Suzanne Robinson (11 page)

“I found it,” he said. “An elementary volume, but one that explains the history of ancient Egypt. And I also found a wonderful study on amulets and their meaning. Did you know that I recently purchased a collection of amulets? My favorite is a tiny falcon carved of amethyst.”

“You might give an Eye of Horus amulet to Mr.
Ross,” Georgiana snapped. “He’s going to need it to protect his health and his feeble intelligence.”

Hands on hips, Nick glared at her. “Are you threatening me, Miss Plunge Bath?”

“Oh!” Georgiana muttered something under her breath, then said, “I don’t threaten rude barbarians, Mr. Ross. I ignore them.”

Porcelain-blue skirts swished past him. Georgiana glided out of the room, heels tapping, head high.

Ludwig came to stand beside him, clutching his books. “She doesn’t like you, you know.”

Ignoring Ludwig, Nick banged his fist on the worktable. Ludwig started, then approached the table and set down his books. He cast indecisive glances at Nick, who seemed to have frozen in place with his fist pressed against the tabletop. Finally Ludwig dared to speak again.

“What did you do, Mr. Ross? A few days ago she came in here furious, saying you had the manners of a Visigoth and the sensibilities of a hog.”

Nick burst into a quick stride. “Bloody hell. That woman is too bleeding genteel for her own good.”

“Don’t you want your book?” Ludwig called after him.

Georgiana was nowhere in sight when he came to the curved corridor, nor did he see her in the main house. He raced to the second floor and questioned a passing maid, who offered the information that Lady Georgiana had gone out the front door. Nick was descending the stairs two at a time when he met Lady Augusta coming in the other direction. Today she was wearing a high-waisted gown of white-sprigged muslin with puffed upper sleeves and ruffles at the neck. She was carrying a reticule and a silk bag in which
rested some object nearly as long as she was tall. He bowed to her.

“Lady Augusta,” he said, preparing to go on his way.

“I collect you’ve had an argument with her.”

“Her?”

Augusta clutched her silk bag to her chest, glanced around, and whispered, “The spy.”

“Oh, Lady Georgiana.”

Augusta nodded so vigorously that the tiny pink flowers on her bonnet bobbed furiously. “You shouldn’t have revealed your antipathy, my boy. A little more decision of character is what is wanted from you. But no matter. All will be set right, so you mustn’t worry.”

“All right, I won’t. Pray excuse me, my lady.”

Augusta swung her elongated burden up into her arms and nodded to him. “Quite right. Things to do, things to do.”

Nick bowed again and raced downstairs. Striding quickly across the length of the hall between the rows of fluted columns, he burst outside and was on the gravel drive in time to see Georgiana walking across the lawn toward the bright gold, orange, and umber of the woods. Springing into a slow trot, he closed the distance between them. She heard him coming and turned to face him.

“I may be a barbarian, George, but you’re not much better for marrying that old skeleton.”

“I have no intention of discussing my marriage or my character with
you
, sir. Now, please leave. You should know a gentleman doesn’t intrude on a lady’s privacy.”

As she turned her back on him, Nick folded his
arms and said, “A real barbarian would have tossed you over his saddle and made off with you.”

Georgiana nearly stumbled. A gratified smile spread over his face as he watched her slowly pivot on a heel and glare at him.

“You’re awfully smug for a man who knows nothing about marriage in Society.”

“Marriage is marriage.”

“You confirm your ignorance, Mr. Ross.” She walked back to him, her skirts swaying, bell-like. Clasping her hands in front of her, she said, “The daughter of a duke must marry a man of position, preferably a nobleman. Once married, she vanishes legally, like any other woman. She no longer has power over her own property, not even those—those undergarments you mentioned.”

“Petticoats?” He grinned at her.

She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Her property is her husband’s property. She can’t make a contract or sue on her own, or make a will without her husband’s consent. She can be locked up and even beaten by her husband if he wishes. And without funds of her own, she would be unable to afford legal representation should she wish to escape such a brutish husband.”

“Not all men are monsters,” Nick said.

“True. But most English noblemen are something worse. A monster doesn’t hide his monstrosity behind a veneer of manners. A nobleman is a monster of entitlement. He simply assumes he’s there to be served. I’ve seen it happen to my friends, Mr. Ross. After courtship and marriage a nobleman resumes his former life. While his wife stays at home, he prances
back to his clubs, his sport, his cards, his horses. And his mistress.”

“Mistr—”

“Don’t gawk at me, sir, and pretend you have no familiarity with the word. Aunt Livy told me all about mistresses. Just because he’s married doesn’t mean a nobleman has to give up his mistress. Rather, now that he has his wife’s money, he’s much more able to afford to support the—the woman. All this is taken as a matter of routine, unspoken but assumed.”

“You mean all the ladies know?”

She gave him a look of aggravation. “Don’t be absurd. As I was saying, a daughter of a duke, like any other lady, must realize that her life and the entire household revolve around her husband. He oversees the household schedule, even the purchase of furniture. The menus, the guest lists, these are composed according to his desires. And the duke’s daughter, what is her function? To produce heirs, run the household according to his pleasure, and stay out of his way.”

“That’s not true. Jos isn’t like that.” He’d never considered how it must be for the ladies he’d been with.

“Jocelin is different. I assure you, Mr. Ross, that if you will think upon it, you will admit that to an English nobleman, a wife is a necessary accoutrement to his station, not unlike a well-appointed carriage.”

Nick brushed back his coat and stuck his hands into his pockets while he thought about the picture she’d painted. He couldn’t imagine a life like that for himself, but women were different, and somehow he couldn’t sympathize when he compared Tessie’s lot to Georgiana’s.

Georgiana glanced at him sideways. “Of course, there are compensations.”

