“There are not,” she cut in. “You know it. And so do I.” She shook her head, the corner of her mouth twisting.
“Must you run off from the church? Why don’t you sneak out of your house in the middle of the night? You’ve plenty of practice?”
“Indeed that was my plan, only Mama has placed a footman outside my door at night.”
Jason’s eyes widened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t jest about such a thing,” she replied. Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m doing this, Jason.” Apparently, she’d decided it was time to use his Christian name too. They’d kissed after all. “No matter what you say.”
She turned then, gathering her skirts, and started back toward the house. Halfway to the door, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder at him. Her voice was soft, but it carried. “Thank you for the kiss,” she said. And then, with a little smile that cut him straight to the bone, “I shall remember it forever.”
And she disappeared inside, leaving him standing in the moonlight, furious, still far too affected by their kiss, and utterly helpless.
Chapter Fifteen
The bells of St. George’s tolled brightly in the morning air, mocking her with every joyous peal.
Georgie stood in the tiny back room of the church, the faint scent of wax and lilies clinging to her like a shroud.
The sun streamed through the high windows, catching on the gauzy white veil draped over her head—a veil she had every intention of abandoning before the hour was out.
Her mother sat primly in a chair near the door, her gloved hands folded in her lap, her mouth drawn into the thin line it always became when she was suspicious, which was often.
And she was certainly suspicious now.
“Stand up straighter,” Mama growled under her breath. “You’ll make the family look ridiculous if you slouch.”
Georgie stiffened automatically, even as a sharp reply sat on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed it down. It wouldn’t do to start a row now, not when the plan was already in motion.
Her gaze flicked toward her father, who leaned casually against the far wall, his arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips as if he thought this entire spectacle was amusing.
It probably was to him. Why wouldn’t it be? He thought he was about to collect the money, his earnings for selling off his only daughter like a prize cow.
Henry was sitting near the door to the vestibule. He’d hobbled in early and sat down with his broken, braced leg jutting out oddly in front of him. He, too, had a smug smile on his face, no doubt already counting the money this marriage stood to make him.
The man Georgie was to marry wasn’t with them, however. She peeked out the door. The Marquess of Henderville stood waiting at the far end of the aisle near the altar, frail and stooped, his cane planted firmly before him, his face flushed and gleaming with anticipation.
Georgie shivered despite herself. His expression was…unsettling. Too happy. Too eager. Too…hungry. She forced her eyes away before her stomach could turn completely.
And then she saw her.
Bea.
Seated in a front pew, flanked by her impeccably dressed parents, her blond head held high and her eyes as sharp and knowing as ever.
Bea turned ever so slightly, and when Georgie’s gaze met hers, Bea gave the barest of nods. Georgie fell away from the door.
The plan was set.
In the room with her, Poppy fluttered about nervously, pretending to fuss with the hem of Georgie’s gown but really stealing glances toward the door every few seconds.
“Stop fidgeting,” Georgie whispered.
“I’m not fidgeting,” Poppy muttered, though her hands were twisting the fabric of her own skirt.
Earlier, when Georgie had insisted to her mother that her new friend Poppy stay with her in the back, Mama had merely sneered, “I didn’t realize you had any friends.”
But Mama hadn’t objected. And that’s what mattered.
