Pretty Persuasion (17 page)

If he weren't being so infuriatingly high-handed, she would happily have told him there would be no more kissing, harmless or not. She silently swore it, even as she suspected that forbidding herself to do so made it all the more tempting.

But her odious brother still needed to be taught a lesson. "You'll have to be more specific than that," she said. "Kissing where, exactly?"

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"I know what
I
mean by harmless kissing, but I am not sure what your definition is. There are a great many body parts to kiss, as I'm sure you know." She turned away from the mental image her statement brought, but not before she'd caught a glimpse of Robert's parts that she could, and hungered to, kiss.

Her brother's jaw had gone slack, and unequal to resisting the temptation of pushing him further, she said, "I don't want there to be any misunderstanding. So in order for me to act in full compliance with your command, I'm afraid I must demand that you clarify what you mean by it."

"Don't be absurd!"

"No, no! I insist that you tell me which parts of the male anatomy may be kissed when one is conducting a harmless flirtation." A devilish idea struck her, and she hurried over to the writing desk by the sitting area, saying, "In fact, you shall make a list."

She fished out pen, paper, and ink, and began scrawling across the top of the page. As she sensed her brother taking a few steps toward her, she wrote more quickly, the quill squeaking as she swept it across the page.

"What sort of list? Look, Georgie—"

"There," she said, drawing a line down the length of the paper, dividing it in half. She held it up to Richard, who stood exactly where she'd left him, a bemused expression on his face. "On this side, you list the body parts I may kiss, and on the other, the ones I may not."

He made an exasperated sound. "Have you gone mad?"

"Mad?" she said with false bewilderment.

"You cannot possibly expect me to make such a list. It's preposterous!"

"Oh." Heaving a dramatic sigh, she set the paper down on the table. "In that case, I'll simply have to assume there are no limitations." With a quick shrug, she added, "I don't mind. I dare say memorizing the list would have been dreadfully tedious."

He muttered a curse. A few quick strides brought him to her side, where he promptly bent over the table, picked up the pen, and wrote two words in angry, jerked motions.

When he put the pen down, she said, "Oh, and you'd better sign it."

His eyes narrowed ominously. "Why?"

"To relinquish any responsibility, of course. If I should happen to disobey your order, this document will prove that you did your brotherly duty. I don't want you to be held accountable for my disgraceful conduct." As his nostrils flared, she added, "Not that I intend to behave in such a manner; it's merely a precaution."

With a dry look showing he was only doing it to humor her, he scrawled his name across the bottom of the page in one bold sweep of his hand. He picked up the paper and handed it to her. "That ought to be simple enough to understand."

She read the two words he had written, one in each column, then made a show of widening her eyes. "Oh! Well, yes, it is. But I must confess my surprise. I thought—"

"What?" he snapped.

She flipped the paper for him to read, which he did, except thoroughly this time. And the minute his face clouded over, she snatched document behind her back.

"Hand it over," he said, reaching for the paper.

"Not on your life," she said, grinning as she backed up toward the door.

He took a threatening step toward her. "Give it up, or you'll be sorry."

Grasping the handle with her free hand, she tore open the door, squealing as he lunged for her. She darted out into the hall, slamming the door after herself, then hitched up her skirts and ran like a madwoman.

"I SAY, SHEFFIELD," said Lord Grimthorpe as Robert entered the sitting room, "Is there any good sport to be had around here? As I admire this painting, I cannot help but feel the urge to knock off some poor defenseless animal. There's nothing quite like it to boost a fellow's confidence in his manhood."

Too on edge to offer more than a faint smile, Robert glanced at the painting of a hunting scene gracing the pastel green wall. Grim—an unsuitable nickname, if there ever was one—had not changed much; he was still the jester, one who took nothing and no one seriously, including himself.

"A boost you're in dire need of, no doubt," commented the man's cousin. While they waited for the dinner gong to sound, Ashcombe had planted himself before the unlit fireplace and its painted panel screen with a tumbler of brandy in his hand.

Grimthorpe snorted. "And you as well, Ash. Though one usually rises before midday to participate in such events, so that rules you out."

