In the public livery where Andrew stabled his horse, a young groom grumbled when Andrew woke him.
“Do as you’re paid, damn it.You’re not paid to tell me what time of day I have need of you.”Andrew slapped the reins against the seat of his chaise and winced.Anger drove him to leap from the vehicle with little thought, and a crooked landing on his weaker leg resulted.Sharp shafts of pain along his irritated nerves sent a wave of nausea through him.He sagged against a stall, breathing heavily.
The groom took his horse with a sullen look and led it back into the stables.Andrew watched him work with quiet competence.The groom was little more than a boy and should have been in his bed another hour or more.
“Sorry lad,” he said.“I’ve had the devil’s time tonight.It isn’t your fault.”
He slipped the boy a coin and limped toward his dark house just as the sky turned a light gray.The house lay silent as a tomb.He labored one painful step at a time, up the stairs to his study where the fire burned low.In the dim light before dawn, he could just make out the shadow of the bed with its crumpled linens through the open door to his bedchamber.Silent as a tomb but emptier,he thought.
A serviceable decanter sat at the ready on his window sill.He poured a glass and drank it in one movement.You’re a damned fool, Andrew.This time is no different than before.You present every argument, and they brush you aside.Her family’s claws are in her deep.It will never be any different.He poured another glass and drained it.
Anger teetered toward bitterness.He picked up the decanter and lurched to his chair by the fire, trying to fan the flames of anger, trying to keep the bite of bitterness at bay.“I am not something to be used for your pleasure and tossed aside, my lady,” he spat.There was no response from the silent room.
He knew his words were not fair to Georgiana; he didn’t care.She never considered the consequences of her actions to him—or to herself for that matter.The Haydens used the entire population of England to suit their comfort.Tonight was no different.
Sunlight crept gradually across the dark planks of his floor.The new day brought no peace and very little clarity.
He heard Harley bang about loudly in the kitchen below.Scorched eggs, dried toast, and burnt coffee.Damn.I need to hire a decent cook.
A vision of Georgiana with flour on her nose came to mind.He glanced over at the rumpled bed, and the vision shifted to one of her lying there in that bed, her face transformed with desire.He wanted her there now, wanted to wake up next to her every day just as he told her.Her nonsense about their love—this beautiful thing...this fragile, private thing—was a flight of fancy, the stuff of gossamer fairy tales.There was nothing fragile in what he felt and nothing fragile about what they could have together.
Andrew thought about the life they might build together, one with a sheltering, nurturing love, the sort that got two people through a lifetime.We could, if only she could let go, if only she would let herself, if only—Shattered glass and the flare of brandy on embers stopped his ragged thoughts.
This is the end.I will leave the blasted woman!he thought and then he sank his head back and laughed bitterly.He would never leave.He should, but he wouldn’t.
He wondered what they would do about the work.She might try to pretend that nothing had changed, but he couldn’t.
He hobbled to his rugged worktable and found pen and ink.
“Lady Georgiana,” he began but crossed it out.Even in correspondence, there would be no going back.
“Georgiana, I’m not able to continue our work.”He crossed that out also.This was not about the work.“I’m not able to come to Helsington Cottage in the near future.”
He couldn’t bear it.
“I’ll be unable to keep my commitment.”No.He crossed that out.He must finish the work.He owed it to her; he owed it to himself.
“I have sufficient notes here to work on my own.”For how long?Two days?Then what?
A savage roar and a string of curses filled the air of the study.He threw the crumpled note against the wall.He knew he would never be able to stay away—never.
