Summer's Bride. Catherine Archer

her and then again, even more powerfully, as he barely touched her soft, cool fingers, told him otherwise.

      His gaze went to Benedict, whose blue eyes, which were so like his own, seemed to weigh him too carefully. Perhaps this letter from Aunt Finella had arrived just in time.

      With that in mind, Marcel said, “I take it you wish to debate the matter of my going to Scotland.” He had known there would be a discussion when Benedict had said they must come to the library. During his life here at Brackenmoore, all meetings of any significance had been held in the library.

      Benedict nodded. “Yes. First let me say that I appreciate your offering to go to Aunt Finella. But you must see that I cannot accept your offer. You have only just arrived home this very day.”

      Marcel gave an offhanded grin. “How could I not go, Benedict? You and Tristan both have families. Kendran—” he looked at his youngest brother with an apologetic shrug “—is still a boy.”

      Kendran groaned in frustration. “I am no boy.”

      Benedict grimaced, but spoke diplomatically. “Nay, not a boy. Yet not old enough, nor experienced enough, to carry the authority the situation is sure to demand.”

      Kendran folded his arms over a chest that was broadening with each passing year. “You were looking after Brackenmoore at my age.”

      Marcel spoke for his eldest brother. “That is true, but ’twas only because he had no choice. Be grateful that you have the freedom to experience your youth.”

      Kendran glared at him. “Someday I shall show you all that I am capable of more than you can imagine.”

      Tristan arched raven brows. “You would be surprised at how much we can imagine.”

      Benedict shook his head, though there was no mistaking the smile in his eyes as he listened to his brothers’ exchange. He then sobered quickly. “Enough. We must discuss this, and there is no time to squander on prideful debate. Aunt Finella’s letter is quite clear in her concern over young Cameron.”

      Marcel watched as Tristan and Kendran nodded, each of them having read the missive when they first arrived in the library. “I am the logical choice.”

      Benedict frowned. “I wanted you to know my Raine, our Edlynne, and Raine’s brother. Spend time with them.” The pride and love in his voice could not be mistaken and Marcel realized that there was indeed a change in his brother. He seemed less tense, more content, as if the responsibilities of his position did not rest quite so heavily on his wide shoulders as they had in the past.

      Could the love of his wife have affected him so very greatly? Marcel could be nothing but glad for him, even though he felt an unwanted stab of envy—knew an unwanted vision of Genevieve, her green eyes alight.

      Benedict said, “Things have not been quite the same since you left.”

      Marcel forced himself to concentrate on the gratitude he felt at being so greatly missed. “I am not offering to go lightly, my brother. It was indeed time that I become acquainted with your Raine, not to mention the other additions to the family. When next I come home, which I vow here and now will be soon, I will outstay my welcome.” He laughed deliberately in spite of his sadness over leaving them.

      Benedict leaned back in the chair, assessing him closely. “You are determined.”

      “I am.” Marcel did not meet his questing eyes. “I have no ties to bind me to one place as you have. It would be utter selfishness on my part to do aught but accept this responsibility. My home is on the sea now and she will not lie wakeful, awaiting my return as your families would.” Not caring for the slight wistfulness in his tone, he quickly added, “I have done well there, made a good life for myself.”

      Gravely Tristan said, “Is there nothing here to bring you back home permanently then?”

      Marcel did not look at him, for he feared that Tristan would somehow see that the words gave him an instantaneous image of Genevieve. It was not a subject he was willing to discuss. He knew that Benedict had had suspicions about what was happening between them before he left, but he had not interfered, a fact for which he had been grateful.

      Marcel did not want any interference now, from any of his brothers, no matter how much he loved them. He knew that his decision to put aside his feelings for Genevieve was the right one. For both of them.

      He spoke hurriedly to forestall any more talk. “In view of the situation I believe I must leave as soon as possible. I will go by sea and take that exhausted Scotsman back with me.”

      Kendran stood. “Surely not ere morning.”

      “Nay,” Marcel shook his head. “I would not leave before then.” He pointed at the one small window. “’Tis soon that full dark will be upon us.”

      Tristan motioned toward the door. “We’d best get back to the others. They will not want us keeping you to ourselves.”

      He nodded and told himself that he was doing the right thing.

      Yet as he followed Kendran and Tristan to the door, Benedict halted him. “Marcel.”

      He paused and swung around to see the expression of deliberate resolve on his brother’s face. He asked, “What is it, Benedict?”

      Benedict frowned, took a deep breath and said, “Roderick Beecham has made Genevieve an offer of marriage.”

      The words hit Marcel with the power of a gale-force wind. He could not hide his shock. “But how? When?”

      Benedict spoke softly. “A few weeks gone. They met at a tourney last year. Obviously he was quite taken with her.”

      Marcel turned his back and forced himself to reply with deliberate calm. “Beecham is a good man, honorable and strong. There are none better. And there is no doubt that he is her equal in status and property, as he will become a baron on his father’s death.”

      Benedict replied, “Aye, he is a very good man. Thus I…Marcel, you cannot play the role of merchant captain forever. You are a nobleman and in that guise would be of great use to us here at Brackenmoore. With my own and Raine’s brother’s, not to mention Genevieve’s lands to administer—”

      “Nay, Benedict, I am not needed here.” He swung around. “But I am needed aboard the Briarwind There I am a simple sea captain, but I am respected for my own efforts, my own wits, not my name. And you will soon be rid of the responsibilities of Genevieve’s lands.”

      Benedict frowned. “I did not—”

      Marcel forestalled him with a raised hand, unable to hear another word with the knowledge of Genevieve’s marriage to another man making his heart beat so painfully in his chest. “Your pardon, Benedict, but I will thank you to say no more on this.”

      Without another word, Marcel left the room. He needed some time to get hold of himself, to think on what was really disturbing him. To accept that Genevieve would be with another man.

      Yet as he strode down the hall, he brought himself up short. Of course she would marry. Had he thought she would spend the rest of her life alone simply because he had gone away? She was a beautiful woman, one who deserved to be loved. He could never wish aught but the best for her.

      He had a sudden and unwanted vision of the uncertainty in her eyes as she had looked at him before running from the hall. As always her distress moved him. He did not want her to think that they could not be friends. Perhaps it would be of benefit to both of them if he were to speak to her before he left Brackenmoore, make his position clear. He did not allow himself to think, for even a moment, that he simply wanted to see her once more before he went.

      Chapter Two

      Genevieve sat in her chamber staring out the high arched window. It was a very warm night, and the breeze that passed though the open window did little to cool her heated cheeks.

      She