Page 4 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking (Ladies of Opportunity #3)

Still in her bedchamber at Fernleigh House

Several unimaginably frantic heartbeats later

NO !

No , no, no.

I cannot bear the thought of being shackled to any man, but most especially that insufferable, controlling ? —

Horror slowly unfurled in Georgine’s chest.

Her shoulder throbbed anew, a cruel reminder of her delicate condition.

Robyn must leave .

Not normally given to flying into a dither or entertaining nonsensical imaginations, she blamed her wound and the persistent pain on her elevated emotional state.

The bed shifted a fraction, as though he had moved nearer and bumped the mattress as he loomed above her.

A touch so light she might have fabricated it.

“ I imagine the pain is nearly unbearable,” he said beneath his breath. “ I would wager a swallow of brandy would not go amiss either.”

For him or her?

She would take more than a swallow, thank you very much. An unladylike gulp, or better yet, half a bottle. No , an entire bottle.

Not that she regularly indulged in strong spirits.

In truth, she had only ever tasted brandy once…

She had been fourteen, and her father had passed out in another drunken stupor, only this time, a few drops of brandy remained in his glass.

A rarity indeed, given his penchant for the spirit.

Curious to learn what about the strong spirit caused him to become an angry, violent monster, she had dared to taste the umber liquid. The brandy had burned hot and sharp upon her tongue, its bitter bite singeing her throat and leaving behind a cloying heaviness that made her cough.

Georgine had not liked the taste and had no desire to sample it again, but such was her pain at the moment, she would down a glass, coughing and sputtering, if the unpleasant liquor provided her with any relief.

She caught a whisper of movement, the faintest rasp of fabric, and then, impossibly gently, Robyn ghosted a calloused fingertip over the uninjured part of her arm, also wrapped to prevent movement.

Upon my word .

A goose trussed for Michaelmas supper could move more than she.

It took Georgine a moment to realize Robyn merely checked her injury.

Regardless , her breath caught, but she forced herself to remain still, to feign unconsciousness. She could not let him know she was awake—not when her mind swirled with indignation, not when outrage burned hotter than the pain in her shoulder.

Georgine prided herself on her ability to display decorum, even when not at her best. But as assuredly as she had been wounded, such control was beyond her at this moment.

Robyn cannot stay.

He absolutely cannot stay.

Suffocating and relentless, the night closed in, helplessness wrapping around Georgine like a shroud.

How dare he decide this for me?

How dare he assume I would accept such impropriety?

Jaw clenched, she twitched her fingers against the sheet.

Georgine tried to open her eyes and speak, but her mouth felt as dry as cold fireplace ash. No matter how she willed her lids to lift, they remained heavy, weighted by exhaustion and pain.

I am as helpless as a day-old lamb.

Frustration burned behind her breastbone.

For two years after her mother passed on to her eternal reward, Georgine had managed the household. Since her father’s passing ten years ago, no man had dictated her choices. She had decided for herself and her sister since she was sixteen, and done well too, thank you very much.

God above, she resented the sudden presumption that a man, least of all Robyn , had the right to speak for her now.

She had fought for every ounce of independence, ensuring her younger sister never lacked food, shelter, protection, or the right to voice her opinion. Not a simple task in a world dominated and governed by men.

Now , after mere hours in Robyn Fitzlloyd’s house, he had taken control of everything: her recovery, her choices, even her ability to move.

Trapped .

Dependent .

At the mercy of another’s will.

The very reasons she had never considered marriage.

She’d witnessed what her father’s absolute control and unrelenting imposition of his will had done to her mother.

No one ever breathed the words aloud, but Mama had never been happier than after Father died.

A different sort of panic washed over Georgine .

Material swished nearby again.

Matilda murmured something, then the door latch clicked.

She had left—left Georgine alone with Robyn Fitzlloyd .

Georgine could not be angry with her friend, but neither could she accept this situation.

A chair creaked, followed by a hefty sigh— Robyn settling in as though he intended to stay for the duration.

Heat simmered beneath Georgine’s breastbone.

