Chapter Thirteen
Teddy’s desire for Georgina still blazed red hot, a glowing blade in the heart of a fire.
But equally compelling was the echo of her brother’s stern admonition to leave his sister alone reverberating in his head.
He’d entered the drawing room that evening seeking answers, and instead wound up with even more questions.
“What did your brother think about us?” he demanded, voice gruff.
Georgina stared at him, chest heaving with the force of her breaths. “I have no idea what you mean.”
But she did understand. Drake had not approved of him, as far as she went—and Teddy could see the truth in her stunned expression.
What game was this? What possible motive could she have for withholding this piece of the puzzle?
Unless…He turned away from her, scrubbing his hands over his face. Unless she didn’t want him to know what sort of man he truly was. How he’d betrayed her.
“Teddy, are you all right? I’m…sorry. I never meant…”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was sorry? What in hell for? For tempting him beyond measure without even trying? For marrying him and then discarding him when he no longer promised to be the beau idéal aristocrat?
Or had she made up her mind to rid herself of him long before he returned, as she’d claimed? What had he done to her?
Get a hold of yourself, boy. You’re no weakling, no irregular begging for scraps. You’re to be the Earl of Ainsworth. Show no chink. Shame yourself and you shame me.
His father’s voice. This time, he had no doubt.
“Not now,” he gritted out.
Why, when he’d striven for months for any scrap of memory would these infernal voices choose now not to leave him be?
But wasn’t that the whole point of this endeavor with Georgina? To regain his memories, and his life?
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, clearly bemused.
He blanked his expression and turned to face her. “Darling,” he said, in an impressively normal voice. “I’d say that was an entirely successful venture. In the last sixty seconds, I’ve had no fewer than two distinct memories. Not exactly pleasant ones, mind you.”
She gaped at him. “You have?”
He nodded slowly.
“Unpleasant but successful, you say? And that’s a good thing?” she asked, clearly dubious.
He sent her a bland smile. “All thanks to you.”
“I’m glad.” She attempted to return his smile, but her expression was far from certain. “What…er…did you recall?”
He tunneled his fingers through his hair, then recalled the brandy. He swooped it up between his fingers and took a healthy swallow as his legs carried him several paces away from her. It was either that or take her in his arms again.
She hadn’t moved from her stance before the hearth. In the golden light from the grate, she resembled nothing short of a goddess—or an angel.
“It was more like words, spoken, in my head. I think I heard your brother. I definitely heard my father.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. “What did they say?”
He blinked, realizing he didn’t want to tell her. Neither the part about her brother implying he was some sort of skirt chaser, nor the part where his father warned him off of any show of weakness.
He tilted his head back and downed the rest of the cognac. “All gibberish, really. Shall we? Danvers will certainly be looking for me. Wouldn’t want him to become concerned.”
Two days later, Georgina paced her receiving room.
For perhaps the first time in her life, she was suffering a standstill of her writing.
She’d written even as a young girl, poetry at first—terrible poetry.
Then, short stories involving her and her brother.
Then, stories involving Teddy and her brother—and her.
Well, mostly Teddy and her. Then, novels—featuring Teddy and her.
She had scores of ideas scratched into her notebooks. Some she had turned into full-fledged novels, some she had not yet worked out.
But now, she was at a loss for words. She simply could not concentrate—on her writing at any rate.
The primary issue was Teddy. She had barely laid eyes on him for two long days—ever since he’d kissed her in the drawing room.
She closed her eyes and touched her fingertips to her lips. She’d thought, when she had kissed him, nothing could be more divine.
But then he had kissed her—and the all-surpassing wonder of it was beyond anything. Earth-shattering. Mind-blowing. Life-altering.
But apparently that had all been one-sided.
For his part, something had obviously gone terribly wrong. He’d had a memory—of Drake? His father? And now, wanted nothing to do with her.
He had said something about Drake—something to do with what Drake thought of the two of them. Then he’d said he’d heard him in his head.
She could well imagine what he’d heard. Something to put him off her. Likely something very similar to what he’d said to her, she thought, dourly.
