Page 73 of Lessons for Marquesses
The sting of the needle was gone. More whiskey coursed down his throat.
Nicholas closed his eyes to right the image of Caroline. But there was only William St. Clair and his daughter, coming to take what was his.
Georgiana St. Clair. She had never had things taken from her. Her father did the taking for her. And William St. Clair had taken all that Nicholas treasured and sent him to this vast colonial wilderness. To die in the dirt.
Nicholas shot up, a weight falling from his chest and something wet on his thigh. He looked left, right. What foe faced him? Whose blood dripped from his clothes? Where the hell was he? Christ, was he dead? About to be?
A horse whinnied in the distance.Calvary. Fuck.
“Easy, Nick. The war’s over my friend.”
At Oliver’s voice, the ghosts drifted from his sight and around him was his old home. Still, vigilance pounded in his veins. Until he saw himself standing in gentleman’s boots, his hands outstretched and shaking in the afternoon haze.
He had fallen asleep in the study, a ledger on his chest and a whiskey between his legs. How mad he was. Would he ever, ever fall asleep without awakening to the terrors of war? Nicholas cursed and raked the sweat through his hair, ashamed at Oliver having witnessed his sickness.
The day came back to him. He had argued with Oliver over the partnership, his friend anxious to have Georgiana’s creditors thwarted and Nicholas, as the marquess, to pen a heartfelt apology and acknowledgment of defeat.
Nicholas had flatly refused. Oliver then had the audacity to suggest he marry Georgiana and call it a victory for both sides. With expert timing, Georgiana had appeared at the study door for their late morning session. "Not today,” Nicholas had barked, before grabbing the whiskey and dropping to the settle to drink himself to sleep.
He scoured ten fingers halfway through his hair and dug them into his scalp. Giving up on crushing his own head, he slapped his hands to his thighs.
Oliver approached. His eyes were dark, always were, but today they were darker by what he had seen. “Nick, go outside with Georgiana. You hurt her feelings earlier. Apologize. Make it up to her.”
“Make it up? For God’s sake. You realize I have the upper hand.”
“Do you?”
He did, but he was fast growing a conscience.
Swiping the glass from the floor, Nicholas strode to the liquor standish. From the corner of his eye, he saw a figure on horseback and ignored it. Georgiana had met his cut without a smile but he was damn sure she hadn’t been hurt. He had seen immoderation flaming in her blue eyes.
He sipped another whiskey. How many more drinks before he was officially a sot like his dead father? Nicholas switched his gaze to the yard.
Georgiana collected Minion as he had taught her, and when the mare chomped the bit and yanked her head, she forced Minion into circles. The mare had no idea what to make of it except she hated anything that wasn’t straight and fast, preferably at breakneck speed.
Changing leads when a rider requested it? Intolerable.
Bringing her hind end under and driving from behind at a trot? What for?
Turning deep in a corner instead of cutting across? Why waste steps?
Why bend at all when she could go straight as the crow flies? If there was such a thing as rebirth into another being, then Minion had been a peregrine falcon in another life. Which would explain the mare’s penchant for men’s fingers and arses.
Georgiana trotted toward the grove and after a few lengths, let Minion have her head. The rider needed more discipline along with the horse.
“Lovely, isn’t she?” Oliver asked.
Yes, Nicholas thought in irritation, and he wasn’t looking at the mare at all. Long legs clasped to Minion’s flanks, her seat floating over a rolling back. Absolutely effortless.
He had held her in the rain. The impression was still there along the length of him where she had willingly sheltered. It felt as if she belonged there.
Nicholas peered sideways at Oliver. “The bank is ready to call in her debt.”
“I haven’t received notice.”
“Could they have sent it to her?”
Oliver thought briefly. “She would have told me. And they wouldn’t dare. I met personally with Coutts.”
