by Dayna Quince
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Our business is so successful because of all the work he did.”
“What is your business?” she asked.
“Manufacturing mostly. Textiles are what my father started with. When I took over, I expanded into porcelain figures and plate ware. I own many manufactories throughout London, and I’m building a forge in Newcastle.”
“And you are happy to only work and never have a family?”
Gavin shrugged. “I’m not sure I know how to have a family. I’d be a terrible husband. I just don’t have the time.”
“You make the time. It’s about priorities. You prioritize your family.”
“It isn’t that easy.”
“It is. You decide and then you do it.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You haven’t had to do the things I do or my father did.”
“What does that even mean? Why do men always presume a woman can’t know how difficult work is? I know.”
“I—yes you do. My apologies. But most women would not know.”
“I have to take my father’s place when he is gone, tending the animals, fixing a loose stair, putting food on the table I shot myself. You had money to do these things and yet you act like you must give all of yourself to your work or you won’t eat.”
“It’s more than that.”
“It’s greed.”
Her statement caught him off-guard, piquing his ire. “I beg your pardon?”
“You want more and more, more things, more prestige, but what do you have to show for it? Not love, not family. What a cold and empty life.”
He scowled. “I like my life. I’m sparing a potential wife the same fate my mother endured.”
“That’s what you tell yourself to not feel the guilt or loneliness.”
“I’m never lonely. I have friends and the attention of women anytime I choose. I have freedom, something I’m also unwilling to give up.”
She studied him, squinting one eye. “How often do you have to repeat these things to yourself to justify your actions?”
He turned his horse away and rode back down the hill. He didn’t have to defend himself to anyone. He’d offered this ride to get to know her, and she was dicing him into pieces, dissecting him like a coroner.
Was that her defense? Was he getting too close?
She rode up beside him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’ve hurt your feelings.”
He scoffed.
“Truly, I want us to be friends, I’m trying to be your friend.”
He reined in his horse and so did she. He crossed his arms over the pommel and leaned forward. “I’m also trying to be your friend. We’ve had a rough introduction, and though I’m not here to marry anyone, you in particular intrigue me.”
“But…aren’t you a rake? Violet warned us all to be careful, that Roderick’s friends were polished rakes and not to trifle with you.”
He chuckled. “And yet they invited us here to court nine sisters.”
“With those ingredients, someone is bound to end up married. Nine inexperienced women and nine rakes?”
He coughed. “Well, how about we call a truce, you and I? Neither of us will marry, at least each other, and we’ll be friends.”
She pressed her lips together. “Very well,” she said tepidly. She held out her hand.
He took it but didn’t shake it or let go. “Very well? Am I not interesting enough to be your friend? Or am I not small, furry, and needy enough?” he teased.
She smiled. “Or feathery, but I won’t hold it against you.”
He grinned and they shook hands. They rode back toward the castle, and though the morning turned out well, something felt odd, as if he’d missed an opportunity or left something behind.
Chapter 6
So, friend, tell me about your London life.”
They were having tea on the terrace overlooking the ocean. Georgie set down her plate of sandwiches next to his and took the open chair beside him.
Her nerves clamored and her palms were damp, but she was determined to prove to herself and him that she could be composed and serene as a London lady.
“Do you have any small rodents on your person?” he asked, eyeing her gown.
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I only want to prepare myself in the event you drop bits of food into your, ehrm”—he cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to her breasts for a split second—“or if one leaps out.”
She twisted her lips, pretending to think. “I’d rather keep you in suspense.”
He smiled crookedly and delicious warmth spread over her skin. His lips had a soft pliable quality she’d never noticed before. Her own tingled in response. She took a bite of sandwich to occupy her hands. Kit squirmed in her bodice, no doubt smelling the chicken in her sandwich.
“What is that over there?” She pointed out toward the ocean. He glanced away and she tore a nibble of chicken and dropped it into her cleavage. She looked up and Mr. Cage was grinning at her.
“Sly, but not sly enough.”
“Would you deny food to a hungry babe?”
He snorted. “It’s an animal.”
“He’s a baby.”
He rolled his eyes and picked up one of his own sandwiches. “I’m not sharing my food.”
“I didn’t ask,” she returned. They were mostly alone, the others strolling along the balustrade and exploring the lower tiers of the terrace. But they weren’t alone, alone. So Georgie had to be careful slipping food to Kit, but she was pleased to not have to hide it from her new friend. Her handsome new friend, who appeared devastating in a hunter green jacket that made his brown eyes fool her into thinking they had bits of green too. How strange.
He smirked at her as he caught her dropping another piece of meat into her bodice.
“Would you feed me if I asked you to?”
“If you needed me to, I would. But not just because you want to be lazy and coddled.”
He chuckled. “What if I begged?”
She eyed him. “Are you being flirtatious?”
He grinned. “It’s habit.”
