Pretty persuasion, p.6
Pretty Persuasion, page 6
"I'm in a bit of a hurry." Robert glanced around. "Did a young lady and the gentleman who arrived in my company pass through here?"
"That is precisely the problem, sir," the wife said, a pinched look on her face. "First the two of you storm in here, creating a racket and disturbing our guests, and now they're at it!"
Robert blinked. "They?"
"Yes!" The woman gestured wildly. "The young lady dashes down the stairs with the gentleman at her heels, demanding that her carriage be readied."
"And I told her," the innkeeper supplied. "'Well, now, I can't rightly do that,' I said, 'since the gentleman you arrived with is the one who made the arrangements.'"
"She weren't happy about that," his wife commented, and her husband agreed with a huff.
"But where is she?" Robert all but snapped.
"Can you not hear them?" His host pointed over Robert's shoulder. "They're in the back parlor, waking up the dead, no doubt."
Robert spun around and stalked down the hall.
"If you don't mind my asking, sir," the innkeeper said, following closely, "what exactly is your connection with the young lady? I do not mean to pry, but the other gentleman was not very gentle when he pulled her back there, and I will not stand for any mistreatment of ladies on my property."
They reached a great oak-paneled door. "Is this it?" he asked, but he needn't have, because he heard a high-pitched female voice from inside. It was definitely Georgie. A greatly incensed Georgie, from the sound of it.
"Indeed, it is."
Robert looked over his shoulder. The innkeeper and his wife watched him with a mix of disapproval and excitement. The boy peered curiously from behind them. "I'll see to it," Robert assured them.
They didn't move.
"I would appreciate some privacy," he added pointedly.
The short, scrawny man crossed his arms. "No doubt you would, sir, but I intend to keep an eye on you, all the same. In case I have to send for the constable, you see."
Finally at the end of his patience, Robert plucked a half sovereign from his pockets. "I assure you, there is no need for a constable."
"I must consider the other guests…" The innkeeper's eyes darted between the gold and Robert's face. His expression softened a bit when Robert drew out another coin, but it wasn't until a third clinked on top of the others in his hand that he accepted. "I trust you will keep the noise to a minimum."
Robert gave a terse nod and waited until the three of them scampered away before turning to the door again. The room had gone dead silent. But he'd be a fool to think that meant the task before him had become any easier.
Drawing a fortifying breath, he grasped the door handle.
Five
"Lord Holcroft pays more attention to me than before. I am to call him Robert, and he shall use my Christian name as well. When he laughs, he calls me Georgie, and when he teases, he calls me Imp. I cannot decide which pleases me more."
— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 10
THE DOOR OPENED no more than an inch or two before it hit an immovable Cameron, who promptly stepped aside. The moment Robert entered, Georgie flung herself toward the door, a flurry of skirts and limbs. He slammed it shut and put his weight against it to bar her escape.
She skidded to a halt. "Get out of my way, damn you!"
Robert winced at her shrill tone; he hadn't known it was humanly possible to reach such a pitch. "Calm down."
"Don't you dare tell me to calm down. Since you arrived, I've been assaulted, had a pistol pointed at me, and been manhandled by that… that…" Seeming unable to find an appropriate name for him, she pointed a shaky finger at Cameron, who had retreated to the other side of a round pedestal table.
Cameron scowled, and a hint of Scottish burr colored his polished English accents as he said, "The pistol was not pointed at the lady. Until she put herself in its way, like a bloody—"
Georgie growled, and Cameron's mouth clamped shut. For a stunned moment, Robert only stared at them. Georgie shot a murderous glare at Cameron, who bore a look of disgust Robert had never thought to see him direct at a female.
"You're creating a scene, Georgie," Robert said. "I will allow that you have reason to be upset, but hysterical outbursts are hardly productive."
Her jaw dropped. "You have no right to keep me here!"
He shook his head. "You are not of age. In the absence of your father, I'm the closest you have to a guardian at the moment."
A burst of incredulous laughter escaped her. "Lord Sheffield, I suggest you let me leave right this minute."
