Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(61)

Georgina was waiting for him to speak, gazing at him with such hope and trust. He stared at her lips, full and warm and his for the taking. He wanted her so much. Desire and concern squared off inside him like two armies on the battlefield. It wanted only the crash of cannon to complete his misery.

She smiled and put a hand on his arm, raising her chin, obviously inviting a kiss. He desperately wanted to kiss her. “When I’m with you, I know all will be well,” she said.

It was how she should feel, how he wanted her to feel, Sebastian thought. He longed to take care of her. But he hadn’t the first idea how to mend matters. Last night’s scene in the drawing room came rushing back. If her father had pushed harder and he’d been exposed, would she be so confident now? Unlikely. Achingly close to her, dizzied by the sweet scent of her perfume, he was struck by a dreadful realization. There would be no way to sustain his deception once they were living together. He had a sudden vision of her bringing him a letter or a document—his wife come to consult him on a matter of importance to them both. Was he to fob her off? Summon Sykes? Unthinkable! Sebastian was washed by a flood of shame. Why hadn’t this occurred to him before?

He felt his cheeks reddening. He couldn’t face her. He groped for an escape and managed only the inane. “I should go and, er, check on Whitefoot,” he said.

Georgina looked astonished. “What? Why?”

“I went out riding last night.” Naturally, he’d groomed his horse and put him away properly, but he was stuck with this damnably silly excuse now.

“In the dark?”

Sebastian nodded miserably.

She gripped his arm more tightly. “Sebastian, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just…won’t take but a few minutes.” Like a coward funking it before a battle, he stepped away and fled.

Georgina stood quite still, feeling very much alone. She didn’t think Sebastian had ever lied to her before. In fact, she was practically certain he hadn’t. He had a certain…transparent quality. It was one of the traits that had drawn her to him. But just now, he had. She’d seen it in his face. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, and he didn’t wish to tell her what it was.

Aware of a painful hollowness in the region of her heart, she sank down on a nearby sofa and took a deep breath. Had her family’s eccentricities finally put him off? He hadn’t seemed to mind them at all. But Papa had risen to new heights of…of nonsense with his railing about Welsh savages. Perhaps, also, Randolph’s arrival and opinions had influenced her betrothed? Georgina nearly leaped up when she remembered that Hilda was all too likely to nag Randolph about a special license. Then she recalled that Randolph had planned to go and see their local church this morning. He was safe for the moment.

She leaned back and was assailed by anxiety once more. Was Sebastian sorry he’d become engaged to her? Did he wish he could draw back? And if so, was she obliged, in honor, to offer him an escape? She clasped her hands to keep them from trembling. The idea roused a wave of regret so intense it nearly overwhelmed her. It was answered by an equally strong impulse of denial. Georgina set her jaw. She was not going to do any such thing. She was going to marry Sebastian as planned. Nothing on Earth was going to stop her.

With this resolve burning in her, Georgina realized that she loved her noble cavalry major with all her heart. The feeling had taken root in London and grown rapidly in the months since, until it was twined through every part of her like an exquisitely blossoming vine. The progress had been so constant, so pleasant, that she hadn’t fully taken it in till now. She loved him. Oh, how she loved him! Papa must be made to see.

Georgina rose and strode out of the parlor. She felt as if determination must be hissing off her like steam from a boiling kettle. She had no qualms, no doubts. This contest was life or death to her, and she meant to win.

But she couldn’t find her father. He wasn’t in his study or the library or the stables. She climbed the tower to see if he might have discovered Mr. Mitra’s retreat, but he wasn’t there either. And their Indian guest disavowed all knowledge of his whereabouts. Finally, Georgina tried the schoolroom, thinking he might be conferring with Joanna over some bit of research. He was not. Joanna was there alone, bent over a long table littered with bits of gilt paper, scissors, and a pot of glue. “I’m trying to reproduce the headdress I wore as a temple priestess,” she said when Georgina looked in. She spoke as if they were continuing a commonplace conversation.

“The materials are far inferior, of course.” She gestured at the gilt paper. “Even laughable. But I believe I may be able to catch the spirit of the regalia.”

With no idea how to answer this, Georgina said, “Where’s Hilda?” Teaching her sister was, after all, Joanna’s job. Not that anyone seemed to care about that, despite Hilda’s dire need of supervision.

“Still serving out her sentence” was the rather blithe reply.

Georgina didn’t think her sister’s punishment was meant to excuse her from lessons, but she couldn’t think about that now. She hurried downstairs to check her father’s study again. Still empty. She was about to burst with impatience when she heard male voices in the great hall. She practically ran toward the sound.

“It’s a fine example of a Saxon font,” her father was saying. “Supposedly blessed by Saint Ethelbert himself.”