His mouth twisted with contempt. “You should go on your knees in gratitude that a man of my station glances in your direction. I’m a Fairbrother and you’re a nobody.”
Could this get any worse? “In that case, I’m amazed that you lowered yourself to consider me as your wife,” she said with poisonous sweetness.
“I do lower myself, madam.” He shoved his sweating face into hers. “I’ll overlook your discourtesy and renew my suit in a few days. In the meantime, take time to consider consequences.”
She wrenched free. Her arm ached from his grip. She backed toward the door and fumbled behind her for the handle. “I’m not teasing,” she said unsteadily. “My answer is no.”
“That ridiculous boy has turned your head.” A sneer distorted his fleshy mouth. “If you imagine that fellow intends anything but your ruin, you’re sillier than I credit.”
“Mr. Evans has nothing to do with my refusal,” she said stiffly, tightening her grip on the handle.
He laughed dismissively. “I won’t take his leavings.”
“You exceed the bounds of propriety,” she choked.
“Just so you know that I won’t wait forever.”
“You will indeed wait forever,” she retorted, repelled by his arrogance.
He’d never believe that she didn’t toy with him before an inevitable yes. If only her father had given her some warning. Then the horrible thought struck that her father must think she was eager to become Lady Neville Fairbrother.
“Mark my words about that cur sniffing around you. My bride will be a virgin. That’s not negotiable.”
Nauseated, she turned away from him. She dearly wanted to cry. “Good evening, my lord.”
She escaped even as he protested. Carefully she closed the door behind her, just because the temptation to slam it was nigh overwhelming. She collapsed against the door, promising herself that she could cry once she reached her room.
If Lord Neville revealed the truth about her authorship, her father would never forgive her. Nor was she blind to the fact that a man with her suitor’s connections could put paid to her own nascent career.
What the devil was she going to do?
“Genevieve?”
“Dear God—” Mr. Evans with his ever-watchful eyes was the last person she wanted to meet right now.
“Are you all right?” He sounded concerned, not like the flirtatious scoundrel who destroyed her peace. She didn’t trust that voice. After the last half hour, she didn’t trust any man.
She whirled to face him. “For pity’s sake, leave me alone!”
On a betraying sob, she dashed upstairs. Mr. Evans remained below, silently observing her ignominious flight.
Chapter Eleven
Damn it, man, what the hell is taking so long?”
At Cam’s impatient question, Sirius looked up from his nap on the stillroom’s stone floor. Richard straightened the towel around his shoulders and stared disconsolately out the window at the rain sheeting onto Leighton Court’s palatial stables. His hair was wet, and stinking with the paste for turning blond to the brown that he grew to loathe. A freezing trickle dribbled down his neck. He hated this part of his ruse—dyeing his hair made him feel like a blasted cicisbeo.
Cam hadn’t finished. “You’re not setting yourself up for life as the vicar’s clerk. When I helped you put this together, I didn’t imagine I’d be providing a cover story longer than a week. Your absence has been noted in Town. I’m assuming you don’t want to become such a mystery that people start asking about you all over the country. That might let the cat out of the bag.”
Richard contemplated the miserable morning. He’d been in a grim humor since Genevieve had fled him in tears three nights ago. He’d burned to comfort her. Whatever propriety’s dictates, it felt wrong to ignore her distress.
Cam growled. “Confound you, answer me. Have you lost your tongue as well as your wits in this godforsaken backwater?”
Richard laughed wryly and finally met his friend’s concerned eyes. Cam stood ruler-straight before the marble counter. Not for him the slouch that Richard affected. “What was the question again?”
“Good God, you’re bloody lovesick, aren’t you?” Cam pounded his fist against the counter. “That woman has turned your brain. You’ve always been so cynical about love. How the mighty have fallen.”
Richard’s gut clenched in denial. “Utter rot, dear fellow.”