There was a moment of silence as they watched each other across the expanse of the cellar, and he held himself very still, when all he wanted to do was cross the room in two strides and take her into his arms. It was the last thing he was going to do.
“Go to bed, Georgie,” he said softly. “Please.”
The “please” had done it. She disappeared from the entrance to the room, and he let out his pent-up breath. He should follow her, make certain she made it out of the warren of cellars safely, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t dare come any closer to her—knowing he’d touch her if he did, knowing he’d be lost if he did. He’d told her he was leaving, he knew he had to, and to hell with Belding’s hidden cache. She had much too dangerous an effect on him, and he’d already come perilously close to discovery by the Ormonds. How would they feel to know the heir’s cousin was a thief and a criminal, working as a butler in a neighbor’s house? They’d probably mind the butler part the most, he thought with a trace of amusement as he heard her footsteps fade away. The Ormonds had been a randy lot going all the way back to the first Duke of Ormond during the time of old Cromwell himself. They were used to black sheep in the family. Just not servants.
By the time he’d cleaned himself up, it was approaching midnight, and all was still and quiet in the house. He had nothing to worry about, and only a few more places to look: the unused servants’ quarters on the fourth floor and, as a last resort, the rooftop. The sooner he checked, the sooner he could leave, leave the Mannings to survive as best they could, leave Georgie to marry Andrew Salton.
He barely noticed the pain when he slammed his fist into the wall. How had such a simple job become such a disaster? Just because he disappeared wouldn’t mean that Billy Stiles would leave Georgie be. Billy Stiles never gave up on anything, he would assume that if he hurt Georgie, it would lure him back. His assumptions were correct—if Stiles hurt Georgie, he was a dead man.
Maybe he should just kill him and get it over with, but he wasn’t a man with a taste for violence, and he preferred a fair fight. But Billy didn’t fight fair.
There were still bottles of brandy in the kitchen—for some reason, Neddy hadn’t devoured his usual bottle and a half during the day, and he’d looked remarkably sober, if pale and unwell the last time Rafferty had seen him. Doubtless he’d make up for his unaccustomed abstinence that night, and he’d be pouring him into bed once more. In the meantime, Neddy’s brandy was his.
Chapter Nineteen
Georgie had been tempted to go straight from the coal cellar to Rafferty’s apartment, Rafferty’s bed, but she was uncertain of her welcome. No, that wasn’t true—he would yell at her and make her leave, the dratted man. But there was a good chance he’d kiss her again, and even in her innocence she knew that kiss would be even more dangerous than the one the previous night. She made him misbehave, and it was a glorious power to wield. If he hadn’t said please, she would have crossed the coal cellar and kissed him, and he would have kissed her back, she was sure of it. And God, she wanted him to kiss her back.
But he’d said please, and she knew that meant not showing up in his bed as well, and besides, she wasn’t certain she was ready to strip off her clothes and lie down for him. She knew the details of what that would involve, but a part of her was rightfully wary. Not as strong as the part who wanted to experience it, but her nerve had not quite reached the sticking point.
Her plan was simple. Entice Rafferty to take her to bed and he’d have no choice but to marry her. Her family would be horrified, but she’d never been of much importance in the scheme of things, not like Norah the beauty or Neddy the heir, and they would reconcile themselves soon enough. There should be enough money to buy a small cottage in the country and Rafferty could...what could he do? Without a household to run, he’d have to go back to his old ways, and she’d figured out enough to know those were dangerous indeed. He’d killed men, he’d said. He consorted with people like the criminal Billy Stiles. He’d have to go back to that if he were no longer their butler, and she expected her father would draw the line at that.
There was no sound from the cellars—Rafferty hadn’t followed her, and she sighed. She needed a better plan, and there was only one person who could possibly help.
“What are you doing still awake?” Martina had appeared at her bedroom door, looking in to see that her charge was asleep. Tonight, Georgie had tucked herself into bed, piled the pillows behind her and waited. “And what’s that on your face?”
Georgie quickly lifted her hand to her cheek and came back with dark powder. “Coal dust,” she said.
Martina came into the room and closed the door behind her. “And how did that come about?”
Georgie decided to go straight to the point. “I followed Rafferty into the coal cellars,” she said. “He didn’t like it.”
“I expect not.”
“He’s searching for something in the house. I’m sure of it.”
Martina didn’t appear surprised. “Well, if he is, it has nothing to do with you, so leave the poor man alone!”
“Why is he a poor man?” she asked reasonably.
“Because you follow him around like you’re a lovesick puppy dog and...oh, no,” she finished weakly. “You’re not.”
Georgie didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I’m in love with him.”
“I warned you not to be. He isn’t for the likes of you. He isn’t for the likes of anyone. Rafferty’s a lone wolf, always has been. He hasn’t got room in his life for a woman, much less an infatuated little girl.”
Fire sparked through her. “I’m not a little girl, and I’m not infatuated. I’ve considered it quite calmly. I’m in love with him, I’m going to marry him, and you’re going to help me.”
Martina’s sternness vanished, and she sat down on the bed, her full skirts bunched around her. “Georgie, he’s not the marrying kind. And even if he were, a young lady does not marry a butler.”
“I’m marrying this one,” she said determinedly. “I just have to convince him.”
Martina laughed, not unkindly. “That’s like teaching a dog not to hunt.”
“He’s in love with me too,” Georgie said, sounding more sure than she really felt.
To her amazement, Martina didn’t laugh again. “You’re deluded, Miss Georgie. Oh, I don’t deny that he’s got an eye for you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t go out of his way to avoid you the way he does. But he’s not going to do anything about it. He’s not going to ruin you.”
“What if I want to be ruined?”
