Pretty Persuasion (21 page)

Robert's eyes narrowed. The sculpture's member had been noticeably shortchanged, even more so than was usual in classical statuary. Had she done that on purpose?

He shook his head. Of course she had. There were too many clothes and limbs in the way for her to add that insult directly, so she had settled for a symbolic substitute.

Sighing, he couldn't help but smile. The conniving brat.

His smile died as a realization hit him hard, smacking him hard between the eyes. He had come home seeking peace. No more adventures, he had vowed. And now look at him. He was not such a fool as to actually think marriage to Georgie would be
peaceful
.

Perhaps he did not want to abandon adventure altogether, then. But at least, as such things went, Georgie ought to be a safer one.

The truth of his discovery was so obvious, he must have been willfully ignoring it up until now. She was the embodiment of madness, a reflection of every senseless action and inclination he had experienced. And he really ought to know better by now than to embrace such fancies.

But embrace them he did—and would her, too, in the more literal sense. She said farewell; he heard a challenge. Friendship could be restored, especially one broken in such an impetuous fashion. They would be friends and lovers, husband and wife. He'd have it no other way.

GEORGIE DINED ALONE in her room that evening. Mrs. Pease brought the tray up herself, and as she set it down on the Pembroke table, she announced with a twinkle in her eye that besides the roast mutton with mint sauce, she had requested cook prepare a gooseberry tart especially for Georgie.

The food tasted delicious, and Georgie expected to enjoy it even more now that she did not feel forced to spend her time with Robert. Halfway through the dessert, however, she put down her spoon and shoved the tray aside. Sighing, she closed her eyes and fell against the wooden back of the chair.

It didn't matter that her parents' imminent arrival rendered her agreement with Robert purposeless. His company had been chiefly agreeable, their shared meals no particular trial. She did not want to examine too closely the real reason why she chose to avoid him now.

Shoving away from the table, she rose and walked over to the window. She propped herself against the frame and gazed distantly out at the countryside, tinted pewter as twilight melted into night.

She knew few thoughts and feelings truly her own that she had not revealed to Robert during the past week. And they were all ugly, foolish, or both, from eloping with and risking her future over a fortune hunter—whom she apparently had not really known—to today's mortifying revelations.

She had cursed herself a million times over for forgetting about that drawing and for practically handing it to him, besides. And yet he had not behaved as if those humiliating feelings of the past gave him some sort of power over her. Perhaps he knew the power he held had little to do with the past and far too much to do with the present. Or perhaps he didn't care one way or another, as long as he had his way.

She had tried to convince her brother that Robert was no more than a flirtation. And what a monstrous lie that had been. A flirtation was not a ceaseless battle between resolve and inclination. The inclination towards craving his touch, towards aching to kiss him so much she thought she'd go mad with wanting.

And the most dangerous inclination of all: to beg that he tell her everything she wanted to know about the pleasures of the flesh, and then to insist that he give her a demonstration. He had always indulged her curiosity, she thought ironically.

But his indulgence only went so far, and she'd be a fool to think that her powers of persuasion were enough to somehow reconcile their different priorities. Such was the plain truth, albeit one she sometimes had difficulty keeping in mind. It often seemed that everything would be so much simpler if she gave up on the dream of traveling. So much simpler to forget the idea had ever entered her head and instead resign herself to fulfill the abandoned dream of marrying Robert.

She curled her lips in self-disgust. 'Simple' was such a cowardly word. If she gave up on herself now, gave up on the independence she craved, all because of the emotions and desires Robert stirred in her… Well, then she'd end up despising herself until the day she died.

Her current dilemma was that the more she considered her parents' reaction to her decision, the more she realized she'd be ten times a fool to think they would readily accept it. She would not be disowned; her father cherished the Southwell name far too much to do anything that would cause a scandal, and her mother valued the Davenport legacy. But, oh, they would try to change her mind, and she knew her determination could only withstand so much coercion, so many entreaties.

