Anywhere but here. Anywhere but near him.
And this time…she wasn’t about to let Pembroke slow her down.
Chapter Eight
Another ball, another marble pillar. Jason surveyed the room with a grim expression, a glass of untouched brandy in his hand.
Tonight, he’d tried to tell himself he was here because he owed it to Chadwick.
Because he’d promised.
Because it was his duty to keep Georgiana from making a spectacle of herself.
But the truth—that inconvenient, damning truth—was that Chadwick hadn’t even asked him to keep watching her.
Last week, when Jason had finally stood to leave that debauched little flat, Chadwick had only chuckled and waved him off. “If you don’t want to continue to watch, let her run home,” he’d said lazily, already halfway to drunk, one of the women perched on his lap. “She has nowhere else to go and the wedding will happen soon enough.”
Clearly, Chadwick didn’t give a toss about his sister’s reputation. So, Jason—madman that he apparently was—had taken it upon himself to show up here tonight.
Which made no sense.
None.
He had better things to do than play nursemaid to a reckless girl who thought nothing of climbing out windows and running into the night. If her own brother didn’t care…why should he? Only something in his gut told him that that was why he cared. Georgiana didn’t seem to have anyone who gave a toss whether she was ruined or even physically harmed.
Evelyn had been his best friend, his closest ally, and yet she’d died on his watch. Georgiana didn’t even have anyone watching.
He knew it wasn’t his duty, wasn’t even his right…
And yet.
Here he stood.
He shifted his weight, adjusted his coat, and tried to convince himself it was nothing more than his sense of obligation…misplaced though it might be.
His gaze slid automatically across the room.
And there she was.
Georgiana.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Which was ridiculous.
Insane, even.
She wasn’t the first young woman to find herself betrothed to a man not of her choosing, and she wouldn’t be the last.
She would marry Henderville, just as countless others had married for duty instead of love, and the world would keep spinning.
He knew that.
Hell, he’d seen it happen dozens of times.
So why—why—did the thought of her in Henderville’s gnarled hands make his stomach twist with something uncomfortably like rage?
Because she was vulnerable, he told himself.
