Dangerous 01 - Dangerous Works (11 page)

“What happened to your robe?”

She almost choked on her gasp, ducked below the bed, and groped about for the robe. She found it and stuffed one arm in a sleeve. She was convinced the morning couldn’t get any worse.

“I see everyone is awake at last. Thought I heard a bump. Coffee is ready.” She grasped the side of her robe to her chest and looked up, mortified, into the laughing eyes of Charles Harley. It just got worse.

Chapter 12

“Why? You have to ask why?” Andrew ran an agitated hand through his hair. The stubborn woman would be his demise. “Don’t be absurd, Georgiana. You know as well as I do that this will not do.”

He had blurted out a marriage proposal while he still lay on the bed, with Georgiana on his floor looking like a frightened rabbit and Harley laughing in the doorway. It must have had all the earmarks of pure farce. Her haughty refusal, however, struck him as having no humor whatsoever.

It took him two painful hours to dress respectably and all his control to ignore Harley’s knowing looks while he did. The time allowed him to nurse his anger.
What possessed that woman to get into my bed? Has she no sense?

Her refusal of his proposal made more sense. The woman wouldn’t lower herself, even to avoid ruin. She had spouted some pompous nonsense about the honor he did her and the demands of her own honor that forced her to refuse. He may have imagined the bitter edge to her voice. She had run from the room before he could pursue it.

Now he stood with bare feet planted on his study floor, hands fisted behind his back, and temper precariously controlled.

Georgiana, primly dressed with a book in front of her, sat at his worktable. Her self-possession inflamed his already hot anger.
She may be made of ice, but I certainly am not
. The memory of her peeping over the edge of his bed in her ridiculously innocent night rail made him want to haul her back to bed right in front of Harley.
This has to stop.

“If it is my thoughtless behavior in the night—”

“Thoughtless? Insane! Your presence here was improper when I was incapacitated—which I wish to make clear I no longer am—and it can’t go on.”

“Andrew, it is too late for those considerations. What difference will a few more days make?”

“Your assistance,
my lady,
was unsought and unneeded. It is certainly no longer required.” His voice dripped acid as he emphasized her formal title.

Harley’s impertinent amusement began to break into chuckles, exacerbating Andrew’s determination. Black eyes met blue implacably. It took all his will power not to look away from the hurt in her eyes. Long moments passed before he spoke again. The catch in his throat when he did annoyed him.

“If you wish to resume our work, I will thank you to leave me to my peace for one week. Then, if you still want it, we can take it up again.”

Another long moment passed.

“I’m not accustomed to being dismissed.” Her voice had a wispy air as if it came from far away.

A raw sound burst from deep inside him. “You are not
being dismissed! Who would dare dismiss the Lady Georgiana Hayden?”

“Who indeed? One person would, and I would like to know why.”

Why again. Why what? She can’t seriously believe this morning’s actions were acceptable.

“That is my condition, Mr. Mallet. If you wish me to go, I will go. Before I leave, however, you must tell me why you left me. Don’t pretend confusion. You know very well I mean before.”

Before?
His throat went dry.
She can’t mean what happened years ago.
He could hardly cope with this morning.

“Spare us both any foolishness, Andrew. Why did you leave me after that night in the Pembrook’s garden? You told me you would call on me the next day. You didn’t. A month, a full month later Richard told me you had sailed to India to join Wellesley. Why, Andrew?”

He stood in mute dismay; silence, thick in the air, weighed down his heart and trapped the breath in his lungs. Her eyes drilled into him; he didn’t speak.

“I thought—never mind what I thought. You said you would call, and you did not.” She paused and waited for an answer. He couldn’t give her one.

“Was I so repulsive that you had to bolt the country?” Her cry of the heart split the air.

Still he couldn’t answer. The vivid memory of her face–young, joyful, and eager–in the dim light of the garden and of the warm spring air, scented with the lilacs, tore at his heart. The hurt in her face lacerated his soul. He swallowed painfully and directed his gaze downward.

