Page 62 of Lessons for Marquesses
“That’s an omen,” she called out.
“Come, George, join me. Take the tower stairs.”
The tower rose to a parapet. To reach him she would have to scale the outside and descend a series of dilapidated stone. A feat of bravery she lacked. Which would be number twenty-three on her list of faults.
She’d break her leg, he would have to carry her, and then he would know how heavy she was. Nine stone. Kitty couldn’t be more than six-and-a-half after Easter dinner.
“I don’t want to break a leg,” she said.
“I’ll ensure you get to a surgeon.”
She flushed at the horrifying image of him grappling with six feet of torso and sharp limbs. Like wrangling a gigantic spider.
Georgiana crossed herself.
Mr. Wolf pointed to the clouds streaked by the wind. “You’ll be closer to heaven up here. God might hear your prayers better.”
“And I’ll be in heaven when I fall to my death.”
“You assume you’re going to heaven? Take the stairs in the tower. I’ll meet you at the top.”
Georgiana hurled herself off Minion. Her mare followed her to the castle wall, cast a dubious look at Mr. Wolf, and tore off a shoot of grass at Georgiana’s feet. “I find nothing pleasurable in risking my life.”
“I think you do. You ride a horse like a demon.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Join me. You might find it exhilarating.”
Vowing to go no farther than the ground-floor window, she scaled the wall below him and sat there, bracketing her feet against the stone. “I am not exhilarated.”
“Because you’re only five feet from the ground,” he remarked dryly.
Georgiana peered above the next window. He waved again. Only to save his life, she found a hold, and bracing her leg, scaled to the second window. She gained another series of jutting stone to wrench herself up to sit beside him.
“Do not look down,” he said.
She did. Three medieval floors up from earth, she wouldn’t break a leg but a neck. A trickle of sweat stung her eye and now, she was half-blind. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
When the castle started to pitch forward and the grass began to careen upward, she grabbed his thickly muscled shoulder. He rocked his powerful legs left until there wasn’t an inch betweenthem. Tentatively, she released his shoulder and leaned against the length of his arm.
Calmed by his strength, her breath deepened. She caught the scent of him. Like the banyan she had sniffed and more. Melted butter and sugar and soap. Was she simply hungry or had she acquired an appetite for Mr. Wolf?
“Do you see the lake?” he asked.
“I’m not looking.” She looked at the difference in the breadth of their thighs.
“The sun is reflecting off of it. Like your eyes glistening in the sunlight.”
“They are tears of fright.”
“Have you ever cried?”
Did she look like a person who hadn’t? “Everyone cries. It’s part of being human.”
“Ah, but you, you smile in the face of defeat. Never a peep no matter. Why?”
What she had seen as her strength, he saw as a weakness. And he might be right. Didn’t she want to be like him? Mr. Wolf would never smile, unless it was over his enemy after he had crushed his windpipe with his thumbs.