Absolutely not.

She parted her lips and tried to tell him just that, but only a dry rasp escaped.

“ Are you awake, Miss Thackerly ?” Boots scuffed against the wooden floorboards, and the air shifted as his presence loomed closer again. “ How is your pain?”

Godawful , you daft man .

But her thirst was worse.

“ Thir …thirst…” She swallowed against the dryness, muting her. “ Thirs -ty.”

Glass clinked against the nightstand, followed by the gentle pour of water cascading from a decanter, and then another soft clank she could not identify.

“ I’ll have to raise you a couple of inches, Miss Thackerly , else you could choke.”

The mattress dipped as Robyn leaned in.

He slipped a firm arm beneath her back and lifted her carefully, supporting her weight with a strength that unsettled her.

Fire streaked through her shoulder, sharp and relentless.

Her eyes flew open, and she tightened her fingers on the counterpane, forcing back an agonized gasp.

“ Easy ,” Robyn murmured, his voice low and steady. “ I have you.”

The scent of grass, musk, and gunpowder clung to him, as did a faint trace of sandalwood. A distracting combination—earthy and dangerously enticing.

And something she had absolutely no business noticing.

He touched the glass’s cool rim to her lips, then tilted it slightly, allowing a few drops of sweet water to trickle onto her parched tongue.

Blessed relief.

The ache in her throat eased, but her thirst still demanded more.

She had heard that losing a great deal of blood made a person thirsty.

Georgine swallowed greedily, angling forward for another sip of the slightly odd tasting water.

Robyn cruelly pulled the glass away before she could drink more.

“ I think that is enough for now,” he said. “ I’ll give you more in a few minutes, but I do not want you taking in too much too soon. It could make you nauseous.”

Frustration rippled through Georgine .

She wanted more.

She gazed longingly at the glass, itching to seize it and drain every drop.

“ I am not a child.” She scowled, leveling him with a blistering glare.

His lips twitched before he brought them under control and arranged his features into a benign expression. “ No , indeed.”

Insufferable man.

The glass met the nightstand with a soft clink before he lowered her back onto the pillows, adjusting them with careful, if slightly clumsy, hands.

With a slight flutter, she raised her eyelids.

Robyn Fitzlloyd loomed close, too close.

Golden candlelight carved sharp shadows along his firm, beard-stubbled jaw, the proud arch of his hawkish brows, and the sharp focus in his deep brown eyes. Dark blond hair tumbled over his forehead in unruly waves, evidence of his habit of raking his fingers through it.

Grass stains marred his waistcoat, and a streak of dirt smudged his sleeve.

He had risked his life today too.

Fighting to keep her eyelids open, she swallowed against the lingering dryness in her throat. “ You haven’t changed your attire since the garden debacle?”

“ And leave you to awaken unattended?” He quirked an eyebrow, his usual humor back in place. “ You wound me, Miss Thackerly . I thought we were friends.”

“ Friends ?” She pointed an arch gaze at him. “ That is quite a stretch.”

His mouth twitched again, amusement lingering at the corners.

He had a nice mouth.

She must be delirious, noticing a man’s mouth.

“ I am…” She swallowed hard. “ I am sorry.”

His expression grew puzzled. “ I fail to see what you have to be sorry for.”

“ I’m sorry to be an inconvenience.” She pressed her hands against the soft counterpane, curling her fingers slightly. “ I shall return home in the morning, and your household can return to normal.”

She loathed how frail she sounded. But then again, she had a valid reason.

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest.

Irritation pricked Georgine .

Did he think this situation called for humor?

Pain gnawed at her shoulder, depleting her usual good nature and patience.

Her sister waited at home, alone, and yet this man —this insufferable, laughing rogue—found something amusing in Georgine’s plight.

“ I fail to see what is so humorous, Mr . Fitzlloyd .” She aimed for firmness, but the words emerged breathy and weak.

His nut-brown eyes gleamed.