The end result was he wanted nothing to do with her.
When she entered the breakfast hall yesterday, he was already there.
No sooner had she crossed the threshold than he’d announced he’d finished eating and swiftly departed.
She didn’t see him for lunch or at any time throughout the remainder of the day, until dinner, at which time, he’d been unfailingly polite, but had taken himself off immediately after the meal.
Then, this morning, she arose early, intent on visiting the dining room before he did so they might share breakfast together. She would wait him out. Only, spotting her, he stated his intention to take a dip in the ocean before breakfasting, then vanished up the stairs upon his return.
No, he did not want to see her.
Clearly he did not want to kiss her again.
Which was fine. She’d settle for simply being in the same chamber.
Her heart literally ached for his presence, foolish as that was—because the writing was on the wall: His memory was coming back in fits and starts.
Soon enough, he would have them back in full.
Then he would return to his life, marry Lady Catherine, and Georgina would never have him to herself, ever again.
Selfish. She was being selfish. This was never supposed to have been about her, but about Teddy—getting him well.
She would content herself with the knowledge he was well on his way.
She stalked back to her desk, plopped down in the chair, and eyed the letter from her mother which had arrived today and presented more vexing conundrums for her to manage.
Georgina was not surprised by her parents’ thinly veiled attempt to manipulate her into a return to pre-Teddy procedures whereby she bailed her father out of his gambling debts. If only that were all the letter contained.
She unfolded the missive, smoothed it flat on her desk and scanned the words anew.
Your father’s creditors have started coming around, dear, taking inventory of our possessions. I was forced to hide some of my jewelry—jewelry which you will inherit one day—under the mattress, lest they list it in their inventory.
Our neighbor Mr. Mealy happened by following one of these visits.
Dreadfully embarrassing. Of course, he, being such a good friend of your father’s, bid me not to worry overmuch.
He insisted he had the largesse if Bartholomew was ever truly in need.
One can only wonder what sort of favor he would require in return.
What favor, indeed. Something involving Georgina, no doubt. She shuddered at the thought of spending any time alone with the man, and gave silent thanks she was not in London, and thus, unavailable for the foreseeable future.
Her father found the wealthy American amusing for some reason. Georgina suspected it had something to do with the man’s willingness to indulge him by joining him on his too-frequent gambling adventures.
She pictured the man now. Close to her father’s age, with thick fingers, white hair, and florid cheeks that glistened with an ever-present oily sheen.
He also had a rasping quality of breathing and a look about him that said he was hungry—especially when his gaze fell on Georgina, which it did, often.
A frequent dinner guest, he took to the audacious habit of offering, as a casual and all-too-familiar aside, how refreshing he found it to see a woman with a “generous design” as opposed to the current fashion of “waifs and wisps.”
When he wasn’t making veiled references about her form, he was complimenting her “unusual and becoming” eye color. It was after the third such mention that she had taken to wearing her glasses most of the time.
Upon hearing of her literary club, Mr. Mealy had expressed an inordinate interest, as if utterly enthralled, all the while eyeing her like a juicy mutton chop. She tried putting him off by mentioning the tracts on science, politics, and women’s individual rights they’d studied.
He’d responded with an enthusiastic request for her help in composing an article on the American steel industry which he had promised to write for a local social club he’d joined.
He was ever so keen to climb the social rung that was London upper society.
Her parents had been only too glad to accept on her behalf.
She’d complied and spent the better part of an afternoon avoiding his accidental-on-purpose brushes against her person. Afterward, she made her mother swear she’d never volunteer her services to Mr. Mealy again.
She put the unpleasant Mr. Mealy out of her mind and focused on the truly disturbing aspect of her mother’s letter, involving Teddy.
According to her mother, Lady Catherine, the woman whom all of society believed would be Teddy’s wife in the near future, had been seen frequently on the arm of Jonathan Arlington, Teddy’s cousin.
Nothing new there. Georgina had noted as much during her reconnaissance missions, when she surveilled the woman in hopes of spying Teddy.