Pretty Persuasion (8 page)

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.

She gave the butler a pointed look. Needing no further directive, he executed a quick bow and quit the room.

Her nausea increased, and she could practically feel bile clogging her throat as she met her husband's expectant gaze. She could lie and be found out, or she could tell the truth. The result would be the same. She didn't have to add fuel to his fury by trying to deceive him. "Oh, Charles, I know I ought to have told you sooner…"

"Told me what?" The words cut through the room like a whiplash, and he stiffened, sitting up straight.

Elizabeth swallowed hard. "Georgie eloped. With Rossemore."

The silence that followed was excruciating. Charles stared at her, his jaw set, his eyes flinty. She had not expected an outburst; it was not his way. But she had expected some sort of response. "Have you nothing to say?"

"What is there to say?" Slapping his napkin onto the table, he pushed away and got to his feet. "I believe our meal is at an end."

As he strode toward the door, Elizabeth shot up from her chair. "You can leave this room, Charles, but you cannot run from me. I thought you knew that by now."

He stilled with his hand on the door handle. "It would seem," he said, half turning toward her, "that, after all these years, I remain the optimist."

"Pshaw! A fool, that's what you are. And that makes a pair of us, for, like a fool, I thought you'd at least show some concern for your daughter's welfare."

His knuckles turned white as his grip tightened. "If I were to worry about her welfare, I should never sleep easy at night. She is, and always has been, unmanageable. I was looking forward to the day she'd no longer be my responsibility."

Elizabeth sucked in a breath. She knew he could be callous, but not when it came to their children. Not even when there was a threat of scandal, a threat she knew he lived in constant fear of. "How can you not care about her happiness?"

"If it's Rossemore she wants, I wish her all the happiness in the world. He may have her, and good riddance."

"And her dowry?"

"That he may not have."

"That is what he wants." She edged slowly away from the table. "I'm convinced he's a fortune hunter."

Charles's face could have been carved in stone, it was so impassive. "I am vastly relieved to hear it. If it's her
money
he's lusting after, she will not come away unwed. Considering the alternative, we ought to count ourselves fortunate."