“Angry, lass,” he corrected, as he had in the livery loft. “He makes me bluidy furious.”
News of Wharton’s decree had Mal gnashing his teeth in anger but it soon faded to frustration. He dropped down on one of the steps three or four up from the landing, planting one foot and then the other with solid thumps of discontent on the lowest rise. Running his fingers through his hair, he shook his head in despair.
The sight tore at Georgiana’s heartstrings. For weeks, Mal had tried again and again to win Wharton’s favor, demonstrating all the wit and intelligence any father might hope for in a suitor for his daughter. Everyone who called on her while he was there relished his company so well she’d begun to think they attended more for his companionship than hers.
Charmed by him, Mrs. Montagu had taken the time to speak in his favor before her departure to London. Mr. Anstey invited him to dine with his family, he was so fond of Mal.
Knowing that character and amiability didn’t rank at all on her father’s qualifications for the position of her spouse aggravated him as much as it aggrieved her.
“Oh, my darling,” she sighed, stroking his hair tenderly. She’d been gone from the night’s Card Assembly long enough that surely her absence would cause comment, but she couldn’t leave him in such a melancholy state.
Mal wrapped his arms around her hips, drew her between his knees, and hugged her to him. Cradling his head against her bosom, she kissed the top of his head.
“He’s angry now but he’ll come around,” she whispered against his hair. “Once he sees I have no interest in another suitor, he’ll relent. I know it.”
“What I wouldn’t do for yer certainty.” His smile would melt any woman’s heart. With a quiver, she turned her cheek into the tender caress of his fingertips. “Ah, Georgie, I’m torn as to what to do. I’m frustrated by these pointless attempts to win his favor. Face it, years of devotion wouldnae sway him. If I thought they might, I’d wait a dozen for ye, but I maun make a decision sooner than that. My regiment is set to ship out soon.”
Bewilderment prompted a frown. “Soon? I thought you were planning to sell your commission?”
“I ha’ no’ done so as yet.” He grimaced, catching her hands in his before she could pull away. “I’ll need an income to support ye, wi’ naught but my wits if that’s all that’s left to me if we’ve nae financial support from my father or yers. Ye ken?”
His explanation sent a pang of doubt through her. “You don’t want me for my fortune, do you, Mal?”
He cocked his head. “What makes ye say that? Ye ken I love ye.”
“I do.” There was no hesitation. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my father implied today you might be a fortune hunter.”
To her surprise, Mal laughed, though without a hint of humor. “Of course, he did. I hate to say it, Georgie, but yer father’s a bit of an arse.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“Nay, I’m no fortune hunter, lass. I may no’ be able to keep ye in the luxury ye ha’ now, but I promise ye I can manage enough of a living to support ye in a decent manner. Ye’ll no’ want as my wife.” Dropping her hands, he raked his through his hair again. “If I’m able to ha’ ye as such. Och, lass, he’ll never yield. I hate to admit it. I thought we might ultimately sway him, but if ye cannae, there’s no chance he’ll ever relent and give his consent.”
“He will!” Georgiana dropped to her knees before him, panicked by the defeat in his voice. “Oh, he must. I will make him understand.”
“Sweet lass,” he sighed, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Ye’re so naïve.”
“That’s what he said.”
A feminine voice sounded from the landing below. “Georgie? Are you up there?”
Georgiana leaned over the stair rail to look down at Bernie. “I’m here.”
“Mother’s looking for you,” her friend warned. Lady Gregson’s patience as a chaperone had been running thin over the past month as Georgiana disappeared time and again. “You best hurry on.”
Again, the urge to force her father’s hand reared its head. “Let her come,” she said boldly and turned back to Mal. “A scandal is all we need, Mal. Here in Bath, it doesn’t necessarily have to be an outrageous one. Father will have to let us wed.”
Mal stood, taking her hand. He shook his head and leaned over the rail. “One more moment if ye please, Miss Gregson. She’ll be straight down.”
Bernie nodded and left.
