Unraveling the Earl (13 page)

“Oh, I see, your favorite foods, fine brandy, fidelity,
fastidiousness, and fornication without right of refusal,” she answered,
ticking off each point on her fingers. “Your list reads rather like a poem,
doesn’t it?”

“You must learn to sense my needs,” he continued lest she
take off on a tangent relating to the pros and cons of alliteration in poetry.
“When I am worn down by the weight of my responsibilities, you shall provide
quiet solace. When I am restless and in need of diversion, you will entertain
me.”

“When you are cold, I shall light a fire. When you are
dirty, I shall bathe you.” Georgiana took up the list with enthusiasm. “When
you are taken with a megrim, I’ll pull your head into my lap and rub your
temples.”

Captured by her husky voice, by the image of domestic bliss
she painted, Henry smiled. “A good mistress caters to her master’s every whim.”

“Master,” she repeated and he could not help but notice the
breathless quality that came into her voice. “I would be your mistress and you
would be my master.”

“Only in the loosest possible terms,” he hurried to assure
her, wondering if he’d offended her in some way. “I will provide for your care
and support, much as a master would for a…”

“Servant?”

“No, of course not. You would hardly be subservient to me.”

“No? I am only to cater to your every whim.”

Georgie’s eyes sparkled and her lips twitched and Henry
realized she was having fun with him.

Relieved, he attempted to bring their negotiations to a
close so that they might make better use of their time together. “Speaking of
your care and support, we must discuss your allowance and pin money.”

“But I don’t want an allowance or pin money,” she replied,
bounding from his lap to flit across the room on her toes, stopping at the bed
where her undergarments were draped over the footboard. “Hmm, nearly dry.”

“You don’t want…Georgie, this is how things are done, have
always been done.”

“We’ll come back to this point later, shall we? What else?”

“We agree as to where you would like to live.”

“Bedford Square.” Georgie climbed onto the footboard to sit
beside her chemise, hooking her ankles around the vertical bars and pulling her
borrowed robe down to cover her legs.

“Good choice. When we return to Town I will make inquiries
as to available houses for lease.”

“I don’t need you to lease a house for me. I’ve a wonderful
little house on the park. Lady Joy left it to me.”

“Georgiana, you cannot reside in your family home while we
are acquainted,” he told her, smiling to soften the news. “What would your
neighbors think to see me coming and going at all hours?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted with an adorable
little frown. “Perhaps you might use the servants’ entrance?”

“No, absolutely not. Listen to me. There is a particular
block not far from the square where a number of gentlemen have set up their
mistresses. It is quite customary to see said gentlemen coming and going. No
one on the street thinks a thing about it.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured.

“You needn’t give up your house forever,” he reminded her.

“No,” she agreed. “But I truly love my house. Did I mention
that my grandmother left it to me?”

“You did, but surely you see the sense in removing to
another dwelling.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about that. What other financial
terms must we agree upon?”

“That rather depends upon you.”

“Me?”

“What else will you require? Jewels?”

“I’ve Lady Joy’s jewels.”

“You don’t wear them,” he pointed out. “I’ve never seen you
wearing so much as an earbob.”

“They are terribly gaudy,” she answered with a grimace.

“Then I shall buy you a few baubles to seal the deal,” he
replied. “As well as a few pieces as we go on.”

“In appreciation for services rendered,” she quipped with a
smile that was pure sass.

“I don’t know that I would put it quite that way,” he
answered, oddly disturbed by the turn of phrase she’d chosen. “Certainly when
our arrangement has run its course, you shall have a parting gift. Say a
diamond necklace and matching bobs?”

“Good gracious, are we to negotiate the parting before we
have concluded negotiations for the commencing of this love affair?” she asked
with a laugh.

“It is customary.”

“It isn’t terribly romantic, is it?”

“Romance will come later,” he assured her, though in truth
he’d never found such liaisons terribly romantic.

“Have we concluded the financial wrangling?” she asked,
hopping down from the footboard.

“Georgie, we have not agreed upon a single point,” he
reminded her. “How about a carriage? And a matching set of horses?”

“I have a carriage,” she replied with a frown.

“You have a death trap on wheels.”

“Don’t be silly, my coach is perfectly safe and quite
luxurious,” she argued.

“It is ancient and so are your horses.”

“Are you insulting my horseflesh?” she demanded, hands
coming to her hips. “I’ll have you know those great beasts were bred by
Buchanans in the hills above Loch Canon. They may not be as pretty as your
dainty matched grays but they can outdistance them, pull a heavier load and
withstand all manner of foul weather. Why, if your carriages were driven by my
horses your servants would be here right now.”

