Pretty Persuasion (7 page)

"My dear, you are tired from the journey. I am thinking only of your comfort. We'll speak of it later." Rossemore's veneer was damnably convincing as he moved to seize Georgie's hand. Tamping down the urge to growl at the sight, Robert gripped the sword's smooth wooden handle so hard he half expected it to splinter.

"I am not that tired," Georgie said. "We shall speak of it now."

"There are circumstances of which you do not know," Rossemore ventured cautiously.

"What circumstances?" she demanded, her voice rising.

Rossemore looked frustrated and torn. "I am not so very reduced, but enough so that—" He made a helpless gesture. "—enough so that, without your dowry, there is cause for concern."

Georgie blinked. "But you have a prosperous estate. You have several carriages and a town house. What…?" At Rossemore's wince, she trailed off.

"My estate has not been profitable for years," he admitted. "The carriages—all borrowed from acquaintances. And there is no house."

Georgie paled and snatched her hand away. If the bastard had slapped her, she couldn't have looked more stricken. Robert wished she wouldn't wear her heart on her sleeve for the entire world to see.

"Why did you not tell me?" she asked, and when Rossemore wavered, her eyes grew big. After a moment, she said flatly, "You didn't tell me because you were afraid I'd think you only wanted my money."

"That was part of it, yes, but—"

"Which would clearly have been the truth."

"No!" The fool's hand clenched into a fist, and Robert stiffened. "You misunderstand. It is not a matter that ought to trouble you."

"If it means you will not marry me because of it, I assure you, it does trouble me!"

"Of course we shall be married. We'll simply have to delay, until I have found another way to restore my family fortune."

Delay until you're sure of Southwell's intentions, rather,
Robert amended silently.

Rossemore reached for her again. "Georgie, please; you mustn't worry."

She slapped his hand away. "I cannot believe you would have me return to my parents unwed! They would be furious even if we were married, and I had only one defense: that we wanted it too much to wait any longer. But now I apparently have no such excuse."

The fool's mouth twisted. "You're being impractical, Georgie. We cannot afford to marry without your dowry. You deserve nothing but the best, my dear, and I should never forgive myself if you were forced to live in genteel poverty simply because… simply because I am not worthy of you."

The bastard could turn a pretty phrase. Surely Georgie was not silly enough to swallow it.

Her eyes widened again. "How dare you?" she railed. "You're the one crying off because my father might not give you my dowry.
I
don't care about the money!"

"You wouldn't," Rossemore snapped, his face contorting. "You've never been in want of any."

Georgie's chest heaved as she stared at her lover, disbelief shining in her eyes. She looked so lost, so vulnerable.

Robert averted his face, unable to watch any more. Cameron leaned against the door, studying his boots. Seconds ticked by and the silence grew louder. If Rossemore had made off with any other lady, Robert might have pitied him. But it was Georgie the bastard had deceived; it was his Georgie who looked as if her heart had been torn out, stomped on, and left to rot. Rossemore was lucky Robert didn't hold the pistol. Giving the man a limp sounded beyond tempting at the moment.

"Georgie…"

At the sound of Rossemore's pleading voice, Robert turned and saw Georgie grab her wrap from the chair. She drew it on, her movements jerky, then picked up her gloves and bonnet.

"Georgie," Rossemore repeated. "What are you doing?"

She ignored him. As she rushed to the bags by the toilet table, she ignored Robert, too. She snatched them up and made a beeline for the door, where Cameron, who would not be so easily ignored, halted her progress.

"For God's sake, what are you doing?" Rossemore hurried after her, and when she still did not answer, he tore one of the valises from her hands.

Georgie swung on her lover, looking so furious Robert wouldn't have been surprised if she burst into flames. "What the devil do you think I'm doing? I'm leaving!"

Cursing, now. It would have been amusing if she weren't so upset.

"Where on earth will you go?"

"To hell, if it will take me away from you!" She snatched back her bag and turned on her heel. Her rage was so fierce that even Cameron stepped aside to allow her escape. She yanked the door open and stormed out of the room.

