Forever and a Day

by Delilah Marvelle

  Roderick eyed them both. “That was only a whistle, and not a very good one at that.”

  Seton lowered his voice, leaning toward him. “Allow me to put this into words, Yardley. If this heavenly creature were surrounded by fire-spiked walls, I would climb said walls more than once to be with her.”

  Roderick smirked and hit the man’s arm with the back of his gloved hand. “More than once? Sounds like matrimony to me, you poor bastard. Have you formally introduced yourself?”

  Seton glared at him. “Mother would have a fit.”

  “Mine, too,” Danford added. “Given that we have the same mother. Ha.”

  Roderick eyed him. “How old are you two bastards, anyway? Halfway to thirty? Since when do you need your mother’s approval to marry? Set off to Gretna Green. Men do it all the time.”

  “Speaking of Gretna Green…there she is now.” Danford and Seton angled themselves in unison to get a better look, resembling identical hounds pointing out the same hare to its master.

  Seton reached out to Roderick, gesturing toward his champagne. “Hand it up. It’s not like you’re drinking it.”

  Roderick rolled his eyes and shoved the glass into his hand. “Don’t choke.”

  “I only ever swallow.” Seford smirked and held up the glass in a half toast. “To Miss Tormey and Gretna Green. It would break Mother’s heart.” He tossed the rest of the champagne down his throat and went back to staring. “The more I look, the more I want.”

  Roderick glanced over to the woman in question, but couldn’t see past the small group of men lingering around her and her chaperone. Adjusting his black evening coat, Roderick looked back toward Seton and Danford. “Whilst you two can afford to gawk, I have a class to teach in the morning. I should probably retire.” He pointed at each of them. “Stay out of trouble. It’s hard, I know, but we have to do the best we can.”

  Seton grabbed his shoulder with a white-gloved hand, blocking him with his own body to keep him from going anywhere. “We should all go over and put ourselves on her dance card. Come with me. I’m not doing this alone.”

  Roderick shoved Seton’s heavy hand from his shoulder, growing annoyed. “Unlike you two, I actually earn my wages and haven’t the time for women or dance cards.” Roderick tried to round him.

  Seton jumped back in front of him and leaned in, poking his chest. “Fifty pounds says the moment you lay eyes on her, class will teach itself. I’m telling you, Yardley, this woman will lift more than your brows. Fifty pounds says she is the most attractive woman you’ve ever seen. Fifty. Are you in?”

  Easier money he’d never made. No woman could ever be more attractive than Georgia. “Fifty, it is. Where the hell is she? I’ll point out every last flaw down to the nose.”

  Seton grabbed his shoulders and jerked him toward the direction he needed to look, better squaring him toward where she stood. “There. She just came into view again. I dare you to find any fault with that.”

  Roderick blinked.

  A regal-looking beauty with thick, pinned strawberry curls that had been piled to softly frame her oval face made him suck in an astonished breath. By God. The woman reminded him of…Georgia.

  He hissed out a breath knowing there wasn’t an hour that passed when Georgia and her haunting words of finding him in London didn’t come to mind. He’d been waiting for her ever since.

  Edging back, he paused and skimmed the woman’s length, which had just come into full view, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Despite what appeared to be a most striking resemblance, it couldn’t be based on that figure alone.

  This redhead was quite elegant, draped in a chartreuse off-the-shoulder full evening gown, trimmed with snowy lace that rounded an incredibly low-cut neckline boasting a set of impressive breasts. Large teardrop diamonds hung from her ears and throat, gleaming and shimmering against the vast candlelight.

  As that curvaceous redhead daintily wrote several names onto her poised dance card with the pencil hanging from her gloved wrist, she glanced up and scanned the room. Her intent gaze rounded its way before settling on him.

  She paused.

  Stunning bright green eyes he knew all too well captured his gaze. Roderick’s breath hitched as an inner shiver of awareness rippled throughout the entire length of his body.

  Georgia.

  A taunting whisper of a smile touched her full lips at seeing him openly stare. It was as if she were silently announcing, You are damned for the rest of your days, Robinson. Start crawling.