“It could work.” Georgiana told him. “It would give Father no choice but to concede. We can force his hand.”
He sighed. “God, I love ye, lass, but nay. As things stand, yer father would be more likely to shoot me than allow the marriage even under a cloud of scandal.”
Great minds did think alike.
“And I ha’ nae desire to see ye ruined and scorned by yer friends.”
“He needs to see that I’m willing to fight for you, Mal,” she told him. She needed to be strong. For him. “Will you keep fighting for me?”
“I would do anything, lass. I’d lay down my life for ye.”
Georgiana threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?”
Chapter Sixteen
Bath, England
September 1821
“Ye still talk to horses instead of riding them.”
Georgiana froze. Not at the words but the voice. It’d been a month since she’d heard it whispered in her ear. Husky words of desire, praise, and encouragement that had enflamed her and heightened the passion they’d shared.
Apparently it didn’t matter a whit what the words themselves were. Even now, the most inane phrase spoken in that rolling brogue sent a shimmy over her from head to toe and left her aquiver with burgeoning desire.
Baird bounded ahead to greet him, his tongue lolling and entire rear end wagging with enthusiasm.
Good Lord, in all the times she’d walked through Barton Field since returning to Bath, she’d never once dreamed she might come upon Mal. For certain, she’d thought—no, known without a doubt when she’d left Scotland behind she’d been leaving him behind as well. Forever. Seeing him leaning back against the same tree where they’d rendezvoused a dozen times was enough to scatter her thoughts.
She remained rooted to the spot, contemplating her chances of fleeing without either pursuit or mocking laughter in her wake. Opting for a more courageous option, she approached more reluctantly as Mal crouched to pet the dog. Though he scratched Baird behind the ears and spoke to him in low tones, Mal’s eyes never left her. His gaze skimmed down over her black jacket with its rows of blue buttons and wide blue lapels, and down her black skirts. Up again, more slowly, all the way to the matching top hat with its black netting and blue feathers on top of her head. Georgiana fidgeted under his perusal, wondering what he thought about what he saw.
Wondering what he thought, in general, what had brought him here after so long.
Oh, what was he doing here? Why now? When she’d begun to readjust to her life…a life that didn’t seem to fit quite as comfortably as it had a month before.
She’d missed him. Not the harsh, unforgiving man he’d proven himself to be now, but she’d mourned all over again the dashing young Scot who’d stolen her heart and never returned it whole. She’d also grieved for him. All over again. The loss of the love they’d shared. The knowledge that it would never be hers again.
Now he—or the remnant of that man who’d haunted her since leaving Scotland—straightened to tower over her. Tall, powerful, and too bloody handsome for his own good or hers. She retreated a few steps so as to elude the radius of warmth surrounding him. In any case, keeping her distance was essential. The internal battle to refrain from throwing herself into his arms at such close proximity was hard fought.
“Crowley is too old to ride now,” she told him as coolly as she could, looking anywhere but at him. “He deserves some exercise now and then nonetheless…as well as a bit of c
onversation.”
A trace of amusement crossed his face at the cheeky addendum and was gone, yet his chocolaty eyes lightened a fraction. He studied the horse, maybe recognizing the beast now because he scratched Crowley’s forehead fondly as he had long ago.
“I thought ye were going to tell me ye still preferred their company over most people’s.”
With a deep, bracing breath and slow release, she replied, “I do.”
“Including me now?”
He grinned then, broadly enough to send deep dimples along his cheeks. The expression dazzled but at the same time incited a wistful squeeze to her heart. He hadn’t smiled like that in Scotland that she’d seen. Or at all. Rather than stirring a crumb of humor now, the sight only saddened her.
Baird, the traitor, plopped down at Mal’s feet, begging for more attention. He bent to pet him. “New dog? What happened to the other one?”
“It’s been more than twenty years. What do you think happened to her?”
His eyes were soft with sympathy when he looked up at her. “I’m sorry, lass. I ken how ye loved the wee rat.”
