Pretty Persuasion (5 page)

Her pulse galloped wildly, and she closed her eyes and sucked in deep breaths. Why was she rattled? She couldn't fathom—oh,
the dream.

Except it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. A vivid, all-too-real memory that hadn't plagued her since Phillip came into her life. Its return was not at all puzzling, as it coincided with Robert's.

No, she had never forgotten that day. She had, however, thought the bitterness and hurt gone by now. Had thought that only disgust remained.

In Georgie's eyes, Robert had been as good as married, to
her
, which had made his offense unforgivable. She saw the ridiculous in it now, of course. He had been a grown man. Considering she had been only thirteen, it would have been disturbing if he had reciprocated her feelings.

But despite being aware of the childish and unreasonable nature of her disfavor, the hurt remained. It had taken years, but she had eventually come to consider the incident as a blessing, for it had made obvious what a fool she'd been.

Leaning back and letting her head bounce off the yielding squabs, she opened her eyes and fastened them again on Phillip. Warmth filled her; she felt at ease, comfortable. Happy.

Yes, a blessing the Rat's rendezvous in the maze certainly had been. And his homecoming, and that cursed dream, served only to remind her of it. That was all.

"YOU WANTED TO see me?"

Robert looked up from the papers before him. His brother hovered in the study doorway, looking surprisingly neat. Last night's escapades, whatever they were, had left no obvious marks on him. And he still wore evening clothes.

Incredulous, Robert asked, "Did you just return?"

Tony shrugged, folding his arms. "What of it?"

Robert glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's nine in the morning!"

"I know, and I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you want so I can be off to bed."

Robert gripped the chair's wooden arm. His brother had been spoiling for a fight the past two weeks, and he had had just about enough. "Come in and sit down."

"I'm quite comfortable right here, actually," Tony said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Come inside!"

Despite his contrary behavior of late, his brother shut the door and crossed to the great mahogany desk. He dropped into a chair and propped his arm over its shoulder, his expression indifferent.

Robert hesitated, pondering how to break down the wall Tony had raised around himself. It was strange to sit on this side of the desk. Their father's ghost lingered in every corner of the room—lived and breathed in the heavy, dark furniture, the leather-bound books, and the faint whiff of cigars.

How would his father have handled the situation? Better than he, surely. Robert heaved a sigh. His hands were more or less tied. Tony was of age and had financial independence, so Robert's only option was to appeal to his brother's reason. It would not be easy, but for his mother's sake—and for Tony's own—he had to try.

Just as he started to speak, a knock came on the door. "There is a caller, your lordship," his butler proclaimed. "The Duchess of Southwell."

Surprise overshadowed Robert's frustration, and he checked the clock again. It was, indeed, nine in the morning.

Bemused, he said, "Show her in." Curiosity aside, he couldn't turn away the duchess. It simply wasn't done.

They rose when she entered. Robert first thought someone had died, for she was swathed in black and wore a veil that was swept back, revealing an alarmingly pallid face. Then it struck him that she might have dressed that way for the sake of anonymity, and warning bells went off in his head. This was not a social call.

Tony attempted to excuse himself after the exchange of greetings, but the duchess interposed. "No, do stay, Master Anthony. You might be of help."

Tony acquiesced, his manners suddenly irreproachable.

"Be of help with what?" Robert asked when they were all seated.

"I hate to impose upon you," the duchess said, the corners of her mouth turning down, "but I did not know who else to turn to. You see—oh, you might as well read it for yourself."

She fished a piece of paper out of her reticule and handed it over. Robert reluctantly accepted the note, his instincts telling him he'd rather not know its contents.
Dear Mamma,
he read.
I am off to Gretna to marry Lord Rossemore. Shall be gone no longer than a fortnight. Please, do not worry. G.

How could such foolish words be written in such an elegant hand? He scanned the message again, and the full significance of her words hit him like a kick to the stomach.
I intend to tell Father about it this evening
, she had said in Mansell's garden.
I foresee no complications.
She hadn't even blinked. Granted, Robert had not quite believed her, but he damned well had not expected her lie to be of such massive proportions, either.

He tossed the paper onto the desk. "I see," was all he could think to say.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"Georgie has eloped with Rossemore."

