Pretty Persuasion (16 page)

She avoided Robert's eyes as she went to retrieve her bonnet, picking up her pace when she heard Richard say, "Fatigued, my—"

Robert cleared his throat. "I'll happily provide the answers to your questions, Wakehurst."

Her brother's snort gave Georgie an extra boost as Hugo helped her mount. Once he had swung back onto his own horse, he joined her, and they urged their mounts toward Kingsworth. She threw a glance over her shoulder and saw that the men had finally alighted, sparing Robert the need to crane his neck as he spoke to them.

Whatever the result of the following conversation, her brother would not be satisfied until he'd wrung an explanation from Georgie. He'd harass and harangue her until she'd be itching to choke him to death.

But at least now she'd have some time to prepare for that inevitably odious interview.

"YOU HAVE COMPROMISED my sister, sir," Wakehurst droned impassively, as if he were reading the words from a play.

"Indubitably," Robert said, suppressing a sigh. He had rarely known a day to plummet so rapidly from nigh on blissful to the hell that was his present predicament. Between Georgie's verbal abuse, her teasing that had confounded as well as aroused him deeply, and her subsequent desertion—there was no other word for it—he was feeling sorely used indeed.

He was not proud of himself for continuing to threaten her with returning to London, but the knowledge that her motives were equally selfish helped temper his self-disgust. Quid pro quo; she was using him, and he was using her, and nothing was unfair. It felt like a feeble excuse, but it served its purpose.

Georgie's brother squinted into the air as if immersed in philosophical musings. "Grim has predicted that I shall someday meet my end in a duel defending Georgie's honor. Made a wager on it, as a matter of fact, though I don't know what possessed him to take it. It is unlikely I would be defeated in such an encounter, but more to the point, it is inconceivable that it should take place at all. If Georgie ever got herself into a fix, it would surely be of her own doing, and I'll be damned if I'll risk life and limb on account of her foolishness."

He fixed Robert with a bland look. "So, Sheffield, do say you'll marry her."

"Naturally," Robert said easily—so easily his mind ground to a halt, then backed up a few steps. It was not the decision to marry her in itself that caught him by surprise. Rather, it was the feeling that that being caught in a compromising position had nothing at all to do with that decision.

He must have chosen his path without being aware of it. But why? He refused to believe he was letting fleshly desires rule him in this. Marriage was a far too permanent state for such immature inclinations.

"Oh, good," Wakehurst said without feeling. "As a protective brother, I am relieved and gratified. As a fellow man, I give you my most heartfelt sympathies. Now, then—"

"You're jesting!" Tony blurted.

Forced to leave his ponderings for a later time, Robert turned to his brother and raised his eyebrows.

"You're not in earnest, Robert," Tony continued, giving a halfhearted laugh that was belied by the dismayed look in his eyes. "Surely you're not going to marry her!"

"Why would I not?"

Tony vacillated for a second. His neck flushed, and his nostrils flared. "She's spoiled and shrewish and a shameless flirt who'll make a cuckold out of you within a week of popping out your heir!"

The devil. Robert opened his mouth, then shut it and clenched his jaw so hard it ached. God, he had some choice words for the bastard he called brother, and he was near bursting with the effort of saving them for a more private moment.

How and why Tony had developed such an intense dislike for Georgie escaped his understanding. She obviously returned the sentiment, no doubt as a result of Tony's behavior towards her. It seemed that in Robert's absence, his brother had ceased to respect anyone or anything that displeased him.

Tony seemed heedless of Robert's anger, taking more notice of the chilly stares his companions leveled his way. "What?" he demanded. "Oh, for God's sake! When did it become a hanging offense to speak ill of Georgie?"

"You've been blessed with fine enough looks, Balfour," Wakehurst said with quiet menace. "Either shut your trap and make yourself scarce, or you'll find yourself a good deal less popular with the ladies."

Tony regarded the three of them with a sullen look. "The devil. If I'd known you'd turn so damned dull, I should've stayed in town." Turning, he said, "You're a bloody fool, Robert. She'll make you miserable."

