The Kiss (10 page)

"Where were you last night?"

Georgiana did not need to look up to know that Quinn had entered the falcon mews. It was the last place she'd thought he would ever come. Lord knew it had taken her months to return here after the accident.

"Whatever do you mean? At Penrose, of course." She kept her gaze on the beautiful female falcon, who was bobbing her head and nervously pecking and restacking her tail feathers.

"You weren't in any of the chambers, nor were you in your father's old rooms."

She glanced briefly at him out of the corner of her eye and carefully fitted the feathered hood on the raptor. "Why do you ask?" she asked.

"Well, I was worried, naturally." He surveyed the chicken-wire wall of birdcage stalls.

"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. I often tour the estate to check on the animals."

"So late at night?"

"The animals don't seem to mind. And"—she lowered her voice—"I find it soothing, actually, to tour the grounds before I sleep. I would hate for an animal to suffer or be hungry or thirsty all night." She secured the edges of her heavy glove. "Is there something you wanted? I've already arranged the menus. I'd thought you would dine with Ata and Grace and the others."

"I begged off after a long morning playing piquet with the lot of them. Had no idea a press gang of widows could cheat quite so much."

"The duke always encouraged poor sportsmanship."

"Why am I not surprised?"

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "How much did they fleece you for?"

"The Fortesque coffers won't suffer too much." He paused. "Actually, I arranged for picnic fare and came in search of you. I'd hoped to discuss a few things before Fairleigh arrives. Good Lord, is that Khubla?"

Georgiana raised her gloved arm to show off the falcon, her pinstripe markings tracing the pattern that had beguiled kings and emperors through the ages. "No. It's the daughter of the falcon I"— she hesitated and wondered if she dared refer to the awful past—"retrieved that day." She continued quietly, "That bird became the best hunter ever. Anthony named her Noblesse. And this is Oblige."

He stared at her until she looked down at the game bag resting on the table in front of them. He broke the stillness by reaching for the bag and casually hefting it to his shoulder before walking to the door and looking back at her. A sense of déjà vu enveloped her when he bowed and swept his arm indicating his wordless desire for her to precede him out the door.

They cleared the mews doorway, adjacent to the great shingle bar separating Loe Pool from the sea, and silently walked along the line of beeches and pine, favored aeries for all the raptors of Penrose. How many times had she been here with Tony and Quinn in her girlhood? How many times had they flown the falcons, fished, or swam themselves to exhaustion?

"I wondered if that nestling survived the fall," he said so softly behind her that it almost seemed she had imagined it. 'And if you suffered for many months. I don't know how you bore it, Georgiana. How I admired your quiet strength that day. I never saw anyone before or since endure so much and complain so little. I always thought of you when people spoke of courage."

She unhooded Oblige and the falcon bent her knees and pushed off the glove in a great sweeping movement, her wings pumping the air to rise in fluid degrees to the tree limbs above. Georgiana was too moved to respond.
He had thought of her after all.

She watched the raptor ascend the sky on an updraft, the falcon's head twitching in an effort to detect movement below. "I use to wonder if you'd forgotten us. Anthony, me ... Penrose."

"I'm sorry I never wrote. I could have at least written to your father."

"You don't have to explain." She walked into the undergrowth to flush out possible game. "You were very busy. School, your work, and then marriage—always moving between countries."

"I'm not asking for excuses. People's actions speak for themselves. In the end, words are fairly useless." His footfalls matched her own in the brush. "Don't you agree?"

"Actually, I don't." She stopped and faced him. "I always thought Anthony suffered the most from your silence. If there had been just one letter, one word ..."

He abruptly turned away, his profile harsh in the sunlight. A striated muscle beat a tattoo along his firm jaw. "When I saw him in town years ago, words had very little effect on my cousin."

"Good Lord." The blood rushed to her fingertips. "I didn't know he'd seen you again."

The falcon dove for prey, the sleek body forming a perfect teardrop shape, astounding in speed. Faster than any other animal on God's green earth.

