Almost shyly, she stepped over the threshold into the warm, brightly lit chamber.
Teddy followed, watching her dark head swivel, mussed curls bobbing, as she took in the immense number of pencil and coal renditions strewn about.
“What…are these?” she asked on a whisper of awe, moving on hesitant feet to inspect the drawings atop his bed.
“I think my memories are coming back. So you see, you have, youare,helping me to recover. Had you not risked your own reputation to come for me, the hopelessly damaged heir to the earldom of Ainsworth, Lord knows what would have become of me.”
She gave a scoffing laugh. “My reputation? What do I care for that?”
“There is the small matter of your career,” he pointed out, as she reached for a particularly unforgiving sketch of his father.
He held his breath and regarded her, anxious to see what sort of reaction she might have to the likeness.
Her expression went slack, lips parting. Then, she lowered the sketch and turned her gaze on him. “Teddy, what is this?”
He ran a hand over his stubble covered jaw. He would need a shave before this night was through. Before he kissed her—and he didintend to kiss her.
“It seems my father and I do not always see eye to eye.” He wondered how often being in his altitudes was a factor, then huffed out a laugh that held no humor. “More to the point, I don’t think I’ve lived up to his standards for what he imagined his heir ought to achieve.”
She looked dubious. “That is ridiculous.”
“Why? Because I never mentioned anything of his disappointment to you, or because you think the man a saint?”
She shook her head, a soft smile curving her luscious mouth. “Neither. I call your suspicion ridiculous because you’re you. Any father would be proud to call you son. The prince himself would, I wager.”
And there it was.
He’d gone off to war. Left her for years. Arguably worse, for some reason, he had ceased so much as corresponding with her. And who knows what else he’d done. Certainly he’d earned the censure of his closest mate—her brother.
And still she chose to pour out her sweet, seemingly bottomless, intoxicating love on him.
No, notchose.
She’d tried to resist her weakness for him, tried with all her might, throwing up obstacle after obstacle to keep herself from succumbing.
But, in the end, she hadn’t been able to sustain her walls. Because she loved him.
And he’d be damned if he let her love go a second time.
Not knowing whatto make of his watchful gaze, Georgina resumed her perusal of his sketches. The sheer number of drawings he’d managed, not to mention the caliber of his skill, was staggering tobehold. “Is this what you spent your day doing?”
“Yes. I meant to join you for supper, I just…” He shrugged, looking adorably bemused.
“I understand. When the muse finds you, it’s almost rude to kick her aside.”
He snorted, his evident amusement at her words warming her to her toes.
She reminded herself she did not deserve his charity. Not after what she’d nearly done—and, what shehaddone—attempting to manipulate him into ingesting poison.
She fanned out a loose stack of sketches piled near the foot of the bed, spying her brother, scenes from what looked to be a military encampment, and… “Hampstead Heath,” she murmured.
Yes, he was remembering. She swallowed, then shot him a searching look, her heart in her throat.
She surmised he did not yet recall the most damning information—namely that they had never married, had never been a couple at all.
She could tell him, now, now that there was no reason to lie. She should…just admit to what she’d done. Would he hate her? At the mere thought, her eyes stung, and she looked away, not wanting to play on his sympathies which she did not deserve.
Then her gaze fell on a picture of Catherine and jealousy, swift and ugly, rose up in her. Where was she when he needed her, she thought? She had left him to rot, and yet still, his soul pined for her.
