And now he’d gone and done it again.
He thought of Georgiana, the way her eyes had narrowed at him this morning when he’d dared suggest she take over a wing of the house, the stiffness in her spine as she’d asked for her own room.
She’d agreed to marry him, yes. But how much choice had she really had?
He’d swept in like some self-satisfied savior, thinking he was protecting her from ruin, but had she even wanted his protection?
Had she already begun to hate him for it?
He shoved the velvet case back in the drawer and stared unseeingly at the far wall, trying to quiet the churn in his chest.
He reached for the brandy out of habit and caught sight of the newspaper lying half-buried under a sheaf of letters on the edge of his desk.
He pulled it closer and flattened it with his palm, his eyes automatically scanning the headlines.
At first he thought nothing of it, the usual prattle about politics and duels and the Duke of Denly’s latest folly.
But then his gaze fell to it. The largest column in the Society section. Of course it was about them.
An Unexpected Union: Lord Pembroke’s Hasty Nuptials.
He stilled.
The words swam into focus. He read them hastily, his gaze sliding over them as if he could erase them as they went.
The brandy glass tilted in his hand, and he set it down with a dull clink before he crushed the newspaper in his fist.
To rescue the lady from further scandal! To save the young woman from her own recklessness!
Who in God’s name had authorized this version of events? He’d gone himself to the publisher yesterday afternoon—slipped the man an obscene sum—to guarantee the paper printed the correct story: that Pembroke had been utterly shattered at the thought of losing Lady Georgiana’s hand to Henderville. That his rash actions had been born not of folly, but out of pure, blinding love.
Perhaps a bit exaggerated, but certainly believable. And now, he realized, he’d failed to tell Georgiana of his plan. Not that it mattered. The bloody paper had failed him. They’d made it sound as if she were some fragile little creature in need of saving.
It was the precise opposite of what she’d wanted… What she’d specifically asked of him, even. “I don’t want you to save me. And I certainly don’t want the ton to think you married me to save me.” That was literally all she’d asked of him when she’d agreed to marry him. After standing in that window with fire in her eyes, threatening to jump rather than let them drag her back to Henderville.
And he’d promised her, damn him. He’d promised her.
And failed her.
He cursed softly under his breath, his knuckles whitening. Good God, if she hadn’t despised him before, she was certain to now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Georgie stood outside the closed door to Jason’s study, her knuckles hovering just above the polished wood.
She didn’t bother with the polite knock. Instead, she pushed it open.
He was there behind the massive desk, as she knew he would be, jacket removed, sleeves rolled, a single candle and the hearth casting long shadows around him. He looked up, startled, and his eyes sharpened the instant they saw her.
“Have you seen it?” she asked, her voice even but low.
His gaze didn’t waver. But anger was etched on his features. Anger and…regret? “Yes,” he said simply.
She nodded once, stepped farther inside, and folded her arms over her chest. “Good. Then we both know.”
The silence between them was thick, the sound of the fire popping in the grate far too loud in her ears.
“Georgiana, I?—”
