"Ian deserves to know that you're scheming."
"Who says I'm scheming^"
"You are the worst liar."
"I was merely paying a social call. If you don't believe me, ask the Countess."
She appeared guileless and innocent, and if he hadn't understood her quite so well, he might have been fooled. As it was, he yearned to lean over, to clasp her by the shoulders, and shake her till her teeth rattled.
"You're aware of the type of people the Fosters are. If you've been indiscreet, can you envision what they'll do to Lady Caroline?"
"If she's gotten herself into some sort of trouble, why would I care?"
"Yes, Rebecca, why would you?"
He assessed her flawless features, her curvaceous body. She was so beautiful, and she oozed an animal magnetism that was disturbing and exciting. Too bad the pretty package concealed such a black soul.
She was cold as ice, brutal as a slave master. She had a heart of stone beating in her chest.
Why had he ever presumed himself in love with her? Why had he proposed marriage? He was a kind man, a good man. If he'd had the misfortune to ally himself with her, her malice and wickedness would have rubbed off. Eventually, he'd have started to act just like her.
An expression of relief crossed his face, and she snapped, "Why are you grinning?"
"I just realized how lucky I am that you spurned me."
"I'm so glad I could brighten your day."
"I was thinking with my cock rather than my head. I'd have been miserable for the rest of my life."
"I'm sure you're correct. That's why I refused you."
To his surprise, she seemed wounded by his remarks, which was impossible. She had no conscience. No insult could faze her.
She fussed with the curtain, continuing to stare outside. "I'm marrying Ian, Jack. You must forget any absurd notions you had to the contrary."
He hadn't a clue if Ian would wed her or not. Who could predict what a fellow might do to possess a female like Rebecca Blake?
"What if he's decided to marry Lady Caroline instead?"
"Has he?"
To torment her, he replied, "Maybe."
"If he assumes it will happen, he's mad. It doesn't matter what she's told him. She'll never go against her family. He's chasing windmills."
"Is he? If you're so certain of his intentions toward you, why speak to Lady Derby? Of what are you afraid?"
She fumed quietly, then admitted, "I'm terrified that I'll end up old and poor. I'll do anything to escape such a dire fate."
"I've always been poor, but poverty didn't make me cruel or vindictive." "Bully for you."
The carriage had stalled in traffic, and with the cessation of movement he felt as if he was suffocating. He was desperate to be away, and he reached for the door, anxious to flee as rapidly as he'd arrived.
"Jack!" she said before he could jump.
He peered over his shoulder. Stupidly, he rippled with a wave of hope that she might have changed her mind, that she'd have him, after all.
What the hell was wrong with him? Had he no pride? No sense?
"What?" he barked.
"I'm sorry."
He scoffed. "No, you're not. You've never been sorry about anything in your whole life."
"I am sorry," she claimed. "I never meant to hurt you, but you simply can't give me what I require. Why can't you at least try to understand my position?"
"I understand it perfectly. I believed I was in love with you, but it was a chimera. You're not the person I imagined you to be."
"And what sort of person did you suppose I was?"
"I thought you were vulnerable and lonely and in need of a friend. I thought you might come to love me in return."
"I wouldn't have," she candidly advised. "I've never loved anyone. I couldn't have made you happy."
"On that point, Mrs. Blake, we are in complete accord."
He leapt into the street and walked away without a
backward glance.
What does she want?"
"She didn't say, Miss Georgette." "Well .. . tell her ... tell her ... I'm in
disposed and to be on her way."
"I doubt she'll heed me. She's made herself comfortable in the front parlor."
Georgie glared at the butler, and she yearned to scold or berate, but she couldn't blame him for being upset. With the indomitable Countess of Derby having barged in at such an ungodly hour, he was at a loss. So was she. What a disaster!
She sighed. "I'll be right down."
"Thank you, Miss."
"You're welcome."
He scurried away, and Georgie paused at the mirror to primp and preen. By all accounts, the Countess was ugly and horrid, and Georgie was determined that their physical differences be visible and blatant.
She started out, and with each stride, she cursed the Earl. Only minutes earlier, having come home late from the theater, she'd shoved him out the door. He'd been gone such a short time that she hadn't so much as changed out of her gown or brushed her hair.
Why couldn't the blasted man control his wife? Had he any notion as to where the Countess was at that very moment?
How she wished her mother, Maude, had returned from her own evening on the town. Georgie would have liked nothing better than to send Maude to skirmish with the Countess. As it was, she was alone, the servants in bed—except for her beleaguered butler—and she'd had too much to drink. She was in no condition to match wits with the older, richer female, and she hoped there wouldn't be a lot of shouting or threats.
She tottered to the stairs and marched down, struggling to appear calm and sober.
"Lady Derby," she greeted as she breezed in, looking young and gay, as if she hadn't a care in the world, as if the wife of her married suitor visited every day.
"Miss Lane."
"How kind of you to call. Feel free to make yourself at home. Oh wait! You already have."
The Countess had seated herself in a large chair on the other side of the room, so Georgie had to cross to her. The placement of the chair, combined with the Countess's bulk and imperiousness, gave Derby a regal air, as if Georgie should bow to the Queen.
"You there, boy!" the Countess summoned the butler who was hovering in the hall. "Pour us both a sherry. Your mistress is going to need it."
Georgie smiled at him, acting as if liquor had been her own idea.
"Yes, Arthur, please pour us a drink."
Arthur stumbled in, his hands shaking as he went about his business. Once he'd finished, the Countess glowered at him.
