Page 26 of The Vanished

“I doubt it,” Geneva muttered. Rory smiled softly at her but didn’t say anything, so she went on. “Surely he can choose to ignore this ridiculous clause.”

“I don’t know how these things work, mind, but if Mr. Lefferts wasn’t able to find a way then I don’t suppose yer father could have.”

“But I’ve never even seen this man, Rory. And he’s going to get it all. Every last thing,” Geneva wailed.

“So he will.”

“And Father wants me to marry him,” she cried.

“I can see why he would,” Rory replied thoughtfully.

He was so infuriatingly rational, Geneva began to regret her decision to come. She had hoped Rory would share her outrage and propose various schemes for thwarting Jesseph Bellamy from inheriting what should rightfully be hers and Honor’s, but his quiet acceptance made her feel even angrier and more alone.

“I’ve got to go,” Geneva said and sprang to her feet.

Rory got to his feet too and pulled her into his arms.

“Ye needn’t worry,” he whispered softly in her ear. “I will look after ye. We can get married and live our own life. We don’t need the estate. We only need each other.”

Geneva felt herself relax and leaned into Rory, her cheek resting against his solid chest. Perhaps the effects of the whisky were finally making themselves known, or maybe it was because this was what she had hoped for all along, but she suddenly felt deliciously languid and a little too warm. Rory held her close and stroked her hair, and she felt safe and cared for. It was such a lovely dream he offered, but things were never that simple, not when legacies and estates were involved.

“What about Honor?” she muttered, choosing to focus on the human cost rather than the holdings and wealth that would be lost to her.

“Honor can live with us until she finds her own life,” Rory said softly. “Just bide yer time, my wee Genny, and when ye’re ready, I’ll be right here, waiting.”

“Do you really mean that, Rory?” she asked. She loved that he had called her his “wee Genny.” It made her feel closer to him.

“Of course I do.”

Geneva wanted to ask if that meant they were now engaged but decided against it. She’d sprung this on Rory, and he had responded with his heart, not his head. He needed time to think, and so did she. She lifted her face and Rory kissed her, his lips claiming hers with tender promise.

It was only the third time they had kissed, but this time was different. When the gentle kiss became more urgent, fueled by desperation and strong liquor, Geneva found she didn’t have the strength to resist. It felt so good to be held, and desired, and to feel that she wasn’t terrifyingly alone. She allowed Rory to pull her closer and matched him kiss for kiss, and before she knew it he had her cardigan off and was unbuttoning her blouse as he maneuvered her through the open door and into the bedroom. She knew she should put a stop to it before things went too far, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own, and her hands went to the buckle of his belt as he unbuttoned her skirt and she stepped out of the wellies.

Rory’s skin was warm beneath her hands, and a sprinkling of auburn hair covered his chest and glowed on his arms. His blue eyes looked almost black in the semidarkness of the bedroom, and his breath was ragged with need. Before she knew it, Geneva was in her brassiere and silk knickers, and Rory’s cords were on the floor. His hands roamed over her body, caressing every inch of her. His touch awoke feelings that were new and inexplicably urgent, but, as he slid his fingers inside her knickers, it suddenly felt intrusive and wrong. Geneva instinctively tensed.

“It’s all right,” Rory whispered. “Try to relax.”

“Rory, I—” she began, but he was intent on his task and not really paying attention. “Rory,” Geneva tried again as she planted her hands on his chest and tried to push him away.

She wasn’t ready for this and needed to slow things down. But Rory silenced her protests with kisses that were now a bit rough, and before she knew it he’d parted her legs with his knee and had pinned her down with his body. Instead of feeling aroused, Geneva felt trapped, and the things he was doing to her seemed like a violation. She tried to shift him, but he was too heavy. And then it was too late.

“God, ye’re beautiful,” Rory panted as he thrust into her. “My wee angel.”

Geneva tried not to fight it, and, after a few moments, the act became more pleasurable. At least it no longer hurt. And then Rory stopped, but did not get off her. He brushed a stray lock out of her face and smiled into her eyes. He looked so happy.

“Ye’ll enjoy it more next time,” he said. “The first time is never good for the lasses.”

How many lasses have you deflowered? Geneva wanted to ask but remained silent.

“Are you all right, love?” Rory asked as he finally rolled off her.

Geneva nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. She had dreamed of what it would be like to have a man make love to her, but this had been nothing like what she had envisioned. It wasn’t beautiful and romantic but painful, quick, and rather awkward. As she lay naked atop Rory’s quilt, she suddenly felt exposed and ashamed, and all she wanted was to cover her nudity and be on her own.

Rory handed her a handkerchief and said, “Here, clean yerself up.”

Geneva’s cheeks burned with mortification as he took the handkerchief from her and showed her what he meant. Then he balled it up and threw it on the floor.

“I have to go,” she choked out. “I will be missed.”