Well, bullocks to that. He would unearth the past, however alarming the truth turned out to be—and Georgina was the key. None of his memories had started coming back before she showed up. Through her, he would unlock the mystery of his past. If that meant pushing past her defenses, so be it.
In point of fact, that task might prove the most pleasurable aspect of this entire affair. He knew just how to begin. He headed to the velvet bell pull and tugged.
Chapter Eleven
Georgina waited, earpressed to her door, listening for the sound of Teddy entering his chamber as she’d known he must do soon. He’d want to get out of his uncomfortable clothing.
Sure enough, within minutes his door opened, then closed. Only then did she creep out of her chamber to head back down the stairs to her receiving room.
Writing would get her mind off of the fiasco of her unseemly behavior.
Except, for once, the beautiful vista before her, her lovely writing desk, the relative quiet of the villa—all aspects that normally aided Georgina in accessing her creativity—helped not one iota.
At nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, she gave up. She scratched out what little she’d written—approximately three lines of pure rubbish—snatched up the cleaning cloth and dried the nib of her quill.
It was no use. After the spectacle she’d made of herself today, ranting like a lunatic over Lady Catherine’s many charms, she simply could not concentrate on anything save owning up to her bizarre behavior with Teddy.
Teddy, who’d had an actual memory. Teddy, who she’d misledinto thinking Lady Catherine and Drake had been two halves of a couple.
Teddy, who’d remained in his chamber and from whom she had not heard a single peep since storming out of this very chamber.
She reached for her spectacles in preparation for removing them. Thinking better of it, she left them firmly in place, and rose. Shoulders squared, she marched out and up the stairs to his door.
With a bracing breath, she lifted her fist and knocked.
As she waited, half hoping he’d answer the door, half hoping he wouldn’t, she considered for what seemed the thousandth time how she ought to have answered when Teddy asked her what words Drake had spoken to her on an afternoon at Hampstead Heath as she fixed Teddy a plate. As if she’d remember a single instance.
Except—unfortunately—she did. Despite there being many times the four of them had ventured to their favorite picnicking spot, she remembered the instance.
Because Drake’s words had stuck in her head like glue.
Words warning her off of Teddy. Words meant to shield her from the truth—that Teddy would never be interested in her.
So she’d lied—again. Somehow admitting that Drake told her Teddy had “demons to slay” before he would be a fit candidate for a love interest for her did not seem wise to reveal if she wanted him to believe they were married.
Not to mention, she’d never precisely understood what Drake had meant. In fact, she’d always known he’d manufactured the excuse as a means of turning her affections elsewhere because he knew Teddy would never be hers. Everyone knew he and Catherine were destined.
Lady Catherine. The most humiliating aspect of her undignified behavior today centered on her.
The door swung open on a slow arc. And then her breath caught.
Teddy stood on the other side, tall and virile and composed and looking so deliciously like himself it was all she could do not to hurlherself at him to eat him alive. Hair, combed, slicked back, and neatly trimmed. Horrible, shaggy beard gone to reveal a clean shaven, square jaw and very fine lips.
He wore his shirtsleeves, arms partially rolled up, form-fitting pantaloons, and nothing else—no cravat or waistcoat or, a thorough sweep of him revealed, stockings or shoes.
He arched a brow when seconds passed and she continued to stand there gawking like a dolt.
A self-conscious laugh eked out before she managed to speak. “Good afternoon, my lord.” She swallowed and waited for the snarky comment that was sure to come, addressing her ridiculous, obvious jealousy that caused her to rave and flee the room.
She could not even defend herself with the truth—that, although Catherine’s appearance and manner might make her look like Teddy’s perfect partner, she wasn’t, damn it. She didn’t love him like Georgie did.
And what on earth was Georgina going to do with that? Nothing.
Still. She’d have to explain her rashness.
“Good afternoon, madam.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened her mouth intending to lead with a simple apology. Instead she said, “You shaved.”
