Page 98 of Lessons for Marquesses
“By the by, you owe me a suit,” Georgiana reminded him.
At a rap on the door, the room turned to Rupert who flushed in high color to his powdered wig. “Excuse me, miss. But I’ve got news.”
“Bloody hell, no.” Julian sought out his watch and checked it against the blue enameled clock on the mantel. “Two minutes to spare.”
Georgiana locked her knees. “What is it, Rupert?”
“Miss, the lady entered the master’s chamber a quarter of an hour ago.”
Bitterness singed her throat. And then she recognized the emotion more fully. She was afire with jealousy and the knowledge of it was as sickening as the emotion itself.
Georgiana waited a half hour before she quit her stoic companions with two glasses of rot in her belly, heartbroken, and 140 pounds richer for it. She could hardly breathe as she climbed the stairs. Tripping across the nursery threshold, she shut the door and leaned against it.
She wished she had lost and Anthony had been correct that Mr. Wolf was in love with her. Instead, Caroline hadn’t been afeint but a riposte straight through her. When she felt her neck, she was surprised there wasn’t a gash.
"George.”
Georgiana almost leapt from her own skin at Mr. Wolf sitting on her bed with bare feet and clad in shirtsleeves. His long legs stretched out upon the frayed yellow carpet.
Their gazes, gold and blue, locked.
She mustered her pride, thick and ready to show itself. “Why are you here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Why was he looking at her so? Why did he make her think he might care for her or had formed tender notions in the miles between stomping her heart into the Great North Road and wrestling with an altogetherdeservedbout of insomnia?
“Well.” She flashed a smile. “You should sleep alone and Morpheus might come more readily. But let us not speak further on it. It is none of my concern.”
His jaw shifted. “What is none of your concern?”
“My cousin Caroline entered your room almost an hour ago.”
He nodded. And she reeled at his silent confession.
Commanding her limbs to the window, she parted the drapery to the night but saw nothing but Mr. Wolf reflected back on the glass. She watched him rake his hair.
“Whatever you think happened,” he said, "did not happen.”
What did he want her to do? Rejoice at his feet? Cry with relief? She’d never done it, never learned it, and would not start now.
“George, let us start over.”
She turned. “Oh, I see. You miss me.”
He had the decisive air of a man controlling himself and failing miserably. “I do.”
“Why?”
He cursed softly under his breath. “It is hard for me to say.”
Spite, which she was currently learning she possessed, dripped from her tongue. “I suggest you return when it isn’t. Good night, sir.”
Slowly he rose from the bed and walked past her.
“Mr. Wolf,” she called and continued when he paused at the door, “I don’t want you to amuse me tomorrow at the race. I want you to ride your best horse. When I win, I want to know it. I want everyone to know it.”
He left without a reply.
