Pretty Persuasion (24 page)

Pushing away his discomfort, Robert folded an arm under his head and allowed himself the pleasure of dwelling on the memories of making love to her. She had been more responsive than he could ever have hoped or imagined, so inexperienced but determined. But then, Georgie rarely did anything halfheartedly, and what a delirium-inducing experience it had been to finally get a taste of all that enthusiasm.

The thought of "taste" brought back another volley of arousing memories. His loins grew heavy, and Georgie's presence of mind at leaving his bed suddenly seemed a blessing. She had not appeared to be uncomfortable afterwards, but surely having her again so soon would be ill-advised—though he had to admit he would have enjoyed waking up next to her.

He stretched and yawned, wondering if her decision to come to him had been as hasty as it seemed. He hoped and prayed she'd suffer no regrets. Georgie would not be a perfect wife—was there even such a thing?—but she was the one he wanted.

As he turned aside the blankets, his gaze caught the splotches of blood staining his sheets, which brought back his apprehension in full force. The exact nature of their actions was spelled out all too clearly in those spotted sheets, and he could not help but be weighed down by the gravity of the situation.

Robert sprung out of bed. He'd dress and break his fast with all haste before finding Georgie. The time had come to discuss their future.

"A MESSAGE ARRIVED, your lordship."

Robert eyed the sober-faced footman waiting at the foot of the stairs as he descended the last steps. He accepted the letter, thanking the servant and tucking the missive in his pocket to read later. "I am searching for Lady Georgiana. It seems that everyone on the staff has seen her this morning, but I cannot find her. Do you know where she is?"

"Lady Georgiana was seen entering the garden, your lordship," the man replied.

"Ah. Thank you." Heading for the long gallery, Robert realized he was not surprised that hunting Georgie down had proven a challenge; "easy" was not a term he could ever ascribe to her, in any sense or situation. And that very fact made the prospect of this morning's task all the less appealing.

A light breeze and a thin blanket of clouds greeted him as he stepped through the French windows and descended the stairs into the garden. His stride purposeful, he began to methodically comb the grounds for his raven-haired beauty.

He acknowledged the gardeners pruning the endless rows of beech hedges with a nod in passing. He had never been particularly fond of the garden, with its allèes and flowerbeds and vistas. The parkland's wild splendor was vastly preferable—and did not require the employment of two men for its upkeep.

He was ready to give up and return to the house when the maze's tall, green hedges came into sight. Could she have made that her destination, to revisit old memories? To dwell on the past—or to accept it?

As he rounded the corner and found the entrance, Robert wondered what part revealing her unfortunate discovery to him the day before had played in her deciding to "seduce" him. He could see no apparent connection, but then, how her mind worked had always been a puzzle to him—an interesting puzzle whose intricacy seemed just as appealing as the prospect of solving it.

A strange feeling of unease crawled through him as he reached the center of the maze, as if the shadow of past indiscretions still lingered there. As if they waited for him to return and see that the passage of time granted no release from forgotten sins.

And so relief washed over him when he spotted Georgie in one corner of the grass-covered square. Eyes closed, she lay sideways on a checkered blanket on the ground, one arm folded under her head. Bonnet and gloves had been tossed to the side; sketchpad, pencil, and folder looked untouched.

There was a sense of rightness about this being the place where past would meet future and their impending marriage was finally agreed upon. In one corner, the spot where he had…
tupped
Lady Ferrers. And in the other, Georgie. Exasperating, irresistible Georgie.

He ought to wake her with the kiss of which she had cheated him by slipping out of his bed during the night. Smiling, he gingerly stepped closer to the blanket. The day suddenly seemed a great deal more pleasant.

VAGUE AWARENESS OF a presence interrupted Georgie's slumber. She came wide awake with a start as she saw the face looming mere inches above her. He lay on his side, chin propped on fist as he looked down at her. "Robert?" she asked, shifting away from him. "What are you doing?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Counting your freckles."

