“Yes.”
“And Lady Catherine…” He broke off. “Isshe a lady? As in,LadyCatherine?”
Her lips firmed. “Yes. The daughter of an earl.”
“All right.” Something here. First her pallor, and now Georgina looked…troubled, or perhaps, hurt? Why? “You don’t like her,” he stated, making a stab in the dark.
Never taking his eyes off her, he plucked at the other sleeve, its drying fabric making his arm hairs tickle. He wanted to peel his wet pantaloons off his thighs, too, but that would hardly be proper.
“I like her fine.” She sniffed. “She was always very kind to my brother. And you.”
“I see.” No, she did not care for the woman. And why use that odd turn of phrase? Her brotherandhim? “Tell me more about Drake. He was my good friend, you say?”
Her face softened and her dimples winked into view. Something inside him settled.
“The two of you were close as brothers, thick as thieves. You attended school together—Eton, then Oxford—during which time you formed some sort of unbreakable bond. You entered society togetherand took thehaute tonby storm. You joined the same social club—White’s—and though you both spoke out against Napoleon, neither of you seemed particularly keen on joining the war effort. Nobody expected you to, as heirs. Then one day, out of nowhere, the two of you announced you’d purchased commissions. Each of you claimed to have enjoined the other.”
The peace he’d felt at the start of her rendition faded as a dull throb, rather like a toothache, invaded his skull. He put a hand to his temple and tried to massage it away.
“As for his looks, taller than me, though not quite your height. Curly haired.” She touched a hand to her own head, and he gathered the two were cut from a similar mold, there. He’d surmised as much from the infrequent memory flashes of a man with dark curling hair and a ready smile.
So, the man he’d seen speaking to Georgina at the parkhadbeen Drake. But he hadn’t been smiling that day.
Oblivious to his mental cogitations, she went on. “He was older than me, by a good five years. By rights, he should have found me irritating, always wanting to tag along with him—and you.” She ducked her head almost shyly as if embarrassed by the admission. “He never made me feel unwelcome.”
“Not even when he wanted to spend time with Lady Catherine?”
Her bold brows snapped together. “That’s different.” She drew a deep breath and seemed to recover her aplomb. “Suffice it to say, he had a generous and thoughtful nature. He took care of me from an early age. He was who I went to for everything of any import. My parents relied on him, as well, as did you.”
“Me? How do you—” A sharp pain lanced his head, like a bolt of lightning striking from clear blue skies.
Georgina must’ve noticed because she hurried toward him, arms outstretched as if she feared he might totter. “Teddy? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, holding up a hand, palm out.
She skidded to a halt two strides shy of him, but worry etched her features.
He didn’t need her mollycoddling, and he certainly didn’t want her pity. Still, he needn’t bite her head off for showing concern. He managed an apologetic nod. He was breaking out in a cold sweat despite the wet clothes giving him a chill. “Tell me about our time at the park.”
She lowered her gaze. “I have told you. We went there, frequently, as a group.”
“Details, Georgina, I want details. When were we last there?”
Her lips parted, her silvery eyes widened. “The four of us ventured to Hampstead Heath the day before you and Drake departed. We had a picnic. You and Drake bathed in the lake. I promised to write to you every day. You made a joke about it. You said, ‘Every day? Even after I talked your brother into joining the war effort?’”
Yes. He could almost see it. Almost. Bloody hell. If only his head would stop its incessant throbbing. It was like trying to pay attention while a fly buzzed before one’s eyes.
He must’ve faltered because Georgina was suddenly at his side despite his previous warning, her arm around his waist, her soft feminine curves snugged up against him as if she feared he might crumple.
Oh, and look at that—his arm had snaked around her shoulders as if of its own accord.
He gazed down at her upturned face and couldn’t resist a sardonic grin. “Is it my magnetic personality, or do you simply prefer men with beards?”
Her cheeks went pink, but she arched a challenging brow. “It’s not your beard, I assure you.”
He barked out a surprised laugh.
“Why don’t you…wehave a seat by the hearth?” she suggested.