"You may take to your bed. What I'm about to say to your mistress is nothing you should overhear." He didn't move, and the Countess snarled, "Go away, you foolish oaf. I won't tell you twice."
"You may leave us, Arthur," Georgie added more gently.
"If you're sure, Miss?"
"I'll be fine." He hesitated, and she said, "I'll see you tomorrow."
He put the bottle on the table between them, then he raced out, and Georgie sat, frowning at the Countess, till his footsteps faded.
The Countess reached for her glass and gestured for Georgie to do the same, and Georgie seized hers and gulped down the contents. She'd meant to daintily swallow, but she was so nervous that she craved its instant effect.
The Countess was silent and dour, which rattled Georgie even more, though she strove to hide it. If the Countess wanted to glumly tarry, Georgie would, too. Georgie could tarry all night.
Locked in a taciturn battle of wills, she found her glass quickly emptied, and she helped herself to a second serving, then a third. As she swilled them down, the Countess smirked—as if Georgie was behaving exactly as planned.
"I'd been informed," the Countess said, "that you're powerless to resist an alcoholic libation."
"Were you?"
"Actually, I know quite a bit about you." "How interesting."
"Yes, isn't it? I like to learn as much as I can about my enemies."
"Why would you presume us to be enemies, Lady Derby?" Georgie was all wide-eyed innocence, all sweet, youthful sincerity. "We both want the same thing."
"And what is that, Miss Lane?"
"Why, we both want Bernard to be happy."
"No, we don't," Derby scoffed. "I don't want him to be happy, at all. In fact, if he fell over dead, I'd be delighted. I hate him. I've always hated him."
Georgie was frightened by the woman's vitriol, and she regretted having come downstairs. There were limits as to what she'd endure in her mother's scheme to snare Lord Derby, and Georgie's having to dawdle in the parlor with his surly wife was more than she could abide.
"Why are you here, Lady Derby?" Georgie grouched. "It's two o'clock in the morning, and I'm exhausted."
"Are you? Poor dear. It must be so draining to constantly frolic with my spouse."
"It's obvious you know where I've been and who I've been with, so let's not play games."
"No, indeed, let's not."
"If you're begging me to desist, you're speaking to the wrong person. He pursued me, Lady Derby. He chased after me every step of the way, so if there is something you need to say, I suggest you say it to the Earl."
She deemed it an excellent speech that had put the lofty lady in her place, and she had every intention of storming out in a huff, but though she ordered her feet to depart, she couldn't rise.
"I'm fully cognizant of the Earl's despicable tendencies toward pretty girls," the Countess said, "and I will deal with him at the appropriate moment. In the meantime, there's you to consider."
"I keep asking you what you want, but you won't tell me."
"Won't I? How remiss of me."
"Please get it all off your chest. Insult me in every manner you can, then go away and don't come back. I detest scenes, and I'm eager for this one to be over."
"Would you like some more sherry, Miss Lane?"
"No."
"Oh, but I insist."
The Countess refilled the glass that Georgie still held in her hand, but she didn't need more wine. The container slid from her fingers and thudded to the floor, a dark stain spreading on the rug. Georgie recognized that she should bend over and blot up the mess, but she couldn't.
She wasn't feeling very well. Her head was spinning, her stomach queasy. The room had grown overly hot, the air stuffy, and she had the oddest choking sensation in her throat, as if it was beginning to close.
She was panicked, but couldn't act on her terror.
"Would you go?" she inquired, her words slow and slurred.
"But I haven't finished what I came to do." "And what is that?"
"I'm here to kill you. Didn't you know?"
Georgie should have leapt up and run away, but her pulse had escalated to an alarming rate, and the obstruction in her throat was strangling her. She was paralyzed in her chair, not able to talk, breathe, or move.
"How ... did ... you ..." was all she could manage.
"It was simple. I'd heard you were a drunkard, so I poisoned the sherry."
The Countess was puttering about, cleaning up after herself. She opened the window and dumped the remaining liquor into the yard.
"We can't have any evidence lying around," she explained, "although I doubt your demise will be investigated. The tincture I utilized is extremely lethal, but it leaves no taste or odor. It will be assumed by all that you over-imbibed to the point of mortality. Given your passion for strong spirits, no one will be surprised."
She flashed a malevolent grin. "Who will miss you, Miss Lane? Will anyone?"
Georgie thought that the Earl might, and Maude would be distressed, but only because the flow of money and gifts that the Earl had showered on them would cease. Sadly, she couldn't think of anybody else who would be concerned.
In an excruciating daze, she watched as Lady Derby lifted her and carried her to the sofa. Georgie was laid out, arranged as if for her funeral viewing, her arms over her chest, her toes sticking up. Then the Countess positioned several empty bottles on the floor so it would look as if Georgie had consumed the entire amount.
The pain in her stomach was agonizing, and she felt as if her belly were being stabbed by sharp knives. She couldn't swallow, and her tongue had swelled to a ghastly size.
Help me! she mutely implored. Do something!
The crazed Countess seemed to heed her plea. She reached for a knitted throw and tucked it around Georgie's torso, but the thin blanket was useless. Georgie was shivering so hard, freezing and burning up at the same time.
Convulsions racked her, and through it all, the Countess calmly observed.
"Don't worry," the older woman soothed. "The poison works very fast. It will be over before you know it."
She clasped Georgie's hand and took the ruby promise ring that the Earl had placed there.
"I believe I'll keep this as a souvenir." The Countess slipped it onto her fat finger. "You don't mind, do you? You won't be needing it."