“Poison. Aye, you’d know about poison, wouldn’t you, Pye?” The scarred man sneered in amusement at his own wit. “Hear you’ve turned your poisoning from animals to women now.”
Harry frowned. What?
His opponent correctly interpreted his frown. “Didn’t you know, then?” The man cocked his head. “They found her body on th’ moor this morning.”
“Who?”
“That’s a hanging offense, that is. Murder. There’re those who say your neck should be stretched right away. But you’ve been busy with your mistress, haven’t you?”
The big man leaned forward, and Harry’s left hand dropped to his boot.
“Does she tell you when to spend, Pye? Or maybe she doesn’t let you spend at all. Would soil her fine, white body, wouldn’t it? Having common spunk on her. Don’t bother with that.” He gestured to where Harry’s hand hovered near his knife. “I wouldn’t want to hurt a man-whore.”
The three men walked off, laughing.
Harry froze. Whore. The name they’d called his mother so long ago.
Whore.
The boy moved beneath his hand. Harry looked down and realized he was clutching his shoulder too tightly. The boy didn’t complain, just shrugged a bit.
“What’s your name?” Harry asked.
“Will.” The boy looked up at him and wiped a hand across his nose. “My ma’s a whore.”
“Aye.” Harry released Will’s shoulder. “So was mine.”
GEORGE PACED THE LIBRARY THAT EVENING. The windows were black mirrors, reflecting the darkness outside. For a second she paused and studied her ghostly reflection. Her hair was perfect, a rarity, but Tiggle had redressed it after supper. She wore a lavender gown, one of her favorites, and her pearl drops. Perhaps she flattered herself, but she felt she looked well, almost handsome, in the frock.
If only she felt as confident inside.
She was beginning to think that the library was the wrong place for this meeting. But what other choice was there, really? With her brothers in residence at Woldsly, she couldn’t ask Harry to her rooms, and the last two times she’d gone to his cottage… George felt her face warm. They hadn’t done much talking, had they? So there wasn’t an alternative. But still. The library felt somehow wrong.
The sound of booted footsteps rang in the hall. George squared her shoulders and faced the door, a lonely offering waiting for the dragon. Or maybe the leopard.
“Good evening, my lady.” Harry prowled into the library.
Definitely the leopard. She felt the hairs stand on the back of her neck. Harry gave off a sort of volatile energy tonight.
“Good evening. Won’t you have a seat?” She gestured to the settee.
He flicked his eyes in the direction she indicated and back to her. “I think not.”
Oh, dear. “Well…” George inhaled and tried to remember what she’d planned to say to him. Her speech had made sense in her rooms. But now, with Harry staring at her, now it fell apart like wet paper tissue.
“Yes?” He cocked his head as though to better hear her thoughts. “Do you want it on the settee or the floor?”
Her eyes widened in confusion. “I don’t—”
“The chair?” Harry asked. “Where do you want to make love?”
“Oh.” She felt a flush start on her cheeks. “I haven’t called you here for that.”
“No?” His eyebrows raised. “Are you sure? You must’ve ordered me here for something.”
“I didn’t order you…” She closed her eyes and shook her head and began again. “We need to talk.”
“Talk.” The word was flat. “Do you want my resignation?”
“No. What makes you think that?”
“My lady.” Harry laughed, a nasty, hoarse sound.
“I may be merely your servarry laughed, a nasty, hoarse sound. “I may be merely your servant, but credit me with some intelligence. You were closeted with your three aristocratic brothers all day, and then you summoned me to your library. What is this if not a dismissal?”
She was losing control of the conversation. She spread her hands helplessly. “I just need to talk to you.”
“What do you wish to talk about, my lady?”
“I… I don’t know.” George squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think. He wasn’t making this any easier for her. “Tony is pressing me to make a decision about us. And I don’t know what to do.”
“Are you asking me what to do?”
“I…” She drew a breath. “Yes.”
“It seems simple enough to me, poor commoner that I am,” Harry said. “Let us continue as we have.”
