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Robyn might be a controlling bugger, but he adored his younger sister.

“Oh, Robyn.” Genuine dismay colored Matilda’s exclamation. “With all the commotion, I forgot to tell you. Agnes’s mother took a nasty fall this afternoon.” Fabric rustled a few feet away. “She will be absent for several days.”

A resigned masculine sigh echoed throughout the chamber.

“I shall stay with Georgine then.” He did not sound thrilled at the prospect. “You need to rest.”

Wait.

Hold on a moment.

Georgine’s sluggish mind tripped over itself.

Robyn will what?

He cannot stay here.

With me.

Alone.

“Are you sure, Robyn? You must check her wound for bleeding, oozing, and signs of infection every two hours.” Concern and a touch of doubt edged Matilda’s question. “Besides, it is highly improper for you to be with Georgine unchaperoned. You know how fussy she is about propriety. If she were to awaken, she would object most strenuously.”

Yes, I most certainly would!

I do!

I object most vehemently!

Why couldn’t Georgine speak?

Even as her mind raced, her tongue seemed swollen to twice its normal size, and the ability to form words proved beyond her.

“Well, given she’s as white as the sheets she is lying upon and in a near stupor to boot, she cannot object, can she?” Warm and unrepentant humor riddled Robyn’s tone. “What she doesn’t know cannot hurt her. Besides, her reputation is the least of her worries right now.”

The least…?

The gall of the cocky bounder!

If Georgine could crack her eyes open, she would incinerate him with a murderous glare.

However, the simple movement would require more effort than she could summon, and besides, the infernal man probably smirked like a gargoyle, which would only annoy her further. She could hear the jollity in his voice—the smug certainty, the mischievous lilt that suggested he was wholly unbothered by decorum or propriety.

The arrogance!

The sheer audacity!

This is not a minor infraction—this is…ruinous.

The moment someone discovers that he remained alone with me overnight, my reputation will be in tatters.

There will be whispers.

Speculation.

Perhaps even demands that he do the honorable thing and—good God—marry me.