The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(52)

“No.” He finished buttoning his shirt.

He started into the other room and heard a faint scrape. He stopped.

It came again.

He looked back at her. “I thought your brother didn’t mind.”

Lady Georgina looked as indignant as a naked woman could. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Harry merely raised an eyebrow and closed the door to the bedroom. He crossed to the cottage door and opened it. On the step huddled a small bundle of rags. What…? The mop of hair raised its head, and Harry stared into the face of the boy he’d seen at the Pollard cottage.

“She went drinking and didn’t come back.” The boy said it flatly, as if he’d been expecting to be abandoned someday.

“You’d best come in,” Harry replied.

The boy hesitated, then stood and ducked inside.

Lady Georgina poked her head around the corner of the bedroom door. “Who is it, Harry?” She caught sight of the small shape. “Oh.”

Boy and lady stared at each other.

Harry put the kettle on for tea.

She recovered first. “I’m Lady Georgina Maitland from the manor. What’s your name?”

The boy merely stared.

“Best to nod when a lady talks to you, lad,” Harry said.

She frowned. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

But the boy tugged his forelock and dipped his head.

Lady Georgina sidled into the room. She’d thrown a bed linen over her gown from the night before. Harry remembered he’d torn the bodice. “Do you know his name?” she whispered in his ear.

He shook his head. “Would you like tea? I don’t have much else. Some bread and butter.”

Lady Georgina brightened, whether at the offer of food or something to do he wasn’t sure. “We can make toast,” she said.

Harry cocked an eyebrow, but she’d already found the bread and butter, the knife, and a bent fork. She hacked at the bread and sawed off a shapeless lump.

All three of them stared at it.

She cleared her throat. “I think cutting may be more of a man’s job.” She handed the knife to Harry. “Now, don’t make the slices too thick or they won’t toast and they’ll have that awful spongy bit in the center. And it’s important they’re not too thin or they’ll burn, and I detest burnt toast, don’t you?” She turned to the boy, who nodded his head.

“I’ll do my best,” Harry said.

“Good. I’ll butter. And I suppose”—she looked critically at the boy—“you can toast. You do know how to toast bread properly, don’t you?”

The lad nodded and took the fork as if it were the sword of King Arthur.

Soon there was a pile of crusty bread, dripping with butter, in the center of the table. Lady Georgina poured tea, and the three of them sat down to break their fast.

“I wish I could just stay here,” she said, licking butter from her fingers, “but I suppose I shall have to return to the manor at least to dress properly.”

“Did you leave word to have the carriage come for you?” Harry asked. If she hadn’t, he would lend her his horse.

“I saw a carriage this morning,” the boy piped up.

“You mean waiting on the drive?” Lady Georgina asked.

“No.” The boy swallowed a huge mouthful. “It was going up the drive at a gallop, fair flew by, it did.”

Lady Georgina and Harry looked at each other.

“Black with red trim?” she asked. The color of Tony’s carriage.

The boy reached for his fifth piece of toast and shook his head. “Blue. All over blue.”

Lady Georgina gave an exclamation and choked on her tea.

Harry and the boy stared at her.

“Oscar,” she gasped.

He raised an eyebrow.

“My middle brother.”

Harry set his teacup down. “Just how many brothers do you have, my lady?”

“Three.”

“Hell.”

“YOUR LAND STEWARD, GEORGIE?” Oscar picked up an iced bun from the tray Cook had prepared. “It’s just not the thing, darling. I mean”—he waved the bun—“either one should choose someone from one’s own class or go all the way and seduce a brawny young stable hand.”

Oscar grinned at George, his treacle-brown eyes crinkling devilishly at the corners. His hair was darker than Tony’s, almost black. Only when he stood in sunlight could you sometimes make out the red highlights.

“You aren’t helping.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb.

“Yes, Oscar,” Ralph, the youngest Maitland brother, put in his two pence. Gangly and large-boned, his frame was just beginning to show the bulk of manhood. “Georgina couldn’t seduce anyone. She’s not married. He must have seduced her, the bounder.”

Oscar and Tony stared at Ralph for a moment, apparently stunned into silence by his recitation of the obvious.

George sighed, and not for the first time since entering her library. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. At first sight of Oscar’s carriage she should’ve tucked her tail between her legs and made a run for the hills. They might not have found her for days; weeks, if she’d been lucky. She could’ve slept under the stars and lived on wild strawberries and dew—never mind that strawberries didn’t fruit in September. Instead, she’d meekly dressed in her most demure gown and presented herself to her three younger brothers.