Page 57 of Lessons for Marquesses
He searched the water as it lapped the shore, retreated, and repeated the pattern over long, pensive moments. His shoulder inches from hers, she felt heat and strength. She saw a struggle in the strained line of his jaw.
“How long has your family resided at Farendon?” he asked quietly.
“Nine years. My father purchased it from the Clayton family.” She refused to ruin this moment by speaking the Eastwick name. And it wasn’t a lie.
A muscle twitched beneath the black stubble on his jaw. “The Claytons? I’m not familiar.”
“That is unfortunate. They are quite honorable,” she lied. “The best of families.”
His reply was delayed and provided between his teeth. “Indeed, I am unfortunate. Where did you live prior?”
“A manor south of here. Chedworth.” She frowned. “It’s for sale.”
“Ah.”
She cleared her throat. “What of your home, Mr. Wolf? You must miss it, being so far away. And those who might reside there.”
He stared straight into her, his voice deep and direct. “I am not married, if that is your meaning.”
“What?” Blushing was a permanent state in his presence. “No, I promise, I didn’t…”
“I know, George,” he replied levelly. “It wouldn’t occur to you to seek out my marital status.”
Recognizing the compliment and insult, she forced a smile. “I’m not a woman, remember?”
He caught her hand fiddling at her waistcoat button. “Perhaps you are a woman,” he said. “One who wears the finest country gentlemen’s attire, races horses, and prefers to be called George.”
Warmth coursed through her. Without thinking, she wrapped her fingers around his. “Sir, if you do not release my hand, I fear Aunt Charlotte might drown you.”
“Do you like it?”
Her mouth went dry, parched by the intensity of his gaze. “Do Ilikeit?”
His thumb grazed the sensitive skin of her wrist. A shiver lit up her arm. The queasiness in her belly returned along with the awful sensation that she was naked and Mr. Wolf could see her.
She yanked her arm free, and clasping her hands behind her back, rubbed the tingling away with her thumb.
He stood abruptly, coiled like a spring, excused himself, and started back to the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nicholas drainedhis glass of brandy and thumped it to the terrace railing. He sighed at the night clouds churning above him and refilled his glass.
So Caroline was coming to Farendon. Forcing herself, more like, and Georgiana did not wish for it. But again, her protest had been lukewarm at best. Nicholas imagined Georgiana suffering through Caroline’s visit—the ball she didn’t want, draining her meager coffers to pay for her cousin’s entertainments—and smiling through it all.
When the thought of Caroline in his bed didn’t stir him he wasn’t surprised. He was disturbed.
What in hell was wrong with him? He had held Georgiana’s hand. Asked her,do you like it?Only from the depths of his depraved soul could the question have come. Georgiana St. Clair was just so…
Just sonotwhat he had imagined for nine miserable, revenge-fueled years. Damn it, she was funny, hardworking, earnest, innocent. Pretty.Christ. More than pretty. At least, part of him thought so.
Maybe he should leave. Self-preservation was his strong suit. He had survived and yet here he was being nice to her.Nice!He wasn’t nice. He was the Wolf. A hardened beast who did whatever it took to survive. And win. Yes, win, lest he forget in the midst of this insane fascination with his enemy.
If he didn’t leave, then what? Their agreement ensured they would have to spend copious amounts of time together. Time that would feed his infatuation and threaten the very reason for his existence.
“The road to true love is a bumpy one,” came a voice.
Nicholas stiffened.
