be married.” He said it without a pause, without the slightest hesitation.
And she wanted to cry again—partly from another, stronger wave of relief. And partly because, really, it was all wrong.
Once she’d dreamed of marrying his brother. It had to be beyond inappropriate simply to switch brothers. And since those four magnificent days two months ago, Rafe had made something of an art form of avoiding her. A man you marry shouldn’t spend weeks dodging you—and then at the mention of a baby drop right to his knees and propose.
“Rafe. Honestly. I don’t know if...”
“Of course you know. It’s the right thing.”
She should be stronger. Prouder. And seriously. Nobody married just because there was a baby coming, not anymore—well, except maybe for her brother Alex. And possibly her sister Rhia.
And come to think of it, both of those marriages were turning out just fine.
And she had such a thing for him now. Plus, their baby had a right to be the Hartmore heir, and to be the heir required legitimacy—or at least, it would all go much more smoothly, if the baby was legitimate. There would be absolutely no question then of who should inherit.
And then there was Hartmore itself. Her beloved Hartmore...
Mistress of Hartmore, temptation whispered in her ear. She could have her dream come true after all, though she’d been so certain it was lost to her forever with Edward’s death.
Edward.
Just thinking his name made her heart heavy with guilt and confusion. She really had thought that she loved him, that she was only waiting for him to make a move toward her so they could begin to forge the life they were born to have together.
Now, feeling as she did about Rafe, she wasn’t so sure about Edward, about all those plans she’d had to be Edward’s bride. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“Say yes,” the giant, seductive stranger who was once her dear friend commanded in a tone both tender and merciless.
She stared at him, trembling. “Are you sure?”
“I am. Say yes.”
The word was there, inside her, waiting. She simply pushed her guilt and confusion aside and let that word get free. “Yes.”
Before Genny left the villa that night, they agreed to be married at Hartmore on the following Saturday. He said he would call his grandmother first thing in the morning; Eloise would make all the arrangements. He also got her to promise that they would face her mother and father, the sovereign princess and prince consort, right away.
“And we will face them together,” he added, dark eyes determined, that wonderful soft mouth of his set.
It really wasn’t necessary and she tried to tell him so. “Rafe, you know how my parents are. They’re not going to disown me or anything. They’ll be on our side and they’ll just want to be sure we’re making the right choice.”
“We are making the right choice.” He said it flatly.
“I’m only saying that you really don’t have to—”
He put up his big hand. “Yes, I do.”
As he seemed so inflexible on the subject, she agreed—after which he called a car and sent her home.
Home for Genny was the Prince’s Palace, perched high on Cap Royale, overlooking the Mediterranean, where she had her own apartment. She was up half the night worrying, second-guessing her decision to marry Rafe, feeling guilty and confused. Very late, she finally drifted off.
The phone rang at eight, jarring her from much-needed sleep. It was Rafe, calling to remind her to set up the talk with her parents. “And don’t tell them about the baby, or that we’ll be married, until I’m there with you.”
She grumbled at his bossiness. “I already said I wouldn’t.”
“Excellent.” He made the single word sound almost affectionate. And that made her feel a little better about everything.
“Did you call Eloise yet?”
“I’m doing that next.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should wait. We should tell her together.”
A pause on his end of the line, then, “Gen, the wedding will be Saturday. I’m sure your parents will want to be there. Someone has to make the arrangements.” He was right, of course. And his grandmother was a rock. She would take care of everything.
Genny answered with a sigh. “All right.”
He instructed, “Call me as soon as you’ve set up the meeting.”
“I will, yes.”
They hung up and she showered, ate a light breakfast and was waiting in the reception area of her mother’s office at the palace when her mother arrived at nine.
Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne, looking ageless and elegant as always in one of her classic Chanel suits, smiled at her fondly, agreed to the meeting with her and Rafe and then asked, “Darling, what is this meeting to be about?”
Genny knew that her mother would understand. She longed to just get it over with, to tell all. But she’d told Rafe that she would wait. He would soon be her husband. She wanted him to feel he could trust her to keep her agreements with him.
Rafe. Her husband...
Dear Lord. Was this really happening?
Her mother touched her arm. “Darling? Are you all right?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’m fine. And we’ll explain everything when Rafe is here, I promise.” She asked that her father be there, too.
And her mother asked again what exactly was going on.
Genny hugged her and whispered, “Two o’clock. We’ll tell you all of it then.” And she escaped before her mother could ask any more questions.
Back in her apartment, she called Rafe and told him when to be there. He arrived at one-thirty and came straight to her rooms as she’d asked him to do.
She gestured him in. “It’s good you’re here early. We’ll have a little time to plan.”
“There’s more to plan?” He sounded doubtful.
She stepped back to get a good look at him. “You look...terrific.” She felt oddly breathless suddenly. Because he did look wonderful in a fine lightweight jacket and trousers. Wonderful in a completely feral, un-English way, with his thick black curls, full lips, black velvet eyes and huge, hard body. A savage in a suit. The scar only added to the impression of otherness.
“And