George looked down at her hands. “But that’s just it. I can’t.”
When she looked up again, Harry’s expression was so blank she might’ve been staring in the eyes of a dead man. Lord, how she’d begun to hate that wooden face. “Then you’ll have my resignation by tomorrow.”
“No.” She wrung her hands. “That isn’t what I want at all.”
“But you can’t have it both ways.” Harry seemed suddenly weary. His beautiful green eyes were dulled by something close to despair. “You can either be my lover or I will leave. I’ll not stay as some convenience for you, like that gelding in your stable here. You ride him when at Woldsly and forget him the rest of the year. Do you even know his name?”
Her mind went blank. The fact was, she didn’t know the horse’s name. “It isn’t like that.”
“No? Pardon, but what is it like, my lady?” Anger was breaking through Harry’s wooden mask, painting scarlet flames across his cheekbones. “Am I a stud for hire? Nice for a romp in bed, but after the tupping, not good enough to show your family?”
George could feel a blush heat her own cheeks. “Why are you being so crude?”
“Am I?” Harry was suddenly in front of her, standing too close. “You must forgive me, my lady. That’s what you get when you take a common lover: a crude man.” His fingers framed her face, his thumbs hot against her temples. She felt her heart skitter in her chest at his touch. “Isn’t that what you wanted when you chose me to take your maidenhead?”
She could smell spirits on his breath. Was that the reason for this hostility? Was he drunk? If so, he showed no other signs. She inhaled deeply to steady her own emotions, to try to counter his terrible sorrow. “I—”
But he would not let her speak. He whispered in a cruel, hard voice instead, “A man so crude he takes you against a door? A man so crude he makes you scream when you come? A man so crude he doesn’t have the grace to melt away when he’s no longer wanted?”
George shuddered at the awful words and scrambled to frame a reply. But it was too late. Harry claimed her mouth and sucked on her bottom lip. He pulled her to him roughly and ground his hips against hers. There it was again, that wild, desperate desire. He bunched her skirts in one hand, pulling them up. George heard a tear but couldn’t bring herself to care.
He reached underneath and found her mound with ruthless accuracy. “This is what you get with a common lover.” He speared two fingers into her sheath.
She gasped at the sudden intrusion, feeling him stretch her as he stroked with his fingers. She shouldn’t feel anything, shouldn’t respond when he—
His thumb pushed down on her most sensitive spot. “No finesse, no pretty words. Just hard cock and hot cunny.” His tongue trailed across her cheek. “And your cunny is hot, my lady,” he whispered into her ear. “It’s fairly dripping on my hand.”
She moaned then. It was impossible for her not to respond to him, even when he touched her in anger. He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her wail, ravishing her at will. Until she broke all at once and waves of pleasure rushed over her so fast she felt dizzy. George shook in the after-tremors, clinging to Harry as he bent her backward over his arm and fed on her mouth. His fingers left her to stroke over her hip soothingly.
His mouth gentled.
Then Harry broke away to hiss in her ear, “I told you, decide wha
t you want before coming to me. I’m not a goddamned lapdog you can pick up and pet and then send away again. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
George stumbled, both from his words and from the fact that he’d let her go. She clutched at the back of a chair. “Harry, I—”
But he’d already left the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Harry woke with the taste of stale ale in his mouth. He waited a moment before opening his eyes. Although it had been a very long time, he never quite forgot the painful torture of sunlight and a hangover. When he finally cracked open his dry eyes, he saw the room was too bright for early morning. He’d overslept. Groaning, he lurched up and sat for a moment on the edge of his bed, head in hands, feeling uncommonly old.
God, what an idiot he’d been to drink too much yesterday eve. He’d been trying to track down the rumors about the woman poisoned on the moor, had gone first to the White Mare and then to the Cock and Worm, but Dick wasn’t at his tavern, and no one else would speak to him. In every face he’d seen suspicion and, in some, loathing. Meanwhile, what the scarred man had said to him in West Dikey had sounded in his skull like a chant. Man-whore. Man-whore. Man-whore. Perhaps he’d been trying to drown the words when he’d drunk multiple tankards of ale last night.
