Pretty Persuasion (28 page)

Neither should Robert, were he in Southwell's shoes. But he was in his own, and so he was putting his heart and sanity at stake instead. "My odds would improve considerably with your assistance."

"I'd lend you any assistance you should require, though what I have to offer is beyond my comprehension."

Robert paused, drumming his fingers on card table's leather top. "You have the power to extend her stay in town. I'll make no progress if she is sent away."

The older man remained silent for a long while, watching Robert through narrowed eyes, and then a ghost of a smile passed his face. "There is some irony in the notion of presenting to you what you have already taken, is there not?"

Robert swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up his neck into his cheeks and hoping it didn't show. "I… yes, I suppose there is." He cleared his throat and added, "Your grace."

He thought he saw a glint of humor in Southwell's eyes, but before he could be certain, the man gave a short nod and said, "You have until the end of the season, Sheffield. Out of consideration for your dignity, and for that of our sex, I can allow you no longer than that."

The devil. He'd have two months at most. But the man was right; two months of chasing one very unwilling woman ought to be the limit for how much a man should humiliate himself. Robert was not sure he wanted her badly enough to sacrifice his dignity—though his heart told him otherwise.

"Thank you." He finished off the rest of his brandy, then put the glass on the table. "I suppose you think less of me for wanting her after being rejected by her."

"No. Indeed, I am inclined to think more highly of Georgiana for it." Southwell set his cue down and abandoned the billiard table.

Surprised, Robert asked, "Ought I be flattered?"

"If you wish," the duke said as he picked up his coat from the chair opposite Robert.

A knock sounded, and Cameron appeared in the doorway. "I apologize for the intrusion, gentlemen," he said, "but I come bearing a message of at least moderate importance."

"Come in, come in!" Robert said, waving at his friend. "Play some billiards and have some brandy. We'll toast the ladies, bedeviled creatures that they are!"

Cameron approached, brows drawn together. "Another toast, and you'll have to be carried to your chamber, by the looks of it."

"Nonsense," Robert declared. "You have a message for me?"

"Indeed. Your brother charged me to inform you of his departure. Or, rather, he somewhat hastily gave me his permission to tell you before he jumped on his horse and was away."

Robert frowned. "Departure? Where?"

His friend heaved his shoulders. "London, I would assume."

"It is nearly nightfall!"

Cameron only replied with another shrug, and Robert closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he tried to make sense of his brother's flight. Shaking his head, he put the mystery out of his mind with a sigh at the knowledge that, while trying to win Georgie over, he still had his brother's animosity to contend with.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I believe you shall have your toast without me," the duke said, tugging his jacket more firmly into place. "Unattended matters draw me upstairs yet again."

An unexpected twinge stabbed Robert as Southwell took his leave—a twinge of envy, most likely. The duchess would perhaps not greet her husband with open arms, but neither would she shut the door.

"You're a pitiful sight, Sheffield."

"Thank you." Robert didn't even bother to glare; it was not worth the effort. "When did you begin to call me Sheffield?"

"Since the fellow I knew as Holcroft became the damned miserable excuse for a man that is you. Believe me, if you had a mirror and were not foxed, you'd agree."

"Firstly," Robert said, pointing a finger at his friend, "I am not bloody foxed, and secondly, if you say 'I told you so,' I vow I'll make you wish your mother had been a bloody nun."

Cameron shook his head. "Heed my advice: get yourself as far away from that woman as soon as possible, or you'll find yourself undone and unmanned."

Robert watched, bemused, as his friend quit the room with long, angry strides. Had the entire world gone mad, or was there some sort of conspiracy against him? He could not completely shrug off Cameron's violent opposition to his marrying Georgie—though, for perhaps the first time, he questioned the man's judgment.

But he'd be damned if he needed Cameron's blessing. He had two short months to perform a small miracle; the last thing he needed was to worry about gaining Cameron's, or Tony's, approval.

