by Nina Mason
His head was spinning. “And who, pray tell, is Marianne?”
Elinor’s younger sister, who is ruled by her emotions. Until she is cruelly jilted by Mr. Willoughby, the dashing rake of the tale, who chooses to marry for money rather than love.”
“I see,” he said, even though he did not see at all.
“Christian, I must know: are you at all tempted, even in the slightest, to make the choice Mr. Willoughby made?”
“I hardly see that as an option.”
“My goal is to see you retain your inheritance, and still marry me—if that is your wish.”
“It is, upon my honor,” he said emphatically. “Though I am not, as you know, free at present to press my suit.”
She was quiet a long while before speaking again, with obvious distress. “Yes, you are bound at present to Miss Stubbs…but perhaps we can…well, set aside the rules of propriety for a time and…and enter into an understanding of our own.” She shook her head and looked at the fire. “I cannot believe I am saying this. I, who takes pride in her adherence to the dictates of society in all things…except, perhaps, kissing a man to whom I am not engaged…and who is, tragically, betrothed to another.” Heaving a sigh, she left off.
While she spoke, he’d studied her profile—a dark silhouette of radiant beauty. His heart was so full and his mind so confused, he scarcely knew what to say. “Georgie, I…that is to say, how do you propose I keep my inheritance and still marry you?”
“By appealing to your father for help.”
He was stunned by the suggestion. “My father? Good God. He is the last person on Earth who would help me.”
“Then your mother, assuming she has some influence where he is concerned.”
“My mother is deceased,” he said, rubbing his sweaty palms together.
“Perhaps, if I wrote to your father …”
The suggestion took Christian aback. “To tell him what?”
“The truth,” she said, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. “That you engaged yourself to an actress in a moment of youthful folly and, though you regret your mistake, she insists you keep your promise, under threat of a scandal that would taint them, and all your relations, as well as yourself.”
“Dear Georgie.” He let out a nervous laugh. “You almost make me sound sympathetic.”
“You are to be pitied, as is Edward Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility. Though he unintentionally encouraged Elinor’s affections while secretly engaged to Lucy Steele, the author managed to make him a sympathetic character. She even elicited some compassion from her readers for Mr. Willoughby, who disappointed Marianne so severely the poor girl nearly died of a fever brought on by a broken heart.”
Guilt clamped his own breaking heart. “Oh, Georgie. Do you not see? If you fail where my parents are concerned, what happened to—pray, what was the lady’s name again?”
“Marianne Dashwood.”
“Yes, yes. What happened to Marianne Dashwood might very well happen to you.”
“I’m willing to take that chance.” She got up, came to him, and knelt before his chair. Then, taking his hands in hers, she looked squarely, boldly into his eyes. “For I love you with too great a passion for caution.”
Freeing his hands, he clasped her face and brought it to his. “Oh, Georgie. Dear girl. Even though it’s terribly wrong of me, I love you with equal fervor.”
She leaned in and kissed him—a soft, delicate kiss whose sweet aftertaste remained on his lips when she withdrew. She got up and went to stand before the fire. He followed, taking her in his arms and holding her close. Just holding her, as the feelings he’d fought so long broke free of their restraints.
Raising a hand to his face, she pressed his cheek against hers. The gesture was so tender, he ached inside. Ached for more. Much more. Everything. Drawing back, he looked at her mouth, a magnet for his own. He brought his mouth to hers, lightly yet longingly.
“I have been fighting my feelings for you for these ten months, but they will not be suppressed. They are at once what drove me away and called me back again. Oh, Georgie. Throughout it all, I never gave up the dream—the sweet, impossible dream—of ridding myself of her and having you for my wife instead.”
“You needn’t fight them any longer.” Her lovely eyes sparkled in the flickering amber firelight.
He bit his lip as the arsenic of reality poisoned his hopes. “I do not want to, but I am still engaged, like it or not ... and the only way to free myself, it seems, is to give up my legacy. And doing so will make me a pauper—nay, a bankrupt, who will likely spend years in debtor’s prison, if not the rest of his life, which will do neither of us any good.”
“Do not think such thoughts,” she said, her eyes shimmering with determination. “We will raise the money to pay your debts. My sister and the Captain will help us…or Lord and Lady Baldwyn.”
“Us,” he said with a faint smile. “I do like the sound of that word on your lips.”
Her mouth, a magnet for his, pulled him in. He pressed his lips to hers, tenderly, longingly, before withdrawing.
“What you are suggesting is madness, my darling. Utter and complete lunacy. I hope you know that—and all that going forward would put at risk.”
Her cheeks colored and her gaze shifted away from his. “Yes, I know. And it frightens me terribly, but it is our only chance to be together. And I firmly believe we belong together. I feel it in my heart, my blood, and even the marrow of my bones every time I look at you, touch you, or kiss you.”
As her eyes came back to his, she put her small, warm hand on his face. While she softly caressed his cheek, he kissed her again, surrendering to the passion he no longer had the strength to fight. When she parted her lips, he gave her his tongue. She sucked it gently as he walked her backward toward the bed. They fell down on the mattress with her on top, their mouths and bodies still melded together.
