Page 42

Her face whitened, as if from a blow, and the familiar guilt assailed him. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her he hadn’t forgotten, that it had just flamed his hunger into something ravenous, but he kept silent. She was a child, he told himself. She needed to face the ugly truth.

But by that time they’d reached Corinth Place, and there was nothing more to be said. She started up the broad marble stairs, now devoid of dirt and lichen, and turned to look back at him, as if expecting him to join her.

It was the last thing he was going to do. “Go on, Miss Georgiana,” he said formally. “That’s your door, and this is mine.” Without another word, he turned and took the side path down to the basement.

The kitchen was thankfully deserted when he let himself in, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He had a lot to think about. One thing was certain—whether he liked it or not, he’d regained his acquaintance with his aging grandmother.

She was right—he couldn’t simply disappear for another fifteen years.

She would now have to be part of the few people he trusted, the only member of his makeshift family who was actually related to him.

He wondered how she’d react to the truth about Martin.

And that left the problem of Georgie and her inconvenient crush. The crush he’d taken advantage of, time and time again. One of these days he was going to give in entirely, and he’d hate himself afterward. She was someone he wanted to protect, not ruin. But she was so damned tempting.

He heard the crash all the way down in the kitchen, and his first thought was Neddy hitting the bottle again.

He’d been surprisingly sober the last few days, but those things seldom lasted.

But then he heard the beauty, screeching in full voice.

There was no sound from Georgie, but she was most likely the object of Norah’s wrath, and he took the servants’ stairs two at a time till he reached the second floor.

“We have no money for your little megrims. I can’t imagine you asking Father for a cottage in the country. Apart from how shocking it would be, we’re destitute.”

“Then stop demanding new clothes all the time!” Georgie shot back.

“You’re the one who got new gowns, not me,” Norah hissed. “And I wonder what you had to do to get them.”

“You’re a witch. It’s no wonder no one wants to marry you!”

“I’ve got a great many more suitors than you have. Even Andrew Salton would rather have me—you’re just a fallback.”

“I hate you!”

Norah reached out slapped her sister hard across the face, and Rafferty had had enough.

He’d been listening to the sisters quarrel with a mixture of annoyance and amusement, but Norah had gone too far.

She raised her hand to slap George again but Rafferty moved swiftly enough to catch it, yanking her away from Georgie.

Norah responded by slapping him, and he was so sorely tempted to belt her back that he clenched his fist. He didn’t hit women, even those begging for it.

“You’ll not hit your sister,” he said in a low, menacing voice.

She looked like she wanted to slap him again, but something in his eyes stopped her. “Such a knight errant,” she mocked. “You two deserve each other. I’ve had enough of both of you.” Yanking her hand free, she stomped away from them with a fraction of her usual well-contained grace.

“I hate her,” Georgie said with a sniffle. “She was lying in wait for me when I came upstairs, ready to attack. At least I’m not sitting around waiting for the axe to fall. I’ve come up with a plan, and everyone would be a great deal happier if I were out of the picture.”

“Don’t let her bother you, Miss Georgie,” he said in his best, avuncular voice. “She’s just jealous.”

Georgie gave a watery laugh. “The beauty of the season is jealous of her awkward younger sister? I don’t think so.”

He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but he didn’t dare. Society would always flock to the striking Norah, whereas he was inexorably drawn to Georgie, with her wide eyes, her sweet mouth, her softly rounded body. All of which were off-limits to him, he reminded himself.

“What’s all this about a cottage in the country?” he said, not bothering to his the disapproval in his voice.

“Nobody wants me here. You think I’m a tedious child, and I’m not, but you won’t believe me!” They were standing too close, and he could smell the faint scent of lavender that always accompanied her. He took a quick step back, away from her.

“You’ll marry a nice young man,” he said gently, hating those words. But anything was better than immuring herself in the country, away from her family. “And you’ll be very happy.”

“I don’t want to marry anyone except you. I love you.”

He had to stop her, anyway he could. “Don’t be a child,” he said, knowing the words were cutting. ‘You’re too young to know what love is.”

“I am not! I love you and if I can’t marry you, I won’t marry anyone!” she shot back, and the tears in her blue eyes almost unmanned him.

“Then maybe the cottage in the country is a good idea after all,” he said, his tone sharp, and he half expected her to wince with the cruelty of the blow.

He had no intention of letting her throw her life away, even if her father could be persuaded, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

She needed to give up her romantic illusions—he was a bad man, not love’s young dream.

But she pulled herself together with dignity, her eyes still bright with unshed tears. “I’m so glad you approve,” she said in an icy voice, and she turned and walked into her room, slamming the door behind her.

He wasn’t alone in the hallway, and he turned to see Martina looking at him with a reproving expression in her dark eyes. “You cocked that one up for sure,” she said. “Doesn’t the girl have enough trouble with that bitch of a sister?”

“She doesn’t need me making things worse,” he said bitterly. “The sooner I’m out of here, the sooner she’ll get over it.”

“Will she? I think you underestimate a woman’s heart.”

“She’s not a woman, she’s a girl!” he protested.

‘Where do you think women come from?” Martina asked archly. “You need to make up your mind.”

“I already have!” he snapped. “I need to get away from this madhouse and its inhabitants.”

Martina said nothing, but her expression was answer enough.