Page 106 of The Lord Meets His Lady

“Castle Atal, milord,” a footman called out and yanked the door open.

Marcus’s laugh was husky. “Saved by the castle, Lady Bowles.”

They exited the carriage. Genevieve hugged the open ends of her red cloak and trotted toward the castle’s broad oak door held open by Atal’s butler. Torchlight glimmered on great iron bolts lining the door’s wood. Beyond the wide portal, the medieval air shifted to one of elegance and wealth.

Marcus caught up to her and reached for her hand. “You might want to let me escort you.”

“Forgot about that,” she muttered.

They mounted wide castle steps and walked through the portal side by side.

“Good evening, Lord Bowles.” The butler bent at the waist, speaking with a crisp London accent. “Lady Bowles.”

The servant straightened, and Marcus handed over his hat. “I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting you.”

“Marston, milord,” the butler said while draping their cloaks over his arm. “I’ve served Baron Atal for a decade now.”

Standing in the grand entry, Marcus searched for signs of censure. The cordial butler raised his cloak-covered arm and beckoned a footman. This was good. Marston’s sort sniffed out social interlopers better than hunting hounds scenting prey. Not a whiff of disapproval clouded his features.

The butler handed off their cloaks to the footman. “Everyone’s gathered in the Bird Salon. I’ll take you now.”

Beside him, Genevieve set her fingertips on his arm. “Are you certain about this?” she whispered by his ear.

“It’s one night. You can do it.”

They followed several paces behind Marston through the grand entry hall and turned down a long hallway. Timber rafters spread out, sturdy seams in whitewashed ceilings. Damp smells assailed them, the perfume of ancient castles.

Marcus’s head tipped to hers. “I didn’t tell you my plan to explain our hasty wedding.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. We should’ve talked about it in the carriage.”

He ogled her breasts under his lashes. “I preferred the topics we covered.”

Stone floors dipped underfoot, the castle’s flaws masked by red and gold carpets. Voices filtered from a pair of open arched doors up ahead.

“I’m claiming love at first sight,” he said, his voice above a whisper.

Her gait slowed. “That’syour plan? No one will believe it.”

They passed suits of armor with Marston keeping a discreet distance ahead.

“It’s a roomful of men,” he drawled. “We don’t dissect matters of the heart.”

Genevieve drew a flustered breath. “I knew this was madness.”

He could tell her how beautiful she was, tell her that one look at her, and the men would know why he’d stolen away to Coldstream with her. He was a second son—and a rebellious one at that. None would second-guess their elopement.

But Genevieve was skittish. She needed gentling.

He stopped and faced her. “Tonight will be over before you know it. All you have to do is charm these men.”

Her mouth flattened. “Charm? You ask for something I lack, milord.”

Male laughter blasted from the arched doorway. Genevieve flinched. Marston waited stock-still, a decorous statue of servitude several paces out of earshot near the salon. Despite the distance and sounds of merriment, Marcus and Genevieve spoke in hushed tones.

Hooking a finger under her chin, Marcus kissed her forehead. “Stay with me.” The line of her mouth relaxed, and he delivered the final calming stroke. “Think of the horses…of Hester. How badly she needs to stay at Pallinsburn.”

“That’s unfair ammunition.”