"Good God," his brother said in a stunned voice, his eyes widened, eyebrows raised. "Bloody hell." After a moment's hesitation, he frowned and glanced toward the woman at his side. "Beg your pardon, duchess."

She waved him off. "I can think of no phrase better fit to describe the situation. I simply cannot fathom what possessed her to do such a thing."

"Perhaps she thought Southwell would not approve of her choice," Robert pretended to guess, though he knew the truth well enough.

"Then she thought right!" Identical spots of red stained the duchess's cheeks. Robert didn't think he had ever seen her lose her composure before.

"I'll say," Tony agreed glumly. "I've heard rumors that Rossemore's on his last leg and hoping to marry money."

"No!" The duchess's eyes widened. "Oh! It is worse than I thought! I suspected from the moment I set eyes on him that he was the shady sort. Georgie is too young to see it, and I ought to have warned her, though I suppose it would only have spurred her to rebellion. But oh, a fortune hunter! I cannot bear to contemplate it."

As she sniffed and pulled out her kerchief, Robert sank back in his chair, putting this newest bit of information into the puzzle that was Georgie and her popinjay. To a penniless baron, a duke's beautiful daughter with thirty thousand—in addition to the estate she would inherit from her mother at five-and-twenty—must be a prize, indeed. But if he was merely after her fortune, why hadn't Georgie seen through his act?

Rossemore was perhaps not such a fool after all.

Fool or no, Robert would gladly have wrung his neck right then. He'd wring both their necks; Rossemore's for making off with Robert's intended bride—never mind that she wasn't precisely his anymore—and Georgie's for the deceitful thing she had become.

"Oh, do forgive me," the duchess said, dabbing at her tears. "I am not usually such a watering pot. I simply cannot bear the thought of how miserable that wretch will make her. If I were a man, I'd go after them myself, but…" She breathed an exasperated sound and turned the full force of her red-brimmed, pleading eyes on Robert.

The devil. She wanted
him
to chase after them. Robert squirmed and tried to think of a good reason why he ought to refuse. But it went against his nature to deny a weeping, distraught woman, especially the duchess. And then there was Georgie…

He groaned inwardly. Damn her, anyway. She had made her bed, and she'd simply have to lie in it.

Except it'd be Rossemore's bed, wouldn't it?

"When did they leave?" He might as well acquiesce. As a favor to her family, of course.

Hope sparked in the duchess's eyes. "Late last night or early this morning." Her brows knitted. "I suppose I ought to tell you. Southwell doesn't know yet. I'd ask him to go, but I know he would refuse."

Robert nodded. He couldn't see the stoic duke chasing after anyone, let alone a runaway daughter. The task was perfect for Georgie's older brother, however. "What about Wakehurst?"

The duchess shook her head. "He and his cousins made off for Bath a few days ago."

"Bath?" Tony interrupted blithely. "Why, they're"—he faltered, then caught himself, clearing his throat—"in Bath, yes."

The duchess threw him a sharp look, and Robert narrowed his eyes. But he had no time to contemplate the matter. The wayward couple must have at least a five-hour head start, and he could not afford to lose another minute. "I'll do what I can to stop them."

"Thank you, Lord Sheffield," the duchess said, her eyes brimming with tears again. "I knew you would. Now, about what to do if you should succeed…"

Robert listened with half an ear as the duchess informed him of her plans on how to avoid a scandal, part of his mind mapping out his own campaign. Aside from a fast horse, he'd need backup, and he knew exactly where to find it. If nothing else, Cameron ought to appreciate the opportunity to visit his native soil again.

FOUR DAYS LATER, a weary and bedraggled Georgie entered the Queen's Head with the man she was to marry. They should not have reached Gretna Green until the next day, but Phillip had insisted they make haste. It was nearly eight in the evening, and Georgie longed for a bath, a hot meal, and a full night's sleep.

"The innkeeper will perform the ceremony," Phillip told her after a quick discussion with their host. "The blighter is charging double on account of the hour. Says it'll be irksome to scare up witnesses so late."

Georgie glanced at the short, gaunt innkeeper, who was engaged in an animated discussion with a middle-aged woman twice his size. He must be an anvil priest. "We
could
wait until tomorrow," she said, even though that was the last thing she wanted.