“Then I for one am glad my carriages are pulled by dainty
grays,” Henry answered, wondering how he’d lost control of their negotiations.

“To be sure, so am I,” she replied, her pique falling away
as she smiled. “But that does not mean I’ll have you purchasing a fine carriage
for me.”

“Georgie, the point of these negotiations is to come to
terms so that we both know what is expected of us, so there will be no
unwelcome surprises along the way,” he explained slowly and patiently. “How are
we to reach an accord if you turn up your nose at every offer I make to you?”

“I have no need of your financial assistance,” she said,
coming to stand before him and sifting her fingers through his hair. “I need
something entirely different from you.”

“What do you need, love?” Henry had a sneaking suspicion he
was not going to like her answer.

Georgie was giddy with nerves.

In truth, she’d been swamped by the damn fidgets since she’d
awoken to find the handsome earl curled around her, one hand resting on her
hip, the other tangled in her hair, his breath warm on her nape.

It wasn’t waking beside him that had set her nerves reeling.
It was the ridiculous notion that she was precisely where she belonged that had
set her off.

It was in that moment, as she’d battled the urge to run from
the certain knowledge that this man, this beautiful, charming, kind man, had
the power to muck up her carefully laid plans, that the answer to her latest
dilemma had come to her out of the clear blue, or rather cloudy gray, sky.

Now, as she looked down into Henry’s expectant face, she
found herself quite unable to deliver the speech she’d prepared while she’d
washed her undergarments, prepared a light repast and waited for him to awaken
from his slumber.

“I don’t know quite where to begin,” she admitted, shifting
her weight to her good leg.

“Perhaps you might consider beginning at the beginning,” he
suggested with a crooked smile.

“Life is so simple for you, isn’t it?” she asked. “You
always know exactly who you are and what you are about.”

His hands parted the silk of her pilfered robe and settled
on her hips, his thumbs stroking the knobby bones. Such a simple touch, and one
she suspected he bestowed with no thought whatsoever, yet his hands on her,
just there, made her feel delicate. Dainty and frail and oh so feminine.

“I have not known what I was about since I approached you on
the street after my mother’s funeral.” Henry’s voice was low, hardly more than
a whisper, and filled with befuddled amusement.

“What a lovely thing to say,” she replied, her twitching
nerves soothed by the admission. “And a perfect place to start.”

Georgie spun about, the hem of his lordship’s robe nearly
tripping her. “We’ll start at your mother’s funeral and work our way back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll only be a moment,” she answered over her shoulder as
opened the top drawer of the dresser. “I put it in here when I returned from
fixing us dinner, a dinner you have barely touched I might add. Eat, Lord
Hastings.”

“You are by far the bossiest mistress I’ve ever had.”

“You did say a mistress must have a care for her master’s
comfort and well-being.” On the top of a stack of brightly colored knitted
sweaters sat the faded blue velvet she’d carried with her as she’d crisscrossed
the country chasing down clues that had only led to more clues, until finally
she’d found the first real answer.

“So long as you do not forget who is master in this
arrangement.”

“As if I could.” Turning with the worn velvet pressed to her
chest, she watched her new master tucking into Mrs. Porter’s corned beef, a
mountain of potatoes piled on his plate. “That’s better. I should hate for you
to faint above me, or beneath me if you should decide to introduce me to this
system of yours.”

“I rather like you spread out before me,” Henry replied with
a comical leer. “Like a banquet of all my favorite foods. I’ve only to choose
which dish to begin with. Hmm, shall I start with fresh berries or leave them
for desert? Perhaps I’ll whet my appetite with a nibble of your long legs,
followed by a dip into your honeypot.”

“What nonsense,” Georgie replied. “Although, I must admit that
if your foolproof system begins with a dip into the honeypot it is no wonder
you have the ladies lined up to have a go at you.”

“I never should have told you about my system,” he grumbled,
dropping his head over his plate, but not before she saw the flush that slashed
across his cheeks.

“Too true.” Taking the second chair, she pushed aside the
platter of beef and set the bundle in its place. “I am unlikely to cease
teasing you anytime soon. It is simply not in my nature to let go of such a
tasty morsel.”

“It doesn’t,” he mumbled.

“What doesn’t, my lord Henry?”

“My system doesn’t begin with pleasuring a woman with my
mouth,” he answered.

