The Kiss (18 page)

They waded past the shallows and Georgiana lowered herself into the cool water. "Come, Fairleigh. That's it. I have you. Doesn't this feel heavenly?" The dreadfully hot evening had been considered a great success by everyone, although, thought Georgiana, it had been an unmitigated disaster for her heart. She had been so glad when Fairleigh had appeared and provided the much wished for excuse to escape the ball.

"Oh, Georgiana... you are the very bestest," the little girl moaned in pleasure as the water reached high above her waist. "You won't tell Papa, will you? You did promise."

"I thought we had a bargain. We would take a secret swim to cool off and then you'll go to bed without another minute of lurking and spying on the poor guests. Why, old Mrs. Hotchkiss nearly died of apoplexy when she saw your hand come out from under the settee."

"Oh, pooh. It wasn't as if it was a viper."

"Shall we float on our backs and look at the stars? If you're lucky you might be able to make out a shadow of geese cutting across the sky, and if we're really lucky we'll even see Oscar."

"Who's Oscar?"

"An otter with the curiosity of a cat. He loves to come out at night and scare me to death. I'm certain he does it on purpose."

Well, if she had had to endure the torture of watching Quinn dance twice with Grace Sheffey, at least this delightful little midnight swim with Fairleigh would cheer her up. It had been stifling in the ballroom and the tension of maintaining an air of cool refinement for so long had taken its toll. She had only fully relaxed during one dance with Rosamunde's brother, Miles Langdon, a male she had known her entire life. He had acquired an air of maturity since returning from his grand tour this summer.

But her leg ached from dancing and the cool waters felt wonderful.

"Will Oscar hurt me?"

"No, but his whiskers tickle when he swims under you."

"Ohhh ... I hope he comes. But I don't know how to float."

"But of course you do. If you can swim, then you can float."

"Urn ... I don't
precisely
know how to swim. Well, what I mean is, I know I must kick my feet and paddle with my arms, and—"

"Fairleigh," Georgiana interrupted, "I would never have taken you here if I'd known you couldn't swim. It's too dangerous at night. Why, your father—"

"Show me how to float—please?"

"You're impossible." Georgiana sighed in exasperation.

"I know. Old Beetleface used to call me that at least once a day." She said more quietly, "The other governesses called me dim-witted, unmanageable, stupid, and untamed."

Cold mud oozed between Georgiana's toes and she pulled the little girl into her arms. She just couldn't stand hearing those words. They were too reminiscent of the phrases the village teacher had used to describe Georgiana.

"It isn't true. You mustn't believe those things. I haven't known you long but you are as far from being unintelligent as they come. Now you might try to be a little less hoydenish ... for example, you could try climbing trees only on Thursdays instead of every day. That's what I do."

"You do
not
climb trees!"

"No. You've just never
seen
me climb a tree. You must be unobservant on Thursdays alone, since you are the most perceptive girl I know."

Without Fairleigh even realizing it, Georgiana had taken her in her arms and was positioning her to float. "Lay your head back now."

Georgiana looked down onto the moonlit silhouette of the little girl and saw wonder written on her every feature. Within moments the girl was floating on her own, although Georgiana didn't dare remove her arms. Fairleigh was a natural-born fish.

A loud masculine shout followed by a splash alerted Georgiana they weren't alone.

For not a moment did she doubt it was Quinn bearing down on them, in smooth, long strokes cutting the surface of the lake.
Lovely.
And she was very nearly naked in her thin shift.

And then he was upon them and jerking Fair-leigh into his arms. The moonlight played havoc with the harsh shadows slicing the furious expression he gave Georgiana as he dragged his daughter to his chest. "What on earth are you doing? Georgiana, you might have thought it fun and games when we were young to go swimming at night. But my daughter is only nine years old. She cannot swim and could easily drown."

He hauled his daughter out of the water and ignored the girl's squeals of protest and explanations. "No, Fairleigh. I've long forbidden you to swim and while I might have relented, you coming here expressly against my wishes ... well, you shall never be allowed within the vicinity of Loe Pool ever again. Do you understand me?" He spoke softly, with only the hint of a hard edge to his voice. It was almost worse than hearing him bark at his daughter. Not that Quinn would ever bark at anyone.

