Page 37 of Lessons for Marquesses
He had lain with many women, known them in positions where their feet pressed at his chest, quaked at his ears with his thrusts or the ministrations of his tongue, faced him on the bed when he came from behind, planted at his hips as they straddled him, forward and backward. Nicholas had never realized how little he knew of women’s feet until now.
Georgiana’s descended from slender ankles. The lines were delicate, supple like the rest of her, the arch high, the toes rounded and in precise symmetry from great to small. The foot upon the floor she pressed up, curling her toes into the carpet, butting the heel upon the sofa’s wood veneered skirt.
“Miss St. Clair…”
“Please call me George.”
Nicholas had forgotten she was not a woman.
The imperative move, to lead with a compliment—and the truth—that her mare should have been in the race, lodged in his chest. He had imbibed enough whiskey to tolerate her company and launch his scheme but not enough to compliment her honestly.
After a long drink, he started anew. “About the race…”
She sprang forward, tucking her wounded foot on the sofa. “I saw you after the first heat. Your self-control over the jockey’s mishandling was remarkable. Your strategy to rest in the second was a mark of your careful training. You knew Palliard would come back, that he had the heart to persevere after his loss.”
Her eyes glittered with passion. “We think we can ascertain if a horse has heart, we train them to uncover it, we teach them discipline and nurture their heart lest it be provoked to wrath and shattered, like that.”
She snapped her fingers. “And it is not our loss. We failthem. They are the ones who lose. The ones who may never regain their spirit, who will never reach their potential. All the anatomy in the world cannot overcome a broken heart. But you, Mr. Wolf, instructed and nurtured Palliard to run twelve more miles when most horses would have stomped for their box, mash, and pony.”
Nicholas focused on his brandy. “Thank you.”
“I do not know you well, Mr. Wolf, but I can see you have faced great peril. And you carried on because within you lies a heart of a champion, a heart that was nurtured.”
He trained his expression flat. “It was unquestionably nurtured.”
“Mr. Wolf, I admire you.” She rocked upon the sofa, edging closer. “I’m not ashamed to admit it. I want to be like you.”
Why? Why me?
“And your parents?” he asked, fighting back at her ignorance. “Do you esteem them?”
The eagerness in her eyes died. She winced. “With all my heart.”
The taut lines of her throat said this was a subject she avoided but he pressed on. “Where are they?”
She shook her head. “Gone.”
His tongue refused to offer full condolences. “That is unfortunate.”
He thought she might weep, but she thwarted him, her full mouth tipping into a sad smile. “Not unfortunate, for I am blessed to have been so loved. They taught me everything I know. They made me who I am.”
Nicholas craved to hate her more, to know what he did was not just deserved but morally right. “And that is?”
She considered the wrapping on her foot. “Someone who recognizes a hero when she sees one. Like you, Mr. Wolf. You are a good person,” she said, joining his gaze. “Complicated. And, I believe, like all heroes, you have suffered.”
His chest went hot. He remained motionless, reminding himself that she judged him, her aim to learn what he was and how to use it for her purpose.
“A disservice has been done to you,” he said. “I know who was responsible for your horse being pulled.”
She smiled again, tightly. “Great successes can arise from tragedies. If Minny had been allowed to run, you might not have overindulged in spirits, I would not have been pelted with a rock and here with you now.”
She couldn’t believe her words. Behind her smile, she envisioned selling Farendon to the walls. And she couldn’t even say the name, Eastwick.
“George, I want to give you the opportunity to win back what was taken from you. I spoke to the Marquess of Kimbrough who has agreed to match your mare.”
She blinked. “Kimbrough? Why did he agree?”
“He admires your spirit.”