“No? Well, it ought to.”

“Liked my mouth on you, did you?”

“What woman wouldn’t?” Just speaking of the pleasure he’d wrung
from her had Georgie anticipating the next time, and the next time, and all the
next times she might enjoy as his mistress.

“I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

“Surely you are not saying…are you telling me you have
never…no, I don’t believe it.” It was too ludicrous a thought.

“Believe what you will,” Henry replied, finally lifting his
head to flash her a grin.

“Gracious me,” she breathed in wonder. “I was your first.
Imagine that.”

“I don’t need to imagine it. I was there and it was better than
all of my fantasies rolled into one.”

“But if you’d fantasized about such delights, why did not
act on those fantasies with one or more of your twenty-six other lovers?”
Georgie asked, awed by his confession, by the knowledge that he’d waited, for
whatever reason, for her to live out his secret desire.

Henry only shrugged in answer, a wry smile pulling at his
lips, before pointing to the small parcel that sat in the center of the table.
“What’s in the packet? A gift for me?”

“I don’t know that it is a gift, so much as a beginning, my
beginning as it were. You did suggest I begin at the beginning.” Fully aware
that she was rambling but quite unable to stop, Georgie drew in a shaky breath.
“I had the perfect little speech arranged in my head but then you asked me to
be your mistress and I thought I might beg a favor of you instead.”

“In lieu of financial support, you mean?” he asked, clearly
surprised by the idea. “You have only to ask. I will help you in any way I can.
You needn’t trade your favors for…well, a favor.”

“I think I would rather barter favors than coin,” she
replied. “It seems a more honest and honorable trade.”

“I see.”

And Georgie thought that perhaps he truly did see. As his
steady blue gaze drifted over her face, she imagined he saw past her rambling
and fidgeting, saw past the woman she had schemed and seduced and cajoled to
become. If he looked hard enough, delved deep enough, might he see the terrible
yearning that drove her, that had taken hold of her when Lady Joy had died,
abandoning a frightened and lonely girl to a world of strangers who hadn’t the
faintest inkling what to do with her.

Unsettled by the idea, Georgie blurted out her next thought.

“Please, will you help me to find my mother?”

Henry blinked in surprise. “You’ve lost your mother? But
where was she when last you saw her?”

Bubbling laughter, born of equal parts dark humor and
astonishment, spilled from her lips before she slapped a hand across her mouth,
muffling the inappropriate and entirely too childish sound.

“I apologize,” she gasped. “But you…you are so sweet, my
lord.”

“I’m sweet?”

“Do you always see the world around you awash in sunshine
and rainbows? How splendid it must be like to live as you do, forever seeing
the good in people.”

“Are you calling me naïve?” he asked, obviously amused by
the possibility.

“Perhaps a tad,” she replied. “But in the best possible
way.”

Henry waved away her words. “If you haven’t lost your
mother, how is it you need my assistance in locating her?”

“Oh, I never thought,” Georgie whispered, appalled as a new
idea took shape. “Did the countess go wandering there toward the end when she’d
well and truly lost her marbles? Is that why you thought I might have lost my
own mother? Why, old Tibby McCray used to wander outside in her unmentionables.”

“Mother never went wandering, in her unmentionables or
otherwise.” Henry replied, his lips twitching. “And please don’t take off down
one of your twisted paths.”

“I do go off down twisted paths, I know,” she agreed with a
laugh. “But it’s only when I’m nervous or distraught or happy or excited. Oh,
and if I allow my temper to run rampant. My mind just gets too crowded, you
understand.”

“As scary as I find the admission, I do believe I am coming
to understand,” Henry replied. “Please, love, just stay on the straight and
narrow and tell me how I can help you to find your mother.”

“Well, it all began with this blanket, leastwise it was the
first clue.” Georgie made every attempt to curb her tendency to babble as she
unwound the red ribbon holding the worn and faded velvet folded around the
items that made up the story of her life. “You see, when I was given into your
mother’s hands, I was wrapped in this blanket.”

“Pardon me? My mother?” Henry looked at her from wide eyes,
his mouth open as if he might say more.

When it became apparent he either could not or would not
continue, Georgie forged ahead. “They were friends, your mother and mine.
Particular friends. And when my father, a libertine by the name of George
Buchanan, left my mother in a delicate condition, Lady Hastings swept her away
to the country, there to bear her babe in secrecy.”

Henry made no reply to her revelation, only continued to
stare at her across the table.

