Suzanne Robinson (15 page)

There it was again. She stood and leaned over the railing to look at the ground directly below. The door creaked behind her. Georgiana’s back snapped straight, but before she could turn, she was surrounded by arms that pulled her backward into a hard, long body. She turned her head, and her mouth was covered even as she grabbed the arms that held her. She bit it.

“Ouch! Bleeding hell, George. You got nasty teeth, you do.”

Georgiana whipped around to face her assailant. “Mr. Ross!”

“Nick.”

She was speechless for a moment. He was dressed strangely, all in black, even his shirt. He wore shoes with soft soles, and he’d tied a black bandanna around his neck. Her gaze fell to the bandanna. It was silk. She wondered if the skin it concealed was as smooth as the material. What was she thinking?

“How did you get in? Release me and get out of my rooms immediately, sir.” She stepped away from him, but her legs hit the balustrade as he followed her. She grasped the railing and glared at him, daring him to come closer. He did.

“You’re dull as swipes if you think a lock will stop me.”

“Dull as what?”

“Swipes, love. Spoiled beer.”

Pointing an indignant finger at the door, Georgiana said, “Get out at once or I’ll scream.”

“Good, that. It’ll improve your rep.”

He was right. “Very well. I shall leave.” She brushed past him, intent on going to Aunt Livy’s room.

He caught her arm as she went by. She jerked it free but too late realized his intention. Her feet left the ground as he lifted her in his arms. Sailing in the air, she gasped when her bottom hit the chaise longue.

“What are you doing?”

His slim shadow loomed over her as he mounted the chaise longue like a quarter horse. Georgiana scooted away from him until her back hit the back of the chaise. She slipped sideways, but he planted his arms on either side of her. She was trapped.

“You still got your mouth clamped tighter than an unpaid tart’s knees?”

Georgiana straightened her back, lifted her chin, and managed to look down at him even though he was taller. “You low cur. Only a contemptible villain would use such language to me. Only a base coward would force his presence on a lady who has expressed her distaste for him—keep away!”

He came at her slowly, all the while pulling her legs down so that they met his, and soon he was stretched out alongside her with one leg bent up to trap her hips. Such an action was unprecedented. Georgiana had no experience with men who refused
to do as they were told in the presence of a lady. The shock rendered her speechless.

“Knew this would shut you up,” he whispered.

His breath stirred the wisps of hair at her temple and made her shiver. Moonlight bathed his face in pearly light so that she could see those straight, severe brows, the shadows below his cheekbones, the curve of his lower lip.

Nick drew a finger along her throat to her chest. “You gonna tell me what I want?”

“Wh-what?”

“Say it. Say Threshfield was lying, and I’ll hang him from one of his Corinthian columns.”

“You’re too personal, sir.” She gripped one of his arms and tried to pry it from the chaise. “Allow me to rise at once!”

“Bloody hell but you’re stubborn.” Nick grasped one of her struggling hands and drew it down to her side, where he held it. “You’re going to ruin yourself, and if you’re set on it, you might as well have the fun as well as the cost.”

Suddenly Georgiana heard the determination in his voice, and behind it, desperation. She remembered his struggle in the woods, how he had fought against taking further liberties, how he had warned her against himself.

She stopped fighting him and spoke in a low, wondering whisper. “Nick?”

It was a long, drawn-out breath rather than a word, more a feeling than a sound. His body went still, and his head came back so that he could look at her. She said his name again, and he sucked in his breath.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say it again.”

“Nick …”

He sat up facing her. Crouched before her on all fours, he seemed more panther than man. He remained still for a moment. Then his hand came out slowly and picked up a fold of wispy lace and lawn. With the fabric trailing from his fingers, he bent his head and touched it to his face. He breathed in its scent. His long, dark fingers drew the misty length over his lips. Georgiana watched him, fascinated. The sight of her lace against those strong fingers, pressing against his lips, captured her sense and turned her body into one mass of tingling nerves. She could have spent eternity watching him, but he dropped the fabric and lowered his head.

“You shouldn’t have said my name that way, love. You know better.”

He took her hand, turned it, and kissed the palm. His lips slid up to her inner wrist, causing Georgiana to gasp and sink the fingers of her free hand into the upholstery. When he kissed the bend of her arm, she felt her body turn to boiled pudding. It seemed natural that he came to her, fitting the whole of his body against hers as he kissed her lips at last.

Long minutes passed in a kiss that ignited fire, pain, and pleasure. His hand slid up her ribs and covered her breast, sending new quivers through it to a sensitive spot between her legs. Soon her gown was riding up her legs, and she felt his hand on her calf. Amazing. A man was touching her leg. This man, who drove her mad with his bullying and his kisses, was touching her leg.

Then she felt his lips on her nipple and nearly cried out. Her back arched and her hands groped until they found his buttocks. She clawed at muscle through
the fabric of his pants. It wasn’t enough. Driven, desperate to alleviate the compulsion he’d aroused, Georgiana followed the commands of her body, lifted her hips, and opened her legs. He settled between them while moving his lips to her other breast.

His hand went to the waistband of his trousers and worked quickly. Georgiana was floating in a stupor of desire when she felt something hard and hot touch her. Her eyes flew open only to close again as Nick thrust himself gently against her. A low moan erupted from the depths of her body. At its sound Nick stopped all movement abruptly. He raised his head to look down at her. She could see the pain in his eyes, the grimace that distorted his features.

“Sodding bloody hell,” he said. “Oh, God, I wish you weren’t a f—cking virgin.”

Stunned, Georgiana heard him groan, felt his flesh press against her. She cried out and shoved him. He fell to one side, nearly coming off the chaise. Scrambling from beneath him, Georgiana swept her robe around her and jumped off the chaise. Nick cursed, righted his clothing before she could straighten hers, and rounded on Georgiana.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“L-leave me alone.”

