How to Marry a Rogue (7 page)

Panicking, she threw back her head to scream, but a grubby hand closed over her mouth. Swiftly, they moved toward the corner, taking her with them in some unspoken understanding. She lifted her knee and narrowly missed her attacker’s groin, but he only laughed. His fingers fumbled with her bodice while his companion worked on raising her gown.

Her attacker’s expression turned from intent leer to one of absolute terror. A silver blade glittered against his throat. At first, she thought he had a red ribbon tied around his neck until a thin, bright stream of blood dripped from where the blade pressed his throat.

“Release her, and I might let you live.” A very annoyed, heavily accented English voice speaking French reached her through the blood pounding in her ears.

The man let her go and backed away, his swarthy face even darker from his suppressed anger. His partner joined him, and they stumbled backward, making their way off the veranda and disappearing into the night.

“Jack!” she stared at her rescuer with a mixture of shock and relief. Her legs gave out, and she would have fallen had he not caught her.

“Are you hurt? Did those bastards touch you?” His big hands patted her roughly, as if he could assess any damage with his bare fingers. She shook her head, a hysterical laugh rising to her lips.

“No, I am unhurt. Your arrival was very timely. How long have you been here?” She suddenly found it difficult to stand on her own. He gripped her elbows and gave her a little shake, his head suddenly close to hers.

“Long enough. What are you doing here alone? Where is Aunt Adele?”

She looked around, feeling as helpless as if she were a child lost in the woods. The shock of her near attack must have been telling on her, and she merely stared beyond the veranda into the dark landscape.

“She is at home. She wanted me to go out for the evening and enjoy myself, but I’m afraid I lost my escort.”

“Who is your escort?”

“Lady Priscilla’s nephew, Alphonse.” She hiccupped, and a nervous, frightened giggle burst from her. “I do not know where he is. I was dancing with another gentleman. I do not know his name.”

“Dancing with a stranger, Georgiana? And no escort, save a lovesick boy?”

“How do you know he is lovesick?”

“Because all Frenchmen are.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll take you home, and we’ll sort this out in the morning. Lady Priscilla’s nephew deserves a good thrashing for abandoning you, and I’m just in the mood to give it.”

He led her through one crowded salon to another, until they reached the main hall. He collected his hat and ordered his carriage. She turned back toward the ballroom to see if Edward had remained where she’d seen him, but he was gone. She longed to give in to a good cry, but Jack was already ushering her into the carriage in a brisk manner, not unlike a mother hen she’d once seen at Fairwood Hall, when her chicks had gone astray.

****

Jack smothered the curses lurking in the recesses of his throat. He resolved to see her safely home and then planned to return to the ball and find the two ruffians. And when he did—

“I cannot go back to the chateau. Aunt Adele will have a fit if she hears about this. She will insist we return to England immediately, or write Jonathan about it. Either way, I will have to go home, and I’d rather not. It is not Alphonse’s fault he abandoned me. He was making a tryst with a young lady to whom his parents object. She’s a miller’s daughter.”

“Hush, Georgie.” His voice was gruff with agitation. He tugged at his neckcloth. The pressing air inside the stuffy coach made his coat seem as if it was made of leather. “We shall have to inform your brother, regardless.”

“He will demand my return. No, Jack.” She shook her head stubbornly. “You can chastise me about making bad choices in the morning if you like. But I will not go home. Not yet.” Her lip trembled. “I’d rather not entertain the thought of suitors at the moment.”

“Perhaps you would be better off with a husband’s protection,” he reasoned, but she only pressed closer to the wall of the coach. “Your brother cannot always be there to protect you, nor can I.” He thumped his fist on the side of the door. “What would have happened had I not been there to stop those brutes? And what of dancing with a man whose name you did not know? He could have set them up to...” He swore below his breath. “You are not in England anymore. You are too trusting for your own good.”

“Then why not spend the rest of my life locked in a tower? You and Jonathan will never have to worry about poor, helpless Georgiana dragging you away from your gaming tables and boxing matches.” She sniffed deliberately. “Or women.”

