How to Marry a Rogue (8 page)

“Good lord, Georgie! What are you doing in here?”

Her tears came freely now. She sat up when he did, catching hold of his arm before he could pull away.

“I saw him.” She hiccupped, trying to hold back a fresh sob.

His anxious frown indicated he wasn’t partial to tears. He fumbled with the small buttons on his shirt. His bare chest gleamed in the solitary candlelight and she turned away a second longer than she should have.

“Who did you see? The men who attacked you, do you mean?”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “Before the men.” She took a few gasping breaths. “Him…” She nearly choked on the name and pressed her hand to her mouth. After a moment, she breathed, “Edward.”

“Mitford?” Jack’s voice was hard. In a moment, his arm wrenched from hers as he sprang from the bed. “What the devil is the bastard doing here? How could he…?” The words tore from him in sputtering bursts. “I blame Lockewood for not slitting his throat when he had the chance. The bloody bastard!” He picked up his boot and flung it across the room, where it collided with a marble bust, sending it clattering to the floor.

Georgiana blinked. Jack had always possessed a marvelously volatile temper, but she was unused to coarse language. Fascinated, she listened to him rant for a few more moments, during which time he tossed his other boot, sending the bust’s twin crashing to the hearth. The nose broke off and skittered across the marble until coming to a stop at the edge of the carpet.

Chest heaving, Jack faced her. “You are mistaken. How the devil would he have the means for such a journey? He spends his money faster than I do, which is saying quite a lot.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps he saved some money for his passage.”

Jack snorted a most inelegant snort. “He couldn’t save a wooden farthing if his life depended on it.” He uttered another curse, looking decidedly fierce. She shrank against the headboard and clasped a pillow to her chest, though she was not afraid.

“It was not him. Your eyes were playing tricks. I’ll bet my life on it.” His face softened. “And you know how much I love to gamble.”

He brought the wine and sat on the edge of the bed. “Have a drink, Pudding Face.” His voice was softer, more natural than the raving madman of a few moments before.

She took the bottle and swallowed a mouthful of wine. She handed it back, and he took a long drink, then regarded her with sleepy eyes.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?” He patted his shirt. “And why is my shirt wet?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This house is so big and empty.” She never realized before what true quiet was, having lived at Fairwood Hall with more than fifty servants always present.

“It does feel like one rattles around the walls a bit.” He rose from the bed and replaced the bottle on the table. “But you cannot sleep in here, much as I don’t mind the company.” He winked. “It will be just my luck you’ll tell your brother I compromised you, and he’ll lure me into the marriage trap. Perhaps that was his idea all along, and you’re part of his conniving, scheming mind.”

His teasing tone stirred something in her. She drew the quilt up to her neck. “Oh, please, let me stay. I’ll sleep on the settee, or the floor. I don’t want to be alone.” She purposely swiped a stray tear from her cheek and sniffled loudly.

He heaved a sigh. “If you were not so tall, I would throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to your own chamber.” He indicated the settee. “Throw me a pillow, will you? I suppose I’ve had worse beds than this.”

“It’s only for one night.” She tossed him a pillow. He blew out the candle.

“It had better be. I did not sign up for this journey as a nursemaid, much as I would love taking you across my knee and giving you a well-deserved spanking for all the trouble you cost me this evening.”

“Nursemaid Jack,” she sang softly. He snorted, and she laughed quietly. “Was she very beautiful?” She’d spoken before she’d given it a thought. His personal life was none of her business.

“Who?”

“The paramour you had to leave tonight on my account.”

He snorted. “There is no paramour.” He punched his pillow in the darkness.

“You came to the ball alone?”

“Yes. I often attend balls unaccompanied. One has a damnably difficult time meeting new paramours if one is attached to another. Why the interest in my activities, she who ventures to balls in a foreign country with no chaperone?”

“I assumed there must be some reason to have kept you from visiting Aunt Adele and me.” She bit her lip, scolding herself for sounding petulant.

“I apologize for not coming to see you. My grandfather will accept nothing but absolute perfection. And if there was a paramour, Miss Lockewood, this is less than suitable talk from one as young and innocent as you.”

