She glanced up at him, and her demeanor changed for just a moment. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he wouldn’t have seen it. She clearly recognized him. And he’d mentioned her brother. Which had to be the only reason she wasn’t screaming bloody murder right now.
“Lord Pembroke.” She glared at him, cheeks hot. “You’re ruining everything!”
“I suspect that’s rather the point,” he drawled.
She yanked her arm from his grasp and smoothed her skirts with exaggerated dignity. “I am perfectly capable of seeing to myself. You needn’t play the knight errant.”
Oh, if she only knew how far from a knight he was.
Her lips tightened. “Besides, my brother has no right?—”
Jason blinked at her patiently. “Doesn’t he?”
Her arms snapped into place across her chest and she eyed him up and down, a look on her face that clearly said she now regarded him as the enemy. “You don’t know what it’s like.” Her words came through clenched teeth.
Jason’s mouth twisted. Oh, he knew all too well what it was like. To watch someone slip through your fingers and be powerless to stop it. But he suspected that was not what Lady Georgiana meant. And for some unknown reason, he actually wanted to hear her out.
He shut the door behind him with a soft click. “Try me,” he said quietly, stepping closer to her.
Georgiana allowed her arms to drop. She smoothed her skirts, then her hair, her chin lifting stubbornly. “I have been auctioned off to the highest bidder,” she snapped. “But I will not marry that…man.” She shuddered. “And if my parents and my brother think they can force me to, then they’ll find themselves very much mistaken.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. Who was she talking about? He hadn’t even thought to ask Henry who his sister was engaged to—and now he regretted it. “Who’s your fiancé?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he studied the color rising in her cheeks.
Her brows shot up as if the fact that he didn’t already know had surprised her. “The Marquess of Henderville,” she stated, her voice entirely flat.
Jason frowned, certain he must’ve misheard. “Henderville?” he echoed, disbelief threading through his voice.
“That’s right.” Her eyes flashed at him, fierce and defiant.
“But Henderville has to be nearly seventy,” Jason said, the furrow between his brows deepening with disbelief.
“He is,” she shot back. “Tell me, my lord. Would you want to marry him?”
Jason swallowed and dragged a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. Outwardly, he kept silent. Inwardly, he was shaking his head with vehemence. No. Absolutely not. If he were a young, beautiful woman—hell, if he were any kind of woman—he wouldn’t want to marry Henderville. The man was a cantankerous old bag of bones. What on earth had possessed Henry’s father to agree to such a match? Money? How much money? There wasn’t an amount on earth that would convince Jason to give Evelyn to such a man. On the contrary, Evelyn would have had a sizable dowry. Regardless, Georgiana Chadwick marrying Lord Henderville was utterly unthinkable.
Georgiana continued to eye him as if waiting for his answer. “Is Henderville here tonight?” he asked, steadfastly avoiding her original question.
“Yes, and that’s precisely why I’m leaving.” Her voice remained defiant.
Jason blew out a deep breath. For the first time that evening, a flicker of something strange stirred in his chest.
She reminded him of Evelyn. Fierce and stubborn and unwilling to be told what to do. Evelyn had never listened either.
But Evelyn hadn’t gotten her happy ending. Hell, she hadn’t even grown old enough to make her debut.
And if Jason had anything to say about it, Lady Georgiana wouldn’t share her fate. At least not on his watch. At least not tonight.
Jason scrubbed his hand over his jaw and winced. Damn it. He’d come here tonight to keep her from doing anything foolish. And it seemed she’d made his task impossible.
He was going to help her escape.
Chapter Three
Georgie had nearly made it.
She’d managed to pry open the window. Cool night air had spilled in, teasing the curls at her nape. One foot had already been on the sill, her fingers gripping the frame. If she had just been able to swing the other leg over, she could have dropped down into the garden and made her way to the coach waiting down the street. From there—freedom.
Freedom from the lecherous Marquess of Henderville, freedom from her father’s imperious edicts, freedom from that suffocating ballroom where everyone smiled at her like a lamb fattened for slaughter.