“So elegantly put, Georgiana.” He forced back his temper. She was upset, and understandably so. “But you must see reason. Sooner or later, you
will
have to marry.”

“And why should I? What does it matter if I marry or not? Perhaps I should go into a…a convent. There’s a lovely one down the road from the chateau. Perhaps I should knock on their door tomorrow and demand sanctuary from you and my brother. I speak French quite well and will fit in nicely with all the other lost girls.”

Before she could burst into tears, he tucked the rug around her knees, but she pushed it away. A light beading of perspiration dotted her forehead, and he opened the window to allow a cool breeze to filter inside the coach. He patted her shoulder.

“Do not worry about a thing, Georgie. Perhaps we do not have to inform your brother. You aren’t hurt, after all.”

He tugged her earlobe, a gesture he’d done repeatedly in the last several years since she was a girl of five. Normally, she would rejoinder with an irritable slap on the hand, but she only stared at the landscape as the black shapes of buildings gradually faded and the dark patches of fields and cypresses surrounded them. She rubbed her hand across her eyes and met his concerned gaze.

“I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Of course you will.” He forced himself to remain calm, when all he wanted was to seek revenge on the blackguards who’d attempted…

She sniffled and he forgot his anger. “Try and rest. We’ll be at my chateau soon, where we will discuss all sorts of devious plots for vengeance on those louts.”

A bare smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Jack.” The shock slowly dissipated, and she shivered. When he tucked the rug around her again, she did not shrug it off.

Chapter Eight

“I’ll send a man to Aunt Adele and inform her you’re with me.” Jack walked ahead of her and lighted the lamps throughout the house as they passed. “I think you should stay here until I am assured of your safety. Your brother would never forgive me should you go astray while I am supposed to be protecting you.” He kicked a wine bottle on the floor, and it rolled beneath a settee. “Pardon the mess. This place is only opened when I make my annual sojourn. I’m not used to visitors.”

The house was eerily silent, and Jack explained most of the servants lived nearby, with only a cook and a few scullery maids in the back rooms. “It’s very quiet here. Peaceful. Nothing like the hustle and bustle of town.”

He was making awkward small talk, and she realized it was because she’d been so silent. She tried to think of something to say, but nothing entered her mind. All she could think of were Edward’s black eyes as he’d stared right through her. As if she did not exist.

She skimmed her hand along the cool marble balustrade as they walked upstairs. The chateau, like Lady Priscilla’s, was a little shabby, but she didn’t mind. France had suffered since the end of the Revolution, even though many years had already passed. Jack’s chateau had the air of a bachelor’s home, with its sparse décor and dirty glasses on the sideboard.

He pushed open a door in the middle of a long gallery and indicated she should enter first. He placed the lamp on a table, and she glanced around a large bedchamber. He strode to the window, pulling open the curtains so moonlight filled the room.

“You can sleep in here. The linens are fresh. There’s water in the ewer, I think. You’ll find a nightrail in the wardrobe, just there.” He motioned to an armoire against the wall. Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. His efficient look faded.

“Georgie, I say—are you quite well? Shall I fetch a doctor?” His face blanched. “Are you certain those men did not hurt you?”

She blinked, nodding slowly.

He snapped his fingers. “Wine,” he said with a tone of relief. He dashed to a sideboard, scrambled about the cluttered sideboard for a clean glass, until he simply brought her the bottle. He held it to her lips. “Have a long drink of this, sweetheart.”

His voice was low and encouraging. He’d never called her anything, ever, besides Georgie, Pudding-Face, or her least favorite, Miss Chatterbox. She choked and sputtered as he tipped the stem, forcing her to take a healthy swig.

“Better?”

Her knees wobbled, and he gathered her in his arms, swinging her up as easily as if she weighed no more than a child. He deposited her on the bed, and for a frightful moment, she couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.

“Please, Jack.” She clutched his coat with her stiff fingers. “Do not leave me.” A shiver ran through her. Despite the stifling, warm air filtering in through the opened windows, her body ached as if she stood in a tub of icy water.