“When I am one and eighty, will you still consider me a little girl, I wonder?”

“You will always be my friend’s little sister, dear Pudding Face.”

His voice held a barely perceptible warning. She lay back on the pillows and snuggled beneath the quilt. “I should tell Jonathan you compromised me. That will be fine revenge for all the times you called me Pudding Face. He would be forced to call you out, and you will feel so guilty you’ll allow him to kill you.”

He harrumphed loudly. “I can imagine that duel. He would talk me to death before I could get in the first blow.”

“If you promise to take me somewhere tomorrow, I promise not to mention what happened tonight to my brother.”

“That’s called blackmail.”

She echoed his snort. “Call it what you will. I want to enjoy myself while I’m away from home. It’s my last chance.”

“You’ve seen what trouble you’ve found in having so much fun, haven’t you?”

“I will not be in trouble as long as you’re with me.”

His laughter rang around the darkened chamber. “I will think of somewhere harmless to take you in the morning. There’s a bee farm nearby. Or perhaps we can stroll through a garden, if you promise not to disturb the butterflies, although I do fear for the safety of the roses. You might prick yourself on a thorn and bleed all over the place.”

“I have never had a bad experience with a flower.”

“Then I will ensure you have them in abundant supply while you’re here. Good night, Georgie. Pleasant dreams.”

“I shall dream of you, Jack. My rescuer.” She’d spoken the words before she’d thought of them. He was quiet for a few seconds.

“Throw in a few bottles of wine, and I’ll allow it.”

“I shall also throw in a freshly starched cravat. Your linen is not very tidy.”

He laughed again. “Perhaps I will dream about you, Georgiana.”

She gasped with shocked amusement. “You are no gentleman, Jack Waverley.”

“On the ship, you told me I was every inch the gentleman. How fickle is the mind of woman.”

“So now you are admitting I’m not a child anymore.”

“I admit no such thing.”

The mattress sagged as she moved toward the edge. His outlined form on the settee was comforting in the darkness.

“I’m glad you were there tonight.”

The settee creaked beneath his weight as he made himself more comfortable. “You may thank me properly in the morning. I have no cook on Sundays, and prefer eggs and sausage. Toasted bread, as well.”

She drew the quilt up to her neck. Already, the night’s frightening events had faded somewhat. She was safe now. Jack’s scent wafted from the sheets and pillow, enfolding her in a sea of musk and spice. His presence was like an invisible shield, protecting her.

“Perhaps you are partly a gentleman.”

He grunted. “I shall endeavor to become a full gentleman, if it pleases you.”

She stroked the wrinkled linen pillowcase, imagining Jack’s golden hair fanned across it. Shaking her head at the alarming thought, she merely sighed.

“Not a complete gentleman, please, Jack. I could not abide you too stuffy, like Jonathan.”

“I am terribly unique, I admit.”

He was trying to take her mind off her ordeal, and she smiled despite her troubled heart. “You are in a class all by yourself.”

“As are you, Pudding Face. As are you.”

Chapter Nine

Jack rubbed his neck as he dragged himself to a sitting position. How the devil had he not made it into his own bed the night before? He’d hardly touched a drop, yet here he was, clad in breeches, shirt, and stockings, with a perfectly good bed a few feet away.

A perfectly good bed with a sleeping woman nestled among the covers.

There could be only one reason a woman lay sleeping in his bed while he was on the settee.

“Georgie! You lazy chit! Time to wake up.” He strode to the bed and yanked the quilt off her.

With a muffled yelp, she sat up, looking around the room as if she were lost. “Jack?”

“Good morning to you, too. If you don’t mind, I’d like to bathe and dress, and your presence makes both tasks interesting though terribly inconvenient.”

She pulled the neck of her nightrail closed and threw back the coverlet. He caught a glimpse of her slender leg until her gown covered her to the floor when she stood.

“I’d rather not return to Aunt Adele just yet, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means, stay as long as you like. I’ll be gone until supper.”

He moved around his room, checking his watch fob and ringing the bell to summon Philippe, his one servant who acted as valet whenever he was in France.