"Was that after he was sent down from Oxford?" She searched his face for answers.

"Yes. I saw him several times over the course of a year or so. It was inevitable. Unmarried gentlemen are in great demand at society events in London," he said, smiling oddly. "I last saw him after I married. Before I was dispatched to Portugal."

He was staring back at her and she couldn't figure why he appeared so remote. She was grateful for the occupation of collecting Oblige and refitting the hood before placing her on a tree branch they had always used as a perch.

"Well," she said evenly, "I'm glad you saw each other before he died. He changed somehow—actually, everything changed—after you left Penrose for school so suddenly. But then, I'm sure you saw that for yourself—his jaded outlook, his constant recklessness, most likely due to not having a father to corral him, or an older brother." She heard his footfalls come to a rest in front of her.

"Georgiana, when I left London I knew he wouldn't be able to negotiate and survive the ill effects of the dressed-up viper's dens in town." His pause begged her to look at him. "If I had been a better man, perhaps I could've found it within me to return at some point. To try and turn him around," Quinn continued, his eyes darkening. "But I am not a better man."

Earlier, she had attempted to provide false absolution for his ending all ties to her and to Anthony—his best friend. But it seemed he wanted more. Something she was hesitant to give. She was tired of pretending. This was the person she had loved with every ethereal pore of her soul for more than half her life. And so she would ask for the truth—something she'd never dared to do until now.

"Well, then, why didn't you return?" Her hands rose to her hips unconsciously. "Why did you forsake us? Why did you never write?"

He stared at her blankly, presumably shocked by her candor. Then his face became shuttered in a way that she had only witnessed since his return. It closed down to the blank canvas, which infuriated her.

"I can't even forgive myself for not saving him. You were his best friend, his cousin—really more like an older brother he worshipped. He would have done anything you asked." She hesitated. "Actually, I'm surprised you came back. All of us, even my father, said you'd forgotten us. And had never really even cared to begin—"

Strong hands grabbed her arms and shook her. She looked up to encounter his expression cracking to reveal intense emotion.

"I cared. You know that."

"Do I?"

His fingers bit into the bare flesh of her arms painfully. And his eyes burned into hers.

A rustle and small movement caught their attention and a young girl peeped out from behind a hemlock tree. The child giggled mischievously when she knew she'd been caught.

"Papa, when are you going to kiss her and apologize so I can come out?" A mischievous expression swept her features.

The blazing heat in Quinn's face changed in an instant, replaced by a look Georgiana had not seen since his return—unreserved happiness.

"Fairleigh!" He was walking to his daughter and picking her up to swing her about in a great circle. "And where is Miss Biddleworth?"

"Papa!" The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. "Old Miss B is taking a lie down. Told me to do the same. Ha! As if I would do something so boring."

Georgiana watched Quinn in amazement. There was such joy radiating from him. Quinn open and fully happy was almost painful in its intensity. Actually, she admitted, she had
never
seen him like this.

"And by the look of your gown it appears you climbed out your window. I'll not ask how you managed not to kill yourself grappling down two stories if you promise to never, ever do it again. And by the by, how many times have I told you not to spy on people?"

"You do it," the girl said indignantly. "I overheard you talking about it to Mamma."

He sputtered. "Yes, well . . . during wartime sometimes people are forced to do things they wouldn't ordinarily do," he said, tweaking her nose. "It was part of my profession and I got paid for it."

"Perhaps then I should be paid for it too," she said, giggling. "Who is that lady, Papa? And why were you hurting her? You told me never to hurt anybody—even Timmy Bradford when he ripped off my doll's arm. That was much worse than whatever that lady could have said. I didn't see her ripping anything."

Quinn shook his head and then picked up the child before setting her in front of Georgiana with exaggerated pomp. "Madam, may I present my daughter, Fairleigh?" He turned to his daughter. "Darling, show her how well you curtsy."

The little girl's blonde curls bounced as she performed the worst curtsy Georgiana had ever seen. His daughter then proceeded to roll her eyes, the color of the bluebells that carpeted the Cornish countryside.