“ Forgive me, Miss Thackerly , but the physician gave strict orders that you are not to rise from this bed for at least a fortnight. The ball has been surgically removed, but you’ve suffered a chipped bone. I doubt he’ll agree to let you travel for at least a month. In truth, probably longer.”

A month?

Longer ?

Her stomach dropped, as did her jaw.

That could not be right.

“ That is impossible.” Georgine might have stomped her foot in frustration if she had been standing. Instead , she pursed her lips—not nearly as satisfying.

“ Quite the rub, I agree, but there is no help for it.” Robyn clasped the back of his neck, his expression unreadable. “ I shall not defy the physician’s directives.”

She blinked groggily.

Good Lord , she could barely stay awake.

Still , concern for her sister compelled her to grit her teeth and tighten her jaw against the seductive slumber beckoning.

“ What of my sister, Robyn ? Regina sprained her ankle yesterday and cannot bear weight upon it for at least a week.” Why did her speech sound slurred? “ She is alone. How will she manage? Does she even know what has happened to me?”

He gave a grave nod. “ Claire Granlund volunteered to inform your sister and to stay with her as long as necessary.”

Claire was a dear friend.

“ Your friends send their love.” He shrugged and gave her an apologetic glance. “ The doctor will not allow them to visit for some time, but he said your sister could.”

A bit—but only a tiny bit—of Georgine’s worry abated. “ Regina will fret. It’s her nature to worry.”

“ You may send a correspondence to her daily,” Robyn said smoothly, as if soothing an overwrought child. “ Matilda can write it for you. Once Regina is fit to travel, she can come here to stay for the duration of your recovery.”

Annoyingly logical.

Georgine loathed being indebted to anyone.

But drat it all—he had thought of everything.

Her sister would be safe and cared for.

“ Did the surgeon say how long my recuperation might take?” The question took almost her last ounce of energy.

He ran a hand through his hair. “ If all goes well and no infection sets in, at least several weeks.”

A long silence stretched between Georgine and Robyn .

Finally , she exhaled, grudging but reconciled to the inevitable. She would do her part to mend quickly and finish her convalescence in her own bed at the earliest opportunity. “ I know my presence is an imposition. Thank you.”

Robyn let out a slow breath, his mouth tilting into a satisfied half-smile.

“ There now. Was that so difficult, my fiery bluestocking?”

A spark of irritation flared to life.

Georgine Emily - Jane Edwina Thackerly , you absolute half-wit!

Why had she yielded to good manners and thanked him—given him even a hint of satisfaction?

This man—this grinning, self-satisfied scoundrel — had seized control of her fate, and instead of issuing a scathing retort , she had thanked the vexing man?

And there was the other matter that had her in a pelter of nerves—her reputation.

“ Please keep my presence here as discreet as possible, Robyn .”

Lord , Georgine could barely keep her eyes open.

“ My repute depends on it, as does Regina’s . You might not fret about gossip, but you are not an unmarried woman with a sister dependent on her. Flapping tongues fanning the flames of hearsay and conjecture could destroy us both.”

His features folding into a serious expression, Robyn nodded. “ I understand and assure you, the household will do everything we can to protect your good standing.”

For the first time, the umber-colored bottle on the nightstand caught her attention . “ You put laudanum in my water.”

It wasn’t a question.

“ Aye ,” Robyn admitted without a jot of compunction. “ You’ll heal faster if your pain is kept under control and if you sleep.”

Her exhausted body betrayed her yet again, dragging her under before she could give him a piece of her mind.

And she was not his fiery bluestocking.

“ Rest , Georgine .” As the darkness crept over her, Robyn’s tone softened to almost tenderness, and he pulled the counterpane up. “ I truly regret that you were injured. I promise, I shall take good care of you.”

A flicker of warmth curled uninvited in her chest.

Then , just as she teetered on the edge of sleep, he added in a sarcastic drawl, “ I hope you don’t completely disrupt my household overly much.”

Her last conscious thought formed, unwavering and resolute.

Oh , Robyn Fitzlloyd , you can bet this fiery bluestocking shall do her best to do just that!