Page 14

Outside Georgine’s chamber at Fernleigh House

Six days later–half of eleven in the evening

Head lowered, one hand cupping his nape while resting a hip against the windowsill, Robyn waited for Doctor Tinsdale to finish examining Georgine. The lone candle in the brass wall sconce flickered, as if objecting to remaining lit this late.

When Robyn had stopped in to check on Georgine before retiring, as he had every night since she’d become his forced guest, her pale, clammy skin and flushed cheeks had immediately alarmed him.

Instead of sleeping, as he had expected, Georgine lay awake, her eyes glassy and lines of pain bracketing her dry lips. She held herself unnaturally still and winced whenever she moved the slightest.

When he touched the back of his hand to her forehead and was met with searing heat, Robyn promptly sent a footman to rouse Doctor Tinsdale from his comfortable bed, despite the lateness of the hour.

However, Robyn hadn’t awakened Matilda.

The brunt of Georgine’s care had fallen to her, and she needed to sleep.

Besides, what could she have done?

Only this morning, while breaking their fast, he and Matilda had discussed how fortunate Georgine was to have avoided an infection in her wound. Her sister was supposed to arrive tomorrow and remain until Georgine had fully recovered.

Matilda didn’t say as much, but she looked forward to more feminine company.

Robyn, on the other hand, very much anticipated his household returning to its normal cadence. More on point, he welcomed not having a very beautiful invalid a few doors down from his bedchamber and disrupting his sleep.

The past week had been pandemonium.

First, Roxina and Shelby had descended upon the house in the middle of the night, chased by that madman Desmond, God rot his black soul. Now, Georgine recovered from a serious wound, and though sweet and polite, Regina Thackerly was a bit of a self-centered scatterbrain—the exact opposite of her poised, considerate, bluestocking older sister.

How could kin be so different?

Lifting his gaze from the floor, Robyn stared at the closed bedchamber door. A frown drew his eyebrows together and his mouth downward.

The longer Doctor Tinsdale remained closeted inside, the more troubled Robyn became.

It seemed his and Matilda’s celebration about Georgine’s good health had been premature. He hadn’t let himself contemplate anything other than her complete recovery, though he knew full well that a chipped bone likely meant some reduced mobility in the shoulder and arm.

Doctor Tinsdale had forbidden mention of that possibility to Georgine, however. He insisted such unwelcome news might affect her mending. Her well-being—physical and mental—was the physician’s paramount concern.

Pulling on an earlobe, Robyn contemplated his feelings toward Georgine.

In short, they baffled him.

Last week, during those first few hours, when her life hung in the balance, he would have sworn he loved her. But in the days since, when she scarcely tolerated his presence and continually became prickly when speaking to him, he had started to doubt himself.

One minute, he adored the minx, and the next, she vexed him like the very devil.

Perhaps the stress of the moment had exaggerated his affection.

Or was he as fickle as a Saturday night harlot?

His self-reflection didn’t exactly paint him in a flattering light.

Still, could Robyn be in love with Georgine, even if she could not tolerate him?

Was love that capricious?

And if this be-jumbled, perplexing, maddening conundrum was indeed that elusive, much-touted emotion, was he destined to suffer from unrequited love as had his friends Jack Matherfield and Shelby Tellinger?

Though neither man would ever admit that fact.