Georgiana noticed Harley’s presence–too late in Andrew’s opinion. “Mr. Harley, would you please remove my trunk? It is clear I will be leaving today.” Harley looked like he wanted to refuse, but she stared him down. The man lifted the trunk, shaking his head the whole time, while they waited in silence. When he went through the door and down the stairs, she didn’t follow.

“I will leave when you give me the respect of an honest answer. What happened that night? Was it my father? Spare me the tale of your longing for adventure and the sword, your great ambition for glory. I may have believed it then, but I don’t believe it now. What happened?”

He wavered at last. “No.” His eyes met hers. She looked infinitely sad, gripped by a deep and unfathomable grief. “The army wasn’t my life’s ambition.” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, harsh and far away. He turned his head, unable to bear the sight of her sorrow.

“It wouldn’t do,” he began. “You must have realized that. A schoolmaster’s son. Four years your junior. In every way your inferior. No prospects. No funds. I planned to offer.” He was pleading now, looking at her, willing her to understand. “I planned to abase myself before the great Duke of Sudbury.”

She went still. He thought her heart stared out at him through those stormy blue eyes, but she didn’t interrupt.

He swallowed the bitter taste of shame. “God forgive me, I even thought to take advantage of your misfortune. I was actually glad there were no other offers–happy for your great difficulties. God forgive me. No one in your own social class wanted you, and that made me glad. It tempted me to dream that perhaps my suit might be accepted. I sat for hours planning various approaches to convince him.”

“What happened?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“Glenaire knew what had passed between us. I don’t know how. His eyes missed little, even then. He came to my quarters deep into the night, certain he would find me awake. He was reasonable. He was sympathetic–as much sympathy as Richard is capable of–but he was implacable. It would not do.”

He emphasized each of those last four words one by one but didn’t stop. The words poured out of him now. He wanted her understanding, needed it desperately.

“We downed several bottles of the brandy while I ran through every argument, and he … well, he answered every one with the same immoveable fact. His father–your father–would never permit it. He would hound us to the edge of the world. He would make your life hell. By the time the sun came up, I had agreed to accept his help—long since repaid, I assure you—and obtain a commission. You know the rest.”

“Richard? I had thought, that is, I assumed it had to be His Grace.”

He could see into her soul; her brother’s betrayal lay embedded there like a knife.

“Perhaps your brother did your father’s bidding. Perhaps he acted alone.” He took a firm grip on his own emotions and tried to ease hers. “I don’t know. But I know he was right. Your father would have caused you great misery.”

She looked rebellious but didn’t speak.

“He was right, Georgiana. He wished to spare you further humiliation, and he was right. Don’t blame him. I never have. Damn it, Georgiana, he was right!”

Georgiana’s face twisted in anguish. He thought she might break, but she didn’t. She squared her shoulders instead.

“Very well, Mr. Mallet. I asked for an honest answer and, at long last, I have one. Thank you for giving me that much respect.” The air crackled with a slight, very electric pause before she continued. “He was wrong, though. The two of you very neatly decided my life for me that night, and you were wrong. You were both very, very wrong.”

He had no answer to that. “Goodbye, Lady Georgiana.”

“For now, Mr. Mallet.” Her words were clipped. “We have a bargain to keep, and I expect you to fulfill your part of it. One week, sir. I will see you then.”

He should have let her go at that. An old agony worked to the surface and forced its way out. Something ate at him, something he had to know.

“Georgiana?” he whispered.

She looked back at him, a pained furrow between her eyes.

“I thought they would have arranged a suitable marriage.”

Her throat moved as if she tried to swallow rocks or combat tears.

“They did. They offered me to Viscount Pfeil.”

“He was my grandfather’s age!” It was a roar of rage. “Your father is a bigger fool than I thought.”

“He had neither teeth nor manners. The Duchess deemed his title adequate.” She met his eyes and bit out, “No one else cared to offer. I refused, as you can see. I discovered that I value my independence more than any dubious honor marriage or the machinations of men might confer.”

Georgiana returned to the watchful eyes of her servants, the comforts of her well-run establishment, and the sterile silence of her life. No one questioned her absence. No one at Helsington Cottage ever contradicted her. No one ever shared her thoughts. No one spoke to her at all beyond “Yes, my lady,” not
even Eunice. The week became an eternity.