"I'll drink to that," Ashcombe said, holding up his glass.

"He'd drink to the prospect of being buggered," his cousin muttered, and Robert found himself expelling a brief chuckle despite his gray mood. The other gentlemen seemed inclined to ignore that afternoon's embarrassing incident, and far be it from him to object, though he still could not quite manage to mirror their easy manner.

Robert chose a chair near the corner where Cameron and Tony sat with a dainty tea table between them, immersed in subdued and, from the look of it, deadly serious conversation. Grimthorpe circled the room, scrutinizing the various other paintings that made the walls seem far too cluttered for Robert's taste.

"I trust your journey up from
Bath
was agreeable," Robert said, dividing his attention between the two cousins, who immediately exchanged furtive glances.

"Indeed," Grimthorpe replied somewhat cautiously. "A jolly good exercise."

"I assume my brother sought you out, told you about Georgie's little, er, escapade, whereupon you resolved to remove yourself to Yorkshire?"

"Precisely," Grimthorpe said far too quickly, turning back to the paintings.

The young men were clearly hiding something, and since he had little else to occupy him at present, Robert decided he might as well try to make them squirm some more. But just as he opened his mouth to start his next question, the door burst open, and a giggling Georgie flew into the room, breathless and flushed. As she darted behind the chair-back settee, her brother appeared in the doorway, also flushed, except in fury.

"Stay away," Georgie said between ripples of laughter. "It's mine."

Wakehurst stalked across the room. "Damned brat. I'll make your life hell."

Frowning at the man's choice of words, Robert sat up straight. Whether she had earned it or not, surely it was not called for to show such disrespect in company. He started to deliver a setdown—

"As if you could," Georgie said with a grin, and Robert clamped his mouth shut.

As he advanced on her, the marquis seemed to rack his brain in search of a suitable threat. "I'll steal your diary and have it published as a ha'penny novel."

"Ha! That would—"

"What's this?" Grimthorpe slipped up behind Georgie and snatched something from her hands. A piece of paper, Robert observed with curiosity.

Whirling, Georgie grasped for the document, but her cousin easily held it just out of her reach, and she eventually gave up—a little too easily, in Robert's opinion. Whatever was written on that thing, she did not consider it too big of a secret.

Wakehurst put out his hand, saying pointedly to his cousin, "Thank you."

Grimthorpe made no move to hand it over.

"Believe me, Grim," said Georgie's brother, "you don't want to do that."

Grimthorpe threw him a sly glance and started reading aloud. "I, Richard et cetera, et cetera, hereby give my sister, Lady Georgiana Montford, permission to conduct harmless flirtations, during which she may—" He paused for a moment, his lips twitching. "During which she may
refrain from
kissing the following parts of the male anatomy."

Ashcombe, having just taken a swallow of brandy, exploded into a coughing fit. Astonishment washed over Robert. The imp was incorrigible. He sought her gaze and found that she averted her eyes the minute they met his, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

Grimthorpe did not look up from the paper as he made his way to his cousin's side. "It appears," he said while delivering a pair of sturdy whacks on Ashcombe's back, "that she may refrain from kissing 'none' and may not refrain from kissing 'any.'"

Ashcombe's whoops grew so violent he nearly doubled over, his face turning crimson. When his coughing finally subsided, there was a short silence before Georgie's brother growled, "She tricked me."

"You deserved it," Georgie pointed out. "You were being perfectly odious."

She thrust out her chin, and Robert couldn't help smiling. He shifted in the chair again, itching to grab her and pull her off to a private place where she could put into effect the stolen permission to kiss his various body parts.

The blush that continued to betray her embarrassment only made him admire her bravado all the more. Wakehurst must have tried to cow her, and the list made obvious his failure. She was victorious in her revenge, and Robert could not resist the temptation to increase her brother's agitation. Raising his hand, he said, "I have no complaints."

"You ought to," Tony intoned smugly. "There was no mention of your name."

