The Kiss (11 page)
She seemed to consider it. "You're just as bad as Papa. You're trying to wiggle out of kissing him, too. He shouldn't have hurt you, but you have to pretend to accept his apology, and kiss him even if you don't feel like it. That's what Papa always forces me to do." The girl's eyes were slightly slanted, just like one of Beelzebub's minions.
Quinn made a long-suffering sound and rubbed his forehead. "Georgiana, you will confer with me before you ever decide to remarry and have children won't you? The grim reality is now before you."
He grasped his daughter's hand gently and looked down at her. "I should know better than to argue with you, Fairleigh. I have taught you how to negotiate too well, I fear, so the blame is all mine. But I have also taught you the art of compromise. So I shall promise to kiss Georgiana, for you are correct. We share a special bond—like a brother to a sister. But it won't be here or now, for apologies should be conducted in private—without an intermediary judging the performance."
Like a brother to a sister.
Georgiana's heart shriveled a little more.
"Well, so far I think you've earned a very low score, Papa. But I do know how to compromise, as you say. I will just have to ask Georgiana to report your performance and you shall report hers to me after."
Georgiana was wrong about the child being the devil's minion. She was a dwarf-sized
Medusa. A
thousand snakes were surely lurking under those beguiling curls.
The little girl looked from one to the other of them and giggled. "I'm hungry. What's in the picnic basket, Papa? Oh, and Georgiana, you did say I could pet the bird, didn't you? Will she peck me?"
Georgiana rather felt like pecking her herself, but instead brushed one of those silvery-blonde locks from Fairleigh's face. The strands felt like warm spun silk, reminiscent of the downy brood patch on Oblige's breast when she was nesting.
The rest of the day was spent touring portions of the estate with Quinn and his daughter. The discussion about forgiveness and kissing was dropped as thoroughly as a stone thrown into the depths of the sea off Trewavas Cliff. As she watched Quinn with Fairleigh, she felt wholly isolated. Her memories of her youthful, carefree days with him would no longer bring her any comfort. He had gone out in life and lived—and he had forgotten her, despite his words to the contrary. He had formed a life so completely unconnected to hers, and had a beautiful daughter with whom to share love, and the memories of a beloved lost wife.
If she had been the sort to enjoy self-pity, she would have been touched by it now. Instead, she resolved to yet again fortify herself and put her feelings for Quinn in the past . . . where they belonged.
"Mr. Brown," Quinn murmured the next morning, still fairly suspicious of the older man sitting across from his desk. "Then we are agreed?"
The balding Scot chuckled amiably.
"Och.
Only a fool would say no to such a sum. But forgive me, my lord"—he shook his head, still laughing—"for saying that I'm thinking you're the fool to offer it. Are stewards such a rare commodity these days?"
The Duke of Helston stood propped against the fireplace mantel nearby, with an annoyingly smug expression. "Brownie, you can't say I didn't warn you that the man is a bloody imbecile. And he doesn't seem to trust a soul. It's as I always say—"
"Forgive me, Helston, if I ask you yet again to refrain from uttering one of those witticisms you're so fond of," Quinn interrupted. "I should like to get on with this."
John Brown coughed once or twice before he pulled out a handkerchief to swab his brow. Luc St. Aubyn looked ready to do murder.
Quinn wished he knew if this Scot would perform his duties as well as he hoped. And more to the point, if he would be able to manage the impossible feat of easing Georgiana away from the barnyard and into the drawing rooms.
A knock echoed from the study's door. "Yes?" he called out.
The dowager duchess's usually pleasant voice crackled in outrage beyond the closed door. "He wouldn't. Luc simply wouldn't. Mr. Brown was to stay with him at Amberley during his visit—not here. Why, there's no reason for him to be here with—"
Georgiana opened the door, her finger to her lips, her gaze on the dowager.
Quinn cleared his throat. "Ladies," he murmured as he drew himself up with the other two gentlemen to bow.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Georgiana said with a question lurking in her wide, alert eyes. "But the housekeeper mentioned Mr. Brown was visiting and I—or rather Ata and I—wanted to give him our best wishes before he returned to Amberley."
Georgiana bobbed a curtsy in Mr. Brown's direction and the older man leaned in and quickly pecked her cheek.
"Now lass, you're not going to begrudge an old friend a kiss are you? It's been far too long since last we met and you must take pity on me. Doddering old salts rarely receive kisses, you know. 'Tis a great pity. Old age is when we need them most."
Ata tottered up to Mr. Brown and stomped her cane on his boot.
Mr. Brown winced and was to be commended for keeping his ire to himself.
