now, I suggest we ride to The Saracen’s Head. Don’t they keep a room for you there, for whenever you happen to arrive with some woman thrown over your horse?”

“A scandalous notion!” Mallon’s lips twitched in suppressed laughter.

“Might your reputation stand it?” teased Geneviève. “We can book two rooms if you like, but I shall expect to have the better of them, and you must do the creeping along the corridor.”

He kissed her before she could say another word.

“I love you.” Geneviève uttered the declaration softly, but it came to rest in Mallon’s soul. He believed her.

“Quite right, too!” Stirring his horse into action, he clasped her firmly.

Mallon called instructions to a grinning Mr. Scroggins, threw a wink at Lisette, whose head had appeared at the carriage window, and set off for the inn at a racing clip.

“I’m going to show you just what it means to be loved, Geneviève. Most thoroughly!” Mallon murmured against her ear, and gave the lobe a playful nip.

Everything would unfold as was intended to be and, having each other, it would all come right. They would wake on Christmas morning as they meant to go on, believing in the power of love to conquer all.