The Lady’s Secret (28 page)

“Then who is?” Lady Dunsmore demanded angrily. “Who is?”

“I’m afraid you are, Mother.” A new voice came from the doorway.

It was her cousin, Lord Dunsmore. Another man stood at his shoulder. Georgy recognised him as one of the guests at Dunsmore Manor.

Dunsmore’s face was pale and grief-stricken, his voice sad rather than accusing. “You have no one to blame for this but yourself.”

He crossed the room, smoothly putting himself between the gun his mother held and Nathan. And it was only then, at last, that the fight seemed to go out of Lady Dunsmore. Her proud bearing slackened and she seemed to fall in on herself.

She wept.

The other man walked towards Nathan, talking urgently. It was a moment before Georgy realised she couldn’t understand what he was saying. She became aware, at first slowly and then suddenly, agonisingly, of the pain in her arm. She glanced down and saw, with some disbelief, that her arm was not…not right. It had an unlikely and slightly sickening concavity to it that made her feel suddenly queasy. It seemed to swell and shift before her very eyes. With some difficulty, she moved her other arm to support it, gasping at the lightning flash of pain that arced through her nerves when she touched it.

“Georgy?”

Nathan was moving towards her. Rationally, she knew he moved quickly, but it seemed to take him forever to lunge for her. Before he could reach her, she fell, not into darkness, but into light. Soft, pale and grey. A rising ocean of oblivion.

“Broken wrist,” the physician announced cheerfully. He set Georgy’s arm gently back on the pillow. “I’ll put a poultice on it, then splint and wrap it. I’ll need boiling water.”

Nathan hurried to the doorway. “Davy!” he shouted.

The boy had arrived with Goudge, Sir Percy and several constables a short while ago. Lady Dunsmore’s two henchmen had been taken away, as had the lady herself, though she had been released into the somewhat gentler custody of her son’s servants.

Davy appeared, his expression inquisitive. “M’lord?”

“The doctor needs boiling water.”

The boy nodded and left, and was back a few minutes later with a full kettle. Very efficient was Davy. He’d go far.

The physician poured a measure of the water into a worn enamel bowl into which he had been mixing various powders. He pounded at the contents of the bowl with a pestle until it turned into a brownish paste, then spread it gently over Georgy’s injured arm. She winced but made no sound.

They waited for it to dry, the physician somehow managing to hold a spirited conversation all on his own. Georgy lay back against the pillows, her eyes closed and her face white. Nathan watched her, his gut tied in knots of anxiety.

At length the physician applied the splint and then the bandage. He looped it round Georgy’s neck and chest, holding the arm secure against her body.

“Comfortable?” he asked with brisk cheer when he was finished.

She nodded and gave a wan smile. “How long will it take to heal?”

“A number of weeks, certainly—possibly longer. Let’s hope you have no permanent weakness.”

Georgy looked alarmed. Nathan wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but he hung back, nervous and self-conscious. He was relieved when the physician began to pack up his bag.

“I suppose I’d better see if this brother of yours is still alive!” the man chuckled with macabre cheer, and finally left.

Nathan saw him out; it was good to close the door behind him—behind everyone—if only for a few minutes. He was conscious that Eddington would want his bedchamber back soon—he was lying on the chaise in the drawing room just now, being tended to by a man called Will, who Harry had sent for.

When Nathan had closed the door and turned around again, he saw that Georgy had her eyes closed. Had she fallen asleep? He decided to allow himself the luxury of watching her for a few moments.

Even ashen-pale and bandaged, she looked good to his eyes. Beautiful and tempting, fragile as she was.

She opened her eyes. Their gazes caught and held for a moment, till he looked away.

“How did it happen?” he asked, gesturing at her arm.

“I dived for one of the pistols and one of her thugs kicked me.”

Latent fear and anger—pointless now—rose in him.
What if…? She could’ve…
He forced the queasy thought away and made himself smile.

“Tomboy.”

He walked forward and sat on the edge of the mattress, his thigh barely touching her hip. “That brute was about to kill Harry when you came,” she said softly. “I was never so pleased to see anyone in my life. Did you know she was here? Is that why you came?”

He nodded. “I’d left orders for Davy to follow you if you left the house. He tracked you here. Stupidly, I decided to go and see Dunsmore before coming to get you.”

She frowned. “You went to see Dunsmore?”

“I was going to warn him off you and Harry. I thought it was him attacking you. It was while I was talking to him that it emerged it might be his mother. Then Davy arrived to tell me some fierce looking men had turned up at the Camelot and I rushed over here. The rest you know.”