Robert turned and reached for the decanter again. He'd toast himself, by himself, if he must—and then he'd start planning his campaign.

She was but a woman. How difficult could it be to persuade her?

"Father summoned me to his study at last. He listened intently while I explain'd that Miss Pilkington had misheard me; that the word I had said was in fact 'itch'; the full sentence 'I have an abominable itch'; and that any different words or additional letters were obtain'd from her own Imagination. However, he did not believe me, and O! how I loathe how easily he can make me weep!"

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 14

GEORGIE LEFT HER bedchamber in Southwell House with her drawing things tucked under her arm. A few days before, she had spotted the bed of lily of the valley in full bloom in the small garden behind the house. The challenge of drawing them ought to take her mind off Robert, at least for a little while.

Though, in truth, she was not optimistic on that score. In the five weeks since their return to London, he never left her thoughts for more than a few minutes together. Neither could she avoid meeting him without becoming a total and utter recluse, which quite simply went against her nature. And to make matters worse, tomorrow her mother would host a ball in honor of Robert's homecoming.

It seemed that, in so many ways, everything and nothing had changed. Her reputation remained the same: while everyone expected her to do something unforgivably scandalous—such as, oh, elope with an impoverished gentleman and end up unmarried and ruined?—tongues had no reason to wag beyond that. Though still greatly cautious of allowing her to do as she pleased, her parents were treating her less like a disobedient child with every day that passed. There was every reason to expect that all would soon be back to normal.

Except it wouldn't, not for Georgie. Because these days, the only thing that unsettled her more than struggling to avoid Robert at social events was the knowledge that she didn't really want to. She missed him. Missed his conversation, his smiles, his teasing—God, she even missed arguing with him!

And the night they had shared. Tension coiled within her, and she closed her eyes briefly and swallowed hard as the hot, sensual memories assailed her.

She missed him. And she
hated
it.

As she neared her father's study, the door swung open and a young, fair-haired, smartly clad man came into the hallway. He closed the door and walked away from her, appearing not to notice her presence.

Georgie stopped dead in her tracks, her instincts screaming at her to hide. She had not considered what she'd do if she met Phillip again, having hoped, she now realized, that she never would.

What possible business could he have with her father, a man he had always shunned? She could think of no answers, but she'd wager it concerned her. And what good did refusing to marry do her if she allowed men to manage her life, anyhow? She had a right to know what was going on, and so she mustered all her courage and called out, "Lord Rossemore."

He froze at the top of the stairs, and his head swiveled toward her. They stared at each other for what seemed like an interminably long time, and Georgie's heart thumped harder against her ribcage with each passing second. Oh, this was a bad idea. She was ill prepared for this confrontation.

Finally, he retraced his steps, halting a mere foot or two away from her. "Georgie," he said, offering a cautious smile. "What a fortunate coincidence."

"Oh, yes. A coincidence, meeting me in my home."

His smile grew brittle, and he cleared his throat. He looked exactly as she remembered him, and yet he seemed different, as if she no longer saw him through a veil of self-delusion. He was undeniably handsome, had a charming manner, and she had wanted him to be the perfect husband—and so she had convinced herself he would be.

Her heartbeat slowed, and she no longer feared the effect talking to him would have on her. She just wanted him to go away. "What are you doing here?"

"He called on me to ask for your hand in marriage."

Looking past Phillip toward the deep voice rumbling from the study doorway, Georgie found her father, standing with hands folded behind his back. Giving an incredulous laugh, she said, "And what was your reply, Father?"

As servants' voices drifted up from downstairs, her father stepped back and gestured at them to join him inside. "It is not a matter to be discussed in the hallway."

With a glance at Phillip, she did her father's bidding, hesitating instinctively before crossing the threshold. The dark-paneled room held nothing but unpleasant memories; she had never entered it except by invitation, and then only to receive some sort of reprimand. Grim faces still stared at her from portraits on the wall, but she knew enough about her ancestors' transgressions by now to know that, despite her father's claims, she was far from the blackest sheep in the family.