Meeting Cameron's gaze, Robert jerked his head at her disappearing form. His friend glared but complied, slamming the door as he took off after her. Robert would join them, but first, he had a few choice words for the fool.

And a fool the man certainly was. Only a green, arrogant ass would assume he could so easily make away with Southwell's money. Rossemore had obviously underestimated Georgie's intelligence, as well. She was not as blind in her infatuation as the bastard had assumed, and for that, Robert could hardly be more relieved.

"I assume this means the wedding is off," Robert drawled. He expected anger, or at the very least a scowl, but Rossemore merely appeared stunned. Giving the man a moment to collect himself, Robert crossed the room and put the sword on the table. When he turned, he found Rossemore staring with knitted brows at the bloodstained cloth in his hand.

Damn. It was hard to deliver a threat to a man who looked like a kicked dog. He might as well take himself off. There was no satisfaction to be had there.

His hand was on the door handle when Rossemore's voice stopped him. "What is she to you?" The bastard's shock had vanished, and there was an ugly glint in his eyes.

"A mere family acquaintance." It felt like a lie, even though he'd be hard-pressed to put a different name to their relationship after the rejection she had delivered in Mansell's garden.

Rossemore regarded Robert with suspicion. "What
does
that document say?"

"In hopes that it will torment you, I'd rather not say."

Rossemore's gaze narrowed, and then he gave a mocking smile. "I had her first, Sheffield. I dare say that will torment
you
."

A roar filled Robert's ears as the image of the couple entwined on the bed cropped up. Georgie's eyes dazed with passion, her lips swollen, and worst of all, the bastard's hand up her skirt. If a sight could ever provoke him to commit murder, that was it. And now the offender had the audacity to throw it in his face.

Rossemore could be lying, of course, but "could be" was not enough to calm Robert's boiling fury. He didn't know what enraged him the most—that the bastard had bedded Georgie or that the idea made Robert so… jealous. There was no other word for it.

"Stay away from her," he said, amazed at how even his voice sounded.

"Or else?" His adversary cocked a brow.

"Use your imagination." Too tempted to thrash the barefaced pup, Robert made that his parting comment.

As he strode toward the stairs, he gave himself a halfhearted mental pat on the back. After all, the marriage had been averted with a minimum of bloodshed, and Georgie might even escape with her reputation intact. A pity the same could not be said for her virtue.

Grinding his teeth, Robert forced his thoughts away from that topic. Just as well, because at the foot of the stairs, he came upon the innkeeper and his wife, who stood arguing animatedly while a bewildered adolescent boy looked on.

The innkeeper noticed him. "Sir! This is intolerable! I insist you do something about it."

"I'm in a bit of a hurry." Robert glanced around. "Did a young lady and the gentleman who arrived in my company pass through here?"

"That is precisely the problem, sir," the wife said, a pinched look on her face. "First the two of you storm in here, creating a racket and disturbing our guests, and now they're at it!"

Robert blinked. "They?"

"Yes!" The woman gestured wildly. "The young lady dashes down the stairs with the gentleman at her heels, demanding that her carriage be readied."

"And I told her," the innkeeper supplied. "'Well, now, I can't rightly do that,' I said, 'since the gentleman you arrived with is the one who made the arrangements.'"

"She weren't happy about that," his wife commented, and her husband agreed with a huff.

"But where is she?" Robert all but snapped.

"Can you not hear them?" His host pointed over Robert's shoulder. "They're in the back parlor, waking up the dead, no doubt."

Robert spun around and stalked down the hall.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir," the innkeeper said, following closely, "what exactly is your connection with the young lady? I do not mean to pry, but the other gentleman was not very
gentle
when he pulled her back there, and I will not stand for any mistreatment of ladies on my property."

They reached a great oak-paneled door. "Is this it?" he asked, but he needn't have, because he heard a high-pitched female voice from inside. It was definitely Georgie. A greatly incensed Georgie, from the sound of it.

"Indeed, it is."

Robert looked over his shoulder. The innkeeper and his wife watched him with a mix of disapproval and excitement. The boy peered curiously from behind them. "I'll see to it," Robert assured them.

They didn't move.