A knock at the door broke them apart. Georgie gained her feet, looking pale and panicked. “No one can find me here!”
“Hide yourself while I get rid of whoever it is,” he said, keeping his voice low.
She looked frantically around the room. “Where?”
“Get down on the floor on the other side of the bed,” he whispered. “They won’t see you if I don’t let them in.”
She did as he’d suggested, and when he’d composed himself sufficiently, he went to the door and asked, “Who is it?”
“It’s your betrothed, come to see why you have not come down to dinner.”
Damn his black heart! He’d been so caught up, he’d forgotten all about the evening meal. Worse still, if he had been missed, so had Georgie been. And even Miss Stubbs was clever enough to and two and two.
He worried his lip and raked a hand through his hair. He must think fast. What excuse could he offer that would both satisfy (and get rid of) Miss Stubbs as well as protect Georgie’s reputation. Within seconds, an idea came to him.
“I have a megrim, which prevents me from coming down. Would you do me the great favor of having a tray sent up?”
“Certainly,” she replied with an edge to her voice. “Shall I have one sent up for Miss Bennet as well?”
The insinuation astonished and alarmed him in equal measure. Feigning ignorance (his only hope), he asked with all the innocence he could pretend, “Pray, has Miss Bennet not come down to dinner?”
“No. Nor can she be found anywhere in the house.”
“Perhaps she went for a walk, to cool down after your little scuffle this afternoon.”
“It is bitterly cold outside. She would catch her death, if she did not freeze to death first.”
“Then perhaps someone ought to go in search of her.”
The doorknob jiggled. Panic set in. Had he remembered to lock it? Yes, he had, thank the Lord for small blessings.
“Why is the door locked?” She jiggled the handle again.
“I did not wish to be disturbed.”
There was a pause. “Are you s
ure you’re alone?”
“Quite sure.”
“Let me in, so I can see for myself.”
“Do you doubt my word?” His throat was tight and his heart was pounding hard.
“Given how vigilantly you’ve tried to break our engagement,” she said crossly, “I believe myself perfectly justified in questioning your integrity.”
“Well, believe me or not as you choose, but I have not laid eyes on Miss Bennet since I broke the two of you apart.”
“Very well,” she said with a huff. “I shall have to take your word for it, since you will not let me in.”
“That’s a good girl. Now kindly go down and explain to our hosts that I am indisposed—and that Miss Bennet may be in danger.”
“I shall,” she said, “without delay.”
He heaved a sigh of relief and listened as her footfalls grew fainter in the hallway. When he was certain she was gone, he let Georgie out of his room—but not before he’d given her another amorous kiss. “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he said, quoting Shakespeare. “May I shorten our separation by coming to you tonight, after the house is asleep?”
“Yes, my darling.” She rose up on her toes and pressed another kiss to his lips. “I shall look forward to it.”
* * * *
Georgie left Christian’s room with more hope than she’d allowed herself to feel in a twelvemonth. Yes, she was risking her reputation, as well as her heart, but she firmly believed her gamble would pay off in the end. Love was on their side, after all, just as it had been on Louisa and Theo’s.
And love conquered all, did it not?
In the morning, she would write to his father, and attempt to elicit his assistance. For she could not believe the man so heartless he would refuse to help free his son and heir from the clutches of a designing woman. Even her father, uncaring as he was, would have done all he could to prevent such a degrading alliance.
Just look what lengths he went to with Louisa, who he’d engaged, despite her protests, to their cousin Charles. In the dead of night, he’d shipped her off to Bath, to await the reading of the banns under the watchful eye of their Aunt Hildegarde, Charles’s mother.
The poor Captain searched for his beloved high and low, finding her barely in the nick of time. Another few hours, and she would have been Lady Hillsworth, the Countess of Midsomer, and every bit as miserable as poor Lady Derby.
If Louisa had married Charles, would she have taken the Captain as her lover? Georgie tried to imagine him climbing the trellis to reach her sister’s window at Midsomer Park, but failed in the effort. For how could the poor man climb lattice when he had a false leg?
Such were the thoughts engrossing Georgie when Miss Stubbs jumped out from behind a door. “Ah-ha! I’ve caught you! I knew that two-timing rogue was lying, and now I have my proof, by God.”
Georgie was too shocked and shaken to say anything in reply.
“And now I have no choice but to tell Mrs. Raynalds, and demand that she turn her whore of a sister out of her house.”
“We … did no wrong,” Georgie stammered, finding her voice at last.
“Ha! In his room alone, with the door locked? Even if nothing untoward took place, which I seriously doubt, who would believe you under such incriminating circumstances?”
“My sister m-might,” said Georgie, thinking of the things Louisa had said only hours before. And she had bedded her Captain before they were married, had she not? Indeed she had, as the date of Sonny’s birth proved. Yet, they were engaged at the time, and planning to elope the next morning, which they would have, if not for their father’s interference.
So perhaps she would not acknowledge the parallels in their circumstances.
“Well we shall see about that soon enough,” Miss Stubbs snipped, starting toward the stairs.
Georgie followed her, unsure of her own purpose. Did she mean to stop the little tart or do her harm? At the top of the stairs, the thought of pushing her rival crossed her mind again. She shoved the idea away, wondering if she was indeed capable of such a dastardly act.
