Page 73 of When the Marquess Was Mine
Barely breathing, fearful her chaperone would follow, she hurried through the rotunda. No one was about, even when she reached the saloon. She hesitated, and then Rob stepped out from behind one of the ornate columns, and something inside her seemed to burst wide open. He was devastatingly handsome in evening clothes, once again the polished and elegant marquess, but it was the wild elation in his face that sent her forward.
They stopped a few paces apart. “It’s good to see you again,” he said.
She managed a tremulous smile. “And you.” They both spoke quietly, the vaulted ceiling amplifying every sound. “I cannot stay long. My chaperone will miss me.”
“Right.” He swept out his hand, and she fell in step beside him. “I only had one question,” he said as they walked through the large, empty saloon. “It’s been plaguing me since Macclesfield, when Tom spoilt my idea of writing to you.”
“I did wonder how you were,” she said quickly. “I—I’m glad to see you’re much better.”
“Mostly,” he said wryly. “Don’t think I ought to recover everything about the way I was. But since I could not write to you—”
“You could have,” she put in, unable to stop herself. “I would have been very glad to get a letter.”
“You would?” He grinned, his eyes lighting up just the way she remembered. “Well, I didn’t know that, so I thought I’d come back to London and see if I might call on you—”
A journey of four days, she thought with a tremor of delight. Merely to see her.
“As... friendly acquaintances,” he finished. “I haven’t forgotten your engagement—”
Georgiana’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t know.
“And I understand there are rules...” He grimaced. “Never paid much attention to them before, and now, when it would be useful to know—”
“Rob.” She stopped and wet her lips again. “I should tell you...”
He straightened, drawing back. “If you’d rather I not, I understand—”
“I broke off with Sterling,” she interrupted.
Rob went still. “What?”
Her face grew hot. “You were right. Neither of us was very eager to marry, and finally I realized I don’t love him. Not as he deserves his wife to love him.”
“You broke it off,” he echoed.
“Yes.” She summoned a tentative smile, trying to hide the trembling in her hands. She would have broken with Sterling no matter what, but she could not deny that some small part of her heart nursed a vivid fantasy of Rob turning to her with his eyes dark and hungry, whispering what he’d said in Macclesfield:Come with me...
“Well,” he said. “That does change things.” And before she could say another word, he seized her hand and pulled her around the corner into an arched recess. There he stopped so suddenly she collided with him, and his arm went around her waist. “You’re not going to marry him,” he rasped, wrapping his free hand around her nape.
She shook her head, already pulling him closer.
“Thank God,” he muttered, and then he kissed her, just as desperately as he had in Macclesfield. And Georgiana flung herself against him and kissed him back. There was no need to wait and hope for a spark; it shot through her at the first touch of his hand, setting her every nerve ablaze with sensation. Her toes curled and her heart leapt and she might have forgotten to breathe.
By the time the kiss ended, her world had gone up in smoke. At last she admitted she was one of those impulsive, wanton creatures who would throw away their reputation for a moment of pleasure. Before, she had been mindful of the rules; Sterling had never urged any serious impropriety, and she would have been shocked if he had.
Tonight she didn’t spare a moment’s thought for her reputation. The notorious Marquess of Westmorland kissed her, in the grand saloon of the Theatre Royal where anyone might see, and she was only sorry it couldn’t last forever.
“I’ll call on you tomorrow,” he whispered, his lips still skimming hers. “You’ll be home?”
Dizzily, she nodded. Her hands were under his jacket, and she wanted to rest her cheek against his chest to savor the rapid thump of his heart.
“Georgiana.” He nudged up her chin and pressed another lingering kiss on her mouth. “I missed you.”
A tiny smile crossed her lips, then grew and grew until she had to laugh. “And I you. Obviously,” she added, finally remembering where they were and sending a chagrined glance past his shoulder. She slid her hands out of his jacket and smoothed a lapel back into place. “I must go.”
“I know.” One last swift kiss. “Until tomorrow.”
Georgiana smiled at him, then stepped out of the recess, head held high, and walked away. She could feel her pulse like a jolt inside her, and that charge still seemed to be tingling along her skin. At the moment, she could have sung and danced as enthusiastically as anyone on the stage.
