Suzanne Robinson (8 page)

His endurance was tested past bearing when Lady Augusta announced she would favor the company with a selection of pieces on the pianoforte. Attired in a girlish white silk empire gown, Augusta had once again startled him with her appearance. The neckline of her frock was low, revealing a wrinkled chest, while the deep hem was ruched and decorated with tiny
blue bows. He listened to three folk songs, then slipped out of the drawing room. His long voyage was catching up with him, and he needed an extended, uninterrupted sleep to recover.

But first he would finish the cigar he’d begun in the dining room. He couldn’t smoke in the presence of the ladies, but he might get away with a quiet session on the balcony overlooking the terrace and the lawn where tea had been served that afternoon. He went upstairs and through another drawing room to the balcony.

September had brought the turning of the leaves in the earl’s park—beeches, chestnuts, oaks. The days were still warm for England, but the nights were chilly, bringing a mist come morning. Nick breathed in the cool air scented with leaf mold and counted himself lucky to be out of the suffocating Texas heat. There were no clouds, and he could see the constellations he had recently read about in a book Pertwee had given him.

In one group of stars he could trace a line that resembled Georgiana’s statuesque figure. She had been the picture of queenly grace this evening, her manners perfect. So perfect that he’d been kept at a distance. He’d found she wouldn’t look at him. She fixed her gaze upon his chin, or a point just over his shoulder.

The strategy had been bloody annoying, especially when she kept herself occupied by conversing with Ludwig and Evelyn so that she didn’t have to talk to him. And at one point between dishes of roast goose and woodcock, he’d witnessed an exchange of glances between Georgiana and Evelyn. Had he been
in a position of authority with Georgiana, he would have called the man out for that look of blatant lust.

True to her breeding, Georgiana hadn’t responded to the unspoken message. Her gaze had settled on Evelyn’s raptorlike features, then drifted on as if she found nothing out of the ordinary in his manner. Was she accustomed to it? By God, she must be, to treat the incident so casually!

Nick blew smoke and fumed as he considered the implications of his discovery. Maybe Georgiana had fooled everyone. Maybe she wasn’t after the earl at all. Maybe she was after his bloody heir. Swearing under his breath, Nick threw down his cigar and crushed it beneath his polished dress boot. He had his hand on a crystal doorknob, about to leave the balcony, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of white on the lawn.

Releasing the knob, he went to the railing and searched the shadows by the fountain. The moon was out, its silver light revealing a woman dressed in filmy white. It couldn’t be Augusta, who was still at the pianoforte. The only other woman who wore white that evening was Georgiana. As he strained to see in the dark, the woman turned to look back at the house, revealing her face. It was Georgiana.

Nick stepped back into the shadows. Even at this distance he was certain it was she. No other woman was so tall, or moved as if she were made of mist floating on a gentle breeze. As he watched, she donned a cloak, turned, and resumed her progress across the lawn. He remained there until he saw which path she took—the one the earl had said led to a Grecian temple set in a glade surrounded by forest.

“She’s going on a bleeding assignation,” he muttered as he hurried through the balcony doorway. “I knew it. Precious sly and deceitful, that is. And with a rum chap like Evelyn bloody Hyde. Done me work for me, she has. Hung on her own hat peg. Old Threshfield will boot her out in a dustbin. Ha!”

He raced downstairs and outside without encountering anyone, but darkness slowed his progress once he left the terrace. The path down which Georgiana had vanished was composed of gravel. Not wishing to announce his presence, he walked alongside it, dodging trees and brush, thus further slowing his journey. At last he came to the glade, with its miniature temple gleaming whitely in the moonlight.

Skirting the tree line, he slipped behind one of the four columns that decorated the facade. The double doors at the entrance were ajar and revealed a dim golden glow. Slinking inside, he paused and glanced at an archaic iron lamp of foreign design set in a tall tripod. It was filled with fresh oil. He was in an antechamber with a white-marble floor.

He stepped farther into the room and nearly choked as a woman’s naked figure came into view. Then he noted the deathlike stillness, the chalky whiteness, the plinth. There was a statue in the middle of the room, and around it in murals were scenes of mysterious rites. Past the statue lay an archway.

