Pretty Persuasion (13 page)

"I thought he would be the perfect husband," she choked out. "I didn't believe all the pretty phrases he spun, but most of the time he seemed so sincere, so heartfelt. But they were all lies, and I never suspected."

Her tone hardened, anger overshadowing misery, and relief flowed through him. Her tears unsettled and frustrated; her fury was familiar territory and almost comforting in its assurance that she was not made of milk and water.

"So I was hiding because I am ashamed." She laughed bitterly. "Is that better than being heartbroken?"

Robert's stomach tightened and his temples throbbed with a familiar, dull ache. "Perhaps not better, but more easily mended, I should think. You may have been foolish, but to recover from shame, you need only forgive yourself. Heartbreak, if we are to believe the poets, you may never recover from."

"You have no experience with heartbreak, then?" she asked, half serious, half teasing.

"No, I can't say that I do." Shame, however… Shame, regret, self-loathing—his years in Barbados had ensured he was no stranger to any of them. Surely heartbreak would be a carefree jaunt in comparison.

As they sauntered down the moonlit country road, her hand stayed in his until it nearly seemed the most natural thing in the world to him. If a day of amusements could wipe away her antipathy, make her forget years had passed since they last conversed so easily, he'd happily spend every day trying to please her.

If she'd let him. And God, but he hoped she would, because in her company, the pain of his past would fade. He was sure of it.

"Perhaps I'm wrong," she said suddenly, breaking their short silence. "Perhaps I am a bit heartbroken after all."

"How so?" he asked cautiously.

"Not at losing him," she explained, "but at the loss of the advantages the marriage would have brought me."

"What advantages?"

She paused briefly, as if she hadn't expected the question. "Well, he didn't oppose my plans."

"Plans?"

Another moment of hesitation. "Of traveling. Seeing the world. I want to paint the pyramids. Dip my toes in the Mediterranean. Ride an elephant in India. I want to do it all, to experience as much of the world as I can."

The devil. Well, fancy that. Of all the witless, harebrained notions… Robert gave a snort. "If he was in earnest, then he was a bigger fool than I thought."

Her hand lurched within his own. "Why?"

The confusion in her voice was tinged with the threat of indignation, and the realization of his mistake came at him like a whack on the head. Of course she had her heart set on this ridiculous plan. Otherwise, she wouldn't have made approval of it a husbandly qualification. And naturally, she wouldn't take kindly to him candidly pointing out that it was, indeed, a ridiculous plan. He'd have to tread carefully.

"There's a war on," he replied. "Pardon me if I'm wrong, but it seems that gallivanting off to countries occupied by the enemy would be beyond foolish."

Her hand fell away, and he instantly regretted voicing his opinion. It had not been worth the expense of their comfortable intimacy. She obviously needed to realize that she could not undertake such a venture, but he saw no reason to argue with her about it at present. Time enough later to explain to her that adventures tended to end badly.

"We wouldn't have gone until the war was over, of course," she said quietly.

"Mmm," was all he offered as a response.

"I take it you would not care to undertake such a journey, then."

Robert turned and looked at her. What was she about? Was this a test? It hadn't been a question, and her tone had been so dispassionate he couldn't tell if his answer mattered to her or not. And her face was only a shadow there in the darkness, an outline that told him nothing except that she was still beautiful, still Georgie.

Honesty had to be the best choice, certainly. "No, I would not. I've had my share of traveling. I've seen other parts of the world and can't say that I have a desire to do so again. This is my home, and I intend to stay here. Start a family. Take my seat in the House. Go up to town for the Season and retire to the country in autumn. Fishing, hunting with my dogs, managing my estates. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary."

"I see," she said quickly. "It is a blessing to know what one wants from life, is it not?"

"Indeed." It made him chary, the buoyancy behind her words. He didn't trust it. Not one bit.

"No more heavy reflections," she announced. "I had a wonderful day. Thank you."

Another about-face. Her temper had all the constancy of English weather. In this case, he didn't mind. The topic had made him uncomfortable, to say the least. "I am glad you enjoyed it. There is one thing, though…"

"Yes?"

