Page 22 of Ladies in Hating
Which would be worse? To confront Lady Georgiana at this juncture? Or to be run over by a cart?
One of the horses whinnied, and Cat hid a stifled sob beneath the sound. With a reluctance more powerful than any emotion she’d ever felt in her life, she rolled herself out from beneath the chalk cart.
Lady Georgiana was not a fate worse than death, she supposed. By a hair.
The conversation between Georgiana and the workman stopped abruptly, and Cat surmised that they had noticed the human sphere appearing suddenly in their midst. She gritted her teeth, unfolded herself from the ground, and met Georgiana’s stupefied gaze.
“Catriona?” Georgiana said blankly.
Georgiana’s accent had lost its soft, syrupy tones, and—oh, Cat loathed how the now-familiar voice made her feel bizarrely comforted. Somehow less at sea.
The workman looked suspiciously between the two of them. “What the devil’s going on? Is this a friend of yours, miss?”
“No,” Georgiana protested, at the exact same moment that Cat said firmly, “Yes.”
The man narrowed his eyes.
Georgiana directed a single furious glance at Cat before turning back to the workman. “Not a friend, precisely,” she clarified sweetly. “She’s my… Why, she’s my…”
“Uncle,” Cat said flatly, and then she caught Georgiana by the arm and dragged her away from the churchyard and into Epping Forest.
“What the devil are you doing here?” hissed Georgiana as Cat towed her deeper among the beeches. The ground was damp and slippery from the misting rain, and Cat held on to Georgiana’selbow to steady her—foolishly, absurdly—as Georgiana started to slip.
“What areyoudoing here?”
“I am doing research—”
“Like hell you are!” Frustration pulsed in Cat, heat rising to the surface of her skin. She halted beneath a canopy of branches and dropped Georgiana’s arm as though her rich woolen sleeve were on fire. It wasinfuriatingthat Georgiana should look so pristine, and that she should be covered in wet black leaf litter from head to toe. She swiped at her face.
Georgiana’s chest rose and fell rapidly with her breath. Her neatly set curls trembled against the ivory column of her neck. “Is this some kind of revenge?”
Cat was momentarily taken aback. “Revenge? What on earth for?”
“For what my father did to you. To your family.” A pink flush crept up Georgiana’s throat, and her mouth twisted down. The cut-glass tone of her voice was back, at odds with her rising color. “I am not unaware of the circumstances of your departure from Woodcote Hall.”
“This is the most ludicrous—I have no feud with you! My God, Georgiana, I was here first!”
“And I published with Laventille first!” Georgiana took a step closer, and she was tall enough that Cat had to tip her head back, just slightly, to meet her sharp blue gaze. “Oh yes. I am aware of your recent machinations to steal my publisher as well as my ideas.”
The accusation was so preposterous that Cat would have laughed if she hadn’t been so outraged. “To steal your publisher! I am fairly certain Laventille has resources enough to publish us both. Unless he’s kicked you off his rolls?”
“Of course not, but—”
“No,” Cat snapped. “Enough. I have no desire to wreak vengeance upon you. I have done nothing to harm you. I would have nothing to do with you ever again if it were my choice!”
Georgiana blinked, a single flutter of her pale, curling lashes. The rain was coming down in earnest now, and a few drops clung to the edge of her cheekbone.
To Cat’s astonishment, Georgiana looked suddenly—wounded. As though Cat’s words had slipped into the tender place between her ribs.
She didn’t say anything.
And Cat, softhearted fool that she was, felt a throb of guilt. “I’m sorry.” She licked her lips and tasted rain. “I didn’t mean—”
“No,” Georgiana said abruptly. “You’re right. We should have nothing more to do with each other. I shan’t write about Saint Botolph’s. It was a mistake for me to come here.”
They were standing very close. Cat’s skin felt hot against the cold rain, and she knew before it happened that Georgiana would break her gaze. That Georgiana’s eyes would fall once again to her mouth.
The inches between them had gone palpable with tension, charged enough to raise the hairs on Cat’s arms. There was no lightning in the sky, but she felt it anyway, crackling in the air.