"I would appreciate some privacy," he added pointedly.

The short, scrawny man crossed his arms. "No doubt you would, sir, but I intend to keep an eye on you, all the same. In case I have to send for the constable, you see."

Finally at the end of his patience, Robert plucked a half sovereign from his pockets. "I assure you, there is no need for a constable."

"I must consider the other guests…" The innkeeper's eyes darted between the gold and Robert's face. His expression softened a bit when Robert drew out another coin, but it wasn't until a third clinked on top of the others in his hand that he accepted. "I trust you will keep the noise to a minimum."

Robert gave a terse nod and waited until the three of them scampered away before turning to the door again. The room had gone dead silent. But he'd be a fool to think that meant the task before him had become any easier.

Drawing a fortifying breath, he grasped the door handle.

"Lord Holcroft pays more attention to me than before. I am to call him Robert, and he shall use my Christian name as well. When he laughs, he calls me Georgie, and when he teases, he calls me Imp. I cannot decide which pleases me more."

— From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 10

THE DOOR OPENED no more than an inch or two before it hit an immovable Cameron, who promptly stepped aside. The moment Robert entered, Georgie flung herself toward the door, a flurry of skirts and limbs. He slammed it shut and put his weight against it to bar her escape.

She skidded to a halt. "Get out of my way, damn you!"

Robert winced at her shrill tone; he hadn't known it was humanly possible to reach such a pitch. "Calm down."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down. Since you arrived, I've been assaulted, had a pistol pointed at me, and been manhandled by that… that…" Seeming unable to find an appropriate name for him, she pointed a shaky finger at Cameron, who had retreated to the other side of a round pedestal table.

Cameron scowled, and a hint of Scottish burr colored his polished English accents as he said, "The pistol was not pointed at the lady. Until she put herself in its way, like a bloody—"

Georgie growled, and Cameron's mouth clamped shut. For a stunned moment, Robert only stared at them. Georgie shot a murderous glare at Cameron, who bore a look of disgust Robert had never thought to see him direct at a female.

"You're creating a scene, Georgie," Robert said. "I will allow that you have reason to be upset, but hysterical outbursts are hardly productive."

Her jaw dropped. "You have no right to keep me here!"

He shook his head. "You are not of age. In the absence of your father, I'm the closest you have to a guardian at the moment."

A burst of incredulous laughter escaped her. "Lord Sheffield, I suggest you let me leave right this minute."

Or what? She'd scream her head off? "Your mother and I made plans for the event that you did not end up as Lady Rossemore. Letting you go off on your own to God knows where is not among them."

"I don't give a damn about your plans." She stepped up to the door and grabbed the handle under his arm. "Get out of my way, Robert."

Robert, now. She apparently had a hard time deciding what to call him. She tried to pull the door open, but his weight kept it from moving even an inch.

He sighed. "Give it up, Georgie."

She stood close, so close he could feel the heat from her body, catch a faint whiff of rose water. It was a sweet scent, one that went straight to his head, stirring images wholly inappropriate for the current time and place.

"Listen to me, you curst wretch," she said in a low tone. "You seem to have developed an affinity for ordering others around. I, however, will not be bullied."

God, she was a hellcat. He probably shouldn't goad her, but suddenly, he was perversely curious to see how furious she could get. "You know," he said, keeping his voice light, "it occurs to me that, instead of exhausting your vocabulary in search of vulgar words, you ought to thank me. If it weren't for our timely intervention, you would have married that fortune hunter."

She gaped. "
Thank
you?"

"You're quite welcome," he said with a smile. Her eyes glazed over and her lips thinned. Just one more nudge… "What say you, Cameron? A measure of gratitude would be welcome, wouldn't it?"

Cameron merely arched a brow.

"Perhaps if you had actually shot the fellow," Robert continued, "she would be more inclined to—"

Georgie jerked on the door and, catching him off guard, managed to pull it open. She gave it another yank, and pain exploded as the hard oak smashed into the back of Robert's head, pushing him forward. Momentarily dazed, he got his bearings just as she made a dive for freedom. He threw himself at the door and shut it, literally, in her face.