Page 70 of Lessons for Marquesses
He was correct.
On the makeshift desk, Georgiana had stacked Oliver’s papers in piles to make room for a sheet of paper. Her chin rolled up like a bulldog. The long, slender fingers of her left hand fisted as words scratched from her pen.
Did she write an insulting letter to the marquess? That was immoderation but also futile. She must realize a veriest snake would chuckle at her abuse, viewing it as a helpless gesture by a victim cornered and powerless. Did she threaten to slander him? Slander was never a good option. Nicholas was almost certain he would never use her threats against him, but he could not allow this brilliant creature to stoop so low.
He stepped toward the desk. “George.”
She kept on writing.
“I think we should discuss your methods of fighting.”
She sanded the paper and blew off the dust straight at him, dousing the crotch of his black wool breeches. After folding the letter, she penned the directions and retrieved another sheet.
She inked her quill.
Who next? The bank? He leaned over and caught the wordadvertisement.
Nicholas went rigid, the blood rising to his face. Christ, was she taking out a page in the Gazetteer denouncing him? Was she to proclaim him a murderer and coward? Stir up sympathies as an opening volley to a protracted and very public court case?
“George,” he said with a gentleness he did not feel, “you must stop.”
She grunted and continued on.
Nicholas stalked from the desk.
So this was how she wanted it? Slandering him in the public eye, giving him the close fight he had once thought rewarding? She had no idea how good he could give. Down and dirty and violent would be their fight. And he would suffer but she more so.
Nicholas halted at a letter framed at the study’s entrance. Oliver’s letter detailing the marquess’s offer for Farendon. How had he missed it? His title was underlined along withthe right of first refusal. Adjacent to the letter, the oak paneling had been scored by a knife. Target practice on the marquess’s caricature had likely been the source.
Childish and ineffectual and yet he couldn’t laugh at Georgiana’s insults. Why did it unsettle him to be the object of her ridicule? The Claytons had proven themselves through generations to be, if not rotten, a decadent, arrogant family. And yes, he was the veriest snake and he had prided himself throughout the past nine years as a ruthless man who had everyright to revenge. The danger he had faced, his self-worth lost to killing, his very name gone in order to avoid the droll asides and accusations of him killing his brother.
Caroline. He said it over and over in his mind and waited for the outrage to take hold.Caroline. She could have admitted where she had been, making love with him that afternoon nine years ago, and saved him, couldn’t she have?
Nicholas dragged a palm over his face, focusing on the problem at hand. He turned back to Georgiana who closed the brass ink pot and stashed the quill. At her elbow were four sealed letters.
“Do you care to reveal your plan?” he asked with a forced lightness. “I am, after all, the one who advised you to fight. Perhaps I can assist further.”
“Thank you, sir. You have already been most generous.” With the letters tucked safely in her coat, she strode into the hall and passed Rupert standing near the west portico entrance with Nicholas’s trunks waiting.
The coffin dodger had packed his trunks!
Georgiana disappeared outside. Damn it, she was going to post those letters. He had to stop an all-out war. Nicholas hurried after her until Rupert kicked a trunk in his path, almost toppling backward at the physical exertion it required.
“You’ll find it all in order,Blackbeard,” the old man announced, grunting as he opened a trunk lid. His garments had been thrown inside, likely stuffed down by the man’s arthritic foot.
Nicholas reached for Rupert’s wrinkled neck.
Oliver’s voice boomed from the landing behind. “What nonsense are you up to now, Mr. Wolf? Deserting my cousin? May I remind you of your pledge, signed and sealed and sent to my solicitor for safekeeping?”
Nicholas shoved the trunk aside and exited to the drive. He scanned the landscape for his slim, six-foot enemy. A tortured groan broke from his chest at a hell-bent rider with Titian hair heading toward town.
A door shut behind him. Oliver’s smug words mixed with the crunch of gravel. “Though, I admit, Georgiana gaining fifteen thousand would be easier without a match, eh?”
“She offered me a partnership in Farendon.”
“There! I told you she was a bright girl. And generous.”
“I declined her offer.”
