Page 90 of Lessons for Marquesses
“Or perhaps the race you promised wherein you show me how a poorer horse bests a better one. I don’t think Julian’s friends will let you forget it. Julian says they’ve already wagered close to five hundred in all.”
Georgiana had never seen eyes darken as his did. It was special, this exchange.
“George, what occurred last night…”
Her smile was bright, unable to be contained. “I am happy, Mr. Wolf. You make me happy.”
A line shot through his brows. He considered the reins light in his hands. The angle of his lips was almost, not quite, a frown.
A nervous laugh bubbled from her lips. “Do you plan to desert me? I feared that, you know. It’s new to me, this. But I suppose self-doubt about a girl’s appeal is second-nature, even when she isn’t raised as a female.”
“George, I am not attracted to you.”
An excruciating pain stung her chest. She took a shallow breath, never losing her smile.
“I enjoy your company,” he said after a moment. “You are easy to talk to, intelligent, hardworking. I respect what you have done with your string, particularly given your limited experience. It is my hope that during our remaining time together, we form a mutually agreeable acquaintance.”
Waves of agony expanded through her until she was nothing. Nothing save anguish. And before, if she had ever identified an emotion as anguish, how wrong she had been.
“But last night will never happen again.” His tone hardened, not angry, just resolved. “I do not want it to happen again. And it is best that you know this now, before tender notions are formed on your part.”
The effect of his words was like having her teeth knocked from her head. Shock. The blunt realization that there was nothing to be done.
Stupid, stupid fool who had gushed on happiness.
Mr. Wolf gave her a determined nod. “I have no such notions or desires that pertain to you. Have I made myself clear?”
A choked laugh broke in her chest, but it was a sob inside. She looked at Charlotte who watched as Mr. Wolf ensured Georgiana was well and good buried under her stupidity.
“George?”
She looked to him, blinking at the warmth gathering in her eyes, and nodded. His muscled back relaxed, giving him the air of a man having cheated death.
She turned her head aside and blotted her eye against her sleeve.
He peered under his tricorn with his hair lofting in the wind and the most splendid display of guilt flashing in the depths of his golden-brown eyes. “Last night, as you saw, I was not myself. I apologize. I should not have said such crude words. I should not have led you on to think there was more.”
She needed to say something. Then he might cease sayingeverything.
She killed a sob at the back of her throat but a bloody tear escaped her right eye and not quick enough did she turn before he saw it.
She screwed down her pride. “Thank you, Mr. Wolf, for your apology, but it is not required. ’Tis I who should. And I do. I apologize. For violating your privacy and forcing myself upon you.”
What was she going to do with these feelings? This torment, as it already was, of being near him and wanting to be special with him, and him wishing for amutually agreeable acquaintance.
“George, I would like to assist you with your predicament and purchase Chedworth and your horses, save Minion.”
She bit her cheek hard, her pride rearing up, ready to make a stand at all cost. “Mr. Wolf, you have obviously formed tender notions toward me without realizing it.Pity.” She emphasized the word with a smile. “And I’ll not have it. Nothing is for sale. But I thank you. Truly.”
The awful truth was she did not lie. He had been generous in his offer to assist her. She was not angry with him. But to avoid crying, methods of retaliation swirled in her brain.
If she sent him on his way, would she regain her self-respect? The idea of never seeing him again brought a flood of hot tears as she dashed ahead of the coach and stayed there, alone, for the rest of their journey.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dismounting in Farendon’s yard,Georgiana walked Wild Squire into the block, ignoring Mr. Wolf as he followed. But he was there,there, as she unsaddled her mount, bid a screaming Minion good afternoon, and led Wild Squire to his box.
Mr. Wolf’s horse bedded across the aisle, one box down, he had an unfettered view of her. Which he took advantage of, checking her with worried glances as he brushed the dirt and sweat from his hunter.