Or what? She'd scream her head off? "Your mother and I made plans for the event that you did not end up as Lady Rossemore. Letting you go off on your own to God knows where is not among them."
"I don't give a damn about your plans." She stepped up to the door and grabbed the handle under his arm. "Get out of my way, Robert."
Robert, now. She apparently had a hard time deciding what to call him. She tried to pull the door open, but his weight kept it from moving even an inch.
He sighed. "Give it up, Georgie."
She stood close, so close he could feel the heat from her body, catch a faint whiff of rose water. It was a sweet scent, one that went straight to his head, stirring images wholly inappropriate for the current time and place.
"Listen to me, you curst wretch," she said in a low tone. "You seem to have developed an affinity for ordering others around. I, however, will not be bullied."
God, she was a hellcat. He probably shouldn't goad her, but suddenly, he was perversely curious to see how furious she could get. "You know," he said, keeping his voice light, "it occurs to me that, instead of exhausting your vocabulary in search of vulgar words, you ought to thank me. If it weren't for our timely intervention, you would have married that fortune hunter."
She gaped. "Thank you?"
"You're quite welcome," he said with a smile. Her eyes glazed over and her lips thinned. Just one more nudge… "What say you, Cameron? A measure of gratitude would be welcome, wouldn't it?"
Cameron merely arched a brow.
"Perhaps if you had actually shot the fellow," Robert continued, "she would be more inclined to—"
Georgie jerked on the door and, catching him off guard, managed to pull it open. She gave it another yank, and pain exploded as the hard oak smashed into the back of Robert's head, pushing him forward. Momentarily dazed, he got his bearings just as she made a dive for freedom. He threw himself at the door and shut it, literally, in her face.
She launched herself at him with a growl and drove her fist into his midsection. And damn, but it hurt. His stomach muscles knotted, and he sucked in a breath, telling himself she had not just knocked the wind out of him. But she had, and she drew her arm back to do it again. This time he deflected the blow, his hand locking around her wrist.
"Enough!" he said, still struggling to catch his breath. "Why can't you be a slapper like an ordinary female?"
She slapped him then. It smarted like the very devil, and he said a prayer of thanks that her nails were trimmed. She raised her hand back to deliver another blow, but he caught it mid-air. She twisted and squirmed as he pulled her to his chest, holding her securely.
A choked noise sounding suspiciously like laughter came from Cameron, and Robert's scowl only appeared to increase his friend's mirth.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" Robert snarled.
Cameron gave a lopsided grin. "Not really. Unless you need assistance."
Georgie tried to kick him, but she didn't have enough room to maneuver. "I'll manage," Robert said, squeezing her wrists until she cried out and stilled. "Go find accommodations. At a different inn. I don't think our host would take kindly to our staying."
"I would," Cameron said, laughter in his voice, "but you're in my way."
Robert stepped away from the door, pulling the fuming female with him. Cameron sauntered toward them, arching one eyebrow suggestively as he reached the door. "Two rooms or three?"
Georgie tried to elbow him. Robert wrenched her arm away at the last moment, realizing that if she were more imaginative she could do serious damage. "Three will do."
Cameron quit the room, leaving Robert with one less source of mockery but no closer to a resolution. Perhaps an ultimatum would do the trick. "When Cameron comes back, we're leaving this place. You can do it in a dignified manner, or you can do it draped over my shoulder with your arse in the air. Which shall it be?"
A string of curses flowed from her mouth, so foul that Robert was taken by surprise. Involuntarily, he loosened his grip. Twisting, she managed to elbow him in the gut.
He let her go then. His stomach ached and his cheek burned, and he was afraid he'd do her harm if he didn't. "Go, then," he barked, pointing at the door.
Her wide gaze followed his hand. Her chest heaved, and she looked as if she'd walked through a hurricane.
"You can obviously take care of yourself," he went on, unable to keep the bite from his voice. "In the dark. All alone, with, I assume, only a bit of pin money. Hundreds of miles away from home. I do hope you have some means of protection besides those competent fists of yours, though. They will not do against anyone truly intending to do you injury."
