*
The final notesof the waltz dissolved into a ripple of polite applause, but Georgiana hardly heard them. Her hand remained in James’s, their fingers still linked as if the music hadn’t stopped, as if the world beyond this moment had simply ceased to exist.
“Come.” His thumb brushed across her knuckles. “Let’s get you some air.”
She didn’t protest. Her pulse still raced, her breath shallow from more than just the exertion of dancing. James led her through the throng with the confidence of a man on a mission, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back. The crowd parted for him instinctively—some out of respect, others of curiosity—but he barely seemed to notice.
They stepped through a set of tall glass doors and onto the terrace. Cool night air swept over them, fragrant with lilacs and the green scent of dew-heavy grass. Beyond the balustrade, the garden flickered with lanterns and moonlight. A few guests strolled the gravel paths or stood in murmuring pairs beneath sculpted hedges, but out here, under the open sky, the world felt blessedly quiet.
Georgiana wrapped her arms around herself, the silk of her gown no match for the evening chill.
Without a word, James shrugged out of his coat. When he draped it around her shoulders, his hands lingered for just a heartbeat, his fingers grazing the curve of her neck. The coat carried his warmth, his scent. She wanted to bury her face in the fabric. Forever.
“Thank you.” She pulled the glorious jacket tighter.
He moved to stand beside her at the railing, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands gripped the stone balustrade, knuckles white in the moonlight.
“I’m sorry he frightened you.”
“He always frightens me.” She stared into the garden, her own hands finding the cool stone. Their fingers were inches apart now, so close she could feel the tension humming between them. “Even when he’s smiling. Especially when he’s smiling. He has this way of making threats sound like compliments. But I know better.” She stopped, jaw clenching. “Last time, he told me how easy it would be to ruin us completely. How a few well-placed rumors about my Mother, about our finances, and about Robert’s past could destroy any hope Cecily has for a decent match.”
A muscle ticked in James’s jaw. The sounds of distant strains of a quadrille and the rustling of leaves filled the silence between them.
“I wanted to—” James’s voice came out rough. He stopped, drew a breath. “I wanted to drag him outside and make him answer for every word.”
She turned to look at him then, startled by the violence threadingthrough his tone.
His eyes were hard, his voice low and fierce. “I know it would have caused a scene. I knew I couldn’t do it. But God help me, Georgie, I wanted to.”
Her throat tightened. Part of her was thrilled at his protective fury, even as the practical part of her recoiled. “I don’t want you drawn into his web. Julian doesn’t fight fair. He’d find a way to twist it, make it your scandal instead of his.”
“I don’t care about scandal. We’ve weathered enough of it, haven’t we?” He stopped, turning toward her fully. “I care about you much more than I care about gossip.”
She stared up at him. “James, I feel as if all I do is cause you trouble.” Her voice came out breathless. “I cannot have you or your family hurt over my mistakes.”
“I’m not trying to make this harder.” He closed the gap between them until they were merely an inch apart, close enough now that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “But none of this is your fault. Regardless, I can’t pretend it doesn’t make me want to tear him apart.”
“I understand. If I had your strength I may have done so already.” She pressed her palms flat against the stone railing, grounding herself even as every instinct screamed at her to close the distance between them. “I don’t want anything to get in the way of Cecily’s success. He makes me very uneasy in that regard. He’s treacherous. And this is our only chance. Because of your generosity.”
“You don’t have to shoulder this alone.” His hand moved on the railing, his pinky finger brushing against hers. Such a small touch, yet it sent fire racing up her arm. “Not any longer.”
The gentle words nearly undid her. “I’ve always had to. And I’ve felt so alone.” The admission slipped out raw and unguarded. She started to turn away, mortified.
“I know, Georgie girl. I know.” His voice was infinitely gentle. “You’ve been carrying everyone for so long. Your mother, Cecily, the business. No one’s ever carried you.”
Her eyes burned. She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, fighting the sob that wanted to escape. Here, in the moonlight with his coat around her shoulders and his warmth so close she could lean into it, she felt dangerously close to crumbling.
A beat passed. Two.
“You don’t have to be strong every moment,” James said. “If you ever do fall apart, I’ll be there to catch you.”
The ache in her chest was so sudden, so sharp, she nearly gasped. For one wild moment, she imagined what it would feel like to let go and step into his arms and let him take care of her. The longing was so fierce it frightened her.
His hand found hers then, fingers intertwining, warm and solid and real.
They stood like that, hands linked, bodies so close she could feel his breath stirring her hair. Her pulse thundered. If he leaned down—if she rose up on her toes—their lips would meet.
The thought made her tremble.