"Why did you want me to lose the archery competition?"

"On the contrary," she said easily. Too easily. "I cheered for you. I certainly didn't want your odious friend to win."

A clever omission. Before he could pursue the subject further, she said, "There has to be a shorter way home. My feet ache abominably."

"Cutting across the fields would be a shortcut."

"Oh, let's!" she said, sounding genuinely cheerful now. "It shall be an adventure."

It was the perfect moment to tell her his opinion on adventures, but just as he opened his mouth, she veered off the road. He watched as she climbed the stile and sprang over the hedge, debating whether to follow or let her go alone, which really was no choice at all. He hurried after her, into the grassy fields, catching up quickly. "I'd be wasting my breath to say I think this is a foolish idea, wouldn't I?"

A giggle burst from her throat. "Yes, but you seem to like wasting your breath."

He could find no dignified response, so he kept his tongue. Setting their sights on the gate at the opposite end, they picked their way across the field, grass rustling beneath their feet. They eventually struck up a conversation about the day's events and the town's unusual festivities. A neutral subject, if there ever was one.

Suddenly, Georgie ground to a halt. "What's that?" she whispered, pointing to his right.

Robert followed her hand and saw the shadow of a large, motionless animal, hovering thirty odd feet away. "A cow," he replied, keeping his voice hushed without quite knowing why.

As if to confirm his judgment, the animal made a deep, bellowing sound. It had an edge to it—not the placid kind of low he would have expected. He went rigid, murmuring, "Or a bull."

"Oh, my," Georgie breathed, a touch of excitement in her voice. "What do we do?"

"We keep walking," he said, and so they did, occasionally glancing at the bulky animal as they resumed their progress.

Another bellow rumbled through the still night air, angrier this time. Peeking back, Robert saw the bull lumbering after them, seeming to pick up speed with each step. He grabbed Georgie's hand and increased his pace. But the animal gained on them, and the next sound it made was deeper and utterly furious.

Robert stiffened. He reacted on pure instinct, shouting, "Run!"

Georgie squealed as they took off in a mad sprint, dashing toward the hedgerows in the distance. He ran faster than she, but he dared not let her go. His heart beat wildly. There was a swishing sound in his head. He vaguely heard Georgie whimper and knew he was hurting her, but he had no choice. When she stumbled, he hauled her back onto her feet.

The bull snorted angrily behind them. How far behind, he could not tell. They were seconds away from the hedgerows, and there, a short way down the straight wall of bushes, he saw the wooden gate.

"Robert!" Georgie gasped. "Slow down! I can't—"

They reached the gate. Robert seized Georgie by the waist to hoist her up, but she had already started climbing. In the space of a heartbeat, he jumped over the gate, then turned to see the bull bearing down on them.

"I'm stuck!" Georgie wailed. She sat on the gate, yanking at her skirt. "My dress!"

Robert could see the furious glow of the bull's eyes, and he could imagine the spittle foaming at its mouth. Pure dread drove him as he grabbed Georgie and snatched her off the gate. He scrambled to retain his balance, but tumbled backward and landed hard with her full weight upon him. Air whooshed out of his lungs and pain exploded down his spine.

A groan escaped him as he caught his breath. Through the buzzing in his head, he heard the bull smash into the gate with a loud crack, followed by another bellow. Then, silence. The pain slowly faded, but Georgie weighed him down and he was too numb to move.

"Are you all right?" she asked weakly.

He let out a grunt. "Yes. But I swear you're going to be the death of me."

Much to his bewilderment, she bubbled over with laughter. Loud peals rang near his ears, sounding not nervous or hysterical but genuinely amused. Mad, foolish woman! But with air in his lungs and no serious injury, he found her laughter infectious, and a long while went by before their chuckles died down.

She pushed up, trying to move off him, and he tightened his arms around her. It was an involuntary reaction. She was soft and warm, and his mind protested wildly to the notion of being bereaved so soon.

"Let go."

Despite her mild tone, it was an order. "Not yet," he replied. "Now that you've nearly got me run through by a bull, you really do owe me a kiss."