There was more dim golden light in the chamber, but it seemed to dance on the tiled walls of the chamber beyond the archway. His imagination skipped and leaped as he walked to the arch, careful not to make noise on the marble floor. He paused under the arch and listened. Hollow, watery sounds issued from the
unseen chamber. Light danced on the walls. He smelled jasmine and water.

Evelyn bloody Hyde had found himself a unique trysting place, and Nick Ross was going to wrap him around one of those white columns for it. He took a step and heard a crunch. He’d stepped on a dead leaf. Georgiana’s voice floated toward him, humming, and accompanied by more watery sounds. She began to sing a song about spring and pagan rites. She sounded so blissful, her voice filled with a warmth and somnolence so at odds with her usual reserved and cool tones.

Is this what being with Hyde did to her? He wouldn’t just wrap the bastard around a column, he’d flay him to it.

“Bleeding sod.”

Nick charged inside only to run into a wrought-iron balustrade that prevented his rushing headfirst off a landing. Disoriented at first, he clutched at the railing and looked down into a domed chamber filled with an oval tiled pool. And in the pool gazing up at him, her mouth forming an O, was Lady Georgiana. They gaped at each other. Then each sprang into action.

Nick pointed at her. “Aha!” His arm and his jaw dropped as he realized that Georgiana was naked.

At the same time Georgiana shrieked, plunged through the water to the side of the pool, pressed her body to the tiles, and reached for a pile of clothing and towels at the edge of the pool. Her hand plucked at the closest piece of clothing, a filmy dressing gown. She dragged the length of white material against her body with one hand while she shoved her free hand into a basket next to the clothes.

Pulling her hand out, she aimed a gun at Nick. “Get out.”

Ignoring her, he searched the room for Hyde, but Georgiana appeared to be alone. He’d come too soon.

“Mr. Ross,” Georgiana said, her voice echoing off the high stone walls, “perhaps you didn’t see my gun.”

He had been watching the gown she used as cover absorb water and become almost transparent. “What?”

“This is a derringer, Mr. Ross. A Remington double-barreled, over-and-under design, forty-one caliber in rimfire, with mother-of-pearl grip and floral engraving on the barrels. It was a gift from Aunt Livy, and I’m going to shoot you with it if you don’t leave immediately.”

Nick’s attention had strayed to the wet gown again. Stinging heat surged through his body. He’d never seen anything like this. A naked woman in an eighteenth-century plunge bath holding a gun. Her hair was piled on top of her head, but wisps had escaped to form damp curls that framed her face. In the dancing gold light he could see the hazy curves of her body, watch drops of water snake down her throat to the hollow between her breasts. And she was waiting for—

His lips curled into a nasty smile. “Well, well, well. Wot’s this, wot’s this? Here’s a devil of a sight.” He trailed his hand on the banister as he descended the curved stairs that led down to the pool.

“You stay up there!” Georgiana shouted. She cocked the pistol.

Nick stopped halfway down and leaned on the
banister. Now he could see her long legs better, although they were distorted by the water. If he came any closer, his body was going to put on an embarrassing display of its own.

“I ain’t leaving until Evelyn bloody Hyde shows up.”

“Ev—you think I’m here to meet him?” The derringer wobbled, then pointed at him again. “Of all the disgusting, evil assumptions. You have the mind of a degenerate, Mr. Ross.”

Nick braced himself on the stair rail and leaned over it. “Speaking of degenerate. I ain’t the one standing naked in a pool with a flimsy bit o’ cloth that a blind frog could see through.”

Georgiana looked down at herself, saw the wet, transparent material, and yelped. One arm dropped to her breasts while her gun hand dropped beneath the water to cover the dark triangle between her legs. Then she gasped, yanking the gun out of the water, only to drop it and cover herself again. Nick’s delighted chuckle bounced off the walls. Georgiana plunged to the edge of the pool again, grabbed a bathing towel, and clutched it to her body. The soaked gown floated away.

Facing him again, she hissed, “I should have shot you.”

Nick stopped chuckling. “How many men have you killed?”

“Don’t be absurd. None.”

Something in his expression must have alarmed her, because she backed into the middle of the plunge bath. He descended to the foot of the stairs, then strolled to the edge of the bath.

