The Kiss (15 page)

"Did you really think I would allow him to be made a laughingstock in death? It would be intolerable, having others think he died while making love to me." Her voice had become shrill with nervousness. "And then there was the possibility of becoming known as the Black Widow, as in
spider.
That's what someone—Augustine Phelps, do you remember her?—said behind my back after the funeral. An insect that mates and then kills' is what she said of me."

"I shall put an end to the inquiry," he said tightly. "Immediately."

She was rubbing the inside of her elbow.

He took a step toward her and she looked at him warily.

"You should have told me, Georgiana. Right from the start. Why didn't you trust me?"

"Why don't
you
trust
me?"
she whispered in return.

He stared hard at her and pulled her toward the light beam. A tiny barb was visible in the flushed, tender skin of her arm. He extracted it and looked up to encounter her dazed, exhausted expression. "Perhaps because I've learned that some women are also like their bee counterparts. They sting to protect themselves."

"And
die
trying," she countered.

He touched her cheek gently. "I think we both know that for the bee and beekeeper alike, to show fight is to court defeat."

Chapter 8

A fortnight passed, with Georgiana taking every opportunity to be outdoors, working on the estate or at her father's bedside—anywhere but in the great house. She was intensely thankful the days had flown by without any more embarrassing incidents. Of course there was a reason for that. Both Quinn and she, in unspoken agreement, had kept all their interactions within the confines of the company of others.

She had known her time at Penrose was fast coming to an end the day Mr. Brown took up residence in one of Penrose's guest rooms. She just hadn't figured it would end so quickly or so smoothly.

Like so many others before her, she thought ruefully, she and her father were essentially expendable—as replaceable as the animals, the laborers, the tenants, even as disposable as the men who had borne the noble title of Marquis of Ellesmere.

She supposed it was just penance for someone who had taken too much pride in her ability to manage a vast estate almost single-handedly.

Glancing at the ledger—which was becoming increasingly filled with Mr. Brown's neat script, which slanted in a different direction from her own—she realized with sadness that she was truly no longer vital here.

"Lass, your presence has been requested in the morning room. Ata was very insistent," the older balding man said gently from the doorway of the steward's room. "I'm glad it's on your pretty head to organize the last few things before the ball tonight, and not on my balding pate. Nothing I hate more than discussions of flowers and lace." He widened his gummy smile and escorted her from the lair she was losing her grip on more and more with each passing day.

Tea trays appeared just as Georgiana entered the room. The maids placed them in front of the countess, whose natural regal bearing bespoke of steady hands when it came to pouring tea, something Georgiana managed to make a complete muck of time and again. Georgiana circled the group and sat beside Sarah, the quietest and kindest member of the group.

"My dears, the trick to widowhood is to stop thinking of it as permanent," Ata advised the ladies gathered around her in the blue room.

"The same could be said about marriage," a male voice said behind them.

Georgiana glanced quickly toward the doorway. Quinn stood poised at the entrance, drenched in the clear golden light of a fine Cornish morning. Like drab moths to light, all the widows turned their attention to him in a gale of giggles.

"Quinn, dear, you're not helping the cause," Ata said with a smile. "I was just explaining the necessity of broadening our experiences."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you describe hunting husbands these days?"

Another peal of laughter and a chorus of denials echoed throughout the chamber.

"Well, I suppose"—and here he shook his head—"I could be accused of aiding and abetting your cause. Please excuse the intrusion, but I do believe you've all been waiting for these."

A footman and the harried form of the dressmaker Grace had arranged from town poured forth around him. They bore a kaleidoscope of beautiful gowns between them.

The fashionable silk dresses were distributed over the backs of assorted chaises and gilded chairs. Exclamations of excitement filled the air while the dressmaker ordered the footman to secure the drapes in the room.

The footman was then shooed out, leaving Quinn surrounded by members of the club and the mantua maker, who fussed over her creations in very poor, cockney-laced French.

"The Widows Club will make a grand showing tonight," Ata said, excitement and pride threading her voice.

"Of that there was never any doubt," Quinn said with a chuckle. "But I do believe, and actually I have been thinking this for a great while, that you might consider renaming your secret society."