Georgie deflated. All her anger, righteous though it was, dissolved. Gone was the need to lash out, to hurt, to scream until her voice went hoarse. It left her tired and numb and grudgingly resigned to follow his command.
She stumbled toward a chair and dropped into it. Closing her eyes, she prayed that when she opened them, she'd be someplace else. Be someone else. Someone whose heart, hopes, and dreams had not been crushed. Someone who didn't have to return to face her parents' wrath.
Someone who was not forced to spend the foreseeable future under Robert Balfour's thumb.
She waited for him to gloat, to turn nasty again. But when he did speak, his voice was hesitant, almost gentle. "We'll stay the night at another inn. With an early start tomorrow, we ought to reach Yorkshire shortly after nightfall."
Georgie heard his words, but they didn't register. She was vaguely aware of him moving across the room, drawing a chair next to hers. She couldn't look at him. Pity or scorn, she could bear neither.
"You needn't worry about your reputation," he said, as if she gave a fig about that at the moment. "The duchess told me she'd send your aunt off to the country under the pretense of visiting an ailing relative. By all appearances, you'll be in her company."
"T-that's good." Oh, how she hated the sound of her voice, so feeble and pathetic.
His thumb touched her cheek, nudging her to face him. She wanted to shrink away but had not the strength. "It's not the end of the world, Georgie. You'll recover."
"Of course," she said thinly. A shiver racked through her.
Robert stood and drew off his caped greatcoat, draping it over her shoulders. She wanted to thank him, but before she had the chance, he walked away from her, toward the window. She pressed her cheek against the rough wool, inhaling the familiar smell of horseflesh combined with the unfamiliar hint of cologne and something else, a scent she could put no name to, except that it was pleasant.
She studied his profile as he stared out into the blackness, looking at she knew not what. It was as if he knew she wanted silence.
Who was he? One moment so horrid, so cold, and the next, so kind. Too kind. It would be so simple to loathe him if he had remained vile.
Warmth spread through her beneath the heavy woolen coat. The unbidden image of Phillip came to mind, but she pushed it away. There'd be time enough later for contemplation, for anger and regret.
She could be worse off. Picturing her brother or, God forbid, her father bursting in on her and Phillip made her blood turn cold.
Wrapping herself tighter in Robert's coat, she felt something stiff prodding her arm. Reaching into the pocket, she found the document Robert had been waving about. She hesitated. Did she really want to know its contents? Seeing her parents' disavowal would deliver a blow she could ill bear at present.
"Go on. Read it."
Startled by the deep rumble of Robert's voice, she looked up and found him watching her. "I'm not sure I want to."
"Then don't." He shrugged and turned back to the window.
She had his permission, and wouldn't it be better to know for sure? Hands unsteady, she flipped the letter over.
What on earth…? The seal was broken already. She had not noticed that upstairs. Robert must have concealed it. But why?
She unfolded the paper and scanned her father's familiar scrawl, suffering mild surprise, then outright disbelief. The letter was addressed to Lord Sheffield, though it must be the former earl, as the date read two years back. And it concerned the possible purchase of… "Horseflesh!" she cried, incredulous.
Robert had the nerve to flash a tiny smile as he cast a look over his shoulder. "I grabbed the first letter I could find."
"It's not true, then? They didn't say they would cut me off?"
"The duchess made no mention of it. She appeared more concerned with putting a stop to the marriage." His smile turned wry as he added, "And I did not even speak with Southwell."
Georgie's head spun with conflicting emotions. Relief that her parents had not disowned her, and fear that they might yet do so. Annoyance at Robert's deception; reluctant admiration at his cleverness. And in the recesses of her mind, her future loomed—unavoidable, uncertain, and unwelcome. A husband would be expected to take part in it, a man of unknown identity who met with her father's approval. A man who'd most likely not countenance her desire to travel the world.
It was almost enough to make her vow never to marry at all.