“Bluebell.”
“Aye. Och, lass, dinnae look so sad.”
But she was sad. Saddened by the reminder of what was, what would never be. His kindness would do nothing to help her maintain her decorum. She needed him to leave.
“What are you doing here, Mal?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, regarding her solemnly as if trying to gauge the implication behind her curt tone. Holding his gaze, she tried to avoid the peripheral impact of his presence.
No gentleman of her acquaintance carried forty-plus years quite so well. The mere sight of him, his masculinity, the subtle scent of his cologne and person, all left her weak at the knees and trembling. Without a single touch! His hair had been cut since she’d last seen him and he was clean-shaven. His navy superfine jacket, buff trousers, and tall boots were the height of fashion.
If she were the gullible sort, she’d think he’d come courting.
Unless he’d come to Bath with the intention of courting someone else. He’d never been married, she knew. His earldom would need an heir.
Irrational jealousy tore through her. “Well?” she snapped.
Baird circled the area sniffing and she watched his progress to avoid Mal’s penetrating stare.
“I came to see ye, lass.”
The admission triggered a lump to the back of her throat. Dash it all. She couldn’t have this. “And so you have.”
He stepped forward and reached out as if he intended to take her arm…or heaven forbid, her hand. Georgiana sidestepped the effort, and clicking her tongue to Crowley, tried to bypass him.
“Running from me, Georgie lass?”
She closed her eyes at the sound of her name on his lips, fighting the yearning plea of the heartbroken girl buried deep within to forgive and forget, if that’s what he was here for. Wasn’t it what she’d been seeking when she’d gone to Scotland? Perhaps. Before he’d shattered her hopes.
“You may address me as Lady Bridgewater or Duchess. Or better yet, don’t speak to me at all.”
An element of uncertainty hardened his expression, but her regal command wasn’t harsh enough to set him on his heels. A moment later, a salacious gleam lit his eyes.
“I’m comfortable foregoing conversation if ye are…again.”
Such a bawdy statement might have provoked a slap from the girl she’d been but Georgiana was a duchess with years of experience in freezing a gentleman with a single glance. She cocked her brow, tilted her chin, and stared down her nose haughtily. Difficult to manage with a man who towered over her, but she knew she’d achieved her purpose nicely since his humor faded away.
“How vulgar you’ve become, Mr. MacKintosh.”
“Lord.”
“What?”
“Lord MacKintosh,” he ground out, crossing his arms over his chest again. “Ye’re no’ the only one who’s come by a title.”
“That’s right.” She slapped the loose end of the reins she held against her palm. “Earl of Glenrothes as I understand it. An astonishing accomplishment for a third son with no prospects.”
He glowered for a long moment then to her surprise he smiled again as if determined not to be put off. “I could tell you all about it. Cannae we put aside our ire and talk? I’ve come a long way to see ye, Geo—Duchess. Mayhap for the same reasons ye came to see me.”
He held out his hand again and a longing such as Georgiana could hardly remember permeated every part of her. Aching coils of grief and hope begged for her to give in to his charm. To him. Crowley nudged her shoulder, possibly in silent encouragement, yet she couldn’t bear to read more into what he said, as she had that first kiss in Scotland, and have her hopes shattered again.
“As you so eloquently put it last time we met, ‘so you have and now you may leave.’”
“So turn about’s fair play then, is it, Georgie?” His lips twisted. “Ye were the one who came to me, remember? The one who started this.”
“It was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking seeking you out after all this time.” She wrapped Crowley’s reins around her hand several times and tightened her fist around them. She focused on the pain of the leather cutting into her hand rather than the anguish in her heart. Whatever she’d wanted, she couldn’t risk losing everything to him again.
“I apologize for how I greeted ye there. I was unprepared and should no’ ha’ spoken so harshly.” He reached for her hand again, but adroitly she eschewed the consolatory gesture.
