Page 56 of Lessons for Marquesses
“I know nothing about you,” she tossed out.
“You, up until three days ago, were agreeable with our lack of familiarity enough to gift me a treasure, with an enthusiastic welcome note.”
Hope spurted in her breast. “You like the book?”
“Yes and I’ll add that the theme of xenia, the rituals of hospitality, are not being upheld by you. I might have to follow Odysseus’s lead and massacre the entire household.”
A laugh shot out of her nose. She hadn’t laughed since Mr. Christie’s visit.
“There is also a formidable goddess in my room staring down at me from a demon horse at all hours,” he said. “I don’t think she particularly cares for me.”
“My mother? She was not so formidable.”
“You might have had her twisted about your elegant finger…” He peered up at the swirling clouds. “But she appears quite proficient in the use of weaponry.”
Georgiana briefly studied her hands, trying to decide which of her fingers could rightfully be called elegant. Not one.
“And she did tell me to get out,” he added.
Georgiana giggled, meeting his eyes. A grin tipped the left side of his mouth, drawing at his scar. Her hand rose up toward his cheek.
Her brain ordered it down with a second to spare. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“You want to know how I got it. You want to touch it,” he finished. For the briefest moment, his golden eyes churned like fire, like when he had gazed upon Caroline at the assembly. “You would be the first to touch it, if I allowed it. Do you want to be the first?”
Blushing, Georgiana tripped on flat ground.
Mr. Wolf’s large, warm hand pressed at the small of her back.
Oliver and her aunt began to argue like a bulldog and a Pomeranian. Paying no mind, Mr. Wolf guided Georgiana to the lakeside. Leaving her standing like a shocked poplar tree, he crouched at the shore where the reeds had been cleared and water lapped at the bank.
Where he had touched her felt like a brand had been pressed to her flesh. If a brand could be terrifying and desired at the same time.
After minutes, he said, “The day was unbearably hot, the sun beating down viciously. Southwest of Kingston, near old Port Royal, once the wickedest place on earth. Pirates, prostitutes, slavers. Most of the city is underwater now, but old sailors spoke of the mayhem.”
“So itwaspirates.”
He cocked his head, skewering her a glance, and then, looked away. “Pirates are not romantic. Neither is war.”
“At least war is for a noble cause.”
He was silent as a pair of ducks landed in the lake, settling in for the evening, before he spoke. “War is for power just like piracy. The men who order it can be just as despotic. They have others slice off limbs for them, more than all the pirates that have ever lived. Will ever live.”
Georgiana checked the grass below her boots when it seemed it had been yanked from beneath her. She looked over her shoulder to see Oliver dragging Charlotte toward a bench and slowly knelt beside Mr. Wolf.
“We were overtaken in a deluge of cannon fire. Like bees in the smoke they came. In battle, a man must be ready to attack before he sees and it was difficult to discern friend from foe. The man came from my left. We grappled for holds for what feltlike hours, but was mere seconds. We lost our weapons in the struggle.”
He shrugged. “I crushed his windpipe with my thumbs. Later, I realized my face had been cut.”
Georgiana gawked at her own thumbs. “Are you certain he was the one who cut your face?”
“He’s the most likely of the men I killed that day.”
The detachment in his tone chilled her. “Were you able to save anyone?”
His gaze narrowed as he shifted toward her with a lowered shoulder. “No one is saved, George. No one.”
“Right,” she whispered.