And with that, he swung himself onto his charger in one angry motion, then growled at his companions, "If you must beat someone to a pulp, let it be my brother. Might knock some sense into him." He nudged the horse into motion and rode off.

The three men stared as Tony disappeared between the trees, and after a short, loaded silence, Wakehurst commented, "He's either got a death wish or he's gone mad as a March hare."

"I'll say," intoned Georgie's remaining cousin, Ashcombe.

Robert found their reaction rather ironic; they had hardly spoken of Georgie in fond terms themselves. Shaking his head, he suggested, "Perhaps we should all return to the house."

The other men had no objection, and without further ado, they were on their way, riding at a leisurely pace through the forest and across the fields back to the manor house. Ashcombe soon lost patience with their unhurried progress, and Robert didn't mind when he increased his speed. Something volatile lurked beneath the young viscount's morose exterior, and Robert found the man's presence disturbing.

Georgie's brother, however, he understood perfectly. He had always recognized Southwell's influence in his son, and he suspected the bored indifference had been an act for the benefit of his cronies.

The minute Ashcombe disappeared from sight, the marquis turned to Robert with serious intent written on his face. "What exactly has happened the past two weeks?"

Robert quickly summed up the events up to and including their arrival at Kingsworth, and the reason why they were lingering in Yorkshire still. The part about Georgie's 'illness' drew a derisive snort from her brother, but fortunately, he asked for no more details.

Wakehurst seemed to chew on the tale for a minute or so. "I'll be honest with you, Sheffield. I never doubted your intentions. I am less certain of Georgie's. You can't blame me for finding it odd that she's welcoming your attentions so soon. Indeed, 'welcoming' seems somewhat of an understatement," he added sourly.

"I believe her attachment to Rossemore might have been of a less permanent nature than she imagined," Robert said, trying to appease Wakehurst without breaking Georgie's confidence.

"Still, the turnabout's too sudden. It's been my impression that she entertained no particular faithfulness to your so-called engagement, and by that measure, no serious prospect of an attachment to you." The marquis eyed him speculatively. "Has she agreed to marry you?"

Robert cleared his throat, trying to think of a diplomatic response. He saw no purpose in telling the man of the meeting in Mansell's garden where she'd renounced him so soundly. That simply had no bearing on the present situation; their growing intimacy of the past few days assured him of that much.

"The subject of marriage has not been discussed," Robert said. "I am awaiting the right moment. She's not yet ready to make such a decision."

"She bloody well looked ready enough to me!" Wakehurst's face contorted in a scowl. "I suggest you keep your hands off her, Sheffield. And, damn it all, keep hers off yourself as well. I won't put it beneath her to distract herself with a flirtation, only to turn you down flat the very moment you mention marriage."

Robert cracked a tiny smile. He didn't share Wakehurst's concerns. In fact, he was quite secure in his perception of Georgie's feelings towards him. But it might serve him well to make an effort to set her brother's mind at ease. "If she turns me down, then I'll simply have to persuade her."

He saw a host of different emotions pass across Wakehurst's face. Disbelief at first, followed by what looked suspiciously like pity, and then amusement. "By all means, Sheffield," he said at last. "If anyone can persuade her, you're the man. Just make it pretty. She'll fall into your arms as long as you make it pretty."

"O! to be plagued by a brother so odious! Richard proposed that since I am already promised to the Rat, my coming out is unnecessary. I have yet to see the purpose of informing everyone that I have no intention of marrying the Rat, so I had Precious Little with which to argue the point. I suppose I ought to tell them soon."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 16

GEORGIE WHILED AWAY the time before dinner on the window seat in her bedchamber, staring out at the garden but not really seeing it. Her diary lay open in her lap, the pages glaringly blank. Despite her haste and jittery nerves, she had packed the diary and her sketchpad the night she'd eloped with Phillip; she never went anywhere without them.

Whether by words or images, putting her thoughts to paper usually helped her see things more clearly—which she needed when she didn't have Louisa there to put things into perspective. But that afternoon, her well of words had run dry, and she felt too restless to sketch.

