The Kiss

by Sophia Nash

  “You didn’t…” Rosamunde said, wide-eyed.

  “I did. And he didn’t return the favor.”

  “What?” Rosamunde said, disbelieving.

  “Not everyone is allowed a fairy-tale ending, Rosamunde.”

  “I don’t believe it. You told him you love him and he said nothing?”

  “No. He called me his ‘dear, dear, Georgiana’ when I said it, and then he said nothing.”

  “I’ll kill him.” Rosamunde pulled her down the long aisle of horse stalls when a stable hand appeared nearby. “Or better yet, I’ll let Luc kill him. He’s been dying for any excuse to do it. When we returned home the night of the ball he cursed a blue streak and immediately began sharpening two dueling swords, a medieval saber and a nasty-looking little dagger.” She shook her head.

  Georgiana suppressed a sigh.

  “Georgiana?”

  “Yes?”

  “He hasn’t taken any…well, any liberties with you, has he?”

  She refused to look away from Rosamunde’s beautiful, pale aquamarine eyes.

  “I’ll kill him myself, after all.”

  “We’re not talking about this, Rosamunde. It was my choice.”

  “With that little dagger, in his sleep.”

  “Tell me you didn’t do the very same thing with Luc St. Aubyn last summer, when you—”

  “That was different,” Rosamunde interrupted, then stopped. A soft smile appeared at the edges of her mouth. “Oh, perhaps it isn’t different. But—”

  A clatter of hooves sounded from the outside, and within moments the silhouetted forms of Quinn and Grace appeared at the stable entrance.

  Georgiana pulled Rosamunde close. “I beg of you to find an excuse to escort Grace to the hall. I need a word with Quinn.”

  Rosamunde’s eyebrows rose.

  “Please…”

  “I will, if only to allow you a chance to strangle him in private. If you don’t, I’ll return this week to do the job myself.”

  Georgiana entered the nearest stall, to ostensibly look over the big-boned gray hunter that had arrived that morning from the famed Godolphin stables nearby. The sweet smell of alfalfa assailed her. She loved the scent. It reminded her of springtime and racing across meadows and along the beaches. She looked at the horse’s intelligent eyes and ran her hands down his deeply sloping shoulders, down his front legs, and then to the rear legs. She examined a swelling on one of the haunches.

  Feminine voices drifted away from the stable, leaving only the calming munching sounds of the horses and an occasional pawing of a hoof.

  The stall darkened and she knew Quinn stood at its entrance. “Do you think it will heal?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it…It’s such a shame. I first saw him not three months ago,” she said, “and at the time I wished there was an excuse to purchase him for Penrose. He had the smoothest gaits.”

  “He was kicked by another horse?” Quinn entered the stall.

  “Yes,” she said, “in a pasture at Godolphin.”

  Quinn’s long, tapered fingers stroked the gelding’s flank, stopping at the inflammation.

  “The stable master was debating what to do with him when I went by last week to find a hunter for you,” she explained.

  “Mr. Brown told me.” He came to stand beside her and leaned in to capture her attention. “Georgiana…you have always placed the needs of others and this estate above your own. And you do it without ever drawing attention to the fact. I suspect no one has ever thanked you.” He grasped her hands. “I would thank you.”

  She was so filled with embarrassment and anxiety over what she had to tell him that she released his hands and ignored the compliment as she always did. “I found a lovely bay mare. She’s in the next stall for you to look over.”

  “Yes, I know. I tried her earlier and told the man I would take her.”

  “I’ll arrange for this one to be returned, then.”

  “No—”

  “You don’t have to keep him just because I had him brought here. It makes no sense. I had thought maybe he wasn’t as badly injured as I originally thought, but clearly…” She stopped when their hands accidentally brushed on the horse’s flank and Georgiana dropped hers.

  “I already paid the man, Georgiana,” he said, his deep voice soothing her. “He’s staying here. I will personally see to him. I’d forgotten the peace I’d always found tending the animals here.”

  “I have to tell you something,” she said in a rush before her courage failed her. “I’m…I’m not with child. I, well, I…am certain.”

