Page 25 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“Not so little as that,” he rasped. He sipped from the mug of tea she held to his lips, not protesting the laudanum she’d hastily added to it. “I felt like myself for a few minutes. That was worth it.”
“And now you’ve frightened me half to death again.” In despair she sat with a thump in the chair beside the bed. She had not expected to feel so responsible for him. Her hands were shaking and her heart was racing from fear that he would suffer a serious setback from a simple visit to the garden. A visit she could have prevented, and yet had not, because she let herself be swayed by the eagerness in his face.
Smiling faintly, he turned onto his back and draped one arm across his face. “I’m sorry for that, love, but it was still worth it. You’re beautiful in the sunshine.” And he fell asleep before she could recover from the shock of his words.
Georgiana gazed at him, completely at a loss for what to do. Nothing was going as planned—not that she had planned any of this at all, but things weren’t even going as expected. Even without his memory, surely Westmorland ought to have remained the same person. Could someone’s entire nature change from a blow to the head? Unthinkingly she leaned over him, looking for any sign that she had in fact made a mistake—that it was not Lord Westmorland but some other, kinder, more amiable man.
Not that she could let some other fellow kiss her, either.
Georgiana shuddered. She was drowning, in so far over her head she had no idea how to get out. Lady Sidlow had warned her that imagination was a dangerous thing in a girl, and she had always laughed. Who knew the countess would turn out to be right? How on earth had she ended up deceiving her dear friend Kitty and now contemplating betraying her one true love, Sterling? Because as bad as the lies were, a part of her had thrilled at hearing Rob say he found her beautiful—had reveled in the interest in his gaze—had wondered what it would be like if he did lean forward and kiss her. She’d never kissed anyone but Sterling.
And now this man—the Malicious Marquess, of all people—was making her wonder.
Her eyes drifted over his mouth. That was all she could see, with his arm still draped over his eyes. What would it be like to kiss him? She might have enough sense not to let it happen, but her brain kept thinking about it anyway. Sterling’s kisses were soft and tender; the joy of them came from being held in his arms, even if only for brief moments. Lady Sidlow kept a close eye on her and she’d had just a handful of moments alone with Sterling when he could kiss her.
Kitty was far more lax as a chaperone. She’d left Georgiana alone for hours with her supposed fiancé—not that it was her duty to chaperone anyone, with a baby to care for and a house to run, and as ill as Rob had been, the chance of anything indecent happening must have seemed minuscule. And Georgiana, knowing he was not her fiancé at all, had expected that kissing the marquess would be the last thing on earth she would ever think of.
And look at her now, sitting by his bedside, staring at his mouth and wondering.
She told Angus to make His Lordship comfortable and fled.
She had approximately two minutes of peace before another ugly problem reared its head.
“Lucy told me it was Lord Sterling who got beat to a cinder and lost his mind,” remarked Nadine.
Georgiana jumped. She’d barely closed the door of her own room, and had begun contemplating barricading it against the world. “Goodness, Nadine, you’re startling me at every turn today!”
Nadine was about Georgiana’s own age, and had been with her ever since Georgiana left school. Nadine was very good at arranging hair and needlework, and she had a bold, daring streak that proved invaluable. Every improper thing Georgiana wanted to do, Nadine was willing to aid and abet—for a modest price. Would Nadine purchase the latest Minerva Press novel or gossip paper on her way home from getting new stockings and laces? She would, for an extra sixpence. Would she hide that purchase from Lady Sidlow and agree to take any blame for its presence in the house? She would, for another sixpence. Would she smuggle letters, and buy naughty etchings, and lie for Georgiana when Georgiana had to sneak out? She always would—which was wonderful—but always for a price—which quickly grew expensive.
And now, obviously, she’d seen Lord Westmorland.
“I never guessed there were two Lord Sterlings in Britain,” Nadine went on as she folded clothes. “One several inches taller than the other, with darker hair, and handkerchiefs monogrammed with a W—”
Georgiana came off the door. “Hush! Don’t say another word!”
The maid blinked. “O’ course not, m’lady. I expect you’ve got good reason to lie to Lady Winston, and tell her she’s taken in Lord Sterling instead of someone else. Someone who, if I had to make a guess, was actually the horrible, hated Lord Wes—”
“Ten shillings,” blurted Georgiana in a panic. “To keep it secret.”
Nadine paused, then finished folding the handkerchiefs. “If you wish, m’lady.”
“Thank you.” Georgiana stalked past her, but inside she wilted. It was two months until she’d get more pin money. Her tightfisted brother Alistair regularly wondered how women managed to spend so much money, and he wouldn’t advance her a farthing. And now she’d spent part of it covering up this stupid, idiotic lie for a man she didn’t even like.
“But why did you, m’lady?” Nadine stowed the last of the clothing in the drawer and turned around. “I thought you despised Lord Wes—”
“Pleasedo not say that name!” Georgiana moaned.
Nadine’s eyebrows went up. “But you and Miss Hotchkiss agreed he was the very worst sort of gentleman and lower than the dirt on your shoe.”
Georgiana flushed. Nadine had chaperoned on that carriage drive, when she’d been consoling Joanna Hotchkiss that Westmorland’s cutting remarks weren’t worth the tears and anguish Joanna was suffering over them. “He said some very unkind things about Miss Hotchkiss and I was attempting to cheer her.”
“So youdon’tdislike the mar—?”
“Nadine!” Georgiana cried, half whisper, half shout. She glanced uneasily at the door, and lowered her voice even more. “For the next few days, he is Lord Sterling, and don’t you dare breathe one word otherwise.”
“No, ma’am,” said Nadine, taken aback. “Of course I shan’t. But how many more days? And what shall you do if Lord St—therealone decides to visit? Or even to write?”
Georgiana put her hands over her face. “I don’t know. I only said he was...you know...to save his life. I feared Lady Winston would throw him out.”