She had plenty of scenes to inspire her, though. Robert, furious as he loomed in the doorway in the inn at Gretna; the May Queen pulling the Scots devil down by the horns on his head as they kissed; Robert lounging on the picnic blanket next to Georgie. Even the sight that had met her brother and cousins that afternoon, as she imagined it must have looked, was a possibility.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to banish the picture those thoughts conjured. She hardly needed that much perspective.

Sucking on Robert's thumb… What on earth had possessed her?

She knew, of course, and it was not the champagne, at least not entirely. It was Robert. He drew her like a magnet, making her forget
why
she should only look and not touch as well as how to go about doing it.

A knock on the door interrupted her introspection. Setting aside her diary, she straightened and called, "Come in!"

As Richard entered, her chest knotted with foreboding. He had exchanged his riding clothes for evening attire, and he wore it as elegantly as his determined expression. The dreaded conversation had arrived sooner than expected, and rather than prepare for it, she'd wasted time with useless ponderings.

Of course, there was not much she could have done to prepare. Her brother would run roughshod over her if she showed any sign of deference or fear, a lesson she had learned practically in the cradle.

"Oh, do go away, Richard," she said sharply. "I am in no humor to speak to you."

"That is unfortunate." He shut the door and took a couple of steps into the room. "But now that I am here, surely you can spare me a minute or two."

"You can wait until after dinner. I just know you're going to spoil my appetite."

Her brother released a mocking laugh. "It would take unearthly powers to spoil your appetite."

Teeth gnashing, Georgie damned the day she decided sticking out her tongue was not a clever retort. "Very well. Scold me, if you must. You cannot possibly voice a reproach I have not yet given myself."

"Or will receive from our parents, once you've gained enough starch in your spine to face them?"

Her spine—which was quite firm, thank you very much—prickled. He made her sound like a coward. Didn't he know it was only sensible to rally before engaging in battle? "I should think you'd sympathize. You've incurred their wrath often enough yourself."

He shrugged. "I feel perhaps a small measure of empathy. But I do wish I could be a fly on the wall when you receive your tongue-lashing, so it would be rather hypocritical of me to express sympathy."

The flickers of irritation within her burst into flames. She slid off the window seat, her slippered feet clapping onto the wood-paneled floor. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

"Why are
you
here?" he countered. "What on earth are you doing? Are you merely amusing yourself, or do you intend to marry Sheffield after all?"

Marry Robert?
Denial pricked the tip of her tongue, the avowal to marry no man, let alone the Rat. She could tell him about traveling, about her plans that… that—

That he would not be nearly as enthralled about as she. No, there was no sense in inviting more trouble than necessary. She kept her voice steady as she replied, "No, I do not."

"I gather that means you are conducting a flirtation with the man."

Georgie's heart froze. That clipped intonation, the frigid accusation. It was the voice that could send ripples of apprehension through high society, hold the attention of the most indifferent member of the House, and make all other, lesser mortals tremble in their boots.

It was her father's voice. And, deliberate or not, Richard had somehow gained the ability to do a nigh on flawless imitation of it. But the man before her was still her brother. She only had to picture him as a nine-year-old, wailing because someone had put nettles in his bed—the same someone who had been cruelly denied when asking her brother and cousin if, please, oh, please, would they not take her fishing?—to be reminded of that.

"Why, yes. It's a flirtation. A perfectly harmless one." The words sounded foreign to her ears. Flirtation or no, 'harmless' was hardly a term she could apply to her relationship with Robert. The things he did to her were deliciously wicked, and if not to her reputation, then it certainly did damage to her self-control.

His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by 'harmless?'"

"Oh, you know. Trifling conversations. Kisses." She waved her hand dismissively, praying she managed to hide the shiver that went through her at the thought of those burning kisses. "That sort of thing."

"That sort of thing," he mimicked in a scathing tone. He shook his head. "Very well. But if you must have your little diversion, for God's sake, do it in a more private location. And," he added, pointing a finger her way, "you'd better limit yourself to 'harmless' kissing."