Her time came again and passed after four mildly uncomfortable days; her energy returned immediately. Mr. Peabody’s regime continued to improve her condition, but to what purpose she couldn’t say. Attempts to work were desultory; walks in the garden were frequent but inevitably brief.

On the fifth day, a missive arrived from Little Saint Mary’s Lane. It relieved her fear that he would find an excuse to abandon their bargain. He would come.

Lady Georgiana,

As we agreed, I will take up our work in three days hence. I will call upon you at Helsington Cottage at one o’clock that day. I will bring the material of our current project. The rest of your materials will be returned to you
as soon as may be possible.

Yours Respectfully,

A. Mallet

She wasn’t to be seen in town again. She doubted that a change in their work habits would quiet gossip. She didn’t care; he might. She placed the missive on the mantel in her sitting room.

At least the work was to continue. The thought no longer filled her with contentment, and she couldn’t say why.
Work, Georgiana. It is about the work.

She called for Chambers, her capable butler, and gave him instructions to sort out space for their work in her home. Her dainty upstairs sitting room wouldn’t do. They would find a place on the ground floor.

On the sixth day, an unexpected visitor broke the silence of Helsington Cottage. Jamie Heyworth might be shallow and drink too much, but his charm and thorough knowledge of everyone in the upper ten thousand never failed to amuse. Once she would have welcomed him gladly.

Now, however, she glowered at him over her tea and his sherry. He came as Richard’s emissary. She couldn’t forget that Jamie served as Richard’s eyes and ears in Cambridgeshire.

The charming wastrel pretended not to notice her mood. He managed a smooth flow of conversation in spite of her monosyllabic answers. “On m’way to Newmarket,” he said. “Hoping to make a few quid on a sweet goer I saw run in a challenge race a while ago. The race is in three days, so I thought I would pop in and see how you go on.”

Georgiana’s thoughts were as sour as the lemon with which she flavored her tea. She wouldn’t have believed such a clunker even before Andrew’s revelations about her brother. No man about town, least of all the newly titled, though utterly
poverty stricken, Jamie Heyworth, Baron Ross, would admit he had nothing else to do but “pop in” on the spinster sister of a friend in her maiden household.

“I take it my brother is still too busy at Whitehall to come himself.” Her sharp eyes dared him to contradict her.

Jamie colored but didn’t deny it. “He worries about you, Lady Georgie, alone here. Says you never have visitors. I know Her Grace doesn’t like to leave London, especially during the Season.”

“And you know perfectly well she prefers her embarrassingly
gauche and sharp-tongued elder daughter stay buried in Cambridgeshire, particularly during the Season. Let us spare ourselves some effort and take care of business. What exactly
are you here to find out?”

He looked away first.

“Are you well, Lady Georgiana? He wishes to know if you are well, and I do too. The last time I came here and the last time Glenaire visited himself, you were pale and ill. It worries him. It—it worried me too.” His handsome countenance, no longer youthful and untouched, looked sincere enough. “You look better, I must say. Color in your cheeks, all that, but looks deceive.”

“Not
this time. Your observations are correct. I am somewhat better. You may thank my brother for his kind referral. His Mr. Peabody treated me every bit as well as Richard expected him to. I told him that myself when I wrote.” She paused and sipped her tea. “What else, Jamie?”

“I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“What else does Richard want to know, Jamie? Come, come, let us come to the end of this farce.”

“He asked after your work. Have you been able to find assistance?” Heyworth schooled his features in a look of innocence.

“Richard never asks about my work and has no interest in what sort of help I might need. What did he tell you to find out, Jamie?” She stared him down again, but this time he didn’t speak. “It isn’t your fault, you know. I am aware
you have to do his bidding.” She went on relentlessly, no longer attempting to spare his feelings. “Obviously the Hayden family honor holds his great interest. What is it you are required to find out? I would much prefer that you do not question my servants.”

He couldn’t stand against the force of her determined assault. “Andrew,” he said at last. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

He waited for more. She allowed the silence to stretch.