“You flirt with everyone?”
“Not everyone.”
“Just every woman?”
He didn’t answer.
“You flirt with the dowager duchess.”
He shrugged. “Older women like to be flirted with. It reminds them of their youth and beauty.”
“She is beautiful.”
He took a sip of tea. “Indeed.”
Georgie played with her napkin, curious questions forming in her mind. “Do rakes have an age range for ladies they pursue or is any woman of attraction considered?”
He set down his sandwich and stared at her. “What?”
“I’ve so little experience with flirting and such, but I’m curious.”
“I’m very confused. What are you asking?”
She chewed her lip. “Well, the dowager duchess is beautiful.”
“She’s my friend’s mother,” he ground out.
“Oh, so there are rules about that sort of thing?”
He wiped a hand over his face and sighed. “Christ,” he muttered, “she is beautiful but I’m not attracted to her in that way.”
Georgie was not put off by his agitation. She enjoyed unsettling a sophisticated London gentleman like him. The only men she knew well were Lord Chester, Roderick, and the duke, Weirick. She’d known them her entire life as neighbors and they, in turn, knew to expect her strange and often inappropriate questions. She had an insatiable curiosity, which served her well in discovering new ways to help her family survive.
As her newfound friend, he would have to get used to it.
But she had an ulterior motive. Last night she’d dreamed he’d kissed her, and now she couldn’t rid the idea from her mind. She’d never been kissed and couldn’t think of another opportunity she would have to experience it other than wi
th him during this party. These were the exact thoughts she should not be having. She was supposed to be his friend and not do something that could risk the hopes of her sisters, but… What of her hopes? She’d already given up so much of her femininity for her family. Couldn’t she have this? It was one kiss, one moment all for herself. If he was truly a rake, he wouldn’t be able to resist, at the very least, stealing a kiss if she made it clear she would welcome it. The key was subtlety. He might think she was lying about never marrying if she came on too strong.
She wasn’t lying. She knew her odds of finding a man willing to marry a woman like her were slim to none. But a kiss? Rakes were quite jaded to kisses, weren’t they? Kisses were like handshakes. She’d had the handshake, now she wanted a kiss.
She may never have a chance like this again. Not with him. He affected her like no other man.
“So what kind of woman attracts you?” she asked.
He eyed her. “Why are we talking about this?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m curious. We decided to be friends, and I’d like to know more about you.”
He tugged on his cravat. “You asked about London. Let’s talk about that.”
“I can read about London.”
“Then why did you ask about it?”
“To start the conversation. Oh! What is a ball like?”
“You’ve been to a ball. They had one here at the last party.”
“But that wasn’t a London ball.”
“You’re really not missing much. You’d be bored.”
Georgie folded her arms. “You’re being very obtuse.”
“They are often hot and overcrowded.”
“Tell me about your last paramour then? What was she like and how did you meet?”
He scowled at her. “What makes you think I would tell you that?”
“We’re friends.”
“You’re a young lady,” he ground out, his cheeks flagging with color.
“I have a weasel in my bodice,” she returned. “Let’s not pretend any of those absurd rules apply to me.”
“The rules are not absurd. They protect you.”
“From what?”
He smirked. “From men like me.”
She bit her tongue. It was on the very tip to challenge him, to dare him to elaborate or better yet, prove what he meant.
With a kiss.
But cornered animals bite, not kiss.
“You’re no danger to me,” she said.
“I’m not?”
“You said so yourself. We’ve decided to be friends. That excludes me from the dangers of your rakish abilities.”
He stared at her as he took a bite of his sandwich. Did his silence mean something?
Her stomach did a flip. Careful, you’re not up to his level.
“Her name is Lady Vivian and we were friends before we became lovers,” he said.
Heat washed over her face and jealousy reared its ugly head. She tamped it down. He did not belong to her and he never would, she reminded herself.
She nodded and swallowed. “What did she look like?”
“She had blonde hair, very long, to her lower back, in fact.”
Was he teasing her? Trying to make her uncomfortable? She squared her shoulders. “Lovely. What of her eyes?”
“Blueish, a little purple, too.”
“Interesting. I’ve never seen such a color.”
“It’s rare.”
“And what is her personality like? Or did you not bother getting to know her mind?” Georgie asked pointedly.
He smirked. “I did say we were friends before lovers. She was married and her husband had died the year before.”
“Oh, how terrible.”
“It wasn’t a love match, but she did mourn him for a year and then moved on.”
“To you.”
He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “To me, briefly, and then to another.”
Intrigued, Georgie leaned forward. “She took another lover? Is this common of aristocratic women? To take lovers instead of remarrying right away?”
“Lady Vivian is rather progressive, but she is in fact remarrying. For love this time.”
Georgie smiled.
“That pleases you?”
She sighed dreamily. “It does. Love is a grand emotion.”
