Pretty Persuasion (3 page)

"Naturally," she said at length, striving to sound blasé.

He gave a short nod. "Excellent."

And there it was—over with, done with, definite. The end of Georgiana and Robert; the dissolution of a twenty-year-old expectation. It was an odd feeling—a good one, she supposed, though unquestionably strange.

They stood there for a while, neither uttering a word. Robert began to speak, then caught himself and shook his head, as if he'd been about to blurt something absurd.

"I really must go." Feeling as if she were a marionette on strings tugged by some invisible force, she offered her hand. He took it and bowed like a man who had performed the act countless times before. Which he had, of course, but oh my, how polite they were being all of a sudden! It would have amused her except she suddenly couldn't remember how amusement felt.

He didn't release her hand but kept it there, more firmly enveloped within his own than propriety allowed. And, God help her, she was transfixed, unable to break away.

"Georgie…" He said it much too quietly, as intimate as a caress, and she shivered with undefined emotion.

This was wrong—so terribly, dreadfully wrong.

"Good bye, Robert," she said, then had to suppress the growl that rose in her chest:
Why
had she used his Christian name?

She dislodged her hand, spun around, and all but ran toward the garden path, away from Robert Balfour and feelings she didn't care to examine.

She didn't look back.

"
WHAT HAPPENED?" LOUISA leapt to her feet, her searching eyes alight with curiosity.

"What do you think happened? Rob—" Blast it! "
Sheffield
showed up, that's what! He now knows about Phillip and me, and he threatened to tell Father. Why didn't you stop him?"

Her friend's mouth twisted. "I tried, but he was determined to find you." She craned her neck to look past Georgie. "Where is he? Did he leave the other way?"

"I don't care—as long as he's not following me." She didn't think he would, but better to not stand around in case he should. She tugged on Louisa's arm. "Come along."

As they hurried through the garden, Louisa attempted to pry more information out of her, but Georgie only answered in monosyllables. By the time they approached the terrace, it had become exceedingly crowded. The dissonant, staccato chords drifting through the French windows explained the emigration from the parlor; someone was murdering Lord Mansell's pianoforte.

Louisa started toward a gathering of ladies their age, but Georgie held back, her conscience suddenly nagging her. "Wait, Louisa, I—" Stealing a quick glance at the other guests, she noticed a hawk-nosed dowager watching them from the corner of her eye.

Georgie linked arms with her friend and led her away from curious ears. "I'm sorry. For scolding you. I'm sure you did all you could to stop Lord Sheffield from discovering us."

Louisa heaved a sigh. "No, you were right. I could have given him false directions, then warned you of his intentions. I didn't think of it until after he had gone."

Georgie shook her head. "No harm was done. I believe I managed to convince him not to stir up trouble."

"But…" Her friend leaned closer and spoke in a near whisper. "What did he say? What did you think of his appearance? I nearly did not recognize him; he looks so different. Does he know you do not intend to marry him?"

"He knows," Georgie said bitterly. "He spied on Phillip and me, so how he could he not? Besides, I made my feelings quite clear, so he can have no doubts on that account." And she was supposedly informing her father of it this evening. It had been a boldfaced lie, of course, but a prickle of unease ran through her nonetheless.

"But…" Louisa's voice lowered another notch. "What of you and Lord Rossemore? What shall you do?"

Georgie swallowed hard, hesitating. It was not that Louisa couldn't keep a secret, nor did she disapprove of Phillip. But Louisa would most likely find it a burden to learn of the plans that had finally been spoken aloud and decided on today in the bower. And so Georgie had to ask, "Are you certain you want to know?"

Louisa started to speak, then pressed her lips together and exhaled heavily. "No. No, I am not. But I'm concerned for you, Georgie. Promise me you will not do anything in haste!"

"I promise." Her voice sounded feeble, even to her own ears. It felt like a lie, though she knew in her heart it was not. There would be nothing hasty about their actions, for though unspoken, the idea had lingered in her mind for close to a year now. And in consequence, her patience had worn so thin it would snap under a light breeze.

