Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5) (33 page)

Sophia simply smiled. “Goodbye, Mother, and good luck.”

“Sophia!” she wailed again, but she was yanked into the hall, her daughter disappearing from view.

Roxbury marched her to the foyer and out of the house. Portia’s carriage was in the drive, and Augusta’s traveling trunk had been strapped to the roof. As she approached the vehicle, Portia was leaned out the window arguing with the driver, ordering him to depart, but he was ignoring her.

“We can’t wait for Mrs. Marshall,” she insisted. “My parents can’t abide her, and they’ll be furious if I bring her with me. Go! Before she arrives!”

But it was too late. Portia’s every despicable comment had been clearly voiced.

Roxbury opened the carriage door and, as if Augusta weighed no more than a feather, he picked her up and tossed her onto the seat.

“Augusta!” Portia said. “You can’t accompany me. We’re…ah…busy today.”

“Stuff it, Portia,” Augusta fumed. “I heard you, and I’m coming merely to spite you.”

Roxbury grinned. “You two have a nice ride.”

He stepped back and with Augusta deposited inside, the driver cracked the whip and the horses raced away.

Damian stood in front
of the Black Bull tavern in Whitfield village. The building was recently painted, the sign hung straight, the walk swept, so obviously a person of pride owned the place.

He’d just been to the country manor that had once belonged to Georgina’s grandparents. The housekeeper had been a veritable font of information, having learned that Georgina was working in the village. At the tavern.

Apparently a cousin of her father’s was proprietor of the establishment and had given her a job. Damian shuddered at the prospect. He’d traveled the globe, and he was aware of what sort of
job
a woman often had in such a spot.

She was so stubborn and resolved to support herself. He should have left her to her own devices, but he was trying to turn over a new leaf. Actually it was several new leaves.

After Kit had saved him from his kidnapping, he couldn’t remain angry with his old friend. Kit was anxious to wed Sophia and thought she’d make him happy. Damian didn’t believe she would, but what did he know?

Sophia had begged to accompany him to Whitfield, but that would have meant using a carriage, which was much too slow. Damian had come alone, but she’d been skeptical of his ability to retrieve Georgina. She’d told him—should he not be able to persuade Georgina—
she
would journey to Whitfield and accomplish what he couldn’t. But he didn’t intend to fail.

He loved Georgina, and she loved him, and he’d convinced himself that she’d be delighted to see him. He couldn’t bear to suppose she might have a different opinion.

That last morning when they’d quarreled about Portia, Georgina had been so miserably tormented. He was a pompous ass and had completely botched their discussion.

In his own defense, he’d been blind as to what he truly desired. It had taken a good beating and numerous blows to the head to rattle loose the appropriate conclusion. Yet while he’d spent their time apart recognizing how much he wanted her in his life, she had spent that time figuring out how she could get as far away from him as possible.

He wasn’t certain what her reaction would be to his showing up unannounced, and for once he had no confidence that he could fix what was wrong.

He bolstered his courage and went inside. It wasn’t as tidy as the outside, but resembled every saloon he’d ever entered anywhere in the world. It was dark and dank. There were a dozen tables scattered about, and with it being the middle of the afternoon, there were only three men present. They were playing cards.

He was a stranger. Immediately all conversation ceased and he was pointedly studied.

“May I help you?” one of them said.

“I’d like to speak with Georgina Fogarty. I’m told she’s employed here.”

The men bristled, and the same one piped up again.

“What’s your purpose?”

“I’m a friend of hers.”

“Really?” His glower was scathing. “From the condition she was in when she arrived, it appeared to me that she doesn’t have any friends.”

“She has me.”

“Well, that makes it grand, doesn’t it?”

“May I see her?”

“Give me a minute to find out if she’s interested in talking to you. Who are you?”

For a horrifying moment, he wondered if he should provide a fake name. If he supplied his real one, would she refuse to meet with him?

“Damian Drummond,” he admitted.

“Wait here.”

The man rose and slipped through a door that led to the back. Damian dawdled like an idiot, pondering what he’d do if she told him to sod off. He wasn’t about to let that happen. Not after he’d ridden such a distance to locate her. He spun and followed the man into a kitchen. She was over by the stove, stirring the contents of a large pot.

“His name is Drummond,” the man was telling her.

“Damian Drummond?” she replied. “That can’t be right. He’d never search for me. He’s probably at Kirkwood Manor, celebrating that he was shed of me so easily.”

He hated listening to the disparaging comment. Could she seriously believe he was glad she’d left? How could she not know how much he cared about her? The accursed woman was insane.

He stepped into the room. “Hello, Georgina.”

At the sound of his voice, she dropped her spoon on the floor and gaped at him as if he were a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve come to take you to Kirkwood.”

“To Kirkwood!” She pronounced the name of the estate as if it was an epithet. “I will
never
go back there so if that’s your intention, it was a wasted trip.”

“Sophia is very worried about you. She wants you to hurry home.”

“Bully for her.”

“I’ve been worried too.”

“Worried? About me?” She laughed and waved him away. “Would you please leave? I’m busy and I don’t have time to fuss with you.”

“You heard her,” the man said. “Head to Kirkwood where you belong.”

“I don’t think I will just yet,” Damian caustically retorted.

There was a threat in his tone, and Georgina glanced over and frowned. “Oh, for pity’s sake. You look as if you’re about to brawl.”

“I won’t go without you,” he adamantly declared.

She pointed to the oaf who was hovering so protectively. “This is my cousin, John Fogarty.” Damian nodded to him as she peered up at her cousin and said, “Mr. Drummond is a violent fiend. I’m sure he’s killed dozens of people in his life.”

“I have not!” Damian huffed.

