The Lure of a Rake by Christi Caldwell

Author:Christi Caldwell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Regency
Publisher: Christi Caldwell
Published: 2016-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

She’d not seen her husband since they’d entered his townhouse, nay, their townhouse. Genevieve found the gilt clock atop the fireplace mantel where a small fire burned, six hours ago.

It had been six hours since they’d arrived, greeted by the line of assembled servants.

The housekeeper Mrs. Fennyworth, had shown her abovestairs…where she had been waiting ever since. Surely, her husband had not left her on her wedding night. Surely, he’d not sought out his clubs or…a dark, ugly, niggling thought slid in…visited someone else.

…I am a rake…

“Are you sure you are not hungry, my lady?” Delores asked.

Looking up quickly from the sketchpad on her lap, Genevieve shook her head. “No, I am quite well. You may leave the tray.” With the knots churning her belly, the last thing she cared for was food. “That is all, Delores,” she said softly. “You may go.”

The young lady nodded and then quickly hurried across the room. She pulled the door open and gasped. “Oh, excuse me, my lord.”

Genevieve whipped her gaze to the entrance and her fingers curled tight on the book in her hands as Cedric stepped aside, allowing the maid to make a hasty retreat. Her heart tripped a beat at the sight of him. Absent of his jacket and attired in nothing but his white shirtsleeves, breeches and boots, he closed the door and leaned against it. With a cool elegance, he propped the sole of his boot against the wood panel. Her mouth went dry. No gentleman had a right to such sophisticated ease. She hopped up from the Louis XV red, giltwood Duchesse and her sketchpad tumbled forgotten to the floor.

By the ghost of a smile hovering about his lips, he’d noted her scrutiny. “Genevieve,” he greeted on a satiny whisper.

Nervousness tripped inside her belly. “C-Cedric,” she fiddled with the charcoal in her fingers, belatedly realizing the dark mess she’d made of her already slightly stained fingers.

“You did not take an evening meal,” he observed, his gaze going to the untouched silver tray that had arrived several hours ago.

She’d spent so much time worrying he’d not come, that she’d not given due attention to nervousness of what it would mean when he did arrive. “No,” she conceded, unable to the keep the disappointment from her words. No bride cared to take her first meal as a wedded woman in her chambers, alone.

Cedric pushed away from the door and stalked over with long, sleek steps, then came to a stop. His gaze fell downward and she appreciated the thick luxuriance of his golden hair. Her fingers twitched. Surely a wife was permitted the luxury of running her fingers through those strands when she wished? And…

She registered his still otherwise diverted attention and she belatedly followed his stare. Drat. His partially completed likeness stared back at her. Embarrassment curled her toes into the thin Aubusson carpet.

Wordlessly, he sank to his haunches and scooped up the book. She dug her fingernails into her palm to keep from ripping that book from his hand.

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