Papa’s jaw tautened. “How well do you know this fellow?”
“Well enough.” Drawing a breath, she said, “We, um, ran into each other on several occasions. At first, I disliked him because I thought he was a heartless financier intent upon buying Miss Letty’s spa?—”
“That is Godwin’s reputation,” Papa said coldly. “He is an opportunist. He made his fortune buying failing railway stocks at a fraction of their original value, then selling them for exorbitant sums when the market recovered. You did not misjudge him.”
“But I did,” she said earnestly. “You see, I thought he only cared about money and profit. Yet when I made him understand what the spa meant to Miss Letty and the village, he changed his plans. He has given up pursuing the spa—and, as you heard from Miss Letty herself, he is now a generous benefactor.”
“Perhaps he saw a better opportunity. Perhaps he realized there was more to be gained by pursuing you than the spa.” Papa’s shoulders were rigid, his hands curled at his sides. “Have you made any promises to him, Georgiana?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing, um, irrevocable.”
Papa’s eyes blazed. “By Jove, if the scoundrel has extracted any promise from you, then he has taken advantage of your kind heart and innocence. I shall call him out?—”
“No, Papa.”
Gigi shot to her feet while Mama put a staying hand on his shoulder.
“Marcus, darling,” Mama murmured. “Let us not overreact.”
“Overreact?” Papa thundered. “This bounder has had the audacity, the sheer insolence, to prey upon our daughter.”
“That isn’t true,” Gigi said beseechingly. “Mr. Godwin did not prey upon me. He wants to court me. Our mutual attachment surprised us both.”
“You have formed an attachment, then?” Mama did not sound surprised.
“Yes,” Gigi said in a small voice.
“Bloody hell,” Papa bit out. “You are too young to know your mind when it comes to men like Godwin. You’ve seen too little of the world?—”
“And whose fault is that?” Her hurt bubbled up and spilled over. “I wanted to go with you to Afghanistan. I wanted to help you find Owen. I want to help this family, but I am always told I am too young, too naïve, too useless to do anything!”
Papa frowned. “What relevance does Afghanistan have in this conversation? And no one in this family has ever called you useless.”
He was right, of course. Yet, rationally or not, she had felt that way each time her family had left her behind. She wanted them to see that she was capable and to be taken seriously—the way Conrad saw her.
“Hyperbole aside,” her father admonished. “My point is that you are a sheltered young lady, and men like Godwin know how to take advantage.”
“My point is that I do know my own mind, and I know exactly the sort of man Conrad Godwin is.” She squared her shoulders. “While he might seem ruthless, he has a caring side once one gets to know him. Moreover, he respects my independence and treats me like his equal.”
“You may think you know him, Gigi, but you do not,” Papa insisted. “A man like Godwin has no sense of honor or integrity. He does as he pleases, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought about this murder attempt through his own actions. He does not belong in our world?—”
“I belong wherever I damn well please.”
Gigi whirled, her breath hitching at the sight of Conrad standing in the doorway. She had no idea how long he’d been there or how much he’d overheard. He was fully dressed, last evening’s elegance an incongruous contrast to the bandage wrapped around his head. Otherwise, he looked much recovered…and furious.
Hastily, she tried to head off another confrontation between him and her parents. “Mr. Godwin, I am glad to see you improved. However, the physician advised that you stay in bed.”
“Thank you for the hospitality,” he said with icy civility. “However, I will not stay where I am not welcome. Before I go, however...”
He stared at her father, who stared stonily back.
“What is this about a murder attempt?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
A quarter-hour later, Conrad found himself in the drawing room with the rest of Gigi’s family. The Harringtons had closed ranks around Gigi. She sat on a settee between her mama and sister-in-law. Ethan Harrington stood behind his wife, the Marquess of Blackwood behind his. James, the Earl of Manderly, and Lord Owen occupied adjacent wingchairs.
Conrad stood on the periphery, his shoulder braced against a wall. The position provided a good vantage point of the Harringtons and Rawlins, the local constable, who was preparing to address the group. Rawlins’s rumpled, sleepy-eyed appearance and the way he was fumbling to find his notebook did not inspire confidence.