“Where are you going?”

“To my grandfather’s winery.”

“Whatever for?”

He exhaled loudly. “I do take my responsibilities seriously, contrary to what you may believe.” She continued to stare at him, and he scowled. “You needn’t look so surprised, Georgiana. You have that look of shock I saw so often on your brother’s face whenever I did anything that smacked of respectability.”

She held out her hand. “Forgive me, Jack. I didn’t know you had serious pursuits.”

“You mean besides boxing and throwing away money on paramours?”

“Yes. I mean, no, of course I don’t think those are your only occupations. But if you have such good employment here, why would you waste your time with the other things?”

“Because listening to my grandfather’s foreman lecture me all day and tasting numerous glasses of wine is not the romantic life it sounds.”

“May I go with you?”

He blinked. “Why on earth would you want to go to the
vignoble
? There’s nothing to see. Besides, it’s harvest time, so it will be very busy. No one will have time to entertain you or suffer your presence underfoot.”

“Oh, please, Jack! I promise not to disturb anyone. Least of all, you.”

“I don’t know...” There were a hundred good reasons why he should return her promptly to Aunt Adele’s safekeeping, but he could not think of one. Perhaps it was a good idea to show her the
vignoble
. She could return to her brother with a glowing description of the flourishing vineyards he oversaw. “Although I’m certain I’ll regret this, you may accompany me. You must hurry and dress. I was supposed to be there before noon, but your snores kept me awake half the night.”

His words did not have the desired effect, and she rewarded him with her trilling laughter at his stern voice. Taking her by the shoulders, he steered her from his chamber and pointed to her chamber door.

“You’ll find some clothing that may suit you in the wardrobe inside. I’ll send Marie to attend you, but mind you don’t keep me waiting. This is a work day, not an afternoon visit.”

She rose on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the cheek before he could react. “Thank you, Jack.”

He didn’t answer, and only realized he hadn’t once she’d closed the chamber door behind her.

****

Softly rolling hills covered in trailing vineyards filled the view outside the carriage window. Georgiana pushed at the brim of her hat so she could see it better. The hat was among a suspiciously large collection of garments she’d found in the wardrobe. She glanced at Jack, who seemed to be studying her. She raised her eyebrow to give him her best haughty look.

“Am I entertaining you, sir?”

“Yes, since you asked. Your head is bobbing back and forth like a cockerel in the yard, looking for a lost seed.”

She tossed her reticule at him and regretted her actions when he tucked it inside his waistcoat with a comical grimace.

“That is all the money I have in the world, Jack. Give it back.” She couldn’t help but lose her stern demeanor.

“I will not. You threw it at me, which is, in effect, the same as giving it to me. If you end up having to sing in the streets for your passage back to England, you have only yourself to blame.”

She settled back against the padded seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Very well. I shall sing outside your window every night, and you may throw a few guineas down at me until I have enough for my passage.”

“I will compose a list of my favorite tunes. If you learn them well, perhaps you will earn your money back. If not, you will make a very good scullery maid at Lady Priscilla’s chateau.” He patted his chest where her reticule lay.

“To thank you for your cockerel remark, I’ll have you know I was enjoying the countryside. A certain gentleman promised he would take me out, but I was left to languish these past weeks at Lady Priscilla’s house. The only excitement I’ve had was last night at the ball.”

“Yes, and such appalling excitement, Georgiana. What were you doing with that tall Frenchman before you saw the abomination himself?”

She fanned herself with her gloved hand, basking in the memory of the stranger’s smile while ignoring the troubling fact of Edward’s presence. “He asked me to dance, so I danced. Had you been true to your word and taken me out yourself, I would have been dancing with you all night and not strange men.”

“Do not place the mantle of sainthood upon these shoulders, Miss Lockewood.”

“But they’re such broad, capable shoulders, Mr. Waverley. My brother will be pleased to hear how you saved me.”

He shook his head. “God, woman! Do not ever tell Lockewood about last night. He’ll have my head and Aunt Adele’s for our negligence in allowing you to run around the ball unescorted.”