Page 141 of Lessons for Marquesses
“No, Rupert, I don’t think I’ll need one.”
He swung his arms to gain momentum, his lined face turning red from his efforts in the July sun.
“Perhaps, I should go on alone,” she offered.
“Wouldn’t have it.”
Well, whatever Rupert lacked in physical strength, he had in disagreeable gallantry. She hadn’t the heart to disappoint him in his moment of glory. Georgiana hooked her arm in his and took away some of his burden. She scanned the distance, searchingfor a bearded hulk of rabble in a red sash, twin pistols, and a kerchief about his neck. Instead, she saw…
Nicholas?
Georgiana hesitated, her pulse beating hard at her throat. Rupert stopped all together, mopping his brow. Had her grief finally broken her? Did she imagine Nicholas lounging against the copper beech’s trunk with his black frock coat thrown to the side?
“Rupert, that is not a pirate. That is the Marquess of Eastwick.”
Rupert harrumphed.
Georgiana quickened her pace, dragging Rupert. She slowed as she approached.
Nicholas might look like a pirate, albeit a clean one, in fine fabrics with the bottle wedged at his black-clothed thighs. His shirt was untied without a stock, and the top buttons of his waistcoat were undone. The sheer power in him—that was a pirate. His black hair was queued, but a strip had fallen to his cheek. And the scar, that certainly looked like a pirate.
He had resumed his avoidance of a razor and he had told her why the night at Chedworth. Because the scar made the razor’s scrape excruciating.
Nicholas sprang to his feet. Rupert sucked in his breath.
Georgiana turned to her old butler. “Thank you, Rupert. Please leave us now.”
“Are you sure, miss?”
“Quite sure.”
After a glare at Nicholas, he limped away.
She had started to tremble at some point. The longer Nicholas beheld her, the worse it got.
“I left your ring in the master’s chamber,” she said. “In the desk.”
His gaze veered to her right hand. He said slowly, “You’ll forgive me, I could only get through half a bottle of wine. When I first saw you here, you had finished two and were partway through a bottle of brandy.”
She filled her lungs which made her crave more air.
His mouth tipped into a grin. “That was a jest.”
A sound, not quite a laugh, escaped her. “I don’t blame you, what you did. What was done to you was most egregious. That alone provided just cause for you to seek revenge upon me.”
“Your father had every right to defend you. My God, if I had been the one to find you…”
She swallowed. “You should know, my father never blamed my hair for my assault. He never said it gave men ideas. I did. And he did not cut my hair. I did. Much to his dismay.”
Nicholas scoured his face as if to erase the image she had wrought with her testimony. The humiliating act that had kept Georgiana silent for so many years, and had consigned Nicholas to war.
He leaned down and stuffed the bottle to the grass before offering his arm. “Walk with me.”
Georgiana stepped back. “I should not, my lord.”
“Do not refer to me as my lord. You know my name.” He dropped his arm, his tone belying his frustration.
What was his goal? To save her from guilt? To be her friend? Or to have it out, have his say, and end it on good terms?