"But Papa, I wouldn't drown like Mamma. I know better than that."

Drown?
His wife had drowned?
The obituary notice had said she had succumbed after a brief illness.

"It was so hot, Papa, I couldn't sleep. The music was so loud. And I wanted to see all the gowns. I—" Fairleigh stopped abruptly. It seemed her father's silence scared her more than any scolding.

Georgiana, mindless with embarrassment over her own near nakedness, strode over to the ball gown and tossed it over her head. The thin fabric immediately adhered to her wet shift and when she looked down she noticed that the pale gold fabric appeared the same color as her skin.

And just when she thought the moment could not get any worse, Georgiana heard the muffled sound of footsteps in the sea grasses. Rosamunde and Luc soon appeared, running toward them, Fitz Langdon not far behind.

"Ellesmere," the duke said breathlessly, "you had better have a bloody good explanation or I shall be slicing your kidneys for breakfast tomorrow morning."

As he closed the gap, Georgiana noticed that one of the duke's eyes appeared slightly closed, the skin puffy around it.

"Dibs on his giblets," muttered Fitz, who stood with a cut on his chin, looking embarrassed beside his brother-in-law.

A very faint smile lurked at the corners of Rosa-munde's lovely mouth. "Quinn, I'm certain you've a very good reason for all the nonsense my brother's been spouting. Are you all right? Why, they're all dripping wet, Luc."

"I don't care if he's bloody drowning. An idiot like Ellesmere can't just go about sullying—"

"Luc, darling," Rosamunde looked pointedly toward Fairleigh. "Perhaps this would be better discussed in private?"

"Oh, it'll be in private, all right. It'll be so damned private no one will know where to find his bones."

"I'll help," muttered Fitz.

"I realize an apology won't suffice, but I feel honor bound to offer it," Quinn said stiffly, "to you both."

"Why are there bruises on your faces?" Georgi-ana was completely mystified by the swellings on the duke and Fitz Langdon, and also hoped this line of questioning would deflect attention from her revealing silhouette.

"While I'm certain the
diplomat
will invent numerous excuses for his far-fetched notions, they're certain to bore me to tears," Luc said dryly. "If you'll forgive me for ending this delightful tete-a-tete, I shall await Ellesmere's
brilliant
resolution to this tragedy of errors in the next twenty-four hours. And if it doesn't bloody well include at least five cases of the very best French brandy then I will stuff every damned one of his Portuguese
throat torches
down his gullet and light his toes. Now if you'll excuse me ..." He turned and walked away, absolute black fury dripping from his stiff posture. Fitz turned and followed him, murmuring a coarse Cornish proverb under his breath.

Rosamunde glanced from Quinn to Georgi-ana knowingly. "Hmmm. Perhaps it would be best if Fairleigh returns to Penrose with me? By the look of it, I feel certain you have some things to discuss . .. and by the by, my lord, you might want to ask Ata about the brandy. I think she's made friends with a reliable smuggler in the area."

Fairleigh appeared so grateful for the diversion, she went along with Rosamunde with nary a peep of protest after quickly kissing her father on the cheek.

Soon only the crickets could be heard breaking the tension of this late summer night. Georgiana turned away from his view and plucked at her gown, attempting to detach it from her wet underclothes. "Did you strike Luc and Fitz?"

"This is a matter best left alone. I shall make the necessary reparations."

"Well, I'm guessing you struck Fitz, because if you had punched Luc he would have pulled a pistol on you without hesitation. But why would you hurt Fitz?" Before he could answer she continued, "And who struck Luc?"

"Probably Fitz."

"Why would he do that?"

"You're changing the subject. I require your word that you'll never again take my daughter anywhere without my express permission." He picked up his evening shoes and coat, the only items he'd shucked before going into the lake.

"I'd never have suggested swimming if I'd known you'd forbidden it. Or if I'd known she couldn't swim." She was hurt. "You know that."

He slowly perused her form.