"Doddering, indeed. Why you're as doddering as an old fox with an eye on the lambs. Don't trust him for a minute, my dear."
Georgiana's eyes glinted with amusement.
"And don't you dare look at me as if I should welcome your hide," Ata said. "You are a yellow-bellied coward, you are. The way you left after Luc's wedding last season, well, I should think—"
Mr. Brown effectively silenced the dowager with a very quick kiss on the lips. The duke's eyebrows rose to the edges of his pitch-black hairline.
"Well," Ata sputtered in complete shock. "Well, I never—"
"Thought I would return? I didn't either. But after your grandson's invitation, I changed my mind. I suppose I missed—"
Ata's eyes flared with something that looked like hope and she made a sound.
"—the balmy
Cornish air,"
he finished with satisfaction.
"Why you are as ill-mannered as—"
Mr. Brown cut in softly, "And perhaps, just perhaps, I missed a certain feisty little bag of wind, too."
"Well!" Ata said in outrage.
The duke's laughter floated above them all. "I almost—I repeat almost—wish I could stay to witness more of this. But I must return to Amberley. Ellesmere, they're in your hands now. I trust you will sort it all out . . . eventually. The legendary charm"—he looked very pained—"you prize so highly should serve you well. But make sure you put a lock on my grandmother's door, will you?" He turned back from his retreat toward the door. "Actually, I would install a lock on Mr. Brown's, too."
"Luc!" Ata shrieked.
"Come," Mr. Brown said to the tiny dowager. "Shall we escort Luc to the front hall? I must have a word with him about the importance of hiding keys."
Ata made a very unladylike snort and looked ready to recommence battle, but seemed to think the better of it after glancing at Georgiana. Instead, she sized up Mr. Brown and accepted his arm as they headed for the door, leaving Quinn alone with her.
Georgiana gave him a measured look. "You've invited Mr. Brown to stay?"
"Yes. Evens out the numbers a bit, don't you agree?"
"You invited him only to even out the numbers?"
"And as a favor to the Duchess of Helston, who deserves the peace every new mother craves."
"For no other reason?" A storm was rising in her turbulent expression. Her emotions were always so evident in her features.
"You know, Georgiana"—he edged closer to her and continued softly—"just because you've decided we're enemies doesn't mean we can't also be friends."
She looked away. "I never said we were enemies." Her face was flushed.
"I shan't lie to you, Georgiana. I would like for you to consider Brown as a possible solution. An aide to you ... and to me."
"But—"
"We agreed we would search out a replacement."
"But—"
"And that you would train the person with grace and good humor."
She made an inelegant sound. "I never said I'd do it with grace and good humor. In fact, you know I'm incapable of the former."
He took another step closer to her and could see sparks of golden filaments radiating from the dark depths of her irises.
She shifted and appeared flustered by his proximity. He had never noticed until this instant that she became ill at ease whenever he stepped close to her. The same thing had happened at the folly the day he had arrived, and again yesterday when he had kissed her cheek.
The thought of that moment left a tightness in his chest. He had promised to kiss her properly. The way a man kisses a woman. He reached out to her and her eyes widened as she stared at his outstretched palm. "Georgiana" he said very quietly. "I do apologize again for losing my temper yesterday. Will you forgive me?"
"I've already forgiven you. You know that." She looked away.
He dropped his proffered hand, then grasped her arms and drew her closer. "Then may I kiss you? A kiss will wash away the awkwardness."
"I won't kiss you just because your daughter forced you to agree to some ridiculous notion."
Abruptly he wanted to kiss her.
"And if I told you my daughter has nothing to do with it?"
"I should not believe you."
In the moment of silence that followed, their eyes locked, and the air thrummed with tension.
And suddenly, quite inexplicably, there was something in Georgiana's eyes that made him want to crush her to him.
Protect her.
The rational part of his mind was screaming at him to turn the moment. God knew Georgiana had little need for anyone's protection.
"Is the idea so repugnant to you?" he whispered.
Something flickered in her expression. "This is ridiculous." She turned to go. "I've got to see to the honeycombs. They need to be uncapped today, and—"
At the last moment, he grasped her hand firmly and pulled her back toward him. A momentary flash of fierce longing glittered in her eyes before he lowered his lips to hers and was swept into a violent tempest. . . not unlike the last few knots of his storm-tossed passage through the English Channel. Only then he had been traveling to just another point on his eternal journey to a never-ending series of destinations. This time, this journey,
this kiss
felt like he had finally found shelter. Permanently.
It warmed his bones and . . .
and shocked the living hell out of him.
And oh, what it did to her ...