“You got here just in time,” she said, then shivered. Her injured arm was cradled against her chest. Her legs were stretched out and modestly covered by her skirts. Nathan wanted to touch her, but didn’t feel entitled. He curled his hands into fists to stop himself giving into temptation.

After a brief silence she said, “I’m very grateful that you came to our rescue today.”

“I was going to come here anyway, after I saw Dunsmore.”

“Were you?” she asked, her voice a little uncertain. “Why?” She looked like a proper damsel in distress, with her bandaged arm and those big, limpid eyes. He could almost fool himself into thinking of his capable Georgy as a helpless maiden.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

His heart hammered. It had travelled—bewilderingly—to lodge in his throat. He tried to swallow it away without much success.

“My behaviour this morning, when Lily came to see you. I wanted to apologise.” He watched her reaction to his words. There was only the merest tremor of her lips.

“Apologise?” she repeated.

“For the things I said. It’s why you left, isn’t it?”

She glanced away. “I left because Harry had come back. I said I’d leave when he returned, didn’t I?”

“But you wouldn’t have gone like that, would you? Without a word?”

“I left a letter,” she said huskily.

“You call that a letter?”

She looked at him again and had the grace to blush.

“Well,” she said. “A note, then. But I was angry. You spoke to Lily as though I was your—your
whore
.” She looked away again, refusing to meet his gaze.

Shame and sorrow lacerated him. He swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry, Georgy.” And this time he did touch her, unable to keep his distance any longer. He laid his open hand on top of her uninjured hand. Her fingers felt cold against his warm palm, unyielding in their passivity.

“I had a moment of insanity, I think,” he muttered.

She said nothing, her face still averted, rejecting him. He looked down at his hand, at its awkward stiffness as it rested over hers, and felt a pain in his heart.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. “Everything between us until yesterday had been—” He frowned and gestured helplessly, struggling to find the words. “It was—just you and me. There was nothing else in it. Not my title or fortune. Just you and me. You seemed to want me for me.”

“I
do
want you for you! That is—I did.”

He swallowed. “But not now?”

“What do you expect, Nathan? I didn’t expect you to marry me but I did expect you to respect me. And today you showed you don’t.”

“I do respect you. More than anyone.” He paused then, forcing himself to be honest. “It’s just that, for a moment, when I heard the word ‘ruin’ I thought
marriage
. I suppose I panicked.”

“Panicked at the thought of marriage to me.”

“I was taken by surprise. Georgy. It was a
mistake
.”

She didn’t look impressed. How to make her understand?

“The thing is, when you’re set to inherit an earldom, there’s no shortage of women who wish to grace your bed, within or without the bonds of matrimony. There’s no shortage of friends either. Before my brother was cold in his grave, I began to notice the change in the way people treated me, even though I was very young.”

She looked at him then, reluctant curiosity in her gaze.

“I’ve lived his life since I was eight years old,” he explained. “I own his estate, bear his title. In a strange way, none of it has ever truly felt like it was mine—”

“Of course it’s yours,” Georgy interrupted, her expression troubled. “I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted you to think such a thing—”

“—except you.”

She stopped. Stared at him. “What?”

“You felt like you were mine. I could tell you wanted
me
,” he said again. His cheeks heated to think of what he was revealing to her, the depth of his need, how much her desire had moved him.

After an agonisingly long pause, she said quietly, “You underestimate yourself. I have no doubt many women have wanted you for yourself.”

Perhaps it was true, he thought. He thought of some of the affairs he’d had. Of the women who’d chosen him, and why. For his looks, because he was of their class, because he understood the game they played. But it was all tied up with being the powerful Lord Harland. Not because he was
Nathan
.

“I don’t think anyone has ever wanted me—
me
—as you have done. And I’m damned sure I’ve never wanted any woman the way I want you.” He looked into her eyes, hiding nothing from her. “I don’t care who you are, Georgy. I don’t care whether you’re Miss Georgiana Dunsmore or an aristocrat’s bastard. Christ, I wouldn’t care if you were the daughter of Napoleon Bonaparte and a pox-ridden whore! It doesn’t matter to me. I love
you
.”

She stared at him for the longest time. And then at last she croaked out, “You love me?”

He nodded, and her hand, which had been clenched below his own, slowly unfurled like the petals of a flower. Her fingers touched the side of his hand and gently curled around the edge. “Yes, I do. You’re like no one else I’ve ever known,” he said. “You’re free.”

“Free?”

“You don’t follow the rules. You didn’t set any price on yourself, not even a wedding ring. You
gave
me yourself.”

“I took too,” she said, frowning slightly. “I wanted you. It was not a sacrifice.”