“For those capable of it.”
She straightened. “You think you’re not?”
He glanced away. “No.”
She didn’t want him to shut down, so she changed the topic. “What do rakes do besides chase skirts?”
He chuckled, shaking his head at her. “Shall we walk? If I eat while you ask these questions, I might choke.” He presented his arm. They stood and strolled the terrace, stopping to admire the ocean below.
“Gambling?” she asked.
“A bit. But I’m careful.”
“Smart. Racing?”
He nodded. “Phaetons and horses. I’ve purchased a horse that will run at Newmarket.”
Georgie sighed. “I wish I could go to Newmarket. It must be fascinating.”
“Exhilarating, I would say.”
“An excellent word, exhilarating.”
“I agree.”
“Boxing?”
“Of course.”
“Fencing?”
“A bit.”
They strolled in silence.
“Swimming naked in the ocean,” she teased.
“I only do that here. Do you know how to swim?”
“Certainly. I do live near the ocean. It’s mandatory.”
“What about fishing?”
She made a face. “I don’t like fish.”
“You’re English.”
“I know, but the texture is just…and there are the scales and the eyes and…ick.”
He chuckled. “I’ve found your weakness.”
“There are not many. Roderick used to chase me with a dead fish, moving the mouth and making it talk.”
He laughed.
“I blame him.” Georgie wrinkled her nose. “I’ve been traumatized.”
“You have my sincerest empathy.”
She smiled at him, he smiled down at her, and the space between their bodies grew warmer. Georgie looked away this time, the racing of her heart a bit frightening.
“Come this way.” She tugged him. “I want to give Kit some space to run and relieve himself.”
He followed. “Another accomplishment I can add to my list. Weasel supervision.”
They followed the top terrace to the end and around the corner to a grass courtyard below the bailey.
“Watch out for hawks, if you please.”
He looked around, taking his duties seriously. She kneeled down and dug Kit out of her bodice. He yawned in her hand, blinking in the bright light.
“Wake up, Kit. You’ve earned an outing.” She set him down on the grass and he sniffed around.
“He’s so tiny,” Mr. Cage said, crouching next to her.
“He’s adorable.”
“Have you always liked animals?”
“For as long as I can remember I’ve been drawn to them. It’s difficult to find solitude with nine sisters, you know. Getting out of the house and doing something was the only peace I could find. I helped my father tend our flock of sheep.” She glanced sideways at him. “He was a terrible farmer. We had tenants then to help keep the estate running, but things were strained. For a few years, it was the only time I had with him.”
“Are you close to him?”
She shrugged. “He does his best, but he is like the wind.”
“What?”
“You can’t grab hold of him and make him stay in one place.”
“When did he start leaving?”
“When Anne was sixteen. We lost our last tenant. His solution was to find a wealthy husband for Anne. As if that would have helped the field produce or turn a better profit on our wool.”
“Money can alleviate a lot of things.”
“B
ut he was so wrong. He thought it would be easy. Nothing has ever been easy for my family. He claimed to be trying to help us, but I think he was just running away.”
“Sometimes running away is the only solution.”
She turned to him, shocked to hear such a cowardly thing come from him. She didn’t know why that shocked her. She barely knew him, and yet somehow, she felt like she already knew him. He was an old book from her childhood she was discovering all over again. Remembering each passage only after she read it.
“Running away is the coward’s way.”
He shrugged. “Not every battle can be fought through discourse or action. Avoidance is a strategy. A spy is only an effective spy when he remains out of conflict.”
“We’re not discussing foreign affairs.”
“I know that.”
“Don’t justify what he did just because he is a man, and it is assumed men always do the right thing.”
He frowned at her. “I beg your pardon? You think you know so much about men?”
“I do. I’ve known a few. Chester, Roderick, Weirick, my father, and you all have one terrible trait in common. You’ll come to each other’s defense no matter how incredibly stupid the other man has behaved, trying to justify it to women like me. Surely I’m wrong, I probably didn’t understand, what I saw wasn’t what really was happening—”
“Where is this coming from?”
Georgie clamped her mouth closed.
“Now you won’t tell me?”
“It’s not my place to tell. That’s what I was told.”
“You’re judging me by an experience you’ve had with someone else?”
“I don’t need you to explain my own thoughts and feelings to me,” she snapped but instantly regretted her words. She was being absurd.
He stiffened and stood. “Fine.”
Georgie scooped up Kit and put him back in her bodice. Her stomach twisted as she peeked at him from under her lashes. She was judging him, comparing him to all the men she’d known previously. She couldn’t help it. He stood out from the rest, so handsome and elegant. But everyone had flaws; it was part of their human makeup. But if they were going to be friends, then she couldn’t push him away for the things another had done.
“It isn’t even relevant to what we were discussing, but it’s something that I’m often reminded of.”
“Would you like to explain it to me?”