  During the long pause that followed, Georgiana didn’t have the courage to look at him. Instead she stroked the length of the gelding’s leg and urged the animal to raise it so she could examine the frog of the hoof. “Well, at least his hooves are sound. Perhaps if we applied compresses to—”

  “Georgiana,” he interrupted her.

  She ignored him. “…to the swelling twice a day, he might recover in time.”

  A shadow passed over her and his arm tugged at hers to release the animal.

  “Georgiana, look at me.”

  She did.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry you’re not with child.”

  His expression was so remote, she couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not. He couldn’t possibly really want a child with her.

  “I can see you don’t believe me,” he murmured. “But you see, the truth of the matter is that I’d hoped to have a child of my body one day.”

  “I don’t understand. Fairleigh—”

  “—is my daughter,” he said fiercely. “Always has been, and always will be. I love her with every fiber of my being and would kill anyone who brought her an ounce of harm. But, she is not…”

  Georgiana stood stock-still.

  “I know you will not say a word of this to anyone, Georgiana. I only tell you this so you understand I was telling you the truth. And I still implore you to marry me. What we did…What I did to you…It makes no difference that there is no child.”

  “No,” she said. “We already discussed this. And I’m begging you to drop it.” She circled to the other side of the horse. She looked over the gelding’s back and met his gaze. “Please,” she begged.

  “Because of Anthony,” he said. “It’s always because of Anthony, isn’t it?”

  She concentrated on her hand stroking the horse’s withers. “Yes. I won’t settle for a marriage of convenience—not when I had so much more with Anthony.” The horse snorted and stomped one hoof. And Georgiana had the nearly irresistible urge to laugh or cry hysterically. Well, at least she had had Anthony’s love. It might not keep her warm at night, but at least she knew one man had loved her. And he provided a convenient excuse for not marrying a man who wanted her solely out of a misplaced sense of duty. But it would surely haunt her the rest of her days. She had to take one last chance. Rosamunde would have. “Quinn, I—”

  Grace Sheffey’s lilting voice sounded from the stable aisle. “Georgiana? Quinn? Oh dear. Excuse me, sir, can you tell me if his lordship left the stable? Or Miss Wilde, or rather Lady Ellesmere—Lady Georgiana?”

  Oh God. Even Grace didn’t know how to address her. What was she doing here? She didn’t belong here. She was the steward’s daughter, and disfigured, and everything wrong. She turned suddenly to Quinn. “I won’t keep you. Thank you for taking the horse. You always were kindhearted, always taking pity on injured creatures. I thank you.” She bobbed a curtsy and exited the stall.

  Exited his life.

  Anthony…. “Not when I had so much more with Anthony.”

  Would he never be rid of him? Even in death Anthony was determined to take everything he possibly could. Quinn flexed his hands convulsively and tried to ignore the pounding in his head. The pain had come suddenly and was nearly blinding. This headache was no different from the others he occasionally had suffered. Threads of pain needled
their way into the radius of his vision while he escorted Grace Sheffey back to the great house.

  “Would you mind if we rested for a moment, here?” Grace asked. A very old, crumbling stone bench, overlooking the lower gardens, was in front of them. “It’s so hot today.”

  “Of course not,” he replied, grateful for the shade of the beech tree beside them.

  She looked off into the distance, unconsciously exhibiting her elegant profile. “Quinn…” she murmured shyly, “I’ve received a letter from a dear friend in town—the Duchess of Kendale.”

  He breathed in as slowly and evenly as possible to ease the ache blistering his mind.

  “And she has invited me to a house party at the duke’s magnificent estate just twenty miles past the outskirts of London.”

  “Kendale Hall?”

  “Yes, that’s the one.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her gown. “And Christina mentioned that she would be sending an invitation to you as well. The invitation is for five weeks from today.”

  “And you would like to go.” It was not a question.

  “Why, yes, I would.” She hesitated and continued softly, “With you.”

  His head was ready to explode and he closed his eyes to lean against the coarse bark of the tree. A vision of Anthony’s face rose up, his innocent grin taunting him. And suddenly all Quinn wanted to do was forget. Really forget the past. Start anew. With someone who was not in any way connected—someone who was dignified and untouched by complication, someone who could truly offer a life of friendship and quiet companionship.

