Page 19 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“Over two years?” Jolted, he struggled out of the pillows. Two bloody years of his life and memory, vanished. “Why so long?”
She leapt to push against his shoulder. “Don’t hurt yourself!”
“Why?” he demanded again, even as he let her urge him back down. He was finding he liked the feel of her hands on him very much. He preferred to think about that instead of the rather alarming weakness in his muscles.
She scowled at the blankets she was tucking around him. “The settlements aren’t done. My brother is being difficult.”
Oh. He relaxed. Something dreary like that was the only possible reason he could be engaged to her for years and not run mad.
Because he found her very attractive. Hell, even her voice was beautiful. Why the devil would he remain formal and distant from her? Perhaps it had been her choice; perhaps she didn’t want to marry him as much as he wanted to marry her?
The thought was unsettling. But if she’d said yes in the first place, it was a start, and if he’d been remiss in not winning her heart, at least that was something he could change.
“I’ll fix that as soon as I get out of bed,” he told her. “Difficult or not.”
She blushed—he thought. It was hard to tell in the low light. “I’m sure there’s no hurry now! Your health—”
“Two years is an unconscionably long time to leave a woman waiting. I’m sorry.”
She looked up, all but gaping in astonishment. He nodded once, but his head was starting to ache again. His eyes fell closed, and he sighed in weariness.
“Rest,” she said at once.
He groped for her hand. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I can’t... stay awake.”
“Don’t try.” After a moment, she clasped his hand in both of hers. He folded his arm, bringing her hand to his heart. He liked the feel of her hand in his, and it comforted him greatly to know, without anything being said, that she would be there when he woke.
At the moment, she was all he had.
Georgiana escaped the next day into the gardens. She had to, for Westmorland had woken up in much stronger spirits than the previous day. He sat up to eat, and then said he wanted to bathe. Kitty told Angus, the senior footman, to help him, and sent Georgiana out of the house.
She hoped it would save her from running mad.
It had been five days since the marquess’s very unfortunate appearance. He was no closer to recovering his memory, but his health was improving. Dr. Elton had pronounced him out of danger and gone home early that morning, which was a blessing of sorts. The man did talk entirely too much, although the marquess could quiet him with a piercing stare and a single word of command.
The marquess. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would have to stop thinking of him that way, because she had nearly slipped twice and said it aloud. It was strange enough to refer to him as Sterling, but he wanted her to call him Rob, or Robert, which was in fact his real given name.
By an unlucky stroke of fortune, Robert was also Sterling’s name. Westmorland couldn’t know that she had looked forward to calling Sterling Robert, in the privacy of their own home after they married. It wasn’t fashionable, and Sterling had stared in surprise when she asked him, but Georgiana’s friends were on such intimate terms with their husbands and she wanted the same. After all, he sometimes called her Georgie, which was surely even more familiar, and sounded like a little boy’s name to boot.
But now Westmorland was coaxing her to call him Rob, while Sterling, her true and actual fiancé, had merely laughed and agreed that she could if she wished to. Westmorland was asking so hopefully she felt worse and worse avoiding it, even though it would only heap more anxiety on top of the rather enormous load she already carried.
Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps he was not actually Lord Westmorland. This man was not at all like the arrogant, disdainful marquess she’d met in London, who stalked thetonlike a bored panther in search of prey. She might be harboring a completely different fellow than she thought. The idea was almost cheerful, because she did not know what to do with a grateful, friendly,charmingWestmorland.
Wouldn’t that be a terrible joke on her? If he turned out to be some perfectly ordinary, decent gentleman who happened to resemble Lord Westmorland... very strongly... she would have lied and debased herself for no reason.
“Georgiana,” called a voice behind her. “Where are you?”
She gave a guilty start. “Here!”
“Enjoying a bit of sun?” Kitty stopped beside her and turned up her face to the sky, breathing deeply. “You must be starved for it, after so many days inside.”
Georgiana mustered a grim smile. She was trapped in that room by her own stupid actions. “There’s nowhere else I would be.”
Kitty touched her arm sympathetically, no doubt thinking her extremely devoted to the injured man. “I know. One can bear anything for the man you love. I would do no less for Charles.”
Georgiana tried not to squirm.
“Speaking of Charles...” Kitty lowered her voice, and Georgiana tensed. “I received a letter from him just this morning. He has done as I feared, and wagered above his means. He did offer this house as his stake in a debauched card game with Lord Westmorland.”
