"I thought you didn't like that one?" The words were out before she could consider the wisdom of speaking to him after the scene the day before last.
He looked around, startled by her voice, and on seeing no one nearby, looked up. The pleasure in his eyes on seeing her chased away any doubts she'd had. They were warm and inviting, the smile that spread over his mouth quite obviously genuine.
"Georgiana!" he exclaimed, and then held the book up with a rueful smile. "I'm afraid my opinion remains the same. Am I a terrible philistine?"
"Oh yes, certainly," she replied, shaking her head at him. "Though at least you are making an effort to try," she added with her most condescending tone.
He laughed at that and nodded. "I am very trying," he said, joking with her in return.
She gave a surprised laugh, delighted by his silly joke. "But why are you reading it?" she pressed, staring into those dark eyes and praying that she had guessed the answer correctly.
He stilled and the smile fell from his face. Smoothing his hands over the sleek leather cover he shook his head. "I don't know really, just that ... It reminded me of you, of ... our time together and I thought perhaps if I understood what you loved about it I could ..." He stopped and looked up at her, a beseeching look in his eyes that made her chest ache with longing.
"You could what?" she whispered, clutching the rail of the balustrade so hard her fingers hurt.
He took a deep breath and she could see the tension in his broad shoulders, admired the sleek fit of his waistcoat as his chest expanded. "I could find a way to make you forgive me," he said in a rush, the desperation in his voice only too audible now. "To ... to go back and find everything I lost."
She stared down at him, her chest too tight for her to breathe easily, and she felt she could hardly breathe at all.
"I've been such a fool, love," he whispered, staring up at her with anguish as she felt tears prickle in her eyes. "I was coming to you, you see. The night before Almack's. I couldn't stand it any longer. I missed you so much."
"Y--you were going to Cornwall, to see me?" she stammered as the idea sank in.
"Yes," he said, such longing in that one word that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I didn't mean the things I said." She stared at him, struck by the look on his face, by the uncertainty in his bearing. "I was angry that ..." he paused and ran a hand through his thick hair, dishevelling the carefully careless arrangement he'd crafted and leaving something rather softer in its place. He looked younger suddenly, unsure of himself. "I idolised my father," he admitted. "I always wanted to remember him as this ... paragon." He gave a self deprecating laugh and shrugged his big shoulders. "It was only after ... after Beau dunked me," he said with a grin. "That I came to think about him as an ordinary man." His face grew serious and he stepped closer to the balustrade, staring up at her. "I was right about one thing though. If your mother was half as lovely as you, if he felt a fraction of what I do ... I know just how he felt. I understand now how he could be so reckless, why he risked everything. For if he was plagued by dreams of her, by endless nights and empty days where all he could do was live for the moment he might see her again ... I understand it. I do."
She gasped and felt for a moment that she was living in a dream. It seemed so impossible and unlikely that he should be declaring himself in the middle of a book shop of all place.
"You look like Juliet," he said, smiling up at her. "I only hope we have a happier ending," he added, his voice low and full of anxiety.
"Me too," she replied, her words little more than a whisper.
"May I come up?" he asked and she nodded, wiping away a tear that had fallen despite her best efforts as she watched him almost run for the stairs, and then mount them two at a time. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her leaping nerves, and then there he was, standing in front of her.
She looked up at him and wondered if she had forgotten just what an impressive sight he was, for he stole her breath all over again. His dark blue superfine coat was perfectly cut and clung to him lovingly, accentuating hard muscle and powerful arms. She remembered what it had felt like, to have those arms around her, the weight of his body on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin. A flush burned over her cheeks and she hoped he couldn't guess at her thoughts.
"I wanted to kill Beau," he said, his voice rough and yet hesitant. "When I heard ..."
She looked away, embarrassed that he should know about that. "You were right," she admitted. "I should never have gone in the boat with him."
"He kissed you?"
She looked back at him in horror, how could he stand there and ask that? Did he really expect an answer? It was clear he didn't need one further than her silence as his fists clenched and he cursed under his breath.
"He's offered for me," she said, wanting him to understand how precarious her position was. She would have to marry someone, she'd be no man's mistress, stuck in a half life between his worlds. "So has Lord Nibley."
His eyes widened, his throat working as he seemed to struggle to find the words for his next question.
"You've ... have you ..."
"No," she replied with a sad smile. "No, I've not answered yet. I couldn't when ..."
She stared at him, unwilling to put into words what ought to be blatantly obvious.
"I can't ..." he exclaimed, holding out his hands to her, the sentence left undone, hanging in the air between them.
He can't marry you, she thought. That's what he's trying to say. Except suddenly his hands were cradling her face, his lips so close she could feel his breath on her skin.
"I can't let you marry someone else!" he rasped, his voice harsh and urgent, his eyes so wild she took a breath. "I'll run mad if you do, Georgiana. Please, please, love. Tell me you'll not accept them?"
She felt her breathing hitch, wanting so much to tell him what he wanted to hear but he hadn't asked. "I ... I have to marry, your Grace, you know I must."
"Your Grace?" he bit out. "Not your Grace, dammit, Georgiana. Sebastian. Say my name."