As she thrummed her fingers on the counterpane, a wicked idea formed in her mind: if her parents thought she was unmarriageable, they would not even consider pressing her to find a husband. She'd only have to hint that she was well and truly ruined, that she and Phillip had not waited until their wedding night.

But could she really put it beneath her father to demand proof? A shudder wracked through her as she imagined the humiliation of being poked and prodded.

No, it would not do. If she were to succeed—and by God, she meant to—she could have no loose ends. She must be rid of her virginity.

She paused a moment, chewing on her lip. There was a chance she might end up pregnant, if course. But surely once was worth the risk.

Though where could she find a man who would serve her purpose? It would have to be a man with ambiguous morals, who she knew had not batted an eye at having an affair in the past. A man with which she'd more than willingly share a bed, one who desired her in return. A man attainable before her parents arrived the day after tomorrow.

Georgie smiled. As if there had even been any question. She would seduce Robert Balfour.

"I have decided that, even were he not a deceitful Rat, I should not want to marry Robert. I cannot imagine allowing him to do anything as undignified as That to me. The Ferret did not seem to mind, but she is a base and vulgar Creature. No, it is better this way, for I should not let him do more than kiss me—
on the lips.
"

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 13

GEORGIE CLENCHED HER fist as she raised it to hover before the master's bedchamber door. Her hand trembled, and her candle flickered. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and run back to the safety of her own room.

It was evidently all well and good to plan her way into Robert's bed, but when it came to the execution, she didn't feel quite so brave anymore. Perhaps her brother was right. Perhaps she truly was a coward. A coward who shied away from facing her parents and the consequences of her injudicious actions. A spineless lily liver who could not even seduce a man and be rid of her maidenhead without shrinking into a quivering mass of nerves.

No glow of light showed beneath the dark-paneled door. Robert had fallen asleep already, or perhaps he'd not yet retired. Waiting until tomorrow seemed the wisest choice. She'd seek out his company earlier and stay close until the right opportunity presented itself.

Yet despite that very sound line of reasoning, she curled her lip in self-disgust as she turned from the door. Her legs seemed to move automatically, her pace just short of running as she retraced her steps down the dim corridor. The moment she rounded the corner, the she heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Georgie froze. Was it Robert? Or a servant? No matter; she had no desire to be discovered skulking about without purpose wearing only her nightdress and wrapper.

Darting back around the corner, she waited as footsteps echoed down the hallway, accompanied by Robert's loud, off-key whistling. His candle cast a circle of light on the far wall. The footfalls died away, a door handle clicked, and then came a prolonged squeak as the door opened. She waited for it to click shut. But she heard nothing, not even his awful whistling. She pictured him about to enter the room, only to glance down the corridor and see… the glow from her candle?

Panic speared her, and she cradled the flame and blew it out, then set the candlestick guiltily on the small table beside her, as if she could disassociate herself from it by her action. The floorboards creaked, one after another, and Georgie groaned quietly as the sheer stupidity of her action hit her. She might as well have announced her presence by shouting his name.

The circle of light grew, and his shadow crept around the corner seconds before his tall, dark form emerged. He halted and held his candle at arm's length, his face ghostly in the soft light, his eyes a bottomless black.

"Who's there?" The demanding timbre of his voice bounced off the walls. He took a step toward her and said, "Show yourself."

Drawing a deep breath in an attempt to banish the vexing urge to hide, she stepped forward. "It's only me."

He paused. "Georgie?"

His bewilderment encouraged her; it meant she could slip past him with only a flimsy excuse.

But no, she didn't want to escape! She was going to spend the night in his bed.

There. She had made a decision. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, she reduced the distance between them until they stood only a foot or two apart.

Robert frowned as he swept his gaze over her. "What are you doing?"

Georgie drew herself up. She was bold. She was mysterious and alluring. A seductress who took what she wanted. And she wanted this man. "Looking for you."

"Is something wrong?"