“Ah. I thought so.”

“The duke’s daughter can take a lover.”

“Here! There’ll be none of that, because you aren’t marrying Threshfield.”

“There’s no need to succumb to the vapors,” Georgiana said with a prim smile. “It’s all quite simple. One produces an heir and a second son in case of misfortune. After that the duke’s daughter is free to amuse herself. And all gentlemen know better than to approach her until after she’s borne the second son. After that, well, she’s married, and married women bear children, so the consequences of dalliance are negligible if she’s careful.” She eyed him closely. “Did you know that one of the first things my mother told me when I came out was never to comment on a likeness?”

“Why?” he asked faintly.

“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, Society is a place of circumspect illegitimacy. Now, if you will excuse me, Mr. Ross, I will resume my walk.”

Speechless, he watched her move away from him. As he stood there in shock, he heard something buzz by his ear and smack into the turf about a yard from Georgiana’s receding skirts. She heard the small sound and swung around to give him an inquiring glance. Nick spun around and looked back at Threshfield.

They couldn’t have been more than sixty yards from the house, but at first he couldn’t see anything. Then he noticed a figure on the roof beside a statue of Adonis. It was Lady Augusta in her sprigged muslin gown. Georgiana joined him in gazing at the old lady.

“What is she doing?” She searched the pockets of her apron for her spectacles.

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Augusta had something long and thin laying across one arm. With her free hand she appeared to bite something, then put her hand to the long object. Then she set it upright and fiddled with its end. Next she produced a long rod and thrust it inside the first object. Georgiana was pulling her spectacles from her pocket, but released them when he cursed.

“Bleeding hell,” Nick said. “She’s got a musket.” He grabbed Georgiana’s hand. “Come on, run!”

Not waiting for her consent, he pulled Georgiana after him as he hurtled toward the trees. There was another shot. A ball buzzed toward them and struck the ground beside Georgiana’s foot. She cried out, and Nick yanked on her arm, swinging her in front of him.

“Go!” he cried. “She won’t aim at me.”

He shortened his stride and ran directly behind her until they reached a line of beech trees. Then he leaped ahead, snatched her arm, and dragged her behind the thickest tree he could find. Half a minute passed before another shot threw up turf many yards short of the trees. Nick kept Georgiana between the tree and his body and craned his neck to see the house. He could feel Georgiana’s body against his own. She was breathing hard, and each breath pressed her against his chest and thighs.

In the distance he could just make out Lady Augusta on the roof. She set the musket aside, put a shading hand to her bonnet brim, and surveyed the tree line. Shaking her head, she put something that must have been a powder flask in the silk bag. She
picked up the musket, gathered her reticule and the silk bag, and vanished. He waited, expecting her to emerge onto the portico and come after them.

“Mr. Ross?”

“Yes?”

“She’s gone. You can let me go now.”

As he became aware once more of the rhythmic movement of her chest, Nick felt his body react to the feel of her. She turned around, evidently expecting him to step aside. His legs wouldn’t move. Nick felt a sudden bolt of heat shoot through his body at the sight of her moist skin and gently rising breasts.

How could a woman excite him when her gown covered her from neck to toe? Without warning all the arousal he had tried to quell in the Egyptian Wing returned with double force. She could have died from a musket ball without his ever having touched her. And without a doubt he would then have suffered a pain of such devastation that he could hardly bear thinking on it.

“She almost killed you,” he whispered.

Georgiana was staring at him, her face flushed, her hands trembling as they came up to press against his chest in an attempt to move him. “It’s over now.”

“I don’t think so, George my love. I think it’s just started.” He didn’t wait for her reply. Bending down, easing his body against hers, he touched her mouth with his.

She had never been so near a man unrelated to her—except for Ludwig, who was almost related. The closest she’d ever come was dancing. In less than a heartbeat Georgiana discovered that the touch of gloved hands on a ball gown wasn’t remotely akin to the feel of a man’s lips on hers. His mouth was soft and yet strong enough to part her lips. A tiny, muted cry escaped her as she felt his tongue slowly enter her.

It was like being consumed. His body surged against hers, which pressed against the tree. The contact drove from her mind every civilized lesson she’d ever learned. She opened her mouth wider so that his mouth was drawn more tightly against hers. Her hands ceased to press against his shoulders and dropped to his waist, where they gripped his coat.

He’d crushed her skirts between them. For the first time she felt a man’s legs and hips against hers. The sensation burned itself into her consciousness, and she knew with a bright, starding insight that she would never be able to forget the feel of him.

Primitive excitement seared through her body when his lips began to suck at her mouth. Need made her brave. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, trying to satisfy some unfamiliar but undeniable craving. Then she slipped her hands inside his coat, beneath his waistcoat, and ran her hands over his ribs.

Suddenly his mouth lifted until their lips were barely touching. “Oh, God, no.”

The words confused her, but she heard the tortured pain in his voice. Remembering Lord Silverstone, she grew afraid.

“What’s wrong?”

Closing his eyes, he leaned on the tree. Mystified, Georgiana noted his labored breathing and the tautness of his face. She withdrew her hands to place them flat on his chest again. An irrelevant thought flitted through her mind; her hands seemed small against his body.

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, fearing that he had found her unappealing.

He winced, as if her voice hurt him. Without answering he thrust himself away from her, walked a few steps, and stood with his back to her.

“I must go after Lady Augusta,” he said roughly.

Confused, afraid to ask him why he’d kissed her, more afraid to ask him why he’d stopped, Georgiana took refuge in the topic.

“Oh, there’s no need. Lady Augusta never succeeds.”

Nick whirled around. “Never succeeds. You mean she’s done this before?”

“Of course. Not often, but occasionally. Don’t be alarmed. Her aim is terrible.”