“Tell me about her.”
Genie’s eyes lit. “She was bright and funny, so quick to laugh. She loved to follow her older half brother around. Titus was so good with her. He would read her stories, especially after she got sick.” Her expression dimmed, and Edmund gently stroked his fingers along her spine. “I lost three more after her—well before their term—and wasn’t able to conceive at all the last five years of my marriage. The physician said I was past my childbearing years.”
He frowned. “Physicians can be wrong.”
She snapped her gaze to his. “I have long given up hope for any more children and would ask that you don’t speak of such things. It’s not kind.”
Anguished by her obvious heartache, he took her hand. “I didn’t mean to be unkind.”
“I’m forty-two, Edmund,” she said quietly. “I cannot give you an heir.”
He wished he could say he didn’t want one, that he didn’t need one. But the fact was that he did have a duty. Troubled, he stroked his thumb over her hand.
She took a deep breath and looked at him. “You should know that losing my daughter was even more painful than losing Jerome. I miss him terribly, but you’ve shown me there is life after him. My stepson, Titus, showed me that I could be a mother, even if the child wasn’t of my blood. If I marry again, I would hope to have the chance to mother my husband’s children.”
Her words cut into him. She wasn’t interested in marriage, at least not to him. To realize his dream and have it dashed all in the same night was a blow he couldn’t have foreseen.
Edmund rolled over and got up from the bed. He padded to the armoire and fetched his banyan. Wrapping it around his now-cold body, he tied the sash and turned. She’d also left the bed and had gone to the settee where she drew the night rail over her exquisite form.
She put her feet into the slippers that she’d kicked off at some point, then donned her dressing gown. He wanted to stop her, to ask her to stay. He’d envisioned a night full of learning each other’s bodies, giving pleasure, and blissful surrender.
But that was not to be. Not after the revelations of their stark truths.
Still, they had shared a wonderful experience. He went to stand before her as she finished buttoning her dressing gown. Several strands of hair had come free of her plait and curled gently against her cheeks and temples.
He fingered one of those curls and gave her a half smile. “Tonight was remarkable. There are two more nights left. I would count myself lucky if you wanted to share them with me.”
She stared at him, her lips parted. “I don’t know. This was…exceptional. I will treasure the memory always.” She put her palm against his cheek and stood on her toes to kiss him.
Edmund wrapped his arms around her and gathered her close. He claimed her mouth, sliding his tongue against hers, hopefully reminding her of how well they fit together, of how good they were.
When he released her, she gasped for air. Her gaze settled intently on his for a long moment. “Good night, Edmund.”
“Good night, Genie.”
She turned and he followed her, opening the door, then closing it after watching her walk away. He nearly went after her and begged her to come back. No, he wanted to beg her to reconsider what she wanted. Was there any way she might want him? Not just for now, but forever?
He couldn’t see it, not if she wanted to mother children. He had none, and apparently, she couldn’t have any.
It was a very long time before he slept.
At breakfast the following morning, Lord Cosford had announced they would ride in the afternoon if the weather continued to remain dry. This had generated a sense of excitement. Now, as most had gathered in the drawing room following breakfast, there was a fraught energy, as if everyone couldn’t wait to get out.
Or perhaps that was simply Genie’s inner agitation. She’d barely slept after visiting Edmund the night before.
Her gaze found him across the room. She’d keep a surreptitious eye on him all day, and it seemed he’d done the same. Any time their eyes met, she looked away. Did he do the same? And were they going to avoid each other for the rest of the party? Tomorrow would be the last full day, so she supposed it was possible.
It was also probably for the best. Then why did she feel sad?
She went to pluck a biscuit from a plate on a table in the corner. There was never a shortage of food or drink at Blickton.
“Good choice. Those are my favorite.” Edmund’s voice sent a quiver of delight up her spine.
Genie turned to face him as he picked up one of the biscuits. “Mine too. But then I like lavender anything. And lemon.” The biscuit combined both flavors.
Seeing him this close made Genie’s chest swell and then abruptly tighten. While she would cherish last night, she couldn’t help thinking it would be best if it hadn’t happened.
“I wanted to apologize,” she said softly.
His dark brows gathered on his wide forehead. “For what?”
“For last night. I should not have come to your room. It was ill conceived of me.”
His features relaxed, and one side of his mouth briefly quirked up. “I thought it was rather brilliant,” he murmured.
She fought a blush, taking a deep breath. “We should have discussed things beforehand. I didn’t mean to lead you…” Lead him where? “Anywhere. I didn’t think at all.” Not of him. She’d thought of her desires, her apprehension, only her. “I behaved selfishly.”
“My body would beg to differ,” he said wryly.
While she appreciated his sense of humor, she wasn’t sure it was appropriate here. Not when she was trying to apologize for what had amounted to an unforgettable night. “Yes, it was pleasant. However, you must see the truth—you need an heir. I can’t give you one.”
“My cousin, though now gone, had a son. He’s still very young, but he will inherit if I don’t have children. I don’t know him—or his mother—at all. However, regardless of whether I have an heir, it seems you would prefer a husband who already has children.”
Her chest pinched. “I don’t even know if I want to wed.”
“It’s a conundrum.” His tone was quiet and perhaps sad. “I do understand. Nothing, however, changes how much I enjoyed last night. Or how much I’d like to do it again.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Please don’t say that.” Because she wanted it too. Yet, there was no point to it, except to cause heartache.
“Why? Is it wrong to seek pleasure? To want to enjoy ourselves together?”
Before she could answer, they were joined by Lord Rotherham. Tall, with blond hair and brilliant green eyes, the earl asked which biscuit he should choose.
Edmund pointed to their shared favorite. “This one. Unless you’d rather try something less delicious in case you end up liking it too much.” He shot her a testy stare before taking himself away from the table and leaving her alone with Rotherham.
Realizing she was frowning after him, she blinked and smoothed her expression before turning her attention to the attractive earl. He flashed her his almost ever-present wicked smile before he nibbled at the biscuit.
“Oh, that is good,” he said around the bite in his mouth. He swallowed. “I adore lemon. So tart and sweet at once. I believe Howell says that’s what he looks for in a lady.”