Pushing aside the tattered edges of fabric to reveal a
wrinkled white shirt, Georgie smiled. “I’ve returned your shirt, just as I
promised I would.”

Henry looked down, one hand reaching as if he might touch
the garment before he snatched it back and his gaze came back to her.

Georgie lifted his shirt and set it aside.

“Lady Hastings placed me with a family by the name of Graham
at River’s End, a rather rickety estate somewhere nearby. Perhaps you’ve heard
of the Grahams or River’s End?” She knew it was a futile hope, but she could no
more cease hoping than she could cease breathing.

“No, of course not,” she whispered when he made no reply. “I
knew I did not belong to the Grahams. I knew it long before I was told.”

Unnerved by his continued silence, by the weight of his eyes
on her, Georgie dropped her gaze and fiddled with the frayed edge of the letter
that had been stashed beneath his shirt.

“When I was sixteen, Lady Joy came for me.” Shaking her head
at the memory, she laughed. “She found me flat on my bum in the pigsty. Mum,
that is, Millie Graham, had written a letter to my father asking him to come
for me.”

She glanced up to find Henry regarding her with the oddest
expression on his face. One she could not decipher, shock or perhaps horror.

“This is the letter.” She lifted it in offering, dropped it
to the table when he made no move to take it. “It’s only the one line.
You
must come for George as we can no longer care for the child.
My father had
taken ill so Lady Joy came in his stead. He died before we’d crossed the border
into Scotland.”

In the silence that followed, Georgie heard the first drop
of rain land on the window beside her and turned to watch it slide down the
glass. As if the sky had been split wide open, the rain began to fall in
earnest, beating against the panes. Lightning lit up the sky a mere moment
before a tremendous boom shook the house.

“Goodness, that was close,” she breathed in awe.

When she turned back Henry had the small miniature in his
hands but his wary gaze was on her.

“If you flip it over you will find her name scrawled across
the back along with a date. I was born almost exactly nine months later. Do you
remember I told you I have a confession to make?”

He nodded once, the motion stiff, before setting aside the small
portrait of a lady with golden curls framing her pale face and bright blue
eyes.

“Yes, well, here is my confession.” With hands that shook,
Georgie lifted the small leather-bound book and held it out to the man who’d
said not a single word as she’d opened her heart, offering him the oldest
pieces, those that were battered and bruised and likely beyond repair. “I
borrowed your mother’s journal.”

Henry took the book, his eyes never leaving Georgie’s face
and in that moment she realized he knew. He’d likely guessed as soon as she’d
mentioned the Countess of Hastings’ involvement.

“I don’t suppose there is any need for me to confess, is
there?” she asked, gearing up to deliver the speech she’d rehearsed, wanting
only to get it behind her so that they could move on to more important matters.

“You didn’t follow me from Town.” Henry pushed back his
chair, the legs scraping against the floor, a jagged screech mingling with the
pelting rain and thunder to create a discordant wave of sound, as if a group of
novices had plucked up the forgotten instruments of a small orchestra and set
about torturing an unsuspecting audience.

“I haven’t much experience with apologies.” Georgie leapt to
her feet, the beginning bars of her prepared speech falling from her lips
before she fully comprehended his words. “Is that what you thought? That I’d
followed you from London?”

“Holy shit. I am an idiot.”

“Now Henry, you are no such thing,” she argued.

“Naïve, just as you said.”

“Only a tad.”

“I thought you were following me around Town in hopes of
sampling my wares,” he said with a raspy laugh. “But all along it was my mother
who’d taken your interest.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she exclaimed. “I was never
interested in your mother. Well, of course she interested me in so far as she
knew my mother. But Lady Hastings refused to tell me anything that might assist
me, so yes I followed her around, then I followed her family and friends.”

“That is why you crash weddings.” Henry shook his head as if
the motion might jog something loose and Georgie suspected he had too many
thoughts crowding around, all of them fighting for freedom.

“In the beginning I went to St. George’s in hopes… It’s
foolish I know, but I thought I might see her, that I would somehow know the
woman who had given me life,” she explained, her words tumbling over one
another. “I was recognized right off, on account of my hair and eyes, you
understand. I heard the ladies, and a surprising number of the gentlemen,
whispering among themselves throughout every ceremony, no matter how solemn.
And while they traded tales of my father, they never mentioned the scandal of
my birth. But I enjoyed the weddings and christenings, and even the funerals,
so I kept going, knowing the scandal was long buried, if in fact it had ever
lived.”