A knock came on the door, and Mr. Cameron's head poked through. "Accommodations have been acquired."
Both men looked to her, and she jerked her head in a nod. She stepped into the pitch-black of the night, wedged between a Scots oaf and an unnerving rat, apprehension slowing her progress.
Better the devil you know… She silently recited the adage. It was the only way to stop herself from fleeing.
ELIZABETH DIDN'T NORMALLY mind her husband's company for supper, but that night was an exception. She had scarcely seen him that week, and a happy circumstance it had been, besides; for in his own absence, he had not noticed their daughter's. It had given Elizabeth an excuse, albeit meager, not to tell him.
She knew she ought to have informed him by now, but she had managed to convince herself it was better not to worry him unnecessarily. Better to wait until she received word from Sheffield and knew if the news she had to impart was simply bad, or utterly disastrous.
She had no doubt Charles would notice the empty spot at the dinner table tonight, however. Thankfully, he didn't seem aware that she hardly touched her food. Politics was naturally the topic of conversation, but he appeared oblivious to her unusual lack of enthusiasm. She could summon little interest in the Corn Laws, the abolition of the slave trade, or the ongoing war with the French at present.
Dessert was her undoing. Elizabeth's stomach turned over as the footman placed the silver-gilt basket of ripe strawberries on the table, usually a favorite of hers. She could not help herself: she grimaced. And that, Charles noticed. "Are you well, my dear?" he asked, his brows creasing.
"Yes." Anxiety tugged at her, and she swallowed hard. "I simply do not seem to have an appetite tonight."
His frown deepened. "Lady Ashcombe told me you felt unwell at Lady Mansell's party on Tuesday. Perhaps you ought to be attended by a physician."
"Oh, nonsense. You know how Arabella exaggerates."
He motioned for more wine, and the butler stepped forward to fill his glass. "She also suggested I convince you to go to Bath, to take the waters."
"I'm sure she did." The subject of her sister was a dangerous one, since Georgie was supposedly accompanying Arabella on a visit to their great-aunt Davenport. "Speaking of Bath, did Richard tell you when he would return?"
Her husband leaned against his chair's latticed back. "No, he did not. Nor did I think to ask."
"It's very curious. Ashcombe and Grimthorpe went as well, and I cannot imagine what the three of them would find of interest there. When I mentioned it to Mr. Anthony Balfour, his reaction was rather odd. I can't help thinking they're not in Bath at all."
"Whatever they're about, I'm sure I'd rather not know," Charles said gruffly.
Elizabeth gave a quiet sigh. "You're almost certainly right, though I cannot help but worry. It is a mother's prerogative, is it not?"
She curled her hand around the napkin in her lap as Charles's gaze fell on the chair to her left. He frowned, and she panicked. Scrambling to think of a topic that would distract him, she said, "I met Lord Sheffield at Lady Mansell's party. I didn't even know he had returned. He said you had called on him. Why did you not tell me?"
Her husband stared at her, his face twisted with annoyance. "I did not think the business concerned you. He had not yet sent out his card. You would have learned of his return as soon as he wished it."
Elizabeth harrumphed. She had no doubt Charles had been aware of Lord Sheffield's presence the moment the man stepped over the threshold of his town house. Charles, after all, knew everything.
She glanced at Georgie's empty seat. Well, perhaps not everything.
"His presence certainly concerns Georgie," she argued. "We're family, Charles. Such knowledge ought to be shared."
"Indeed?" He raised his eyebrows in the haughty way that always set her teeth gnashing. "Then perhaps you would care to share with me the knowledge of Georgiana's whereabouts this evening?"
Oh, she had dug her own grave with that one. Worse than realizing her hypocrisy in pointing out his lack of communication, though, was knowing he had called her on it.
There was nothing to do but bite the bullet. Cheeks flaming, Elizabeth looked to the somber man standing behind her husband's chair. The servants at Southwell House were loyal; they might gossip among themselves, but they wouldn't let it travel beyond the household staff. And they knew—oh, they knew that Georgie had left during the night, alone.