  “Grace,” he said, “I would be honored to accompany you. I will arrange for two carriages. Will Ata and the others join the party?”

  “Actually, no.” A flush bloomed on her cheeks. “I was thinking we might take only one carriage.”

  What?

  Her smile was forced. “Quinn, I know we’ve not known each other a long time. But since the day we met I sensed we were very much alike—of one mind, so to speak. We, both of us, might enjoy the quiet contentment an arranged union could bring.” Her small hands were fidgeting in her lap. “But then I should not presume you feel the same way I do. It’s just that in the past year or so, I’ve decided that life is too short to waste time waiting and wondering.”

  “My dear Countess,” he replied. “Are you honoring me with a proposal of marriage?”

  “No.” She laughed. “I’m not so bold. But I will go so far as to say that I would not reject you if you were to ask.”

  She was so pretty, sitting there, patiently waiting for him to ask her to marry him.

  “My dear,” he said gently, lowering himself from the bench and reaching for her slim hand. The pain slammed back into his head as soon as his knee dropped to the ground. “You do me a great honor, Grace. And I would be the happiest of men if you would, indeed, agree to consider becoming my bride. But to be fair, I feel it necessary to remind you that it would include taking on the role of stepmother to my, ahem, scrape-grace daughter.”

  Grace was smiling, the flush of embarrassment gone. “Well, I suppose I should also tell you that I am an only child and do not have any living relatives. I would hate for your daughter to be as alone as I was as a child. I would hope to provide her with a sibling, if you agree.” She hurried on. “And there is just one last thing…”

  “Whatever you desire.”

  “I would prefer that we not announce our engagement until we depart for the house party.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because I have also learned not to make hasty decisions. I admit I wanted to know if you desired to remarry one day. But now that we’ve been honest with each other, there is no rush.”

  She was everything rational and good. “Grace, I’m not certain I deserve you, but I shall endeavor to always ensure your happiness, my dear.”

  She fingered her pearls and smiled. “I feel precisely the same way,” she murmured.

  “We shall do very well together,” he said, and then kissed her fingers. They were so soft, so unlike Georgiana’s in every possible way.

  His head pounded viciously, and he was irritated that he had thought of Georgiana at this moment.

  His head continued to pound intermittently for the next week. The pain finally receded at dinner one evening while he watched Grace radiating with happiness to his left and Ata needling his aunt to his right. Georgiana always sat at the opposite end of the long table, obscured by a large arrangement of flowers.

  Tonight the Duke of Helston was at table and kept staring at him as though he wanted to debone Quinn with the silver carving knife. His bride appeared ready to follow up with tar and feathers. Thank the Lord for Mr. Brown and Sarah Winters. The former ensured joviality at every turn, while the latter added a measure of civility.

  When he could stand it no further, Quinn rose and dropped his napkin on the table. “If you will excuse us, ladies, His Grace and Mr. Brown are invited to retire for a few moments to my study. If you agree, Georgiana, we shall rejoin all of you in the front salon shortly.”

  Luc St. Aubyn didn’t wait for her answer. Instead he growled and removed from the room. Mr. Brown followed suit after a wink at Ata, who pretended not to notice.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing, Ellesmere?” Luc St. Aubyn seethed with ill humor while he prowled around the edges of the book-lined study.

  Mr. Brown laughed. “This is all so familiar, I feel like I’m watching a Shakespearean comedy.”

  “This is no comedy, old man,” Luc muttered. “It’s a bloody tragedy of epic proportions, and he’s playing the villain to perfection. Well, Ellesmere?”

  “I believe I owe you a formal apology, Helston.” Quinn moved next to his desk and looked down at the floor. A large number of bottles stood there. “We agreed on French brandy. Five cases. I secured ten. And a case of Armagnac for your grandmother.”

  Mr. Brown rubbed his hands together. “Oh, well done, my lord.”