"Sebastian," she whispered, and she realised she was trembling, caught in the fire in his eyes, terrified she might accept whatever indecent offer he put to her.
"Tell me you still love me," he commanded, and she felt as though he really had control of her thoughts, of her tongue, as she was powerless to refuse the need in his expression. She stared into the dark of his irises, lost again in the little universe of golden flecks that burned in his eyes.
"I love you," she whispered. "I love you, Sebastian.”
She heard the catch in his breath, felt the warmth of his thumb as it caressed her cheek.
"Will you be in tomorrow morning if I call on you?" he asked, a new note of determination in his voice.
She nodded, too shocked to speak, hope blooming to life like a flame in her chest, warming the heart that had been so frozen with sorrow since he'd left her.
"I'll call on you," he said, so assured in his manner she couldn't doubt him. There was a look in his eyes that promised so much. "I have things to do, to consider ... things I must ... arrange. But I'll come, I swear it."
She nodded again, blinking as her vision blurred.
He stepped closer, their bodies touching, here in the book shop, where anyone could walk in and see. "Wait for me," he pleaded. "Wait for me, love. Promise?"
"P-promise," she stammered, half laughing, half crying as he laughed too, and pressed a kiss to her lips.
"I won't let you down, my love," he said, his smile wide and brilliant now. "Until tomorrow."
He stepped back and began to walk away, but then paused and turned back to her, as though needing to reassure himself she was really there.
"Until tomorrow," she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips in wonder. Until tomorrow. She hugged the words to her heart, watching as he strode out of sight.
Chapter 27
"Wherein tempers run high and the gossips delight."
Sebastian walked the street
s in a daze, seeing nothing but his future. A future that he could share with her, with Georgiana. On the one hand he was ecstatic; he had found her, the woman who would be his wife. He’d discovered that impossible creature who didn't want him for his money or his title. The girl who loved Byron and her ugly mongrel and walked for miles in all weathers, she made him feel foolish and giddy as a schoolboy, and like the most powerful man on the earth when she smiled at him.
The feeling in his chest grew and expanded until he could believe that everything he felt for her couldn't possibly be contained in the fragile confines of his body. It was too grand, too powerful, too consuming. Suddenly Byron and Keats and those overblown romantic sentiments that he'd always thought rather foolish and a little embarrassing made perfect sense. They were trying to capture the essence of something that was indeed foolish and fantastical and larger than anything else in life, with words on a page. He wanted to laugh and shout that he understood now. It all made sense now.
With a wry smile he looked around at the fashionable men and women strolling up and down as he made his way to St James' Street, blithely unaware of his turbulent thoughts as the other side of the coin presented itself to him.
What on earth would he say to his mother?
He imagined a scene where he was brave enough to tell her that he'd fallen in love with a girl who was the image of the woman who'd ruined her life. The girl was in fact the Siren’s daughter, the creature who had stolen her husband, left her son without a father, and herself too ashamed and humiliated to face the world again. How would he put into words the news that the new Lady Dalton would now take the title that had once been hers? She would become the Duchess of Sindalton. Could he really be so cruel? Could he really push her past hurt aside for his own future?
His face clouded as the future became less clear, the path less obvious. He loved Georgiana and he didn't care what the gossip mill made of it. They would cause a titillating stir and be the talk of the haut ton for some months. But then another scandal, another poor broken heart or embarrassed cuckold would take the stage ... and their story would fade into history.
But the scandal could destroy his mother, the shock of it putting too great a strain on a nervous creature who spent so much of her time near hysteria as it was. This could really break her mind for good ... or maybe even kill her. Could he live with the guilt of that?
The impressive Palladian façade of his club came into view and he crossed the street. The white Portland stone gleamed in the sun as he entered the cool and sophisticated surroundings of White's. Moving past the empty space in the bow window reserved for the Duke of Wellington, since poor old Brummel had done a run for it, he found a table in a quiet corner and hoped to be left alone. He wondered if the other Beau of his acquaintance would share the same fate, fleeing to France to escape debtor's prison. Because he was damned if he'd let him marry Georgiana to save him. He'd happily bail him out, without ever demanding a penny in return, but even for his closest friend, he'd not give up the woman he loved. He loved Beau like the brother he'd never had and would do near anything for him, but not that.
The idea that he'd kissed her made anger and jealousy burn bright and furious behind his eyes and he snatched at the decanter that had been placed quietly before him and poured a large measure. He closed his eyes and exhaled as the liquor eased through him, infiltrating his blood and creating a warm glow in his stomach. He downed the glass and filled another and sat staring at the amber liquid as he filled and refilled his glass as the day wore on. His brain ran in anxious circles, round and around the same dilemmas, the same arguments, the same results. He looked up sometime later to see little of the brandy remained in the glass as was attested by the ache in his head. The only thing that remained clear to him throughout, the only constant that he could hold on to, was that he loved Georgiana. When that thought pierced the fog of his tangled brain it was bright and clear and irrefutable. It was the only thing.
His attention was taken as a shadow fell over the table and he forced himself to focus on his surroundings rather than the thoughts writhing in his brain.