"So?" she said once they were all inside the study. "What is going on?"

Her father stepped behind the mahogany desk and once again folded his arms behind himself before responding. "Perhaps Lord Rossemore would be better fit to explain."

Phillip paused, his grip still on the handle of the door he had just shut. When he abandoned it to shift closer to Georgie, she automatically moved toward the desk. After setting her drawing things down, she put a hand on the curved top of an armchair—her anchor as she stood alone between the two men and their self-interest.

"I thought renewing my offer was the proper thing to do, all things considered." Phillip's voice was steady, his gaze direct.

"What things considered?" she demanded, knowing she ought to tell him his mission was doomed but suddenly curious to find out what he wished to say. Curious to see if she could somehow make him suffer.

"Considering our elopement and the threat to your reputation," he said easily.

She was unable to keep the bite from her tone as she replied, "How thoughtful of you to worry about my reputation. But, as I am sure you know, your concern is unnecessary."

A chink appeared in Phillip's air of confidence as his arms disappeared behind his back. The posture seemed a weaker imitation of her father's stance, and Georgie was struck by how Robert's presence had never appeared small when compared to her father's in that way.

"Nevertheless," her erstwhile lover stated, "I feel it is my duty to right the wrong that was committed. Your father agrees."

"Conditionally," her father promptly added.

"Oh, happy day!" Georgie cried sarcastically, her calm evaporating in the face of their presumptuousness. And
why
had her father changed his mind all of a sudden?

Glaring at the man who had nearly become her husband, she went on. "I dreamt of the moment when you would have the courage to ask for permission to marry me, and that you should be accepted. And if I had learned nothing in all of this, I should have said it is a great pity this event did not come about two months past."

Phillip took a step closer. "Georgie, please believe me when I say that were I to lie on my deathbed tomorrow and be granted one last wish, it should be that you forgive me. And, although I know I do not deserve it, I would beg that you pardon me for causing you pain, for deceiving you, and for speaking to you in such a vile tone."

They were pretty words, not the flattering ones that she had never quite believed, but heartfelt and straightforward. He spoke honestly—or was, at the very least, convinced he did. And still, despite the sincerity in his countenance, it left her cold.

"You spoke only the truth at Gretna," she said with a sigh. "I truly do not know what it is to be without the funds to live in a manner befitting my station. And it is most likely for the best that you deceived me, for I would have been fool enough to think it admirable to be poor but happy. The illusion would have shattered before long."

Phillip finally closed the distance between them, and without warning, he grabbed and lifted her free hand, enclosing it with his own. "But that scarcely matters any longer. We have your father's blessing at last. Please tell me that, whatever my initial reasons for courting you, you know that my feelings were genuine."

An impatient sound came from her father's side of the desk. "I have more important matters to attend to than listen to this drivel. The decision ought to be simple enough. Do you wish to be married or not?"

Georgie glared at him. She could think of only one man who tempted her to break her vow never to marry, and the fact that she sometimes ached to do so was galling enough in itself without the added irritant of her father thinking she'd throw herself back into Phillip's arms.

Looking at Phillip again, she was surprised to find him eyeing her father with thinly veiled annoyance. As he spoke, the hand that felt strangely unfamiliar instead of comforting tightened around her own. "These weeks apart have only made my admiration for you, and my conviction of our suitability, all the stronger. I should be the happiest man alive if you would consent to become my wife."

Georgie sighed. Part of her actually believed he was in earnest, which made responding that much harder. "I cannot. I wanted to marry the man I thought you were, because I was desperate and because I had convinced myself we were perfect for one another. But I was wrong. If you had been honest with me from the start about your financial affairs, I probably would have married you anyway. And it would have been a horrible mistake. We were fortunate it ended as it did."