  His throat tightened. His palms actually grew moist beneath the tightness of his white evening gloves knowing it was Georgia. His conniving son of a bitch of a father. That was why the man had insisted on his presence tonight and wouldn’t desist until he came. He knew Georgia was coming.

  Casually breaking their gaze, she gracefully set her chin as any other lady of the ton would do and returned her attention to the group of men gathered around her.

  A gentleman leaned in toward the elderly woman who lingered beside Georgia.

  Who the hell was that?

  The elderly woman swept a gloved hand toward Georgia, who graciously inclined her head, briefly offering her hand to the gentleman before bringing up the dance card dangling from her gloved wrist. Four other gentlemen lingered, all patiently waiting to add themselves to her card, as well.

  Roderick almost staggered. This couldn’t be happening. He was not actually watching men of his circle gather around his woman from Orange Street.

  Leaning in, Seton eyed him. “And?”

  Still staring at Georgia, lest she disappear from sight, Roderick blindly reached out and seized Seton by the back of his neck, crushing it beneath rigid fingers. Yanking Seton close, he pointed to Georgia. “What do you know about her?” he rasped, trying to remain calm. “And what are people actually saying about her?”

  Seton shifted toward him. “After I glimpsed her over on Rotten Row riding with Lady Burton, I started digging around to find out more about her and it was well worth the dig. That there is Miss Georgiana Colette Tormey. She is the distant cousin of Mr. Astor, the richest self-made American millionaire who deals in furs across the world. Miss Tormey came for the opening of the Season just last week with Mrs. Astor acting as her chaperone. Mr. Astor insisted Miss Tormey have her Season here in London as opposed to New York. Do you know that conniving American bastard is hoping to have her married to one of our own? Boasting that nothing would best crown her wealth of thirty bloody thousand a year? Can you imagine running your fingers through all that money and that woman? Apoplexy take us all.”

  Georgiana? From New York City?

  Roderick dropped his hand heavily from the man’s neck. Shit. So this was what she’d been up to all this time when she’d disappeared from his life without so much as an explanation, leaving him to fester in his own anguish and damn mind.

  Roderick lowered his chin against his silk cravat, still staring her down. By God. She looked nothing like herself. If not for those emerald eyes he knew so well, he never would have recognized her. Hell, even her breasts had undergone a transformation, overfilling her embroidered bodice in the most tantalizing way.

  Georgia primly turned toward a newly arrived set of gentlemen seeking introductions. She graciously extended an elegant gloved hand to each and smiled.

  He had never thought her capable of accomplishing this. Or rather, he hadn’t let himself hope. Edging closer, he purposefully angled himself to better see her past those gathered around her.

  He intently watched her as she glanced and spoke in every direction but his. He swiped at his mouth, still in disbelief, and almost dug his teeth into his hand to keep himself from dashing for her and making an idiot out of himself. Whilst he was beyond flabbergasted and more than impressed, a part of him didn’t know if he liked what he was seeing, because it simply wasn’t her. It was an elegant and refined, overly gussied-up version of Georgia Emily Milton. Where was that fire he loved so much? Was it still in there somewhere?<
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  He paused and glanced over at Seton and Danford, who were leaning toward each other.

  “I’ve never been with a redhead before,” Seton casually intoned, lowering his voice. “Do you think she has freckles everywhere?”

  Roderick narrowed his gaze and snapped his fingers at them. “Seton. Danford.”

  They both glanced toward him.

  “I have an announcement to make.” Roderick pointed at each of their heads in warning and said in a tone that he hoped dripped with enough blood to make his point, “If either of you so much as look at her again, let alone make any more inappropriate and vulgar comments about her, I will take my father’s ceremonial sword that hangs on the wall in the next room and gut you both with the same tip, impaling you together onto the doors of St. Paul. Because that there woman, who calls herself Miss Tormey, is going to be my wife by the end of this Season. So be sure to inform every last bastard in London of my intentions, lest they all die right along with you. Are we plain?”

  Seton blinked.