He sounded so concerned, and she couldn't resist the temptation. "Yes," she said with false distress. "It… it's my bed."

"Your bed?" he echoed.

She gave a nod. Her heart thudded against her ribs, sending shocks of energy through her body. Her eyes were drawn to the cleft in his chin, and she wanted to smooth her thumb over it, even brush it with her lips. Would his skin feel as rough as that shade of stubble suggested? Would it chafe as it rasped against her own skin?

Did she really have the courage to find out?

He lifted the candle, illuminating his face. "What's wrong with your bed?" he asked suspiciously.

Georgie affected a sigh. "It's cold. And empty."

Robert blinked. And blinked and blinked, until she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle a giggle. Knowing it was not easy to throw him off balance made the moment all the sweeter.

"Well—" His voice broke, and his Adam's apple bobbed. "The coldness ought to be easily amended with an extra blanket, and then I expect the emptiness will resolve itself." His eyes narrowed. "Is there a draft in your room?"

It was Georgie's turn to blink. "Why, no. At least, I had not noticed one. I'm just… easily chilled."

"Ah." He looked unconvinced and altogether too calm. "You'll need two more blankets then. Or perhaps three, for safety? You could come down with a cold or a fever. In fact, perhaps four blankets would be—"

"Oh, I don't want blankets!" Sighing, Georgie decided to try a less mysterious, more direct approach. She flattened her hand on his chest, relishing the contrast between his soft, quilted cotton waistcoat and the wall of muscles beneath. "I don't want blankets," she repeated. "I want you."

His posture stiffened, and she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. He stared at her, his face stony. He wrapped his hand around hers so tightly the grip hovered on the edge of pain. "What game are you playing now, Georgie?"

"What do you mean?" She pulled on her hand, relieved when he let it go.

"I mean that you left me this afternoon, saying farewell as if we would never meet again, and now this. If it is not a game, then tell me: What do you mean?"

Of all the distrusting, obtuse… How clearly did she have to state her intentions before the man realized she was serious? "I mean to seduce you, Robert."

One stunned moment passed before laughter rumbled in his chest. Shaking his head, he turned and strode away. Georgie's jaw dropped as she watched him disappear around the corner. His chuckles echoed down the corridor, taunting her, pushing her from incomprehension to boiling fury in a heartbeat.

Hitching up her nightdress, she dashed around the corner and glimpsed him about to enter the room few paces away. "Robert!" she cried. "You curst rat!"

He stopped short and spun around. Georgie stalked toward him, mentally cataloguing all the horrible, painful ways she could murder him. Never mind how desperate she must seem. She'd be damned if she'd let him walk away laughing.

He observed her approach, his eyebrows arched. A growl rose in Georgie's throat. God, he looked so arrogant, so superior. The cur. He dared dismiss her so. It was beyond humiliating; it was a challenge.

"I am not playing a game," she ground out as she came to a halt mere inches from where he stood in the doorway. "I am, in fact, utterly serious."

"Really?" Robert said in amused disbelief.

"Yes!"

He tilted his head, and his lips curved in a mocking smile. "Why? You want to be
tupped
? Is that it?"

Georgie sucked in a breath. Her hand itched to slap his cheek, though in truth, she took little offense. She'd not lived a sheltered enough life to be shocked by vulgar words.

She met his gaze squarely. "You needn't have laughed at me. A simple 'no' would have sufficed."

He puffed a snort. "'No' has never sufficed for you, Georgie. And besides, seduction requires resistance. 'No' means 'no, but you may attempt to change my mind.'" This time, his smile was indulgent, almost condescending. "I don't think a real seduction is what you had in mind."

Georgie responded with a sugary smile. "Of course not. You wouldn't resist me long if I really tried."

His smile waned slowly. She had expected him to laugh again, or at least show some sign of contempt, but he looked so somber her mind reeled in surprise. Had she struck a nerve? Certainly, she didn't consider herself irresistible, but the notion that he might left her short of breath.