She kept talking to Fogarty. “He’s also the most arrogant ass who ever lived. It’s clear he has something to say to me so why don’t you give us some privacy so he can say it? If we don’t let him have his way, we’ll never be rid of him.”

Her cousin dithered, then agreed. “I’ll be in the tap room. If he’s rude to you, call for me, and I’ll come running. It doesn’t matter how many people he’s killed. He doesn’t get to be awful to you ever again.”

Fogarty spoke with a calm dignity Damian respected. Still though, as he went by Damian couldn’t resist lying. “I haven’t ever killed anybody. She’s being melodramatic.”

“Don’t upset her,” Fogarty warned, “or you’ll answer to me.”

He continued on, and Damian was glad of it. He didn’t want to spar with her cousin, didn’t want to bicker. He simply wanted to whisk her out of there.

An awkward silence developed and they stared, but didn’t converse. He’d rehearsed a hundred speeches, but now that he was face to face with her, he couldn’t remember any of them. As to her, she wasn’t about to make it easy on him. She merely glared, then glared some more, as if daring him to start.

He pushed away from the door and walked over to her, not stopping until he was close enough that his legs brushed her skirt. She didn’t flinch, didn’t step away. He’d always liked that about her. She was tough as nails and not scared of anything.

“You have a black eye,” she said, the last remnants from his beating still visible. She reached out as if she might trace a finger over it, but she didn’t.

“Yes, courtesy of Miles’s companions.”

“You’re all right?”

“I have a few broken ribs, but they’ll mend.”

“Broken ribs!”

“Yes.”

She was flustered by the information, and she whirled away and grabbed a clean spoon to replace the one she’d dropped. Ignoring him, she vigorously stirred the pot, which had his temper flaring, and he tamped it down. He absolutely would not quarrel with her!

“When I returned to Kirkwood,” he said, “and you weren’t there, I nearly perished from shock.”

“Why would you have fretted? As you can see, I’m fine. So if that’s all you needed to learn, you can go.”

“That’s not all.” She seemed genuinely perplexed, and he insisted, “You have to come back.”

“No, I don’t.”

“It’s your home.”

“It never was. After Augusta—” She halted and began again. “Once I decided to leave, I realized it was the perfect solution.”

“For who?”

“For me! Who else would I care about?”

Since she was a person who cared about everyone, it was a peculiar remark, and he took it as a sign that she might be a bit more distressed than she was letting on.

She wasn’t looking at him so he clasped her wrist and stopped her stirring. They had a brief tug of war she could never have won. Ultimately she grumbled with exasperation. She removed the pot from the flames and scowled at him.

“Step outside with me,” she said.

Without waiting for him, she stomped off and exited through a rear door. He followed, finding himself in an alley lined with the backs of other businesses.

“What do you want?” she asked as he joined her.

“I’ve told you several times already. I want you to come to Kirkwood. Don’t be ridiculous about it. You
have
to.”

“Why would I? I’ve never been welcome there, and I’ve made a place for myself here. My cousin has been wonderful, and I feel necessary and useful.”

“It’s a tavern, Georgina!”

“So?”

“You deserve so much better!”

“According to who?”

“To me.”

“Why would you suppose your opinion matters?”

“You don’t mean that.”

She waved to the door. “Would you go? I have to get back to work.”

He might have been talking to a stranger. How could she stare at him so coldly? He was dying inside. How could she be so composed?

“Augusta has left Kirkwood forever,” he said. “Portia too. And Miles. If it’s been vexing you, you needn’t worry.”

“It hasn’t been vexing me. I haven’t thought about them at all.”

“My friend, Kit Roxbury, is about to wed Sophia.”

“I hope they’ll be very happy.”

Her face showed no emotion. They might have been discussing two unknown people they’d read about in the newspaper.

“They’ll be living at Kirkwood, and they’re anxious for you to live there with them.”

“I can’t.”

“You had issues with Miles and your aunt, but I assumed you were fond of Sophia.”

“I was. I am.”

“She’ll never permit you to stay here.”

“It’s not up to her. I’m an adult and I’m fully capable of determining how to manage my life.”

“Georgina, you can’t want to toil and struggle.”

“I like to work hard, and I’m not struggling.”

“Not now. Not yet, but what if your cousin takes ill or has an accident? Then where will you be?”

“I’ll…I’ll…probably sail to America to reside with my uncle. He loved my father very much and he sought custody of me when I was a girl. I’m sure I’d be welcome.”

Damian hadn’t expected to remain in England himself, but the notion of her fleeing to another country was particularly alarming. He couldn’t let her do that, but how could he prevent it? He had no authority over her.

“You’re not going to America.” He definitely sounded as if he was scolding her. “You’re coming to Kirkwood with me. Sophia and I have it all arranged.”

“I can’t, Mr. Drummond. I was never happy there.”

“You were happy! Not with your aunt, but when I first met you, you were quite content. Don’t pretend you weren’t.”

“I had my position where I was running the estate for Miles. I was busy and my life was fulfilling. Why would I return? How would I spend my time? If I had to sit in the parlor and twiddle my thumbs, I’d die of boredom.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to apprise her she could have the post again, but he’d promised it to Kit, and Kit was counting on it. Damian couldn’t renege on the offer he’d tendered so where did that leave her?

Apparently—cooking in a kitchen at a village tavern.

“I have to tell you something,” he said.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say whatever it is. Get on with it.”

“I was horrid to you that last morning at Kirkwood.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I’ve regretted it ever since. I’m sorry for how I insulted and hurt you.”

“Thank you. I accept your apology.”

“I’ve been thinking about you. About us.”

“Us?” she scoffed. “There is no
us.
You’re mad if you suppose there is.”

“Listen to me. Please.”