"I scarcely think that's relevant," Robert said even though its relevance could hardly be greater. Still, he rationalized it as an unfortunate oversight on her part—or perhaps an intentional show of discretion? "Tell me, Grimthorpe, does it state which parts of Georgie the gentleman may kiss?"

Ashcombe burst out coughing again. Glancing at the paper in his hand, Grimthorpe said, "Ah, no, but I dare say—"

"Enough!" Wakehurst's voice boomed loud as thunder. "There will be no discussion of body parts, male or female!" Several seconds ticked by as he pinned each person in turn with a quelling stare, daring them to argue.

"You!" the man snapped next, pointing at Tony. "You will keep your tongue until you have something to say that won't make me want to rearrange your face!"

He turned to Grimthorpe. "Kindly tear that blasted document into as many pieces as possible before I forget about the headache my uncle would give me for murdering his heir."

Robert took care to wipe the smirk off his face when the young man's attention turned to him. "You, Sheffield, will keep your hands off my sister. I'd lose my bet by calling you out, but at the moment, I don't bloody well give a damn!"

The devil. Robert opened his mouth to put the pup in his place, but once again, his reaction came a second too late. Wakehurst's attention shifted toward Ashcombe, whose countenance still contained a purplish hue. "Ash… For God's sake, man, just breathe! You've been doing it for two decades. I don't see why you should stop now."

When the marquis finally faced Georgie, it seemed as if every man in the room held their breaths in anticipation. To Robert's surprise, the young man's anger appeared to fade to mere frustration as he beheld his sister's stubborn demeanor. "Georgie. No kissing. At all. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Richard," she said with surprising meekness. She sailed across the room, all demure grace, then stopped before her brother, stood on the tips of her toes, and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Now please calm down before you suffer an apoplexy. You are the kindest of brothers, and I should hate to lose you."

Leave it to Georgie to make vow of no kissing only to break it in the next heartbeat. As she quit the parlor, shutting the door quietly behind herself, Robert scanned the room for signs that he was not the only one who had noticed the irony of her performance. Wry amusement flickered as he realized they were all oblivious. Had he not known her as well as he did, apparently better than anyone in his present company, he would not have been nearly so sure she had done it on purpose. The imp.

For a few moments, Wakehurst stared after her with a stunned look on his face, until he visibly collected himself and turned back to Robert. "I take that back, Sheffield. Get her to marry you. Do whatever you must to persuade her. And then, put her away, preferably somewhere in the country."

Though he chafed at the young man's tone, Robert decided he'd tolerate being dictated to—for now. Evidently, after twenty years as her brother, Wakehurst still had not quite figured out how to handle Whirlwind Georgie, and Robert found it within himself to take pity on the man.

Not trusting himself to keep a civil tongue, however, Robert only inclined his head. He certainly would not mind such an arrangement, providing he could rusticate along with her. Instead of trying to keep him at a distance, however, she would be a loving wife. A passionate wife. One who didn't mind being awakened by a kiss every morning or, better yet, one who woke him with a kiss, and not necessarily on his lips—

"That's it!" Marching over to Wakehurst's side, Grimthorpe grabbed his cousin's hand and slapped a mass of small bits of paper into it. "I did my best. I couldn't possibly tear it into more pieces than that."

THE REST OF the evening passed in pleasant companionship, which Georgie accredited to the absence of Mr. Cameron and that ass Anthony Balfour, who had taken themselves off to God knew where. Everyone seemed to act as if the incident that morning had never taken place. Her brother's ire had mysteriously been appeased, Edward was happy as long as Robert's footmen brought a steady flow of bottles from the cellars, and Hugo had not been put out of humor in the first place.

Throughout the evening, Georgie found herself rattled by the burning intensity of Robert's gaze upon her. All too often, her eyes would inadvertently wander his way, and each time, she found him giving her a look that said he had not forgotten her uncontrolled behavior at the picnic. And he had no intention of letting her forget it, either.

Wanton dreams disturbed her sleep that night as well, and as a result, she was already irritable when Robert delivered the dreadful news to them at the breakfast table the next morning.

"It appears we are soon to have even more company," he said, lowering the letter he had just received.