The Lure of a Rake (The Heart of a Duke #9)(4)

A tentative rap sounded at the door and she yanked her head up. “Enter,” she called out, quickly setting the bottle down.

The door opened revealing her maid, Delores—the one loyal figure she’d known these years. “Hullo, Lady Genevieve.”

She mustered a smile. “Delores.” The foolish part of her soul where hope still dwelt had believed Gillian or her mother would be there. Yet, why should they? For the time that had gone, Genevieve may as well have been a stranger. Time had marched on. They’d lived their lives, and she…well, she had lived hers.

Delores gave her a small, encouraging nod. “His Lordship has summoned you.”

Genevieve’s weak attempt at a grin faded. Already?

“Yes, Lady Genny.”

She gave her head a shake, not realizing she’d spoken aloud. Genevieve nodded. “I’ll be but a moment,” she assured the young woman who nodded and then backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Genevieve stood there a long moment with the porcelain clock atop the mantel marking the passing seconds. Nothing her parents had ever done had ever been without purpose. The lavish wedding celebration they’d planned for their eldest daughter to the sought after Duke of Aumere. The abrupt and lengthy exile of that same daughter. Of course, her return would have been driven by some motives which could only be a product of her father’s wealth, power, or title. Nervousness twisted in her belly and she fixed on the passing ticks of the clock.

With the powerlessness in her existence these years, and even in this impending meeting with her father, there was something so wholly empowering in keeping that same faithless, shameful parent waiting. She sighed. Alas, all good moments came to an end. Time had taught her that in spades. Squaring her shoulders, Genevieve stalked over to the front of the room and, unhesitant, opened the door. Silence reigned in the corridors.

But she’d wager the remainder of her sanity that servants laid in wait, holding their breath and listening for that long-overdue meeting between father and daughter. Stepping outside, she picked her way along the carpeted halls, onward to an office she’d been summoned too many times to remember. She’d been summoned there as a girl who’d earned his displeasure for her scandalous sketches and paintings. And again as a young woman who’d secured the match of the Season and, for a fleeting moment, earned his pride and approval.

Then there had been the last meeting in that dreaded office. The meeting when her father, the person who’d helped give her life, had spat at her and pledged to never let her set foot in these halls again. Genevieve reached his office and came to a stop. She stared at the silver handle.

When she pulled that door open, she would reenter a world she’d never again wanted to be in. It would be like ripping open the bandage on the darkest mistakes of her foolish youth, and the resentments and pain she’d managed to bury these past five years.

She firmed her jaw. She’d been called whore, liar, and wanton these many years. But no one would ever dare call her coward. Genevieve knocked once.

“Enter.”

Even as she’d been expecting it, she jumped. That thunderous boom had not been diminished by time. It still carried the weight of power and strength it always had. Genevieve pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He didn’t even deign to look at her.

She stood there, much like the recalcitrant child summoned to these rooms years and years earlier, awaiting the scolding to be laid out. Those were times when governesses and nursemaids had failed to tame her. She stood there…as though she’d never been gone. Look at me. Look at me and acknowledge me after five years. Tell me you were wrong.

Her father tossed down his pen and picked his head up. But for the faint dusting of gray at his temples and several wrinkles on his high, noble brow, there was no hint of aging. He was the same man who’d so easily shipped her away. “Genevieve,” he called out and, jolted into movement, she pulled the door closed.

No need to give the servants easy access to the gossip about the Farendale whore. “Father,” she said and came forward. She did a quick look about for her mother. Of course, she’d not bother to be here. Why should she? She’d had her other perfectly unscandalous daughter to worry after. The muscles of her stomach tightened and she hated that she should care still about their disregard. Without awaiting permission, Genevieve moved to the leather winged back chair in front of his desk and sat. “I trust you are well?”

Her father’s mouth tightened. “The scandal has not gone away,” he said without preamble.

“I am also well. Thank you for asking,” she said deliberately needling. By the vein bulging at the corner of his eye, she was one wrong utterance away from one of his notorious diatribes. “The scandal? Which scandal do you refer to?” And yet she’d always been hopelessly troublesome.

He opened and closed his mouth several times. “The scandal,” he bit out.

Genevieve inclined her head. “Ah, yes. Of course.” She paused and gave a solemn nod. “My scandal.” She drummed her fingertips on the arm of her chair until he pointedly glared at her hand and she stopped mid-movement.

“You would be so flippant,” he said in frosty tones. “You speak so very casually without a regard for the fact that Gillian is gossiped about.” The marquess banged his fist on his desk. “Not a single suitor.”