As she stood there, she tallied her crimes. Not only had she kissed Christian and conspired with him to break his engagement, she had as good as promised to surrender her virtue to him when he came to her room later that night.
Was she sorry? Did she mean to repent? She could still abandon the scheme and him, and perhaps even persuade herself it was the noble thing to do. But no, she could not. Would not. She was not of Elinor Dashwood’s selfless disposition. She was incapable of putting duty and honor before her own heart. And she most certainly would not give up the man she loved to someone as unworthy of him as was Miss Stubbs.
No, indeed.
As the wretch descended the staircase, Georgie turned on her heel and hurried down the hall to her assigned bedchamber. Once inside, she closed the door and turned the lock. Then, she leaned back against the door, trembling like a flower in a rainstorm.
Fourteen
Christian ate in his room, where he remained until he was sure all within the house had gone to bed. Even then, he gave himself another hour, to be absolutely certain he would not be seen. When he was ready to go, he lit a candle and put a banyan on over his shirtsleeves and trousers. Anxious and alert to any noise he might hear, he crept down the hall without his shoes.
Upon reaching Georgie’s door unseen, he breathed a sigh of relief. He rapped softly on the door and waited. Seconds later, she opened the door a mere crack and peered out. He raised the candlestick to his face so she could see it was him.
“Good,” she whispered. “You’ve come. I was afraid you might stay away under the circumstances.”
Alarm prickled under his skin. “Circumstances? What circumstances?”
“I ran into Miss Stubbs coming out of your room.” She stopped and opened the door wider. “Do come in before somebody sees you.”
When he entered her bedchamber, he saw candles burning and a fire in the grate, but not much else. She closed the door and engaged the lock before following him into the room. She wore a dressing gown and had taken down her hair, which hung loosely to her waist. He had never seen a woman look more beautiful. As he moved closer to her, he smelled her rose-water cologne.
Desire rolled within him like a ship on the ocean. It calmed when he recalled her last words.
“What did she say? Miss Stubbs I mean.”
“She believes you are cheating on her—with me.”
Dread threaded through him, pulled by a hundred needles. “She isn’t far wrong, is she?”
“I denied it, of course,” she went on, “but she didn’t believe me. She threatened to go to my sister and demand that she turn me out.”
He licked his lips and plowed his hair with his fingers. “Did she carry out her threat?”
“If she did, Louisa did naught about it.” She took a deep breath, as if preparing to make a speech. “There is something you should probably know. Earlier today, after the fight, I spoke to my sister and the Captain. About us…and how I mean to help you break the engagement. Not the specific way I mean to help, for I have not yet formulated a plan when I spoke to them, but I made my position—and my feelings—clear.”
This both astonished and alarmed him. “What did they say?”
“Oh, Christian,” she whispered excitedly. “That is the best part. They said they wanted to help you, too. So I believe Miss Stubbs will get nowhere with either of them, as they both dislike her as much as do we.”
“I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear it,” he said. “To have their support means the world to me.”
“It means a great deal to me, too.” Her countenance grew graver as she added, “Now, if only we can get your parents on board ...”
“Do not count on it,” he said pessimistically. “For I must warn you that my father is a terrible snob.”
“In this case, his snobbery might work in our favor. For would not he rather see his first-born son marry the daughter of a baronet than a
barmaid?”
He considered this for a moment before saying, with more optimism, “You may have a point.”
“Trust me on this. My father was an elitist, too, and nothing mattered so much to him as family connections. I simply need to approach your father the right way. I plan to write to him tomorrow, to feel him out on the subject … if that is agreeable to you, of course.”
“So soon?”
She looked up at him, her features now etched with concern. “The longer we delay, the longer we must sneak around.”
He bent, as if to kiss her, but only hovered there, with his mouth very close to hers. “The longer we delay, the longer we will have to conceive a solution that does not involve relinquishing my birthright.”
“I do not think there is another solution,” she said, her voice low. “Did you not say you have tried everything else already?”
“Well, yes.” He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. “But Christmas is the season of miracles, is it not?”
She put her arms around him and set her cheek against his chest. “Oh, Christian. I’m so afraid.”
“Of what, dearest?”
Drawing back, she looked up at him. Even in the dim candlelight, he could see quite clearly the mist in her eyes. “That we shall never have our happy ending.”
He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose. Although he shared her fear, he was not of a mind to tell her as much. Yes, she had admirable courage, but it was not indefatigable. He must take care not scare her off so early in their courtship—if one could legitimately call what they were doing by that name.
He would much rather woo her properly, of course. Properly and openly. But, alas, that was out of the question. Still, they were together now, in each other’s arms in a state of undress. With a bed but a few steps away.
And so, he did the only thing he could in such a situation.
He kissed her with all the feeling in his heart.
To his delight and relief she did not object or try to pull away. Instead, she surrendered completely, kissing him back with passion equal to his own. As his tongue explored her mouth, his hands roamed over her backside. Through her silk dressing gown and thin night rail, he could feel the warmth of her skin as well as every muscle and bone.