He smiled at her, loving her earnestness.

“I know. That’s what I mean.”

“Oh.” And then she smiled.

He stroked her wrist with his thumb, waiting, but she said nothing. Just smiled. It wasn’t enough.

“Yesterday,” he said slowly, “You said you loved me. Even though I’d been such a cur. Did you mean it?”

“Of course!” she huffed, making him smile. “I would not have said it if it was not true!”

“Good.” Then, after another long pause he added, “Might you say it again?”

A smile twitched at her lips. She cocked her head to one side and considered him for a moment. “I love you,” she said, almost wonderingly. Then she nodded, definite. “I love you, Nathan.”

He gave a little gust of a laugh, surprised and delighted despite himself.

“Do you?” he said. “My word!” They both laughed.

And then he kissed her.

He leaned forward, carefully avoiding her bandaged arm, and pressed his mouth to hers. She sighed, parting her lips, and he sank into that happy sigh, heart dancing, blood singing. Their lips melded and moved, tongues touching tentatively, soft breaths and happy murmurs drifting between their mouths, each to each. He lifted his hand to cup her jaw, his fingertips drifting into her hair. His heart ached with a happiness too big to contain. They kissed and looked into each other’s eyes and murmured love words to one another. No boundaries.

When he pressed a little closer she let out a yelp and he drew back swiftly.

“Your arm!” he exclaimed in dismay.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to draw him to her with her free arm, but he held back.

“I need to get you home,” he announced.

Her expression flickered. “I have to speak to Harry first,” she said. “He may not—” She gave Nathan a strange look. “He may believe, erroneously, that it is within his power to forbid me doing what I want.”

“Why would he prevent you coming back with me?” Nathan asked, puzzled. “You are injured. You need rest. Where else are you to go?”

“Well, of course it makes sense when you put it like that, but he’s not stupid, Nathan. He’ll realise that—well, you know.”

Nathan stared at her, comprehending only too well. She had misunderstood him. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended. He felt a little of both.

“No,” he said slowly. “Pray, explain.”

She blushed. “He’s my brother, Nathan. He will not like the idea of his sister being, well, someone’s mistress.”

He stared at her, watching as her blush deepened. Mistresses did not blush. Not any he’d ever had, anyway.

“You know, Georgy, when you fainted earlier, I carried you through here with your brother on my heels.” He pointed at the mattress. “I put you down here and your brother said to me, ‘Have you ruined her?’”

She looked appalled. “Oh good lord, what did you say?”

“I said yes, I had.”

“You what?”

His lips twitched with the desire to laugh. She had raised a hand to her mouth and her eyes were wide with shock.

“I think he’s planning on forcing us up the aisle,” Nathan continued.

“Oh no! You shouldn’t have answered! You should have let me talk to him first!”

“Well, I might have done. But the truth is, it rather suits my purposes.”

“But I—” She broke off and sent him a suspicious look. “What do you mean?”

“I’m rather hoping he’ll get his shotgun out.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, force us up the aisle?”

“Aisle?”

“As in church? As in wedding? Marriage? Man and wife?”

“
Marry?
Us? This morning you nearly had an apoplexy at the mere idea!”

He grimaced. “I told you, I made a mistake. I should never have ridden off and left you like that. It only took me a few hours to realise I couldn’t live without you, that I want you in my life forever. I want you at my side, at Camberley. I want us to have children and raise them, together. Marry me, Georgy. We needn’t do it in a church if you’d prefer. We could jump over a campfire like the gypsies.”

She snorted. “I can’t imagine the elegant Lord Harland jumping over a campfire!”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, I wouldn’t. Look at what you did today.”

“Am I your hero?” he asked roguishly, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oh yes,” she said, serious but smiling. And then the smile faded. “But really, I can’t marry you, Nathan.”

Her words incited a panicky sensation in the region of his heart but he forced himself to stay smiling. “Whyever not?”

“I’m no closer to proving I’m Georgiana Dunsmore than I ever was. In fact, I know now I’ll never prove it. To the world I’m a bastard. An actress’s bastard, at that.”

“So?”

“I am not a suitable wife for you.”

He looked her squarely in the eye and said slowly, “I don’t care, Georgy. I really don’t.”

She made an incoherent sound of frustration.

“I
don’t
care!” he repeated. “Oh, we’ll be cold shouldered by the
Ton
, but so what? I have a few friends who will be loyal to me and I can do without the rest of them. Of course, maybe you won’t want to put yourself through it but I hope you will. I hope you feel, as I do, that what we have together is enough to make up for any censure we and our children might face.”