"No, no, we cannot afford to waste a single minute."

He looked so distracted, shifting from foot to foot, his gaze darting from one corner of the room to the other. He was far too fretful, and so she gave another halfhearted try at calming him. "There's no hurry, Phillip. No one is following us."

Phillip released a tortured breath, and his cerulean eyes darkened as he seized her hand and raised it to his lips. "Georgiana, dear, if you cared the slightest for my peace of mind, you would not condemn me to another night of this torment. Why dally now that we finally have a lifetime—no, an eternity of happiness within our grasp?"

She sighed inwardly. He made a habit of lavishing upon her to excess what so easily sounded like empty flattery, pretty words that she almost wished she could believe. But whatever his genuine feelings were, she did believe his intentions were good. And wasn't that what really mattered?

"I dare not wait any longer." His pleading gaze bore into hers. "Say yes, my dove. Say you'll be mine. Tonight."

Oh, but he was charming! And sweet and considerate. Smiling, she murmured, "Yes. Yes, of course I will."

He squeezed her hand. "It may take a while before our priest is ready. I'll arrange for a room so you can refresh yourself."

THE INNKEEPER'S WIFE showed Georgie upstairs to a clean, comfortably furnished room. Phillip's manservant brought up their bags, and, when left alone, Georgie tore off her bonnet, gloves, and wrap, then took a long look at herself in the cheval mirror next to the toilet table. Countless hours on the road had left her with a creased carriage dress, disheveled hair, and wan complexion.

Swallowing a sigh, she poured water into the washbasin, wet a facecloth, and scrubbed the color back into her cheeks. She rummaged through one of her valises until she found a comb, then tried to bring her hair to some semblance of order. Without curling irons and the energy to care, she settled on leaving only a few locks framing her face, pinning the rest of her shoulder-length hair into a bun. When done, she still yearned for a bath or, at the very least, a change of underclothes, but Phillip had said half an hour, so she slumped into an upholstered armchair and waited.

Her eyes fell on the four-poster bed, and she was struck by how pure, how innocent, it looked with its plain white counterpane and curtains, the floral-patterned canopy its only adornment. Checking the room for a connecting door, she found none. A thrill shot through her, excitement tinged with apprehension. They'd spent the past two nights at coaching inns in separate rooms, since Phillip was too gentlemanly to even suggest they share. She had been a bit disappointed by that, but also relieved.

Tonight, however, they'd be married, and they'd share a bed. That bed. Her eyes were drawn back to the four-poster, and warmth suffused her as she imagined Phillip's hard body pressing her into the mattress, kissing her, loving her—

Suddenly, she saw Robert and Lady Ferrers, rutting like beasts, panting and moaning—oh, that infernal moaning! Georgie squeezed her eyes shut to make the images go away.

She willed herself to concentrate on Phillip and their future. Despite her restlessness, fatigue soon got the better of her, and she drifted off to sleep.

A SHARP BANG shook Georgie awake. She snapped her eyes open, blinking profusely.

Where was she?

A large figure flew across the room, heading for the window, and it returned to her in a flash: the elopement.

"Phillip?" she croaked, then cleared her throat and pushed out of the chair. "What's the matter?"

"Bad news," he growled as he inched the curtains apart. "Someone came riding in from the south. They're checking other inns, searching for us.

No. It couldn't be. Georgie hurried to his side. Together, they peered out through the slit in the curtains. She saw no one in the street, only the faint circles of light beneath first floor windows. "They can't be looking for us. Who would it be?"

Phillip didn't take his eyes off the street as he spat, "It's Wakehurst and one of your cousins; I'll bet my life on it."

Georgie shook her head. "They're in Bath. Even if a message did reach them, they could not have caught up with us."

"The duke, then!" Phillip snarled, bunching the curtain in his fist. "It scarcely matters who they are. They're here to stop the wedding. I will not have it!"

Georgie's pulse sped up as she watched him stalk away from the window. He wrenched off his gloves and threw them on the table, tossed down his hat and walking stick. She frowned in confusion when he continued to yank off his greatcoat, coat, and cravat in an uncharacteristically careless fashion.