Or under the Rat's threat to tattle.

"There you are!" Louisa's mother, the Marchioness of Albermarle, bore down on them. "Georgiana, dear, your mother's not feeling quite the thing and wants to be off."

Georgie frowned, then turned and started toward the house. How strange and alarming. Her mother was never ill. "What's the matter?" she asked over her shoulder. "Is she all right?"

"Oh, yes." Lady Albermarle's head bobbed vigorously despite its heavy load. "She's just a bit out of sorts. She and your aunt are waiting for you in the parlor."

The throng parted for Louisa's mother as she led the way across the terrace, whether out of respect for her rank or fear of her hat, Georgie could not say. They found her mother and aunt seated far away from the young lady exhibiting her dubious talents on the pianoforte.

Georgie clasped her mother's solid but chilled hand. "What is the matter, Mamma?"

Her mother patted her hand in return, attempting a smile. Her complexion was ashen, her eyes tired and drawn. "Just a touch of the headache, dear. Nothing serious—though I should like to return home now."

Georgie was only too happy to agree. They left immediately, and they were a wretched party as the landau jounced and rolled its way back to London. Her mother's pallor went from white to green as the trip progressed, and Georgie's concern increased until she was nearly mad with worry.

"We ought to have stayed so you could have a rest," she said after a while. "Lady Mansell would have given you a room."

"Oh, nonsense," her mother said wanly. "Please, don't fuss, dearest. I am perfectly all right. It is just a headache, and besides, the fresh air has relieved it quite a bit."

Georgie held her lips pinched. Any fool could see her mother was not well, but that uncompromising tone promised no success should she attempt to argue the point, so she kept silent.

"We were all very surprised to see Lord Sheffield at the party," her mother said with forced cheerfulness, as if to reassure them she was feeling better. "Did you know he had returned to England?"

As Georgie shook her head, her aunt frowned and asked, "Did you speak with him? He walked off into the garden, looking for you."

Georgie tensed. It was starting to wear on her nerves, this repeated opportunity—and inclination—to perjure herself. She suffered no shame over lying to the Rat, but doing the same while looking her mother and aunt in the face was a different matter.

But in terms of her future happiness, they were both, unintentionally, her enemy. She would face only opposition if she declared her attachment to Phillip. Her mother, father, aunts, uncles, and even her brother were all inclined to manage her life for her, thinking her the last person qualified for the task. Being deceived was their just punishment; the subsequent guilt was hers, and one she was prepared to bear for the sake of keeping her vow to marry upon her own terms.

It was quite simple, really: she needed to get away from them. Her family was dear to her above almost all else, but she still longed for independence from their interfering tendencies. Since marriage was her only chance at escape, she had taken matters into her own hands. Instead of waiting for Robert the Rat to return or for her parents to settle upon a different match that was suitable to everyone but her, she had made her own choice.

She did not consider herself demanding in her requirements; she wanted a marriage based upon honesty, mutual respect, and a suitable amount of affection. Her husband would be a man who didn't mind her yearning to be more than just a wife, who approved of her dream to travel the world, to see and experience all that she could. A man who wouldn't expect her to be a docile, obedient little society wife.

And in Phillip she had found that man. They shared the same expectations of each other and their union. She simply had never gotten along with any other man half so well as she did him.

Well, except for Robert. At least, before the incident. The one where she discovered what an unprincipled and deceitful rat he was. When he had broken her heart, insofar as a thirteen-year-old girl's heart could be broken.

And now she wanted nothing to do with love and even less to do with Robert Balfour. No matter how disturbingly attractive she found him. But, oh Lord, he was an eyeful. She wanted to deny, forget, ignore that fact, but she couldn't. It vexed her to be so fixated on the way the mere sight of him had stolen her breath away, how his familiar voice had filled her ears and turned her brain to mush. Vexed that he could affect her so—

"Georgie!"

She blinked and focused on the women seated across from her. Their eyes widened at her, as if waiting for her to speak, and then she remembered her aunt's question about Robert.

"No, I did not see him," she lied, and because it would seem odd if she didn't appear interested, she asked, "Has he been home long?"

