And yet, her mother said the currenton ditheld that the two wererumored to have an official courtship in the works.
That was all well and good. But what was not fine was the concomitant rumor spreading like wildfire that Teddy had returned home from the war irrevocably damaged.
Some said he was mad.
Steam practically shot from her ears at the gross exaggeration. Such a grave injustice could not be borne.
If that wasn’t bad enough, her mother had also reported that Lord Arlington, the Earl of Ainsworth, had not been seen in public for several weeks—precisely the amount of time since the family had checked Teddy into Bell Haven. Speculation was spreading that he had taken ill. And therein lay Georgina’s dilemma.
If the earl was ill, Teddy would want to know.
If he wasn’t, however, revealing such unfounded gossip would only serve to agitate him, and perhaps, slow his recovery. He might even demand to venture back to London to apprise himself of the situation.
Her mother closed the letter with a vague mention she might like to come for a visit as the ocean always helped ease her worries.
Dear Lord, another unwelcome visitor.
She still had the impending arrival of the Ladies’ Literary Society to deal with and no notion how to manage seeing them while not allowing them to see Teddy or vice versa.
Georgina refolded the letter and considered what she should do.
Safeguarding Teddy was her priority. She could hide him from her friends, she could put off her mother, and she didn’t much care what Lady Catherine and Jonathan were up to.
But regarding Teddy’s father’s possible illness…to tell Teddy or not to tell Teddy.
Perhaps…perhaps she could put off the decision until she had more information. She would write to her mother and ask her to uncover the truth about Teddy’s father.
She withdrew a sheet of foolscap from her top drawer, then picked up her quill.
Teddy set hispencil down and studied the drawing. He’d depicted a young woman with a face hewn by the angels, a regal bearing, and an aloof-to-the-point-of-haughty stare—and he had no idea who she was.
Make thatno certainty. He had a good guess.
And he knew someone who could confirm or deny his suspicion: the curvaceous, sweet-smelling, curly-headed, silver-eyed bane of his existence, who was probably downstairs at this very moment. Indeed, imagining her seated behind her desk was driving him insane.
Well, that might be more thanks to his imagination’s insistence on placing heronher desk, with her skirts foaming about her hips while he devoured her lush mouth and sank his cock in her heat.
Maddening. Bloody maddening.
Because she had very kindly rescued him from the madhouse—despite the fact he’d obviously done something to destroy her faith in him and their marriage, which had led her to request an annulment. He could come up with no other sound reasoning that made sense of her obvious affection for him, desire for him, and unwillingness to indulge in said desire.
He was not a brute. He was not a dissolute—regardless of the voice in his head telling him he was. And he would not destroy her ability to rid herself of him. To that end, he’d done a stellar job of avoiding her the last almost-two days.
Two days that felt like an eternity. Especially when every time he came within sniffing distance of her his cock went erect. She’d entered the dining chamber yesterday morning, and he’d smelled her beforeeven spotting her—and gone hard. He’d known right then his only chance of maintaining his new and improved resolution was to keep his distance.
But he wanted her. Her company. Her laugh. Her scoldings.Her lips, under his, or on other parts of his anatomy.
Christ. Whatever he’d done to hurt her, to cause her brother to warn him off of her, couldn’t have been worth this. It had to be bad, lest sweet Georgina would not be leaving him. He couldn’t even fool himself into believing her decision had anything to do with whether or not he would return to his old life and thereby set her up as Countess of Ainsworth. No. She was not the sort.
The woman in the drawing, on the other hand, just might be.
He eyed the drawing again. He did need answers.
With a snort, he closed the sketch book and started from the chamber. He hadn’t even lasted two days.
As expected, Georgina sat at her desk, writing. She still wore the pretty lime-silk day dress she’d had on this morning when he stumbled upon her having breakfast. He liked her in green. He’d probably like her in any color gown. Or out of any gown, for that matter.
No. He mustn’t think like that. He came here for an answer. He’d get it, then he’d leave.