"Oh God, not now, Beau," he growled, shaking his head. "You don't want to be near me now, I swear it."
"Perhaps not, but I think you've spent enough time with this for company," his friend remarked gesturing for a server to remove it. "Bring a pot of coffee," he added, watching Sebastian with caution in his eyes. "You're foxed," he observed with some surprise. "You must be in a foul mood."
"Oh, I am," Sebastian replied, not taking his eyes from the man looking down at him. To his dismay Beau didn't leave well alone as he'd hoped he might but sat down opposite him.
"I think you should hear it from me," he said, holding Sebastian's gaze, his blue eyes troubled. "I've offered for Lady Dalton. I know I told you I should but ... well you're my friend and I won't do anything behind your back. So it's done. I await her reply."
"I know," Sebastian said, wishing the bastard hadn't had the brandy removed because he really needed a bloody drink.
Beau narrowed his eyes, considering. "Well now, I know the gossip mills turn fair and fast but that's quick work even for these parts. How do you know that may I ask?"
Sebastian smiled at him and sat back in his chair, not caring if he looked smug. "Because she told me."
There was an almost imperceptible tightening of Beau's jaw, his eyes glinting in a way that Sebastian knew meant trouble. "She told you?" he repeated. "When?"
"This morning," Sebastian replied, holding Beau's gaze. "She also told me she didn't want you, or Nibley. She loves me still, Beau. It's me she wants."
Beau snorted and shook his head. "I know she loves you, you fool. But what exactly are you offering her? Are you actually going to face your mother and tell her you're marrying Lady Dalton? Because frankly I think that's going to take more balls than you've got."
Sebastian stiffened in fury and leaned across the table.
"Don't you dare insult me when all you want is to get your hands on her money!"
Beau glared back at him, his face white with indignation. "Oh, but that's not all I want to get my hands on," he said, his voice low. "And she may not love me, but I assure you, she doesn't find the idea in any way repulsive."
Before Sebastian could think about what he was doing, about where they were and the damage it would do, he simply reacted. The idea of Beau, the ton's most notorious rake, with his hands on Georgiana made rage, white hot and irresistible, flame through his drunken brain. He threw himself forward and knocked Beau out of his chair, the two of them falling to the floor as Sebastian drew back his fist to throw a punch.
There were shouts of alarm and to Sebastian's frustration he was hauled away from Beau before he could land a punch. Beau was also struggling like fury, two men holding him back as they glared at each other with the need for violence in their eyes.
"Gentlemen!" said a shocked, cultured voice to the side of them and Sebastian forced himself to look away from Beau and encountered the surprisingly angry eyes of Lord Nibley. "I think you should be ashamed of yourselves," he said in a low tone. "Now you will both sit back down and take a drink together."
They both stared at Nibley as though he'd grown an extra head, as the idea of sitting down with Beau made Sebastian want to hit him again.
"I don't see how I am to blame for this little scene," Beau replied, rearranging his cravat and still glaring at Sebastian. "I rather think I'm owed an apology."
Sebastian snorted at the likelihood of that happening and Nibley grabbed hold of his arm with surprising violence.
"You will do this and anything else required to try and limit the damage you have already done to a blameless young woman," Nibley hissed, his lanky frame taut with anger.
Sebastian took a breath as the sense of this filtered through his liquor-soaked brain. Good God, what had he been thinking? To attack Beau, here of all places? To his further annoyance he saw that Beau had already seated himself and was ordering a drink, lo
oking perfectly unruffled. At least Sebastian thought he looked unruffled, until he sat down himself and looked closely into those blue eyes, and saw the cool glitter of resentment still lurking there.
The three men sat together and drank, though this time Sebastian stuck to coffee, and tried to present a calm appearance. The atmosphere at the table however was far from jovial despite Nibley's best efforts.
They forced themselves to remain for a half hour at which point the three men stood, shook hands and forced a smile to their faces before going their separate ways.
***
It appears The Siren has struck again as violence erupted within the sacred walls of White's of all places! Friends since boyhood came to blows and yet another suitor was forced to intervene. It appears bets have been taken as to which of these hot-blooded lovers will win out. The ton stands agog as the scene unfolds before us. Will there be murder and bloodshed and a repeat of a previous decade's outrageous scandal? Whilst the ever charming M of B and wealthy Lord N have all publicly declared their interest in ton's newest fiery beauty, the D of S has not seen to be received with any pleasure or to have put his hat in the ring. What exactly is the man offering and why is he so enraged by his best friend's courtship of a woman who can surely bring nothing but embarrassment to his distinguished family?
Georgiana stared at the horrid scandal sheet with her cheeks burning. How could they? How could they fight over her in a public place like dogs with a bone! She thanked goodness that Alex had been called away early this morning and Céleste was still abed. She didn't think she could face anyone for a while. How she was going to attend any of the dozens of formal functions she was committed to over the coming weeks was beyond her. The constant stares and whispers had been grating enough before, but now this! She screwed the revolting sheet up and flung it across the table before putting her head in her hands.
Scandal's Daughter Page 20