She froze. Was he mocking her? Yet his expression seemed warm, almost appreciative, so she swallowed her angry retort. "How many are there?"

His thumb caressed her cheek. "I had counted nine when you awoke."

"Only nine?"

His smile deepened, and a wicked note entered his voice as he raked his gaze down her body. "I became… distracted."

Like a flower unfolding its petals, her senses came alive. Desire hummed in her veins as she recalled the places the hand resting against her cheek had touched the night before. The memories that had kept her awake most of the night returned, more affecting now that Robert lay near enough to touch, smell, taste—

He bent down and kissed her. She reacted without thought, curling her arms around his neck and abandoning herself to the sensations—his firm lips, hot mouth, and probing tongue. Each stroke was a puff of air to the flame of need licking her insides, and when he pulled her flush against his hard body, the feelings swelled until she thought she'd burst with the intensity of it.

How much more tangible this hunger was now that she knew exactly how it could be satisfied. Now that she knew the bliss of absolute intimacy, knew the feel of a man inside her.

Not just any man, though. She tried to tell herself it scarcely mattered that Robert was the man who had become her lover, that Robert was the man who was kissing her as if she were the last woman he'd ever touch—and that she didn't think she could ever want another man in such an intense, all-consuming way.

She desperately wished it didn't matter, but it did. God help her, it did.

She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed away. The pressure of his mouth promptly moved to her neck, and a whimper escaped as prickles of pleasure coursed through her despite her sudden urge to retreat. When his palm found her breast, she mustered the last shreds of her willpower and said, "Stop."

Robert went still, then his head raised to reveal a bemused countenance. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing! It's just that… this isn't…" She drew a shaky breath. "We must stop. That's all."

Letting go of her, he arched his eyebrows and backed away. A trickle of unease entered Georgie's mind. What did he expect from her? That they would continue their affair with clandestine meetings, ignoring the threat to her reputation, not to mention the risk of pregnancy?

The more she pondered it, the more her body tightened with apprehension. It all seemed so wrong—so horribly, dreadfully wrong. His behavior made no sense to her, but what was worse, she could not even understand her own. Last night shed been too set own her own course to consider his intentions. That seemed now to have been a mistake.

Still, she decided to tread carefully, saying, "It's not that I want this to end, Robert. But it must. Surely you know that."

His forehead knotted, and slowly, he sat up as well. "What must end?"

"Our… affair." As his frown darkened, she added, "Do not look so fierce! You must agree that it would be foolhardy to do otherwise. My parents arrive tomorrow. It is bad enough that I've been staying here without a chaperone; if they suspect even the smallest impropriety, there will be hell to pay."

"Hell," he parroted, staring at her as if she were speaking a different language.

Oh, yes. All was not as she had assumed. Georgie's stomach tied into a knot, but still she went on. "Yes,
hell
. They'll expect—no, they'll demand that we marry."

He started shaking his head, and his voice rose a notch as he repeated, "Hell?"

"Besides, I could get pregnant," she continued, too afraid of his answer to ask him outright why he was so bewildered. "I might be already, of course, but I thought just once was worth the risk. It is best not to tempt fate any further."

"What?" Robert's jaw fell.

Georgie swallowed hard. "I cannot credit that you should expect us to continue the liaison, my parents' and society's censure be damned."

"Indeed?" he replied coldly, all of a sudden seeming less confused and more… well, angry. "Allow me to applaud your judgment, Georgie. You are right; I did not expect a liaison."

"Oh," she said, although she had begun to suspect as much. She braced herself for what she knew would come next.

"In fact, I fully expected us to wed."

The words struck like a blow even though she had been prepared for it. A strange feeling fluttered to life inside her, one that reminded her of being thirteen and blindly in love with this man, of the recurring dream she'd had of him confessing his unswerving devotion in return.

But the sensation died as quickly as it had been born, smothered under the pressure of a reality she could not ignore. She refused to be ruled by silly notions. Her mistake was clear to her now, and it was a grave error, a terrible lapse of judgment: she had underestimated his sense of honor. For surely it could be no more than an unnecessary feeling of duty on his part?