  Danford gargled out a laugh and popped out a hand. “Fifty pounds. I’ll let poor Seton recover from his loss.” Danford glanced over at Seton, adding, “A hundred says she will move on to a better offer within the week, given that his interest will mobilize other men to do the same. ’Tis fair game for you now, Seton. Fair game. All you have to do is tell Mother that the Duke of Wentworth’s own son is making a run for it. You know the way she coos over the duke. Your success is assured.”

  Roderick shifted his jaw, dug into the inner pocket of his coat and yanked out whatever folded banknotes he had, not even bothering to count them. He slapped them all into Danford’s hand. “I will not only see your bet, Danford, but I’ll raise it to ten thousand pounds.”

  “Ten thousand?” Seton and Danford echoed in unison, shifting toward him.

  “That’s right, boys. Ten thousand.” Roderick smoothed his cravat against his throat. “Now if you will excuse me, I intend to formally introduce myself to Miss Tormey. I’m not getting any younger.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Do not alarm yourself: I am not a thief, unless that

  title be attached to those who take from thieves.

  —The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments

  (as published in 1792)

  MRS. ASTOR PURSED HER THIN lips and glanced toward Georgia’s dance card. “To be considered a success, Miss Tormey, every last dance must be spoken for. Especially the waltz. That is as much true in the States as it is here. Why must you insist on keeping it unaccounted for?”

  Georgia tried to remain indifferent, even though she felt unbearably hot and unnerved in the stuffy heat of the room.

  Everyone’s breaths seemed to press against one another and all of the walls. Even worse, the gown draping her body weighed more than six pails of water.

  The inquisitive gaze of every man and woman in the room scraped across her skin and soul. Some of those glances were laced with genuine admiration. Some with indifference. Some were laced with a mocking haughtiness insinuating she wasn’t worthy of breathing. Indeed, they were not only looking at her, but coming to their own conclusions as to what they thought of her. They were vultures—every last one of them—and they were circling and circling, waiting for signs of weakness.

  Though her limbs felt heavy, she managed to offer Mrs. Astor a genteel reply, focusing on her diction. “I do beg forgiveness, Mrs. Astor, but I wish to save the waltz for a gentleman worthy of it.” She glanced toward where she’d last seen Robinson, only to find that he had long disappeared. Surely, he had recognized her. She was sure of it given the way he had stared and stared.

  Mrs. Astor shook her head, her gray-and-white coif swaying against the movement. “I promised Mr. Astor you would be a success, and success isn’t found by tossing opportunities. I will assign your waltz to the next worthy prospect who approaches.”

  Drat it all. Here she was, putting on a show in the name of love that would make Shakespeare stand up to applaud, and in the end, she was going to have to give it all away to the next flat, hair-parted fop who dared call himself a man.

  “Mrs. Astor?” a husky male voice casually inquired from behind her. “Might I formally seek an introduction from the lady standing beside you?”

  Georgia’s heart skittered, her eyes widening. By all that was blue. It was Robinson. She bit back a gushing smile. He couldn’t stay away.

  Though she wanted to promptly turn and acknowledge him in her full glory, she decided to make him work for it as she had warned him she would, and remained indifferent even as a long drop of sweat trickled down the length of her back beneath her chemise and corset. She didn’t even look at him.

  Mrs. Astor glided toward Yardley with a more than enthusiastic smile. “’Tis an honor, indeed, my lord.” She swept a lace-gloved hand to Georgia. “This is Miss Georgiana Colette Tormey. She is the distinguished distant cousin to my dear, dear husband, Mr. Astor, who regrets having to stay abroad due to business. Miss Tormey?” Mrs. Astor gestured toward Yardley. “This is the Marquess of Yardley, the son of our host, His Grace, the Duke of Wentworth.”

  Georgia casually turned to Robinson and regally outstretched her gloved hand toward him. Although it was difficult, she tried to appear bored. “My lord.”

  Those seductive gray eyes intently clung to her face with a sensual determination to seize her every last breath. He grasped her hand, the warmth of his large gloved hand tightening with an urgency that pinched. He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and fiercely kissed her knuckles, covertly and quickly nipping her glove and the skin with his bottom teeth. He met her gaze again and grinned, saying in a most provocative and suggestive tone, “I am without breath.”

