Page 118 of The Lord Meets His Lady

Twenty-eight

A rooster crowed outside his window. Face mashed into a pillow, Marcus buried himself in downy softness.

“Time to get up, milord.”

Light split the darkness. His head ached and his mouth tasted of wool, but a tender hand stroked his shoulder. Aromas of black coffee and warm bread assailed him. The hand on his shoulder slid along his back, massaging its way to his nape.

“Wake me like this every morning, and you’ll make me a convert to early mornings.”

Genevieve laughed. “It’s past noon, milord.”

He pushed up on both elbows, squinting at the window. The counterpane twisted around his hips.

“Here.” She held up a plate of toasted bread. “I thought you might be famished.”

“I can’t. The horses—”

“Are taken care of. Alexander and Mr. Beckworth were already here.” She pushed the plate under his nose again. “You need to eat.”

“I’m reverting to Town hours.” He sank back on the headboard, settling the dish on his lap. The bread was smothered with butter. “Did Samuel say anything to you?”

“No. He was concerned about Adam. Said he needed to ride to Learmouth for the doctor.”

“Not only did I fail my friend, but he has the added burden of a sick brother.”

“Don’t feel sorry for yourself. You had a bad night. Face facts and carry on.” With her arms folded under her bosom and daylight shining around her, Genevieve could be a no-nonsense angel from heaven come to set him straight.

“Wifely words of wisdom?”

He bit into warm bread, the buttery goodness exploding in his mouth. One bite became another, and he devoured the toasty bread. Genevieve sat patiently, a braid trailing over her shoulder. She wore her drabbest, most patched-up gray gown. He should buy her a new one, but with what?

The bed creaked. Genevieve scooted close, her hip knocking the plate askew. “You’re a good man, Lord Bowles. With the horses, this business, you’re making a difference here. What those men said last night…the jests. It’s not true. I see a man of wit and a good heart.”

“Wit won’t pay for the second herd or get a new stallion.”

“You’ll think of something…” She toyed with his shirt’s open neck, her brown eyes searching him. “You’re a clever man.”

His wife offered a blatant view of her cleavage right under his nose, the full curves pressed together, overflowing from her bodice.

“That’s extortion.”

“It’s encouragement,” she said, her alto gently humored. “But if it gets you out of bed and puts a spring in your step, then extortion it is.”

“Of the best kind.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips.

“Promise me you won’t let last night defeat you.”

The light in her eyes made him believe he could slay dragons. Despite his throbbing head, he wanted to seize the day. Because of her. For her. Women had flocked to him when funds were flush. They’d gathered around when he’d charmed and seduced. None had stayed when the tides turned. Purse lean and demeanor surly, he was no prize. Yet Genevieve was here. Smiling. Kind. Not letting him wallow.

“You know how to read the horses, their wounds and sicknesses,” she said. “The problem of a little money shouldn’t be hard for the likes of you.”

He stroked the life vein on her wrist. “I’d settle for ridding you of a certain wolf.”

She slid off the bed, taking her morning mercies with her. Clearing her throat, she smoothed her apron. “About Herr Wolf. I wonder if I should leave?”

“To go with him?”

“No, I mean leave Pallinsburn.” She ran a hand over her braid. “I could dye my hair this time. Or cut it off and dress like a man.”