"Only a fortnight or so." Her aunt went on to describe how he was still an exceedingly handsome young man, and how his stay in that "uncivilized place" didn't seem to have corrupted his manners.

Georgie shifted, uncomfortable with her aunt's chatter. The soft squabs felt like wood against her back as she listened with half an ear, nodding where appropriate. There was no denying that Robert's sudden appearance had unnerved her. It was merely the shock, of course. There could be no other explanation, except perhaps that she never had managed to forget that awful day. It was a matter that remained unresolved between them, like a book left unfinished, an unpleasant volume that had been gathering dust ever since.

And one she had no intention of ever opening again. There was no need. Thoughts of Robert would fade soon enough, and they certainly had no impact on her relationship with Phillip.

"Since he didn't manage to speak with you, I suppose he shall call on you," her aunt announced with a nod, and Georgie knew from the smug look on her face that she was hearing wedding bells.

"It's very curious," her mother said. "Sheffield said he had spoken with your father. I should like to know why Charles kept it a secret."

So should Georgie. Not that it mattered, she mused as she turned to watch the pastoral landscape roll by. Though she had wanted to marry before the Rat returned and the subject of their "betrothal" resurfaced, she would not allow him to disrupt her plan to wed Phillip. Very soon, there'd be no more talk of her taking Robert Balfour to husband, and that would be the happiest day of her life. She was convinced of it, and yet somehow, her future seemed more uncertain than ever.

ROBERT ARRIVED BACK at his town house, almost hoping his brother was at home and ready for another row. A foul brew burned inside him—a mixture of frustration, fury, and a thirst for blood, be it figurative or real. He had lingered in Mansell's garden, trying to readjust his plans for the future, seeing as they no longer involved Georgie.

Georgie. A woman now, and more beautiful than he could ever have imagined.

Beautiful… and deceitful.

Enough. He had mulled that topic to death already. His mind had refused to stray long from their encounter, and, as the afternoon wore on, his state of vexation had grown until he was virtually seething. Tony would be the perfect target and happy about it to boot, which Robert considered more of a curse than a blessing, no matter how badly he now needed an outlet for his own aggression.

"A Mr. Cameron called," his butler announced as he accepted Robert's hat and gloves. "He and Master Anthony are awaiting your lordship in the library."

Good news, finally. Cameron had, through happenstance, accompanied Robert to Barbados, and he had stayed when any sane man would have bolted. The Scot had also single-handedly prevented Robert from being shipped home in a coffin. That, however, was another subject upon which he took great care to avoid reflecting.

He thanked his butler and headed for the library. Tony and Cameron sprawled in armchairs near the dormant fireplace, each nursing a tumbler of brandy. A nearly empty decanter sat on the table, and by their slow reactions when he entered, Robert guessed they had consumed most of it between them.

"The master of the house returns," Tony said—mocking words uttered without rancor, followed by a humorless smile.

"And a good evening to you, as well, little brother." He was still unaccustomed to Tony's transformation from a spirited sixteen-year-old to a grown man in form and voice: a lieutenant of the cavalry, brash but still callow, subtly hostile yet somehow brotherly, and possessed of a wholly unpredictable temper.

And still, the sight of him banished any thought of renewing what had seemed these past two weeks to be a continuous argument. He had no real desire to quarrel with his brother.

Cameron's greeting was less equivocal, and Robert joined them, tugging on his cravat as he sank into a chair. His brother rose to ring for another glass, but Robert stayed him with a shake of his head.

"Positively unsociable," Tony muttered as he fell back. He finished off his drink and reached for the decanter. "Since you weren't around when Cameron here called, I told him to stay and entertain me with stories from your adventure. Didn't have much success. I don't understand why you're so bloody secretive about it."

"We simply don't want to offend your sensibilities, Balfour," Cameron quipped, and Robert wondered just how long the two of them had been sitting there, chumming it up. As far as he knew, they were not previously acquainted.

His brother scoffed. "You're no doubt hiding some sort of embarrassment. I'll wheedle it out of you soon enough."