He spoke without thought, but the moment the words left his mouth, it hit him that he had been only half teasing. He wanted all of her—mind, body, and soul. Friendship, too, but so much more than that. But it was too soon. She was not ready.

He felt her stiffen above him and knew she had not taken it as a jest. Bating his breath, he braced himself for the setdown.

Awareness slammed into Georgie, awareness of the firm, male body pressed flush against hers, the powerful arms wrapping her. Robert's demand hung like an echo in the air, taunting and tugging, and she suddenly couldn't think of a reason why she ought to refuse.

Hands braced on his chest, she lowered her lips to his. First contact, tentative and dry, left her with only a vague thrill, a sliver of excitement. He gave no hint of response, only lay rigidly beneath her.

Had he been jesting? It had not seemed so. She started to draw back, but he came alive with a low groan, cupping her head and pulling her back down and rising to meet her in the same motion.

Sharp sensation rushed through her as their mouths touched, breaths mingling sweet and warm between faintly parted lips. Her lungs felt heavy, her head light, and when his tongue pushed inside, the hot dampness stirred her blood. He tasted of rich ale and insistent hunger, the same hunger she had shied away from that morning, but which now roused a matching fervor in her.

The world grew smaller there in the darkness, with no one to see or hear, where privacy translated into intimacy and disagreements could be forgotten. Her limbs felt weak and boneless one moment, and the next, wound tight with urgency. The bliss of staying in his arms sank into her, and she knew she could die happy that way.

Except the other need grew, the searing need that twisted through her from all directions, colliding between her thighs. And then she found herself no longer merely receiving but attacking. She cradled his face in her hands and pressed closer, feeling the warmth from his body through the layers of clothes.

The kiss turned into a battle of wills, the purpose to devour, as if it were even possible to win such a match. Hands roved as it became impossible to lay passive, to limit the intimacy to lips and tongue. She shifted so that she was draped over his leg, one thigh between his thicker, muscular ones. The move brought his need to her attention, the evidence of his arousal pressing hard and hot against her leg.

Reality struck her like a bolt of lightning. Georgie tore herself away, tumbling to the ground beside him when he released her more easily than she expected. Her heart pounded in her ears, swallowing all sounds except the short, raspy gulps of her own breathing. The ground was rigid beneath her back, the cool blades of grass jabbing her palms. Robert's scent lingered in her nostrils, his taste on her tongue, and she was overcome by a sense of dread, ten times more powerful than that morning.

She had felt desire with Phillip, but it had been a mere flicker to this scorching flame. This kind of desire was so intoxicating, so all-consuming that everything else faded to nothing.

And there she lay, suddenly reminded of Lady Ferrers and the maze, thinking for a moment that she'd be sick, so deep was her humiliation. Robert stirred beside her, and before he could speak or, God help her, touch her again, she jumped to her feet.

He scrambled up as well. "Georgie—"

"No," she interrupted. The timbre of his voice, thick with the trace of passion and something else, something that seemed like regret, but regret for what? That it had happened, or that it had ended? She didn't want to know.

"We're even now," she said, then turned on her heel and stomped off. She sensed his pointed emotion stabbing at her back as she strode away—anger, confusion, or possibly both.

"You're going the wrong way," he called after her, his voice ringing cold and harsh.

Gritting her teeth, she swung about and walked back, picking up her pace as she hurried past him. She trudged blindly toward the distant lights of Kingsworth, keenly aware of the man following at her heels, and wondered how much longer it would be before facing her parents' wrath without a plan would seem like the lesser evil.

There was a picnic to-day, and almost everyone attended. It is curious that I ne'er before noticed how the Rat constantly stares at the Ferret. I spilled lemonade in his lap. He cursed me a 'Damned Brat.' Only I heard, and I doubt anyone but he knew the spill was not truly an accident.

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 13

AS GEORGIE READIED herself for bed that evening, an upstairs maid brought her a note from Robert. Her mouth was as dry as the tiny piece of paper as she unfolded it, her hands trembling with inexplicable foreboding. Was it an apology for his behavior or another demand of some sort? Perhaps his patience had worn thin, and he had decided to set out for London forthwith.