Page 60 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“No,” said Tom thoughtfully. “I doubt they’d forget pounding a man half to death so soon.”
Rob shrugged. “Obviously I remember nothing of it and cannot help.”
“A bit odd, don’t you think, that they took nothing? Thieves usually get right to the robbery.”
He’d thought of that, too, but had been in no condition to do anything about it. “Perhaps Georgiana and her groom gave them a fright before they could.”
“Did they?” muttered Tom. “I wonder.”
“What, Tom?” Rob snarled. “What do you wonder?”
“Nothing about Lady Georgiana,” said Tom quickly, backing up at his tone. “I’m persuaded her part was no more nor less than she told us. I only wonder about the thieves.”
Rob shifted his weight on the cane. His leg was aching again. “It’s possible they stole something I don’t remember having, you know.”
“Hobbes said you took almost nothing,” Tom pointed out. “They didn’t steal your boots, your horse, the deed in your saddlebag, or your signet ring.”
Rob’s hand closed into a fist at mention of the ring. Georgiana had taken it off his finger to conceal his identity. She’d hidden it to keep him safe, and she’d given it back to him with the deed.I trust you to do the right thing, whispered her voice in memory.
“It was idle curiosity, that’s all,” said his brother after a moment. “It seems a very striking coincidence that you were waylaid on the way to a house you’d won from someone who seemed very keen to prevent you setting foot in it.”
“So Charles Winston set them on me?” He glanced at his brother. “That’s what you’re thinking?”
Tom shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to be the brightest fellow. He might come up with a cork-brained plan like that.”
Rob blew out a breath. Was Charles Winston behind it? Did he even care? If he hadn’t been beaten, after all, he might have ridden up to Osbourne House and been arrogant and cold. Georgiana would have continued hating him. He would have gained a house he didn’t want, and missed out on discovering her...
“What did you know of Georgiana before all this?”
“I told you to forget about her,” began his brother, aggrieved.
Rob rapped the cane into his shins, taking mean pleasure from Tom’s hiss of indignation. “That’s not the question I asked.”
“I don’t think I ought to answer!”
Rob glanced at him, and whatever was in his face made his brother throw up his hands in surrender.
“So be it!” Tom shook his head in disgust. “She hasn’t got many connections besides her brother, the Earl of Wakefield, whom no one likes. He’s a misanthrope, thoroughly unpleasant and unwelcome. Otherwise she’s a typical girl on the marriage mart, as far as I know, vain and frivolous, the sort who giggles and gossips behind her fan and throws tantrums for a new bonnet. But she’s been engaged to Viscount Sterling since she made her debut, so no one’s spent much time thinking about her.”
He meant no men had spent time thinking about Georgiana because she was as good as married.
To Sterling, the undeserving lout.
“Thank you,” Rob said, choosing to ignore the aspersions Tom had cast upon Georgiana herself.
“Put her out of your head,” his brother said. “She’s marrying someone else. You’ll make yourself mad if you keep tormenting yourself with some bizarre fantasy that she meant anything she said to you.”
Rob turned and limped back into the house. Blessedly Tom did not follow, and inside he met his father.
“There you are,” exclaimed the duke with pleasure. “I’ve hardly been able to get a word with you. Care for a drink?”
“Yes, sir.”
They went into the duke’s study, and Rowland closed the door. He poured two glasses of port and handed Rob one before dropping into a chair. “How’s your mind really?”
Rob stared into his drink. “Perfectly well.”
Rowland snorted. “Is it! A fortnight missing, Tom has to track you down to prevent your mother calling out the constabulary, tales of head injuries and lost memory, and now everything is perfectly well?”