"Well, let's see if you can do it any better," the little girl dared in an outrageously funny manner after perceiving Georgiana's expression.

Georgiana thought she might just burst from withheld laughter. "Well, I think I can manage it a tad better than you, to be perfectly honest." And she did. But just barely.

"I like you." The little girl began to giggle. "What's your name?"

"Fairleigh! How many times do I have to tell you to wait for the person to be presented?" Quinn sighed in exasperation.

"Well Papa, I thought you'd forgotten to introduce her and I was covering up your rudeness by doing the asking myself."

Oh, Georgiana thought, where had this child come from? She possessed none of her father's formidable collected nature. She was all honesty and openness and exuberance. What she would give to have a daughter such as Fairleigh.

The girl fingered a blonde curl. "Papa, you still haven't made up to her. I'm apart from you less than a fortnight and your manners have gone all to pieces. I told you—you shouldn't have left me with Grandmamma and Pappy. You need me. Now, make up to her."

"Fairleigh—"

"No. In the usual fashion. You always said it was unpardonable to hurt a lady and you were hurting her arms. I saw it."

"But Fairleigh, it isn't at all—"

"Now," the little girl said with such finality she surely had royal blood coursing her veins, Georgiana thought, enjoying the sight of a young girl bringing the oh-so-mysterious Quinn Fortesque to his knees.

Georgiana felt the brush of his hand along her arm and glanced up to find his unforgettable hazel-green eyes looking at her intently.

"Georgiana, pardon me if I hurt you in any way. It was done entirely unconsciously, I assure you. Please forgive me."

The little girl snorted. "I see you've even forgotten how to apologize properly, Papa. Where is the kiss? There
must
be a kiss."

Georgiana felt all the blood drain from her face. She had to put a stop to this. Now. "Fairleigh, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance and I'm so glad to have another lady here to help me show this brute of a papa of yours the error of his ways. But it's really not necessary for him to kiss—"

"Are you going to argue with me too?" Fairleigh asked, with all the majesty of a queen.

Surely she didn't really expect—

"Now," the miniature ruler harrumphed.

Oh dear God.
Her mind froze as she glanced at Quinn. He wouldn't do it. She knew that. There wasn't a chance he would—

And suddenly he was leaning toward her, his firm lips meeting her cheek with a softness that was surprising given the chiseled harshness of his features. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move as his face pressed against hers near the tendrils below her temple. The momentary sound of his exhaled breath there teased her and made her slightly dizzy. It was so quick and yet his lips had felt like a warm brush with fate.

"Georgiana, again, allow me to apologize," he whispered. "I don't know what possessed me to—"

"You're supposed to kiss her on the lips, silly," his daughter chirped. "Everyone knows that, Papa. You only kiss
children
on the cheek. Ladies are kissed on the lips."

Georgiana stood stock-still in horror. The girl was some sort of devil child from Hades sent to torment her. Or at the very least a tyrant. An adorable, conniving tyrant.

"Fairleigh," Quinn said with embarrassment and not a little exasperation, but with no apparent reaction to having kissed her. "Gentlemen do not kiss
all
ladies on the lips when they apologize. Only"—he searched for the right word—
"certain
ladies. Ones with whom they have a special relationship. A longstanding bond."

"But you told me in London that you had known her a long, long time and that you had grown up with her and she was special."

Good God.
There was no possible way he would—

"Fairleigh, how many times do I have to tell you not to refer to someone standing before you as
her?"

The girl pouted. "But I don't know if I should call her Georgiana like you do, Papa, or Lady Something-ton or Other-ling. Or should I say Her Grace? Although she doesn't look like a Her Grace if you were to ask me."

Thank God the girl was off the subject of kissing. "Fairleigh, please use my given name. We are to be great friends. I am sure of it. Would you like to help me with the falcon? Did you see her? I've been very negligent and must return Oblige to the mews. I shall even let you carry her."