A clatter came from the cottage’s main room.
Harry swiveled his head carefully in that direction and sighed. Will was probably hungry. He staggered to the door and stared.
The fire blazed and a steaming teapot sat on the table.
Will crouched on the floor, strangely still. “I dropped the spoons. I’m sorry,” he whispered. He hunched his body as if he was trying to make himself smaller, maybe disappear altogether.
Harry knew that posture. The boy expected to be hit.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded like the scrape of a shovel on stony ground. He cleared his throat and sat down. “Made tea, have you?”
“Aye.” Will stood up, poured a cup, and carefully handed it to him.
“Ta.” Harry sipped and scalded his throat. He winced and waited, but his stomach felt better, so he took another mouthful.
“I cut some bread for toast, too.” Will brought a plate for his inspection. “They’re not so nice as yours, though.”
Harry looked at the uneven slices with a jaundiced eye. He wasn’t sure his belly could take solids at the moment, but the boy needed praise. “Better than Lady Georgina’s try.”
His painful smile died as he thought about what he’d said and done to his lady last night. He gazed at the fire. He’d have to go apologize sometime today. Assuming she would still talk to him, that is.
“I’ll toast them.” Will must be used to sudden, awkward silences. He went about skewering the bread on the crooked fork and finding a spot to hold it over the fire.
Harry watched him. Will had no father, thanks to Granville, nor mother, either. Just that old woman, his grandmother, and a less loving woman he’d rarely seen. Yet here he was, competently tending to an adult sick from too much drink. Perhaps he’d had to care for his grandmother after a night of swilling. The thought was bitter in Harry’s mouth.
He took another sip of tea.
“Here we are, then,” Will said, sounding like an elderly woman. He set a pile of buttered toast on the table and bustled around to another chair.
Harry bit into a piece of toast and licked melting butter off his thumb. He noticed that Will was looking at him. He nodded. “Good.”
The boy smiled, revealing a gap in his upper teeth.
They ate companionably for a while.
“Did you have a fight with her?” Will swiped up a drip of butter and licked it off his finger. “Your lady, I mean.”
“You could say that.” Harry poured himself more tea, stirring in a large spoonful of sugar this time.
“My gran said gentry was evil. Didn’t care if regular folk lived or died, so long as they’d gold plates to eat off of.” Will traced a circle on the table with a greasy finger. “But your lady was nice.”
“Aye. Lady Georgina’s not like most.”
“And she’s pretty.” Will nodded to himself and took another piece of toast.
Aye, pretty as well. Harry looked out the cottage window, a feeling of uneasiness beginning to build in him. Would she let him apologize?
“ ’Course, she’s not much of a cook. Couldn’t cut the bread straight. You’ll have to help her with that.” Will wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Does she eat off of gold plates?”
“I don’t know.”
Will eyed him suspiciously, as if Harry might be withholding important information. Then his look turned to pity. “Haven’t you been invited to supper, then?”
“No.” Well, there’d been that dinner in her rooms, but he wasn’t telling Will about that. “I’ve had tea with her, though.”
“She didn’t have gold plates for that?”
“No.” Why was he explaining himself?
Will nodded sagely. “You’ll have to go to supper before you know.” He finished his toast. “Have you brought her presents?”
“Presents?”
Will’s pitying look was back. “All girls like presents; that’s what my gran said. And I think she must be right. I like presents.”
Harry propped his chin in his hands and felt wire-stiff stubble. His head was feeling bad again, but Will seemed to think presents were important. And this was the most the boy had talked since he’d shown up the day before.
“What kind of presents?” Harry asked.
“Pearls, gold boxes, sweetmeats.” Will waved a piece of toast. “Things like that. A horse would be good. Have you got any horses?”
“Just the one.”