There was something about his cold silence that unnerved her. She couldn't stop herself from forcing the issue. "But I do think if you're going to live here, so close to the sea and Loe Pool, it might be a good idea if Fairleigh learns how to swim."

"Ah," he said with a terrible tone. "You know what is best for a young girl, do you?"

"I know what is harmful. Your governesses used humiliation and hurt her tender sensibilities with such nonsense. They insisted she was stupid and lazy—all because she wouldn't read Fordyce's sermons, play the pianoforte with skill, or make lace."

"Religion and needlework and music were always wasted on you, Georgiana. But perhaps you're wrong. If a lady is to make her way in life, knowledge of feminine skills is an asset, not a detriment."

"Not if the lady in question will never reach any sort of impressive proficiency in those arts. Quinn, don't you see she needs to succeed in at least one endeavor so she can gain the confidence to succeed in others?"

He shook his head. "Are you suggesting that if she learns how to swim she will also develop a sudden taste for philosophy?"

"Don't be ridiculous ... I won't argue with you. You always could win any dispute—but this isn't a debate. This is about your daughter. You can't make someone into something they are not. You can't force someone to like something they cannot."

You can't force someone to love someone they do not.

She suppressed a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry I took her swimming and I shall never again distract her without your express permission. In any case, I won't be here for many more weeks. I've decided to begin the search for a cottage for my family."

In the vacuum of silence that followed, Geor-giana's skin prickled with nervousness despite the heat in the air. She was clammy from the wet garments and the heated conversation and she became even more discomfited when Quinn advanced toward her.

"Georgiana," he said sadly, as he grasped her hands. "This is a fine renewal of our friendship. And I'm wholly to blame. Will you accept my apology? I let fear for Fairleigh's safety cloud my judgment." He shook his head. "I seem to do nothing right where it concerns you these days. Well, I intend to defer to your good judgment from now on.

"What?" she said in disbelief.

"For the first time someone has said something of sense concerning my daughter, and I must thank you. You are entirely right. I know better than most that you can't change someone."

"Well... I don't know what to say. It's so rare when anyone agrees with me." She looked into his eyes. "Especially you. Especially recently," she said, so quietly he leaned in to catch her words.

Her heart hammered in her breast and a chill ran up her damp arms. "I'm sorry, Quinn, about your wife. I didn't know she'd drowned. I know you were very much in love with her and of course you were worried when you saw your daughter ..." She stopped when she dared to glance at his expression.

He raised her chin and she met his dark, mysterious gaze. She swallowed.

"You're entirely wrong." He released her and moved away. "Cynthia was bedazzled by the diplomatic circles in town and was convinced I would rise far and fast when we married. Soon after she went through my meager earnings, she discovered drink and
other distractions
to soften her disappointments. She drowned while boating on a lake with one of her long string of lovers late one night."

Georgiana stood stock still, horrified beyond words.

"Yes, well. . . now you know the truth, so you can stop consoling me for my loss. The effort is completely wasted on me."

For the first time in her life Georgiana did not rush to fill the void with words. There was absolutely nothing she could think of to say—nothing she could do.

Oh, but there was.

She stepped so close to him she could see the shadow of the line of his beard on his taut face in the moonlight.

She stretched her arms up high and around his neck and laid her head over his pounding heart. He remained motionless, his arms at his sides.

She gently stroked the skin above his shirt collar and breathed in his scent that left her melancholy with longing.

And then she took her decision. A decision that would unbind the secret she had bound tightly to her soul for so very long that it had seemed impossible to reveal.

She would do it for him—unselfishly, expecting nothing in return, because she loved him and he needed to understand that someone loved him for who he was, and had always been. He deserved to hear it. It was painfully obvious he needed to feel love.
Anyone's
love. Even someone who hid hideous deformities under many layers of shifts and gowns.

She tried to speak three times, opening her mouth in the darkness, her arms still gripping his impossibly broad and motionless form.

The fourth time she succeeded in making a strangled sound.

"What is it, Georgiana?" he asked quietly. "I told you I won't have your pity. We've known each other too long for the niceties."