“Yes,” Hamish said, still staring into her arms, and something about his expression made her shiver.
He withdrew his gaze from her face. “Are you comfortable now? Or would you like me to—er—”
His gaze dropped to below her face, and she was very aware that she was only standing in her shift.
“No,” she said quickly. “You needn’t remove it.”
His cheeks darkened. “Naturally. But perhaps I should loosen your laces.”
Oh.
Of course the man was unlikely to want her to sleep with nothing at all on.
“Perhaps loosening would be nice,” she acquiesced, and he nodded. Even though she should be accustomed to his touch on her back, her skin still prickled at his touch, evidently finding his movements of great interest.
Chapter Twenty-three
The coach entered Carlisle, rumbling over medieval cobblestones. The town had crept up on them, appearing out of the desolate landscape.
Georgiana shivered and leaned back against the seat of the coach. “It’s so large.”
Hamish’s lips twitched. “They won’t be able to tell that we’re not married, despite their intelligence.”
“They might be able to recognize me,” Georgiana said. “Or you.”
“Doubtful.” Hamish pressed his lips together in a firm line, calculating the likelihood that someone, in a thick cluster of people, might be familiar with either of them. He pulled the coach over. “Get inside.”
Georgiana nodded and clambered down the steps. She moved quickly but perhaps not quickly enough.
“Hamish Montgomery!” A voice soared behind them. “Is that you?”
“Must be someone else,” Hamish said quickly.
The voice laughed. “I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s Wolfe. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“Of course not,” Hamish relented. He forced a smile on his face and lied. “How wonderful to see you.”
His mind raced. This was Lady Isla’s brother. The man was not only a member of the ton, who could destroy Georgiana’s reputation, he was also a man who would bear a very strong grudge against her family.
He swallowed hard.
This was...not wonderful.
God in heaven.
Of all the people in all of England to run into, he had to have run into Wolfe. It didn’t help in the slightest that Wolfe knew him well. The man would find it dashed suspicious to see Hamish on this side of the border. Wolfe knew that Hamish held even the southern portions of Scotland in disdain, seeing them as ineffectual defenses against the English.
Normally, happening upon Wolfe would definitely be considered pleasant. The man was likely to find Hamish’s lack of a smile upon seeing him as belonging to the odder parts of his day.
Hamish glanced at Georgiana. She hadn’t made it inside yet, and his heart sank.
“It’s been a while,” Wolfe said, not missing any time before casting a piercing glare at him. Hamish shifted his legs. Wolfe’s sister was much more pleasant.
At any moment Wolfe would probably ask why he was in England and who he was traveling with. Neither question was one Hamish had the least desire to answer.
“Your hair has grown bushier,” Hamish said.
“You could have mentioned that my chest has grown broader,” Wolfe grumbled.
Hamish shrugged. “Well, that’s changed too.”
“And now it doesn’t sound like a compliment.” Wolfe scowled.
Hamish smiled. “I thought I would find you in a place like London.”
Wolfe’s eyes rounded. “Don’t tell me you went to London.” He looked at Georgiana. “And who is this?”
GEORGIANA’S HEART THUDDED in her chest. She realized how lucky they’d been before to not meet anyone. And to meet this particular person, someone Hamish clearly did not desire to see? Georgiana shuddered.
“It’s—er—” Hamish’s face reddened.
They hadn’t agreed on other names. The last thing she needed was for him to announce her real name. She needed to have some hope that she hadn’t thoroughly ruined her reputation beyond absolute repair.
“My name is—er—Garnet Valentina.”
Hamish’s eyes widened. Perhaps she needn’t have chosen a name of such eccentricity.
“Garnet,” Wolfe said. The man gave a contemplative smile. “What a lovely name. Most seductive.”
Right.
If only she hadn’t been reading right before she departed.
Hamish frowned. “Yes. Her parents noted her hair color upon her—er—entry into the world.”
Hamish’s voice was icy, and Georgiana frowned. He needn’t be so upset at her name choice. He hadn’t been able to offer a better one, and he’d had the chance.
“I didn’t know that Hamish was in the practice of driving about with such beautiful women,” Wolfe said.
“Hamish is a secretive man.”
“Really? Most people would consider him dull.”
Indignity trickled through Georgiana, and she noted that Hamish’s reliably sun-kissed skin had a novel rosy tint.
“I don’t consider him dull.” She tossed her hair and did her best to give a regal glower.
Apparently regal glowers were expressions that she was able to convey, for Wolfe looked somewhat chastened.
Well.
If he felt uncomfortable, Georgiana did not regret it. The man couldn’t expect to insult Hamish. Hamish might spend time going over the books of his family’s estate, but that was not something to deride. The man’s passion wasn’t in mathematics, and if it were she doubted that he would find checking that the rows of columns matched in his ledger stimulating. No, Hamish’s passion was for architecture.
“So are you some relative of the family? Some cousin of which I’m unaware?”
Hamish began to nod, but Georgiana frowned. She didn’t want him to assume that Hamish was traveling about with some sister.
“I’m not related to Lord Hamish Montgomery,” she said.