“Oh.” Will sounded disappointed in him. “Then I suppose you can’t give her that.”
Harry shook his head. “And she has many more horses than my one.”
“Then what can you give her?”
“I don’t know.”
He didn’t know what she wanted from him. Harry frowned into the dregs of his tea. What could a man like him give a lady like her? Not money or a house. She already had that. And the physical love he gave her—any halfway competent man could do as well. What could he give her that she didn’t already have? Maybe nothing. Maybe she would realize that soon enough, and especially after last night, choose never to see him again.
Harry stood. “More important than a present, I need to speak to Lady Georgina today.” He moved to the cupboard, took down his shaving things, and began stropping his razor.
Will looked at the dirty plates on the table. “I can wash these.”
“Good boy.”
Will must have refilled the kettle after making tea. It was already full and boiling. Harry divided the hot water between his basin and a big bowl the boy could wash the dishes in. The little mirror he used for shaving showed a ragged face. Harry frowned, then carefully started scraping the stubble from his cheeks. His razor was old but very sharp, and a nick on his chin wouldn’t help his appearance. Behind him, he could hear Will swishing in the water.
By the time Will finished the dishes, Harry was as ready as he was ever going to be. He’d washed, brushed his hair, and changed into a clean shirt. His head still pounded steadily, but the circles under his eyes had begun to fade.
Will looked him over. “You’ll do, I guess.”
“Ta.”
“Am I to stay here?” The lad’s face was too stoic for his young age.
Harry hesitated. “Would you like to see the Woldsly stables while I speak to my lady?”
Will was immediately on his feet. “Yes, please.”
“Then come on.” Harry led the way out the door. The boy could ride behind him on the back of his horse.
Outside, clouds gathered in the sky. But it hadn’t yet rained today, and saddling the mare would take time. It was unreasonable, but he was anxious to see Lady Georgina.
“Let’s walk.”
The
boy followed at his heels, silent, but with suppressed excitement. They were almost to the Woldsly drive when Harry heard the rumbling of carriage wheels. He quickened his pace. The sound grew rapidly closer.
He broke into a run.
Just as he burst from the cover of the copse, a carriage passed, shaking the ground beneath his feet and sending up globs of mud. He glimpsed her ginger hair, then the carriage turned the corner and was gone, only the diminishing sound of wheels marking its passage.
“Don’t think you’ll be able to talk to her today.”
Harry had forgotten Will. He stared blindly down at the boy panting at his side. “No, not today.”
A fat raindrop splattered on his shoulder, and then the clouds let go.
TONY’S CARRIAGE JOLTED AROUND the corner, and George swayed as she peered out the window. It had begun to rain again, soaking the already sodden pastures, dragging tree branches earthward, and turning everything into the same gray-brown color. Monotonous veils of dingy water fell, blurring the landscape and trickling down the window like tears. From inside the carriage it appeared that the whole world wept, overcome by a grief that would not fade.
“Perhaps it won’t stop.”
“What?” Tony asked.
“The rain,” George said. “Perhaps it won’t stop. Perhaps it will continue forever until the mud in the highway turns to a stream and rises up and becomes a sea and we float away.” She traced a finger through the condensation on the inside of the window, making squiggly lines. “Do you think your carriage is buoyant?”
“No,” Tony said. “But I shouldn’t worry. The rain will stop sometime, even if it doesn’t seem so at the moment.”
“Mmm.” She stared out the window. “And if I don’t care if it goes on? Perhaps I wouldn’t mind floating away. Or sinking.”
She was doing the right thing, everyone assured her so. Leaving Harry was the only proper choice left to her. He was of a lower class, and he resented the difference in their ranks. Last night, he’d been ugly in his resentment; and yet, she couldn’t fault him. Harry Pye wasn’t meant to be anyone’s lapdog. She hadn’t thought she was confining him, but he obviously felt demeaned. There was no future for them, an earl’s daughter and a land steward. They knew that; everyone knew that. This was a natural conclusion to an affair that should never have been begun in the first place.
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