First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(43)

Now she, too, was gripped by something unfamiliar. And strange, because this was Nicholas, and even though she had decided to accept his marriage proposal, she hadn’t thought she’d feel this urge to hold him closer, this need to feel his body pressed hard against hers.

She felt hungry. At her center, at that part of her body she was not supposed to talk about.

Not hungry. Ravenous.

Dear God.

“Are you all right?” Nicholas asked, sending a brief glance at her over his shoulder.

“Yes,” she somehow managed to say. “Of course. Why?”

“You made a noise.”

Thank God they were on horseback, with sound muffled by the wind and the beating of the hooves. Because she had an awful suspicion that when the horse had shifted from a trot to a canter, she’d actually moaned.

“Just a yawn,” she improvised. But she was glad for his question. And for her embarrassment. She’d needed something to snap her out of her sultry haze.

“It’s not much farther,” Nicholas said.

She nodded against him, enjoying the warmth and the closeness, his clean masculine scent, and the slightly scratchy wool of his coat.

Nicholas had been magnificent this evening. There was something thrilling about a man who was capable, who could do things and fix things. She’d been mesmerized by his hands, by his flat, square nails, and the quiet confidence of his movements.

She could be happy with him. She was sure of it. Maybe it wouldn’t be the great love story she’d seen her brother and sister find, but she would be happy. More than happy, even.

What lay between happiness and love?

If all went well, she’d marry this man and find out.

They reached the edge of Aubrey Hall’s south lawn, and Nicholas brought the horse to a stop, keeping them veiled in a small copse of trees. “We shouldn’t ride any closer,” he said. “It will make too much noise.” He dismounted, then reached up to help her down, his large hands spanning her hips.

Her feet touched the ground, and he let go, exactly as he should.

But she wished he hadn’t.

She liked being near him. She liked his quiet strength, his sense of purpose. And when his hands had been on her hips, even just to help her down from the saddle, she’d liked the way it had made her feel like she was his.

“How do you propose to enter the house?” he asked, demonstrating that his mind wasn’t on such fanciful thoughts. In fact, he looked terribly stiff and formal, clasping his hands in front of him in that way gentlemen were taught to do whenever they stood still.

Georgie felt a stab of disappointment. It served her right, though, she supposed, for having said no when he’d asked her to marry him.

“Thamesly and I left one of the doors ajar,” she answered. “In the silver salon. It’s far from the servants’ quarters.”

He nodded. “I will walk you to the house. It’s still dark enough. No one will be about.”

“It’s not necessary. I can always say I went for a walk.”

He looked down at her. “Dressed like that?”

“I’ve done stranger things.” She shrugged, but she couldn’t stop herself from tugging the collar of her dressing gown closer together.

He let out the tiniest of sighs. “Indulge me my gentlemanly tendencies and pray allow me to see you to the door.”

For some reason this made her smile. “You’ll be able to see me from here. Almost the entire way.”

He did not look happy, but he did not argue.

She swallowed. It was now or never. “Before I go, I wanted to ask you …”

His eyes met hers.

“Is it …”

This was so hard. And it was her own fault that it was.

“I was wondering,” she began again, not quite looking at him, “if …”

He shifted his posture, clasping his hands behind his back. “What is it, Georgie?”

She looked up, because this was the sort of thing that deserved something more genuine than her gaze on the ground.

He deserved more.

“I would like to reconsider your offer of marriage,” she finally said.

And then he said—

“Why?”

What the devil?

“Why?” she echoed. She had not thought he would question her. He would say yes, or he would say no, and she would carry on from there.

“Why,” he repeated. “You were quite firm this afternoon.” He frowned. “Yesterday afternoon, I suppose it is now.”

“You surprised me,” she said. It was certainly the truth, and surely it was best to be honest. “I should have taken the time to think before answering, but everyone has been so pitying and it has been awful, and all I could think was that you felt sorry for me, and wasn’t that a terrible reason to ask someone to marry you, and I didn’t want you to regret it.”

But then she realized this wasn’t quite what had happened. She took a deep breath and said, “No, that’s not true. I wasn’t thinking about you. I was thinking about myself, which isn’t as selfish as it sounds, or at least I hope not, but it’s a horrible thing to be pitied. It’s just horrible. And I couldn’t see past that.”

Her words came out like a flood, but his expression remained even. Not emotionless, not unkind, just … even.