“Georgie, you’re safe here. No one can come in. Besides—” He gently pried her fingers loose from his lapels. “I will kill anyone who ever tries to hurt you.” A shadow crossed his face as he spoke, and she believed him. “Now”—and he was all business again—“kick off your slippers and go to sleep. My chamber is the first door we passed, should you need anything. We’ll have a good, long talk in the morning, where we will discuss appropriate punishment for the nephew, if Lady Priscilla doesn’t do something to him first. We must also decide how to keep this a secret from your brother. Cracking the nephew’s head will be a sight easier than facing Lockewood.”

With a parting wink, he left the room before she could speak again.

****

She eased the door open. Jack’s heavy, comforting snore echoed through his chamber, bouncing off the tapestried walls. A candle on a side table cast a feeble light in the room. He lay sprawled on the bed, his coat and waistcoat carelessly tossed over a brocade settee. His boots were on the floor, and a stocking remained on one foot. His white shirt, creased and marked with sweat, was unbuttoned, revealing an expanse of tawny, muscular chest.

If he were any other man, she would not be standing in the doorway of his bedchamber as she had done so often as a child. Had it been Jonathan lying asleep, she would not have dared cross the threshold, as her brother was always quick to send her back to her room to battle nightmares alone. But Jack usually slept so heavily he never noticed her presence at the foot of his bed. Even after Jonathan scolded her for disturbing their guest, and Jack urged her to let him sleep in peace, she persisted in sneaking into his room whenever a nightmare or sad feeling took effect. She’d take care to be gone before he awakened, and Jonathan and he were none the wiser.

Such behavior was permitted of a motherless child, but somehow, she didn’t consider herself too grown up to run to Jack for comfort. Nor did she care about a possible scandal should a servant spy her actions and report to Aunt Adele. She glanced down the corridor again. The house was silent save for his heavy snores.

Without hesitation, she padded across the carpet and
crawled onto the bed, curling up at the foot as she used to do. An act she had done a hundred times in the past still felt right so many years later.

Time had changed a few things. He was taller now, and she barely had enough room without the footboard pressing against her nose. She scooted across the bed to lie beside him, straightening his arm to curl around her shoulder as she snuggled close. She rested her head onto his chest and listened to his heart reverberate in her ear. When she was younger, his chest was a massive thing she could barely reach across. Now her arm reached around him quite easily. Her head was no longer at the level of his collarbone, either, but touched his jaw. Although he had grown and changed, his natural scent was the same. The tears she’d stifled while he was awake fell freely, sliding down her cheek and across her nose, until they dropped onto his shirt.

Never had she thought to see Edward again. Had she not avoided the places in London he was likely to visit? Foregone the usual stream of parties and balls so as not to risk the sight of him? She could have laughed at the irony of coming all the way to France only to see him at a ball, but every trace of humor had abandoned her.

Not much of his appearance had changed since she’d last seen him. The black curls, tumbled over his forehead, the sharp outline of his cheekbones against his pale skin. He looked a little fleshy, as if he’d over imbibed in food and drink, as Jonathan had once prophesied he would. The present image of him only forced her to remember in sharp detail the man she’d given her heart to, what seemed years ago, but had only been two summers past.

Jonathan wanted her to marry so she could forget Edward altogether. When she’d asked him if any of the suitors were handsome, he’d merely replied, “What is handsome compared to financial security?”

She sniffled and wiped her damp face lightly into Jack’s motionless side. Why was Edward in Bordeaux? It was fortunate for him Jack had not spotted him first. How terribly Jack might have beat him, and in front of all those people. Spitefully, she almost wished he had.

Her head ached from the evening’s events. How relieved she’d been to see Jack peering over her attacker’s shoulder. She could still see the scarlet line he’d drawn across the man’s throat. If he’d applied any more pressure, she was sure he would have killed him.

Shivering, she fumbled for the quilt. She wished she could awaken Jack to talk about what happened, but he would likely scold her for being upset over seeing Edward. To stifle her sobs, she pressed her face into his side. She must have pressed too hard, because he flinched and sprang upright a moment later with a noise that was a cross between a snore and a yelp.