“No need to apologize. You were right, Mal. It is too late. Years too late. I only did it because…well, that’s irrelevant. I see now we cannot relive the past. We are two different people than we were with nothing in common.”
Over his shoulder, Georgiana saw Maisie and Ardmore walking toward them. Their pace was sedate, but it wouldn’t take long before the couple joined them. They’d returned to Bath following she and Bernie’s homecoming and decided to remain for the rest of the summer. More time for her persistent offspring to probe for answers regarding the journey that Georgiana was reluctant to provide.
She didn’t want to be forced into answering them or—myriad of others—now.
“I’m leaving now.” Again, she clicked her tongue to prompt Crowley into arthritic motion and spun away from Mal. And from her approaching daughter. She snapped her fingers at Baird who’d wandered of a few yards. “Come.”
“Ye never were a fighter, Georgie, but I dinnae take ye for a coward.”
The tiniest hitch in her step was the only indication of how his accusation affected her. She paused, glancing over her shoulder.
“Perhaps I’ve simply learned better what’s worth fighting for.”
Chapter Seventeen
Bath, England
April 1800
“All the fighting in the world will no’ budge the man,” Mal told her with a twist of his lips. He glanced back at Georgie’s groom, Jimmy, who followed dutifully behind them as they rode through Barton Field.
Wharton had seen to it that his daughter was more carefully chaperoned than she’d been previously. Lady Gregson must have spoken to him about Georgie’s frequent disappearances or he’d arrived at the same conclusion as she, that a scandal might force his hand. A duke he might be, but a ruined daughter would still be a dark mark on his own reputation.
“I’ve ne’er met a man as stubborn as he. There’s only a few days remaining before I maun depart and he’s content to wait it out.”
“I’m not,” Georgie said without hesitation. He was gratified by her consummate faith that they’d be together one day. “Father believes time and distance will confirm what I feel for you is nothing more than infatuation. We will simply have to prove him wrong.”
“My regiment is to muster at Portsmouth in two days,” he reminded her. “I want ye wi’ me when I go.”
They’d spoken at length about the possibility and what life would
be like for her following the drum. There’d be none of the luxury and privilege she was used to. It wouldn’t be easy. He’d made certain she understood that as it wouldn’t be fair to misrepresent the life they’d lead. With the honesty he’d come to expect from her, she expressed some trepidation over the daily tribulations of camp living. He was as truthful as he could be without scaring her off with brutal honesty. As an officer’s wife, the soldiers would treat her with respect and there would be other women there, wives and daughters of other officers, though unlikely any of her station.
Even so, she’d have company and all the help he could afford to provide her. But he didn’t normally have a valet or even a batman to attend his needs. She’d need a maid, at least. And someone to assist in cooking and cleaning. It would be a hard transition for her. Admirably, Georgie hadn’t batted an eye when he’d laid it out. Och, he knew she had spunk and grit. It was one of the things he loved about her.
He worried over the changes in store nonetheless. Worried she might face regrets after the fact when little could be done to change their circumstances. More concerned, deep down, her father might be right, and if he left her behind for a year or more she might find a wealthy aristocrat who could keep her in better style.
“I want to come with you,” she assured him. “I love you, Mal. So dearly. Even so, I cannot fathom how we’re to change Father’s mind in so little time.”
“I could swap positions with Coll or Rabbie and take one of the subsequent ships. That would provide us a week or ten days more,” he said. “It would be tight, but it’d be enough time for us to wed. Marry me, lass. Come away with me.”
“How? With a special license? No, it would never work, Mal. I’m still underage for a few weeks more. I cannot wed without my father’s permission.”
“I dinnae ha’ a special license or means to get one, but we’ve time enough to hie ourselves off over the border to see it done.”
She looked away, her gloved hands tight around her reins. Her chest rose and fell, straining against her riding jacket as she took several deep breaths. “You’re asking me to elope? T-to run away with you? Like to Gretna Green? Gossip abounded when Maggie Martin ran away with Thomas Millner last year. She can’t show her face for the scandal even now.”
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