Page 84 of Ladies in Hating
She could not pretend she’d not been hurt by Georgiana’s abrupt departure from her bedchamber the previous morning. But—hell. It was her own fault. She knew herself, knew her tendency to want too much, to demand more and more. She had done it with her books, with the pie shop. She had done it with Jem and his career.
But then again—the thought made her chest hurt—Georgiana hadpromised.And Cat had believed her.
She’d spent the last two days feeling foolish and angry and raw, and when she’d received Georgiana’s terse little note, she’d been so tangled up that she had not even replied. She’d considered not going to Belvoir’s at all, only…
Well. She had at least pretended to consider it, a small sop to her dignity that she then promptly abandoned by spending far too long arranging her hair.
Before she could lift her hand to knock upon the library’s back door, it came open, and the duchess’s footman grinned familiarly at her. “Lady Darling,” he said cheerfully, “you’re early.”
Oh sweet sainted Margaret, she was. It was awful.
The footman ushered her inside and directed her toward the stairs. “Up to the office. Miss Desrosiers is already here.”
The name, uttered so casually, made Cat’s belly pitch. She could remember what Georgiana had been like at sixteen when she’d chosen the nom de plume: silent, watchful, almost painfully reserved.
And as she thought of the Georgiana who’d stood white and terrified in her chamber the previous morning, Cat wondered suddenly if she was asking too much. If it was unfair to Georgiana to demand that she go against the habits of a lifetime to reveal her heart.
Could she content herself with the pieces that Georgiana was willing to give?
She arrived at the door of Selina’s office before she came to an answer. She knocked softly, and then pushed it open.
The room was dim, lit only by a single candle, and Georgiana stood tall against the bookshelves. Her hair was neatly drawn back, her dress a rich sapphire blue. Her face was very pale, and her hands were locked together beneath her breasts.
The tension between them was instantaneous. The air in the room felt hot and charged. Cat could not take her eyes from Georgiana’s exquisite cheekbones, the anxious shape of her mouth.
“I did not know if you would come.”
Georgiana’s voice was almost too soft to hear, and Cat found herself tugged across the room by it. “I did not know myself.” They were within a handspan now, and Cat tried to pull herself together. Tried to make herself stop recalling the texture of Georgiana’s skin. “You said you wanted to speak to me about Iris’s translations of the Renwick papers?”
Georgiana’s lips parted on a breath, and Cat found herself fixated upon the faint spray of freckles above Georgiana’s mouth, scarcely visible in the low light. “I lied.”
Cat blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Georgiana’s fingers released and entangled themselves again, just below her heart. “I lied. I did not know if you would attend me otherwise. I was—I thought—” She broke off and visibly attempted to collect herself. “I was afraid that you would not come if I did not give you a reason.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Georgiana said. Her voice shook, the crisp syllables blurred by the trembling of her mouth, the quick rise and fall of her breath. “I’m sorry, Catriona.”
Cat’s heart pitched, hope and fear together. Was this an apology? Or the prelude to a departure?
Don’t go,she wanted to say.Please don’t go.
“For what?” she said instead, and had to raise her hand to dash at the tears that hazed her vision.
“For how I behaved yesterday. It was cruel of me, and wrong. Every part of it was wrong. I should not have made a promise if I did not intend to keep it.” Georgiana’s face had gone paler still. Her skin looked stretched across her cheekbones, her expression taut with pain.
Cat’s fingers itched to reach across the space between them, but she held herself still. “I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me. You should not have promised? Or you should not haveleft?” To her horror, her voice cracked on the last word.
“Catriona,” Georgiana said again, and there was nothing but desperation in her voice. No trace of that icy precision. “I’m not—I’m notgoodat this. I’ve been trying to practice. But I do not—”
“Tell me.” Cat tried to make her voice firm, but it was stupid and impossible, what with the salt taste of tears in her mouth. “Just tell me what you want me to know.”
“I don’t know how to do this,” Georgiana said hoarsely.
“Do what?”
“Love you!”
