Nothing to do with her soft lips or her clever eyes or the way she’d fit against him in the shadows and smelled like a dream.
No.
He had one job. And he’d damned well see it done.
Chapter Five
Georgie had no idea what possessed Pembroke to shove her into the hack as if he owned it, but here she was, perched on the worn seat, scarf still covering her head, while he barked an order to the driver and climbed in after her.
The door shut with a decisive thunk, and then he was there—long legs folding into the opposite seat, his coat settling around him like a dark cloud.
He looked at her squarely, his green eyes sharp even in the dim carriage light.
“I’ll escort you home,” he said flatly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To ensure you actually make it there safely.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, arms tightening over her chest. “I see,” she said sweetly. “You’ve appointed yourself my jailer for the evening. How very…gallant.”
His brow arched, but he said nothing.
Georgie studied him from beneath her lashes as the coach jolted forward.
She’d seen him with her brother countless times over the years before Henry had moved to his own apartments—laughing in the billiard room, leaning lazily against the mantel, all easy charm and dry wit. She’d always thought he was rather nice, if a bit aloof.
But now she knew better.
Pembroke was yet another arrogant man convinced it was his duty to control her life.
Just like her father.
Just like Henderville.
Just like all of them.
Georgie turned her head to stare out the window, the faint blur of streetlamps streaking past in the night.
Still—she grudgingly admitted to herself—for tonight, Pembroke was useful. He was helping her toward her goal, and she’d let him.
For now.
And it really was too bad he was such a pompous ass.
Because, unfortunately, he was terribly handsome.
And when he’d pushed her against that wall back in the garden—she pressed her knees together at the memory—well. For just a moment, she’d actually thought he was going to take a liberty.
And worse? She’d wanted him to.
Which was mortifying. And wrong.
Pembroke’s voice broke into her unhelpful thoughts. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re betrothed to the Marquess of Henderville?”
She met his gaze squarely. She hadn’t mistaken a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Yes,” she said, leveling him with her gaze.
Pembroke leaned forward slightly, his expression still faintly incredulous. “The marquess himself,” he pressed, “not…his nephew?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No. The old man. Apparently he still intends to try for an heir. His nephew be damned.”
She didn’t even care that she was using foul language in front of him. They were long past the point of civilities.
