“Because, lass, it’s time we went to bed.”
Chapter Fourteen
You ought never take anything that don’t belong
to you—if you cannot carry it off.
—Mark Twain
Georgina didn’t stop to watch the vase fly past the oaf’s head and shatter against a wall. She was too busy grabbing something else to throw.
The closest thing was a pillow.
No pain, she thought with disgust and tossed it aside.
“You missed, George. Next time you might want to try throwing with your eyes open.”
Her gaze lit on a brass bowl filled with apples. She glanced up when he moved toward her, still grinning as if ruining her life were funny.
She picked up an apple, looked straight at him, and threw it. “You’ve ruined everything!”
He sidestepped. “Much closer. But your aim is off by a good two feet.”
She let the next one fly; it smacked against the wall with asplat!
He shook his fat head.
“You don’t care, do you?” She heaved another one at him. “You don’t care that you have ruined my life!”
He dodged the apple, then began to applaud. “Very close. I felt the wind on that one. Now if you’ll just take aim and concentrate...”
She wanted to go at him herself, to scream or yell or beat his chest with her fists until he understood what he had done to her. But she stood there, impotently looking at him, aware that her chest was heaving with each breath she took, that her emotions were lying so near the surface that she was ready to crack.
“Tell me how I’ve ruined your life.”
She looked him square in the eye and sought a calming breath or two. “There was a man waiting for me in the gazebo.”
“All alone with a man, George?”
“I was alone with you.”
“Aye.” He smiled slowly.
“Besides this was a perfectly proper meeting.”
“In a gazebo near the back of the garden at night.” His look was too knowing, his voice too smug.
“He was going to propose.” Her voice sounded defensive, even to her, so she stood a little straighter. “He was going to marry me.”
He shrugged. “Marriage isn’t a problem for me. Actually, it’s the best solution.” He leaned back against the edge of a chair and crossed his ankles in the aggravating and lazy way he had. “I’ll marry you.”
“Oh? Be still my heart.”
He laughed again.
“I want to marry John Cabot.”
At that he roared with laughter, so she flung another apple at him.