He stood before her, legs apart, hands balled into fists, breathing hard. “Now do you see? You have to leave. If you stay, it won’t be long before I prove you couldn’t be carrying Threshfield’s get.”

“I’m staying, and you’re not going to prove anything, sir. If you had any honor, you wouldn’t force yourself on me.”

“Force isn’t what happened just now, love. Take that back.”

“I have no intention of retracting my words when you’ve invaded my chamber like some foul degenerate.”

He began to walk slowly toward her, a black shadow in silver light. “Seems to me you’re doing as much degenerating as me.”

“Don’t come any closer!”

“Too late, love. You can’t have it both ways. Either you’re carrying Threshfield’s babe and got nothing to protect, or you’re a stubborn, foolish virgin. Either way it’s me you’re hot to touch, and knowing that is driving me insane.”

She tried to dodge to the side, but he dodged with her. She feinted the other way. Nick jumped with her. This time he grabbed the railing, and she careened into his arm. His weight shifted to rest on the balustrade, and there was a scraping sound.

Metal screamed, and Georgiana felt Nick’s body hurtle past her. She cried out and grabbed him as he fell. Planting her feet, she fought their momentum as they were dragged over the edge of the balcony. His legs were hanging over the broken railing. Her foot hit the undamaged portion of the balustrade and wedged there. Pulling hard, she managed to stop Nick from plummeting over the broken railing as it lay jutting from the floor of the balcony.

“Grab my hand,” she cried.

He let go of the railing, twisted, and grabbed her wrist. Her arms felt as if they would be torn from their sockets, but she held on to him as he drew himself up with the strength of his arms until his feet found purchase. His weight suddenly left her as he swung up onto the balcony again.

They fell onto the floor, gasping. After a while
Nick stood up and helped her rise. They approached the gap in the balustrade and looked down. Had he fallen, Nick would have hit a pavement walk almost twenty feet below.

“Dear God,” Georgiana said.

“Well, scrag me.”

He knelt and touched the railing where it had separated, then whistled slowly. “Do you believe in signs from God?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, I don’t. Not in this case. That railing’s been cut.”

“Cut. What do you mean, cut?” Georgiana tried to go past him, but he stopped her.

“Stay back. It’s dangerous.”

They both turned as someone pounded at the sitting-room door. Evelyn’s voice broke through the silence.

“Georgiana? Are you all right? I heard something.”

The earl’s voice was next, shouting, “What’s all the noise, blast it?”

Georgiana whirled around to stare at Nick, aghast.

“Don’t worry.” He went into the sitting room and returned with a coiled rope. “Never look for swag without taking the proper tools.” He fastened one end of the rope to the remaining balustrade, tested it, and came back to her.

“This ain’t over,” he said. He pulled her to him and kissed her. His mouth sucked at hers, shocking Georgiana into pounding his shoulder. He released her and grinned.

“Don’t forget to untie the rope and hide it.”

Georgiana gaped at him as he vanished over the balcony. She went to the edge to see him snake down the rope to the ground. He dropped on his feet, stood back, and swept his arm around in a flourish as he bowed to her.

“ ‘Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow / That I shall say good night till it be morrow.’ ”

“Shh! Stop that and get out of here,” Georgiana hissed as she tugged at the knot in the rope. The pounding at the door was growing louder.

Nick put a hand on his breast. “ ‘A perfect Woman, nobly planned, / To warn, to comfort, and command.’ ”

Georgiana threw the rope at him. It hit him in the face, but he knocked it aside, pointed his toe, and swept another bow.

“You don’t like Wordsworth? Pertwee is teaching me Byron. ‘There be none of Beauty’s daughters / With a magic like thee; / And like music on the waters / Is thy sweet voice to me.’ ”

“Nicholas Ross, I’m going to let them in, so you’d better get yourself inside. I wash my hands of you.”

“ ‘She look’d at me as she did love, / And made sweet moan.’ ”

Georgiana cupped her hands around her mouth and bent over the railing. “I’m going to put a wardrobe against my door at night!”

“If I want to get in, I will.” Before she could object, he faded into the shadows. “Ta, love.”

The next morning Nick was hunched over the writing table in his dressing room trying to finish another agitated letter to Jocelin. He’d had a damnable time communicating his concern while simultaneously concealing the fact that Georgiana was in danger. Someone had cut through that iron railing deliberately.

He didn’t want Jocelin dragging himself across a continent and an ocean, and that’s what he’d do if he realized someone was trying to kill his sister. And Nick didn’t think it was Lady Augusta. Brain-fevered though she was, he didn’t think the lady had the strength to cut through iron railings. But any other family member might except the earl.

Nick finished a paragraph laden with frank assessments of Georgiana’s shortcomings—her willfulness, her defiance, her selfishness, her refusal to face things as they were. Perhaps he’d been a bit harsh, but harshness was better than risking revealing what his body became when he was with her.

Glancing up from the page, Nick beheld Pertwee brushing a morning coat. The valet’s nostrils were quivering like a rabbit’s. Nick blotted and folded his letter.

“What’s wrong with you, my ginger-haired old cock?” he asked. “You look like you just swallowed rotten cabbage.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Come on, Pertwee. I simply can’t have you creeping about me like a professional mourner. Out with it.”

“Sir has undertaken a nocturnal excursion.”

“You been spying on me?”

“I have been mending the costume sir wears on what he calls his little jaunts.”

“Relax, Pertwee. I ain’t hunting degenerates at the moment, and I told you I don’t do no thieving anymore. Don’t have to.”

“Sir has been known to grow bored and indulge himself merely for amusement.”

“Not this time,” Nick said as he addressed and sealed the letter. “Broke into Lady Georgiana’s bedroom instead.”