Page 35 of Marry in Scarlet
“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know,” he stammered. “Are you all right?”
She’d given him a long hard look as she gasped to recover her breath. She’d opened her mouth and he’d sat back, waiting to hear what she’d say. Then without warning she kneed him in the balls, scrambled out from under him, swung lithely onto her horse and galloped away, leaving Hart curled in agony on the ground.
Lady Georgiana Rutherford. Not that he knew that back then. The men of the huntknewshe was female—damn them! They’d deliberately misled him—but as far as they knew she was just some rich man’s by-blow. Not that that was any excuse.
Stretton had sent Hart, in his ignorance, to give a young girl a thrashing.
Hart had confronted Stretton immediately. “Did you know you were sending me after a young girl?”
Stretton had snorted. “Of course. The little bitch needed a lesson. I hope it hurt when you knocked her off her horse. Pity she didn’t break her neck.”
Thoroughly disgusted, he’d slammed a fist hard into Stretton’s face and left the district immediately. He’d never spoken to him again.
He’d put the whole shameful incident out of his mind. Until now.
Hart glanced around him in faint surprise. Somehow he’d gotten himself home. He was in his library, sitting in his favorite leather chair. He had no memory of walking home, none of opening his front door. He could have been attacked by footpads—he’d taken absolutely no notice of his surroundings. He’d even poured himself a brandy. He sipped it now, enjoying the smooth burn as it slipped down his throat.
Lady Georgiana Rutherford. Elusive, rebellious, untamable.
He always did enjoy a hunt.
***
Try as she might, George could not get the thought of that kiss—those kisses really, because there were at leasttwo, and there might have been more except she wasn’t quite sure when one kiss had started and another ended. All she knew is that they were extremely... disconcerting.
And not just because of the effect they had had on her.
Never in her life had her knees turned to jelly, and she didn’t trust any man who had the power to do that. To her knees or any other part of her.
Why had he kissed her? It wasn’t as if he liked her. It wasn’t as if she liked him either. So what had been his purpose?
He’d claimed he wanted to discover whether she had an antipathy to men—and she’d told him she had, especially to him. Surely that was clearer than any kiss. Kisses.
So why?
Was it some kind of payback for what she’d said to him at the opera? Or in the conservatory? Or was he still angry that she’d refused to sell him Sultan?
She’d heard people refer to a “punishing kiss.” Was that it? Though it didn’t feel very punishy. More disturbing.
She decided to ask Lily and Rose about kissing. Just in a general, nonspecific, casual way. No one must know that the duke had kissed her. If they did there would be a fuss, and she hated fusses.
She asked them after breakfast the following morning, when they were upstairs. Rose was getting ready to leave for her new home with Thomas.
“Have you ever heard of people’s knees buckling after a kiss?” George asked casually.
“George!” Rose whirled around from the mirror where she’d been tidying her hair. “You’ve finally been kissed!”
“No, it was just—I heard some girls talking and I wondered—”
“Who was it?” Lily asked. “It must have been a good kiss if your knees buckled.”
“Was it at the ball?” Rose asked. “I was so distracted by what was happening with Thomas that I didn’t notice who you were with.”
“She was with the duke for a good part of the night. Two dances and supper,” Lily said.
“No! So itwasthe duke.” Rose turned to her, her eyes wide. “Thedukekissed you?”
“No, of course he didn’t. I dislike him intensely. Why would I let him kiss me?”