Georgiana quietly retreated to a window seat, as she had been doing a great deal lately. It was better that way—to remove herself from the conversation when Quinn was among them.

"Why, Quinn, what a wonderful idea," Grace said with a smile, her animated expression radiant as she held her pale pink silk ball gown up to her form. That particular shade of rose had always been Grace's best color.

Ata giggled, wearing the silly girlish expression she adopted each time Quinn appeared. Why, he attracted ladies as easily as the last blooming flower of autumn tempted a horde of honeybees.

Ata grasped his hand with her good one; the withered one she hid beneath the ends of her shawl. "You are a rogue, I think, although you hide it altogether too well, Quinn. What name were you thinking of? I'm certain I speak for all of us when I say we're open to your excellent suggestions, as always."

"Hmmm," he murmured, a twinkle in his damnable eyes.

Georgiana was sure he knew precisely what he was going to say.

'"Barely Bereaving Beauties' would do quite adequately," he said, the hint of a smile about his lips.

Georgiana hated how everyone burst out laughing. She thought of Anthony and felt like crying. He deserved a better widow than she. Oh, she was being ridiculous. She really just grieved for the fact that she had not only lost Anthony but had also lost the ease of her past relationship with Quinn. In their youth she had at least had that. Now they had nothing—actually worse than nothing.

She felt a soft hand grasp hers and turned to find Sarah's very wise, kind eyes searching hers intently. "Come, Georgiana, will you help me with my gown? I can't seem to find it."

Georgiana glanced beyond Sarah and spied Quinn staring at her, above Ata and Grace's shoulders. Their eyes met for an instant before she looked away.

"I will leave you all for your fitting, then. Until tonight, ladies." Quinn bowed and exited amid a cloud of well-wishes.

The ladies eagerly went to the gowns and barely noticed several ladies' maids entering from another door. One of them approached Georgiana and bobbed a curtsy. "Ma'am. His lordship would have a word with you, if you please."

Sarah, still at her side, looked at her, a question in her eyes.

"It's all right. I'll be right back."

He was waiting for her on the other side of the door. "I beg your pardon, Georgiana, if I offended you in any way," he said, his voice deepening. "I hadn't meant to."

"I know."

"You do realize I was just teasing Ata and the others, don't you? I did it because Ata seems to enjoy it."

"Of course she does. I daresay you've thoroughly charmed her and very nearly replaced her own grandson in her heart," she replied softly.

He looked at her intently again. "Why do you look so sad, then?"

For once, her composure did not falter. "I miss the deep friendship we used to share—you, me, and Anthony. And I suppose I'm ill at ease because you and Ata and everyone else have formed such easy friendships, while our own rapport has altered so much." The last trailed into the silence on a whisper. She hated how half-truths and mistrust had eroded their private world.

"My dear, Georgiana, my feelings for you remain unchanged. I've always admired you greatly. I, too, have felt the strain." He hesitated before rushing on. "We both know it has to do with me taking liberties with you—kissing you. No—" He motioned for her to let him continue when she opened her mouth. "It's better to speak of it. My apologies must appear worthless to you, so I won't appease my guilt by empty words. I know you miss Anthony, Georgiana. And I will try to do a better job of remembering that. I'm glad for the chance to clear the air. Your good opinion and your friendship mean the world to me. More than anyone else's. And your happiness is one of my main concerns, Georgiana."

She was so overcome by his words she could not look at his face. "I'm sorry for this awkwardness too. And here I've failed to tell you how glad I am that you've come home." She did not make the mistake of looking at him. If they were to preserve this fragile overture of renewed fellowship, she must be on her guard.

"And I've been delighted to be in the company of my oldest friend again," he said simply.

"Well, then." She had to extricate herself before she wallowed further in this quagmire of raw sensations. Before she took a step closer and made a fool of herself. "I must go back. The others will wonder. I suppose I shall see you at the start of the ball, then?"

"You may depend upon it," he said, his hands gripped behind his back.

She fled to the comfort of her friends.

Ata held up a scarlet-colored silk robe with an overlay of very fine black lace and shook her head. "I'm certain I didn't agree to this color." She looked at the dressmaker with amusement. "Not that I don't like it, mind you. It reminds me of a gown I used to wear when I was much younger. It made me look like a Spanish dancer!"