Wolfe’s eyes rounded. “Not at all?”
Hamish’s expression seemed to belong to the horror-struck variety, and Georgiana regretted that she’d been quite so decisive.
Perhaps it would have been fine if Wolfe had thought that Hamish had a younger cousin, perhaps educated at one of the atrocious finishing schools to account for her English accent.
But on the other hand... She was Garnet Valentina. Not Georgiana Butterworth from Norwich, Norfolk. Not a woman to be pitied to have grown up far from the ton’s strongholds between Kent and Hampshire, and far from the supposedly romantic moors of Yorkshire or Dartmoor that seemed to intrigue people, even though Georgiana was quite certain that Norfolk had every advantage since it did not possess impossibly steep slopes and was not ridden with marshy bogs in which people could drown.
She moved the tartan blanket lower down. The man’s gaze followed it to her bosom but she resisted the urge to long for a fichu or to cover it immediately. Garnet Valentina wouldn’t do such a thing. If the man suspected that she were a woman of the ton, well he would be asking everyone if they knew any red-headed women of a certain age and tell about how he’d seen her traveling alone in Durham.
The only thing she could do was to continue her ruse.
“I am afraid we are in a rush,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes and lowering her voice so that it had a seductive edge. “Hamish gets so dreadfully impatient.”
“Does he?” Wolfe’s lips quirked. “I do have accommodation should you require it.”
“Dearest?” Georgiana glanced at Hamish. “What do you think?”
“Absolutely not,” Hamish growled.
“We desire privacy,” Georgiana said.
“Ah.” The word was curt, but Wolfe rolled his gaze down Georgiana’s figure. She had the impression that he was taking her in as effectively as the best seamstress. “I can understand that. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Valentina.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Wol
fe.” She curtsied, hoping that was an action for ladies of the night.
The man smiled again. “Most men call me Lord McIntyre. But Wolfe will do very well for you.”
She stiffened.
“That is an extraordinary name.” Georgiana’s voice trembled.
“Befitting of an extraordinary man,” Wolfe said smugly.
Hamish was definitely glowering now, and the thought brought her some amusement.
“But there are not many Valentinas here,” Wolfe said.
“I’m not from here,” she said.
“Well, that much is obvious.” Wolfe smiled. “Valentina sounds Spanish, but Garnet...”
Georgiana thought quickly. “My father was a pirate. And my mother’s family. She was from Cornwall.”
“The red hair,” Wolfe said.
Georgiana nodded, though she didn’t like that people tended to think that red hair was the exclusive property of Cornwall. Her hair was auburn, and she’d lived most of her life quite comfortably in Norfolk, even if it had perhaps been not without frustrations that the color was rare. Her mother had washed it in buttermilk, but the color had never changed.
“And how did you meet dear Hamish?” Wolfe asked, his dark eyes glowing.
“London. At an—er—very exclusive place.”
“You go to London now? How exciting. What will become of the estate?”
“I was on important estate business,” Hamish said, his frown deepening.
“Ah,” Wolfe said, stifling a yawn. “How wonderful.”
Georgiana had the impression that he didn’t find Hamish’s dedication to his family the least bit appealing, and she frowned.
“Hamish is a most exciting man,” she said. “You must not know him very well.”
Wolfe appeared chastened. “I suppose I do not know him as well as his...mistress.” He tilted his head. “Are you certain you’re not up for a proper visit?”
“Absolutely not,” Hamish said, dragging Georgiana back onto the driver’s seat of the coach, and her heart raced at the ease with which he pulled her up. He grabbed the reins and urged the horses forward.
“See?” Georgiana called back to Wolfe. “Quite exciting!”
Wolfe’s lips turned into a wide grin, and he waved.
Hamish urged the horses into a trot, and soon they sped through Durham and back into the comfort and seclusion of the countryside.
Chapter Twenty-four
The buildings seemed to fly by in a delightful blur. If Wolfe was in the company of any friends whom Hamish knew, Hamish was driving far too quickly to ascertain.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” Hamish said.
“I know,” Georgiana said. “I just was upset.”
“Garnet Valentina.” Hamish’s voice was rich with amusement.
Georgiana flushed. “It was the first name I could think of.”
“It’s not a name that springs easily to my mind.”
Georgiana squared her shoulders. “Well, that’s because you weren’t just reading The Dashing Man and the Spanish Princess. Miss Valentina is the heroine of that story.”
“Ah...” Hamish smiled, but Georgiana was hesitant, as if expecting malice to appear in his eyes.
None did.
“That was clever,” Hamish said.
“Oh?”
“Wolfe completely believed your pirate past.”
“You’re teasing me,” Georgiana said.
People didn’t confuse her with seductive sirens. She was a Butterworth, the child of a long string of vicars.
They expected her to sing hymns and arrange flowers. Sirens weren’t assumed to have much knowledge of gardening. Any flowers they had were brought by suitors and not planted beside sensible vegetable patches.
She’d never lied like that. Perhaps she’d let Hamish believe that she was her younger sister, but she never would have introduced the idea.
