Chapter Sixteen
When Georgie woke, she stretched out in her bed, feeling gloriously alive. Something in her life had fundamentally changed, and she no longer felt so wretchedly young and useless. Rafferty had kissed her, really kissed her. It had been so different from the timid young men out in the country, snatching a kiss at a cotillion she wasn’t even supposed to attend.
The last of her confusion had disappeared. All that mattered was Rafferty, with his strong body and his wicked mouth and his reluctant sweetness.
There’d been nothing sweet about the kiss last night, and she treasured every moment of it. She’d been going about things all wrong, acting like an innocent. Well, technically she was an innocent, and her knowledge was spotty at best, but Rafferty saw her as merely a child.
No, that wasn’t true. That was no child’s kiss last night. And daunting as it had been, she wanted more. She wanted the rest of it. Mind you, it sounded messy, undignified, and even a bit disgusting. She should view it as her duty, not something to be sought out.
But everything about Rafferty was worth seeking. She’d read books about soul mates and true love, and he was hers, whether he liked it or not.
He’d tried to scare her away last night—he’d failed. She needed to make sure she didn’t scare him away. He would know better than she did the kind of trouble a union between the two of them might bring, and he would fight it, and her, tooth and nail.
She sat up in bed, a brilliant smile on her face. He would lose—he was already half gone. And he was hers.
Of course, he was nowhere to be found when she finally descended the servants’ stair to the kitchen. Bertha greeted her with her usual disapproval. “That’s not the stairs you should be using, young lady.”
“Where’s Rafferty?”
“Out.”
“Out where? He’s never here when I ask for him.”
“None of your business, Miss Georgie. Leave the poor man alone—he’s got enough on his plate with your crazy family. He doesn’t need you mooning after him.”
“I don’t moon after him,” Georgie said with great dignity. “I love him.”
“Oh, holy Jesus,” Bertha moaned.
“Who loves who?” Martina demanded, coming down the stairs with a tray full of dishes.
“Young missy thinks she’s in love with Rafferty,” Bertha said with a sigh.
“Oh, no,” Martina said, and there was real concern in her eyes. “Don’t do that, Miss Georgie. He’s not the man for you.”
“But what if he was?” Georgie said.
“Impossible. For all he’s the butler, he’s not a very good man. He’ll give some poor woman nothing but trouble.”
“He’s a very good man!” Georgie shot back, offended. “He’s done wonderful things for the family, for me...”
“And heaven only knows why,” Martina interrupted. “He’s a dangerous man—he belongs with people like Billy Stiles, not a young girl.”
“I’m not a young girl, I’m twenty!”
“So very ancient,” Martina said gently. “It’s only normal to have a crush on the man—he’s a great deal more impressive than the usual gentlemen who inhabit your world. But he’s not for you.” She set the tea tray down. “Speaking of which, your mother says you should prepare to be at home today. Mr. Salton has sent flowers, and he’s asked to speak with your father.”
Georgie’s cheer vanished. Andrew Salton was a lovely man, but the thought of lying in his bed, letting him kiss her, was awful. He was sweet, he was charming, and he didn’t love her. “Oh?” she said in a listless voice.
“Now that would be a good match!” Martina warmed to the idea. “He’s a gentleman, so he’d treat you like the sweet young thing you are. You could have a very happy life.”
But I don’t want a very happy life, she wanted to cry. I want Rafferty. The illogic wasn’t lost on her, and her shoulders drooped.
“Now be sensible, dearie,” Bertha said. “As you said, you’re twenty now. Time to face reality. You’ll marry a good man, a man of substance, have a couple of babies and a peaceful life. It’s what every woman dreams of, and it’s being handed to you.”
“And it’s time you were in the drawing room,” Martina broke in before Georgie could respond. “Your mother’s waiting for you. The first callers have begun to arrive.”
She was going to refuse, to head straight back up the forbidden servants’ staircase to her room and bar the door, when it suddenly struck her that if visitors had arrived, someone would have to let them in. Without another word, she pushed the green baize door open and headed into the house.