“None,” he said softly. “Be careful who you threaten to shoot. The traps would scrag me quick if they knew how many I’ve killed.” At her confused expression he said, “The police—they’d hang me. What did you think, that I got out of St. Giles selling violets?”

He watched her throat muscles work as she swallowed. Admiration followed when she responded in a steady voice.

“My ancestors fought the Spanish Armada and stood with Wellington against Napoleon. You aren’t going to intimidate me, Mr. Ross. Now, leave, before I begin shouting for help.”

“Too far away to be heard.” He stooped and picked up a crystal bottle. Pulling the stopper, he sniffed. It was empty but smelled of jasmine. “Say, George. Is that water cold?”

“What do you mean? Get out!”

He knelt and trailed his fingers in the water. “Must have put in steam after it was built. But it’s getting cold now.”

“Are you going to leave or not?”

“Well, George, that depends.”

Her thin, arched brows drew together. “Upon what?”

“On whether we can reach a deal, old chap.”

“Go on,” she snapped, tugging the towel closer to her hips.

“I’ll leave if you promise to give up this ridiculous engagement.”

“I’m going to look up an ancient Egyptian curse and use it on you.”

Nick stuck his hand into the water again. “Getting
colder. Course, I could come in and get you. Is that what you’re waiting for?”

She backpedaled so quickly, her feet slipped out from under her and she plunged into the water. Caught by surprise, Nick knelt at the edge of the pool and chortled. She shot to the surface, sputtering water and cursing. Once on her feet, she twisted the towel around her body more securely and waded toward him. Nick stopped laughing as her voiced boomed.

“By God, sir! I’m going to make you sorry you ever left St. Giles.”

He didn’t respond at once, because he didn’t think she would have the brazen will to do it. When she mounted the steps that led out of the pool, he realized he’d misjudged her. She was coming out, and she was going to attack him. If she touched him, all wet and bare-skinned, he wouldn’t be laughing for long. He couldn’t fight Jocelin’s naked sister, not with his body aroused and his emotions disturbed. He began backing away as she stomped toward him. “Now, George—Lady Georgiana, remember your breeding.”

“Don’t speak to me of breeding, you wretched vermin.”

Thrusting out a hand, Nick chuckled and shook his head.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, love.”

She was in front of him quickly, and he was still shaking his head when she drew back a fist and punched him. She was wet, so the blow glanced off his cheek. Georgiana cried out and clutched her hand. Nick swore, more in surprise than in pain, and put a hand to his cheek as he stared at her.

He began to walk toward her. “Why, you flash little piece.”

Another voice called out, “I found the other bottle of bath crystals, my lady.”

Nick stopped and turned. A maid in a black gown and white apron hurried down the stairs, saw them, and nearly tripped.

“Oh. Oh, sir!” The maid was short and delicately fashioned, but she flew to her mistress and set herself between them like a furious goose protecting her brood. “For shame, sir. Off with you this instant. Go on.”

“Not until I get a promise from your mistress.”

“None of your excuses.”

The maid held the bottle of crystals like a cudgel and started swinging at him. Nick ducked as the heavy glass sailed at his head. He began to laugh again.

“Pray don’t kill me, miss.”

“Rebecca, be careful,” Georgiana said as she looked on with a sneer. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Don’t you worry, my lady. I have five brothers, and none of them worth a bucket of coal. I know what to do about worthless blokes like this.” She ran three steps and swung the bottle.

Nick sprang to the side, then jumped over the banister to land halfway up the stairs. “Perhaps I’ve misjudged you, George.”

“If you think of yourself as my judge, you’re mad. When I tell Threshfield about this, you’ll be lucky to escape without arrest.”

Grinning down at her, Nick said, “Blow that, George. If you peach on me, I’ll have to make up me own version of the tale. Want to hear it?”

She said nothing. Their eyes met, and she slowly shook her head.

“ ‘Sweetest love, I do not go, / For weariness of
thee.’ ” Nick bowed over the banister with a flourish of his hand. “A pleasant evening to you, Lady Georgiana.”

Leaving her staring up at him in regal fury, he went up the stairs and out into the darkness.