And yet, today, she’d conjured a person. Her lips moved upward. She supposed she had had a bit of help from Loretta Van Lochen.
Hamish directed the horses into a posting inn, and then he helped her from the coach. She touched his hand, and warmth shot through her as he guided her down the steps. The man affected her effortlessly. She’d noticed the handsome manner in which Lord McIntyre had styled his hair and the fashionable cut of his attire, but it was Hamish who caused her heart to quicken. When she reached the cobblestones, she glanced up, only to find that she was far too near him. His cravat was not supposed to brush against her nose, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Her heart wasn’t supposed to quicken, and her breath wasn’t supposed to either. It was a shame that the first time she’d been alone with a man, it had to be one such as Hamish. It would be far more convenient if they’d despised each other.
Georgiana did her best to think about things she abhorred about Hamish, but all the things that she’d most hated about him, she now understood. Perhaps he’d broken into her room and waved coin before her eyes, but he’d been trying to act best for both his brother and the woman he’d thought had inappropriately claimed him. He hadn’t tried to threaten his brother’s bride; he’d offered to set her up to live independently for the rest of her life. Other men would not be so generous.
“I’m not a seductress.” She laughed, conscious that it sounded too high pitched.
Hamish didn’t smile.
Instead, his eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t be too certain.”
His voice sounded hoarse, almost husky, and she glanced up quickly.
“You must have thought me ridiculous,” she said.
“I didn’t.” Hamish’s eyes were serious, and Georgiana’s heart soared. “Indeed you’re the most seductive woman I’ve ever come across.”
Her eyes widened.
Memories of that kiss, that wonderful, delightful kiss, thrummed through her.
Hamish had spent time with her.
He’d traveled with her.
They’d made conversation, not guided by the interests of her mother and convention, which tended to be heavy on musings over the weather and the preferred method of drinking tea.
She averted her eyes.
He was being polite.
It was an instinct that shouldn’t surprise her. She knew now that he was dutiful, even if his actions might seem absurd. Men were always complimenting women’s appearances, as if remarking on a shade of locks or eye color could be the same as actual conversation.
And yet his voice did sound huskier than before.
Though, then again, her voice did as well. Perhaps it was the weather. Perhaps the thick floral fragrance in the air was irritating their eyes, and Georgiana was considering that he might actually like her even though there was a scientific, and decidedly unromantic reason for the lowering of his voice.
His gaze roamed her features. “That hair—”
“Is too red,” Georgiana finished.
“No,” he said firmly. “It’s vibrant. Like a flame.”
The man’s gaze remained intense.
Smoldering.
The space between them was narrow, and for a wild moment she thought Hamish might close the gap even farther. Wind fluttered against her dress, and she shivered.
She was unsure whether she’d trembled because of the frigid temperature or because of Hamish’s presence, but Hamish’s expression immediately changed.
“Let’s get you inside.” He headed for the inn. People were sitting outside it, gazing at them curiously, and warmth flooded Georgiana’s cheeks.
Hamish soon arranged for a room. The innkeeper gave them the key and pointed to a rickety staircase.
One room.
“We must be practically in Gretna Green,” Hamish said.
Georgiana didn’t question why he desired to spend the night here. It would be dark soon. Perhaps Gretna Green accommodations were limited. Likely he was simply being sensible in desiring to wait.
And yet...
Was he perhaps reluctant to end their time travel
ing?
The thought should have been absurd, but she couldn’t push it away.
Hamish pushed the key in the lock and turned it. They entered a dark room.
Tension seemed to swirl between them, and her heart raced. “It’s a nice room.”
“I thought you would wait until you could see the room before you praised it.”
It was dark.
Warmth crept over Georgiana’s neck. “I-I”
“You’re polite,” Hamish said, and amusement rang in his baritone voice.
Something sounded in the dark, and then candlelight flickered over the room, casting golden rays about the room. “It went out earlier.”
“Oh,” Georgiana said. “That was silly of me.”
“You’re not silly.” He leaned close, and something like desire shone in his eyes.
Something was about to happen.
Georgiana knew she should make an excuse to leave the room.
She should step away and chatter about something the man had no interest in, like table settings or napkin folding trends.
That was the sort of thing her mother and every governess she ever had would recommend.
And yet there was nowhere she would rather be. And even though this moment seemed rife with potential uncertainty, Georgiana remained. The man might as well have conjured her to stone: moving was unthinkable.
Hamish stretched his hand toward her and then ran his fingers through her hair. A thrill thrummed through Georgiana, tumbling straight to her toes, even though hair touching should have absolutely nothing to do with nerve endings in feet.
Hamish’s hands were doing intriguing things, moving from her locks to her dress. Her skin prickled, but in a manner so novel, so full of pleasure, that she could only stare at him, bewildered.
It didn’t seem possible that a hand might wield such power, and yet the only thought that occupied her was where it might stray next.
He coursed his fingers over her dress, veering toward her bosom. Her body ached for him, and in the next moment he brushed his lips against hers.
They kissed.
It was more tentative than the last time they’d kissed.
Don't Tie the Knot (Wedding Trouble Book 1) Page 15