  “Don’t you dare show him an inch of gratitude, Brownie,” Helston said, still frowning. “I’m sorry for the day I suggested you for his employ.”

  “That’s all right, Luc,” Mr. Brown replied. “It was worth it—monetarily and for the diversion. Lord Ellesmere is proving even more entertaining than you were.”

  Quinn stiffened. “I don’t know what you find so amusing, Mr. Brown. Would you care for some brandy?”

  “Armagnac, if you please.”

  Quinn raised his brows. “I’m sorry, but I only have the brandy. Ata hid all the Armagnac, for some odd reason.”

  He poured two glasses of brandy and then turned to the gentlemen—one tall and menacing, the other portly and bald. He lit a cheroot for himself and raised it in mock salute. “To your health, gentlemen.”

  “We certainly won’t drink to yours,” the duke muttered, while John Brown’s lips twitched.

  “Come now, Luc, I’ve never seen you so unforgiving,” Mr. Brown said. “But then I’ve always found that when one encounters one’s mirror image, absolute disgust is inevitable.”

  Luc sputtered. “If you dare to suggest I’m anything like this, this dandified diplomat, I might have to kill you. After I kill him.” The duke unleashed his obvious fury and crossed the space that separated them to stand toe-to-toe with Quinn. “Ellesmere, what makes you think I’ll stand by and watch you toy with Grace Sheffey’s affections while you dishonor your cousin’s widow? You are nothing but a damned dog dressed up in finery.” Luc retrieved his gloves from a pocket. “And since Anthony Fortesque isn’t here to protect his wife’s honor, I shall just have to stand in for him.”

  Every muscle froze within Quinn.

  Mr. Brown had stopped laughing. “Luc?”

  “Do you deny it, Ellesmere?”

  “No.”

  “Well?”

  Honor compelled Quinn to remain silent.

  Helston slapped his gloves across his face. “Pistols or swords?”

  Mr. Brown cleared his throat and looked at Quinn. “So, lad
, it appears congratulations are in order. Which lass will you be escorting down the aisle before getting yourself killed?”

  “Swords,” Quinn said, quietly.

  “Answer Brownie’s blasted question, you bastard.”

  He resisted the urge to punch Helston, if only because the desire to maim himself was greater. “Grace—but I’m honoring her request to remain undeclared for the next few weeks.”

  “And Georgiana?” Helston barked.

  Quinn paused, his hands clenched behind him. “I would ask for your aid.”

  “What?” Helston appeared ready to explode. “Do you think anything could tempt me to help you?”

  “Now, Luc. Hear him out,” pleaded Mr. Brown. “There’s clearly something more at stake here than you know.”

  “I don’t care if all the stakes in China are involved. The only question is how to dispose of his body when we’re through, old man.”

  Quinn had considered every option and hadn’t been able to think of another plan that didn’t involve the duke. “She won’t accept what I’ve arranged,” he said quietly.

  Finally, blessed silence.

  “I’ve found a suitable property for her—one overlooking the sea in Godrey Towans. A second, smaller property adjoins it. I know she was intrigued by the smaller property, for I observed her perusing the documents describing it. This morning I purchased the larger estate for her and the adjoining property for her parents. The properties combined contain several hundred acres of pasture and farmland and a few acres of woodland. There is a good mill—Trehallow mill—nearby, and—”

  “Good Lord,” whispered Mr. Brown. “He’s gone and purchased Trehallow for her. Why, it was once the most prosperous estate in all of St. Ives. Granted, the great house might need a bit of refurbishing—it hasn’t been inhabited for many years, I don’t think, since the Earl of Crowden died without issue. This is extraordinary—”

  “I told you not to condescend to him, Brownie,” Helston said gruffly.

  “As I was saying, she would never accept it from me. I want you”—Quinn forced himself to relax his fists and expression—“to tell her you’ve arranged it all. I’m certain you can think of a suitable excuse, Helston. Frankly, I don’t care what you tell her and her father. I was able to overcome the legal barriers, and managed to have her name listed on the deed. The smaller property, which will eventually devolve to Georgiana’s brother, Grayson Wilde, is in Mr. Wilde’s name.”