"But no, you misunderstand." She enveloped his hand between both of hers. "No one need know what happened between us. You need not marry me; indeed, I neither expect nor want you to."

He looked down at their hands, then back up to her face. "I take it I'm supposed to be relieved at being released from that obligation?"

She hesitated. "You're not?"

He shook his head again, but she suspected it was more an indication of astonishment than a reply to her question. "What were you about last night?" he said abruptly. "Why… seduce me, if marriage was not your intention?"

Dithering, Georgie considered what to say, then decided she might as well tell him the truth. She had nothing to lose by doing so, and a tiny voice inside her insisted that he deserved that much. "I have decided I shall not marry. My parents cannot press me to do so now."

Time stood still while she awaited his response. His face had become an impassive mask, and when he spoke, his voice was flat. "I am the one who"—a moment's hesitation, as if he were reluctant to say it—"
ruined
you. Why would they not press you to wed me?"

"I told you, they need not know."

"But if you intend to tell them you cannot marry—"

"You," she clarified. "They need not know it was you."

His eyes narrowed. "Then who? Who will they think the man is?"

Georgie gave a shrug. "Phillip, obviously."

"
What?
" Robert's nostrils flared. "You intend to tell them you gave yourself to that bloody popinjay? Have you lost your wits?"

"Really, Robert, there's no need to shout—"

"I disagree." He withdrew his hand and clenched it into a fist, opened his mouth as if to speak, then clamped it shut. In one agitated motion, he got to his feet and paced to the other side of the small square. He stopped before the sundial, where he started drumming his fingers on the top of the globe until she was sure it would fall off Atlas's shoulders.

When he finally turned and strode back toward her, he looked calm and determined. "Enough nonsense, Georgie. We have no choice but to marry, and furthermore, it is the only decent thing to do. I don't know what has possessed you to decide you do not wish to wed, but surely, once you've considered it from a logical position, you'll realize how foolish the notion is."

Georgie's chest tightened. Oh, he was impossible! Insufferable, domineering, infuriating… She scrambled to her feet, stopping only to grab her drawing things before making a beeline for the path that would take her out of the maze and away from Robert the Rat.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

Stay calm. Calm and dignified. Don't let him goad you.

"You cannot escape me," his voice growled behind her, and with a mulish impulse to prove him wrong, she picked up her pace until she was almost running. She felt him following her, easily keeping up—if not gaining.

"Damn you for a coward, Georgie!"

The bubble of tamped-down fury within her popped. Her desire to remain dignified evaporated, and she whirled to face him. "Oh! How dare you call me a coward!"

"I do not know what would be a more fitting name for you. You fled from me on May Day eve, ran away from the picnic yesterday, and you're doing it again now!"

"Why stay only to be accused of being foolish and illogical?" she ground out. "When you clearly neither listen to nor care about my opinion and imply that I do not know my own mind."

His jaw grew taut. "I accuse you of being foolish and illogical because you
are
."

Georgie opened her mouth to release the torrent of arguments and accusations that rose in her throat. But the words caught as she realized the futility of trying to reason with him, and a scream of profound frustration broke out instead.

She turned and stomped away. How had this happened? Everything had fallen into place the night before; her plan had seemed so perfect. But instead of solving any of her problems, she had dug herself in deeper.

As she rounded corner after corner, Robert followed at her heels, as if awaiting the opportunity to pounce on her. The exit appeared before her, and she knew she could make good her escape.

Escape to what, though? She had nowhere to go, and it would indeed be foolish to assume Robert would give up so easily. Not when he so obviously thought her decision had been made on a whim and that she'd change her mind as soon as she reconsidered.

The most dignified option was perhaps to rein in her temper and stay to finish the conversation. Convince him through sheer stubbornness how firmly she stood on the issue of marriage. How difficult could it be? Robert was not without pride. Surely he could only be rejected so many times before he'd give up.