  “You flatter me,” she drawled, withdrawing her hand.

  His grin faded as his gaze dropped to her throat and then her breasts before returning to her face. “Is the waltz available, Miss Tormey?”

  The heat of the room and having him so close overwhelmed her and frayed the last of her vision. Until that moment, she never realized a man really could make a woman swoon.

  RODERICK JUMPED FORWARD and grabbed hold of Georgia as she limply spilled toward him. His heart pounded as he frantically adjusted his hold on her arm and waist, trying to keep her from cascading to the floor. Was it the heat? It had to be, given that he himself was sweltering.

  He gathered her into his arms in one smooth motion.

  Mrs. Astor gasped as others paused to stare. Unfolding the fan dangling from her wrist, she hurried toward him and frantically waved her fan over Georgia’s flushed face. “’Tis dreadfully hot in here. I don’t blame her.”

  “She needs cooler air.” Roderick’s fingers dug into Georgia’s limp softness, a pulsing knot overtaking his ability to breathe. He whipped toward the entrance hall, stalking as fast as he could through the crowd. Though the music and dancing continued, the rumbling of voices and whispers around him lifted to a crescendo that pierced his ability to think or breathe. He glanced down frantically at Georgia as he hurried across the floor, her face still tucked and buried against his heaving chest.

  He tightened his arms around her and moved faster and faster, weaving through others.

  Several men, including Seton, who had made a sprint from the back, hurried toward him.

  “Is there anything we can do, my lord?” someone insisted.

  Roderick rounded them. “Hunt down my father.”

  Two of the men darted off, disappearing into the crowd.

  Seton anxiously trotted alongside him, trying to keep up and glancing repeatedly toward Georgia. He quickly leaned in and tried forcefully wrenching Georgia out of his arms. “Allow me to carry her for you.”

  Gritting his teeth, Roderick shoved Seton back with the weight of his shoulder. “I will see to her myself,” he growled out, shoving his way past all of them.

  Despite the crowd pressing in on them to catch a glimpse of Georgia, Roderick barreled onward, shouldering his way through and forcing men
to hop-foot out of his path.

  Heading into the cool stillness of the vast corridor, he bounded up the length of the sweeping marble stairs, tightening his hold on Georgia, and hurried toward the guest chamber.

  A tap-tap-tap on his shoulder made him jerk to a halt and glance down.

  Georgia’s weary but sharp-looking green eyes searched his face. “Sorry about that.”

  His throat tightened as he trained his eyes before him and resumed his pace. “You are done for the night. And needless to say, I am not at all pleased with the way you disappeared. Regardless of your reasons.”

  Angling Georgia sideways, Roderick hurried into the bedchamber and closed the door behind them. He strode over to the four-poster bed and draped her across the feathered mattress, ensuring her legs were pulled straight and that her skirts covered her. Leaning over her, he quickly arranged all of the pillows behind her head, tucking her into them, and drew up the linens to cover her.

  “We might as well settle this here and now.” Georgia grabbed his coat by the lapels and yanked him down toward herself with surprising force. He gasped as his body fell into hers, crushing her softness beneath his tense muscles.

  He tried to shift away, but she fiercely held on to him, weighing him down toward her. “Georgia—”

  “I have infiltrated your circle, Lord Yardley,” she tossed up at him. “Now the real fun is set to begin.” She primly settled herself back against the pillows, nestling herself against them, and arranged her skirts with a more than smug smile. “What do you think of Miss Tormey? Impressive, isn’t she? You should see this woman trot a horse. Every man was craning his neck on Rotten Row. Every man. Some even whistled. Though I’ll never tell you who.”

  He heaved out a breath, not knowing how he was to even begin apologizing, given all he put her through. “I’m sorry, Georgia. I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you.”

  “Do you know that Lord Seton almost fell off his stallion when he first saw me? Do you also know that in three short days, he not only found my address but sent me four dozen flowers in one basket along with a request to call? All because I looked at him and smiled. You aristos are so easy to bed. Though I do plan on letting him call. I rather like that adorable dimple that appears on his cheek when he smiles.”