Page 97 of Lessons for Marquesses
Caroline didn’t know her cousin like he did. He was more than sure Georgiana plotted to strip Caroline to the walls. Because it was what an immoderate George did when in the agony of unrequited love, with a perfect, deserving target on which to relieve her suffering.
Ignoring Caroline’s protests, he escorted her back to Georgiana’s room and paused briefly in the salon.
Here was the facing of reality.
He had kissed Georgiana and it had meant more to her than a kiss. He had defeated his weakness, and she had taken it without a fight. With a few tears, true, but she had forced them back. And he had seen so many tears in his life it had been easy to steal the man in him who he had thought long dead, who almost struck out a hand to hold her and retract his lie.
It tore at his soul, the one that had been honorable before the war.
The recriminations were heavy on his shoulders as he tore off his coat, the ruby pin, and his jabot. They were trappings of a gentleman but he was the Wolf and his prey, not soldiers, but a young woman.
He reread the letter from Coutts that had been forwarded discreetly from Tate. In four days, he would own the lien on Farendon. Then Georgiana’s sorrow would shift to outrage at being made a fool.
His mind searched for methods to assuage his guilt as he sought solace in the depths of a whiskey bottle.
Georgiana would smile through it when she lost everything, when she understood who she had thought worthy of her love was not. And she would cry, alone. And carry on. But just as her aunt had portended, she would never be the same.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Georgiana staredup at the nursery ceiling where cherubs, white-winged unicorns, and turtledoves frolicked above one of the two beds with a plush mattress suitable for a dauphin but not one who was six feet tall. The giant last foot of her hung off it. She was forced to cross her legs while Caroline slept with Mr. Wolf and the London reprobates cavorted through the night.
So far from civilization, the silence was misery.
She read over her preliminary strategies for Caroline’s ball. After several minutes, dissatisfied with her ability to scheme, she decided to wait for Kitty. After more minutes, her mind nothing but a relentless, tortured scape of Mr. Wolf with Caroline, she swung off the bed.
"I will not allow this to defeat me,” she said to a rocking horse with a bedraggled mane of yellow yarn. When a voice inside her said it already had, she yanked on her slippers and banyan and tread down the hallway. Faltering at Mr. Wolf’s door, she chastised herself for stopping. She might be a fool, but she wasn’t a martyr.
Hurrying downstairs, she entered the sitting room where the stoic-reprobates had staked their claim since arriving atFarendon. A fire roared with precious wood and the French doors leading to the garden were open wide. She said nothing, such was her hospitality, and went rigid with surprise at the occupants’ standing ovation, their beautiful faces awash with the warm hue of liquor and the candor it afforded.
Lady Sybil clasped Georgiana’s hands and kissed each cheek. “Your restraint toward Lady Tufton was awe-inspiring. I should be so gracious.”
Blackwell seconded at a table where cards and coins littered the polished mahogany. Sprawled next to him was Greville, his arm in a proper sling.
Fitzwilliam saluted Georgiana from the garden doors with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a smallsword in another. “You ran her through with nothing but a smile.”
“Her Majesty could not have been more regal,” Lady Sybil said.
“And the coughing fit,” Anthony rejoined, drawing away from Fitzwilliam where he too held a sword. “Excellent diversion.”
Julian came fast from behind, wrapped his strong arms around Georgiana’s middle, and spun her around. “And I bloody can’t wait to see you in a pink gown. I hope it has ruffles.”
“Oh, Jules, it will have miles of flounces,” Lady Sybil said. “But don’t you worry, George. My maid will fix it. And Lady Tufton will wither at the sight of you.”
Following a bawdy toast on Caroline’s easily picked lock, Julian sprang open the cover of his watch and frowned. “You have fifteen minutes, Cousin, before you owe me twenty guineas.”
Anthony clasped her shoulder. “Would you hate me less if I told you that I am the only one who wagered your Mr. Wolf would refuse the lady?”
Georgiana shrugged off his hand. “He isn’t mine.”
“You are his.” His words trailed off. Instead of joining the others at the table, she stayed just to hear him speak of Mr. Wolf, good or otherwise. “He is in love with you.”
Her heart ceased to beat for seconds. “How would you know?”
“How couldyounot? Lady Tufton is a feint, designed to lure a diffident lover. Shall I show you how it works? I guarantee you’ll have your wolf eating from the palm of your hand.”
“No, thank you.”
"You’re more of a lady than she is in your breeches and banyan. Which,” he drawled, “is a damn fine piece of workmanship. Who’s your tailor?”
