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Now Rafe would be there for the big reveal. And her father, too. Dear Lord. She should have thought this through earlier. Because she realized now that she just wasn’t ready to sit in her mother’s office and look in her father’s face and tell him about the baby.
He was a wonderful man, her father. He was the best. She couldn’t bear to think he might be disappointed in her.
Rafe caught her arm and she realized she’d been swaying on her feet the tiniest bit. “Gen. Do you need to sit down?”
She blinked up at him, all too aware of his touch, of the heat of him so close, of his tempting scent. Of the velvet darkness of his eyes. Carefully, she eased her arm from his grip. “Really, I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I just want you to let me do the talking, let me handle it with my parents.”
He studied her from under the heavy shelf of his brow. Evidently, he believed that she wasn’t going to faint, because he didn’t try to steady hear again, but only lifted one huge shoulder in a shrug. “You don’t want me to ask for your hand?” He was teasing.
Or was he?
She really couldn’t tell. “I... No, of course not. It’s already decided. We’re just sharing our plans.” For that, she got another unreadable look, one that had her waving a nervous hand. “More or less. Can we not overthink it, please?”
He captured her hand as it fluttered between them and pressed his lips to the back of it. A warm, delicious shiver danced up her arm. For such a giant rock of a man, he did have the softest, supplest mouth. “As you wish, love,” he said.
Love. He’d been calling her that forever—at least since she was thirteen or so. She’d always liked it when he called her that, and felt as cherished as a dear friend.
Now, though, it only reminded her that she wasn’t his love in the way that she ought to be as his bride.
She cleared her throat. “Ready?” He offered his arm. She took it. “All right, then. Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
In her mother’s private office, there was tea served in the sitting area with its long velvet sofa and priceless old wing chairs.
At first, they endured the obligatory small talk—gentle condolences from her mother about the lost Edward, questions about Rafe’s injuries, inquiries about the health of Rafe’s family. He told them that his nephew, Geoffrey, whom Genny adored, had been sent up to boarding school in London “under protest.” Geoffrey’s mother, Rafe’s sister, Brooke, was getting along fine. His grandmother, he said, was in good health and as busy as always about the house and the gardens.
Too soon, it seemed to Genny, the small talk ran out. Her parents looked at her expectantly.
And she realized she had absolutely no idea how to go about this. She’d purposely not planned what she would say, telling herself not to make a big deal of it, that the right thing to say would come to her naturally.
Wrong.
All that came was a frantic tightness in her throat, a rapid pounding of her pulse and a scary generalized tingly feeling all over, a full-body shiver of dread. And her stomach lurched and churned, making her wonder if she was about to experience her first bout of morning sickness.
“Gen.” Rafe said it so gently. His big, hot, strong hand covered hers.
She looked at him, pleading with her eyes. “I...”
And he took over, turning to face her parents, giving a slow, solemn dip of his large dark head. “Ma’am. Sir. I know this may come as a bit of a surprise. But I love your daughter with all my heart.”
Loved her with all of his heart? Had he actually said that? Her throat clutched. She swallowed, hard, to relax it, and tried to paste on a smile.
Rafe continued, so calmly and clearly, still clasping her hand, engulfing it in his heat and steadiness. “And Genevra has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife. We’re here today to ask for your blessing.”
Genny stared across the coffee table at her parents. They both looked surprised. But not in a bad way, really—or was that just desperate wishful thinking on her part? The two of them shared a long, speaking glance. What exactly that glance said, well, she just couldn’t tell.
And her mother said, “We had no idea.”
Rafe squeezed her hand. She knew she really had to say something. But she couldn’t for the life of her think what. Once again, poor Rafe had to answer for her. “It’s sudden, I know. And we’re...” He seemed to seek the right word. “We’re eager to get on with our lives together. So eager that we’re planning to marry in Saint Ann’s Chapel at Hartmore on Saturday.”
