Chapter Thirty-Two
Teddy waited as Mrs. Dove-Lyon vacated the small parlor, never once taking his eyes off of Georgina. In the Lyon’s Den—again. In a man’s suit. It was too much.
The door closed with a soft snick.
“Well, madam. Care to explain?” he demanded.
She lifted her chin in a show of bravado that did not meet her molten-silver eyes. “I could ask you the same.”
A seating area comprised of a small sofa, two armchairs and an accompanying table separated them.
He crossed one arm over his chest, propped his elbow on his forearm and tapped his chin, then deliberately started toward her.
“No, I don’t think you could. You are my wife, and I expressly forbid you coming here again. ”
She sent him a chiding smile that was no doubt meant to be conciliatory. “But you know that we’re not married. Not really. That paper was just something I scribbled down.”
He nodded once, drawing to a halt a good six feet from her. He could not risk standing closer. At the sight of her, even in her ridiculous garb, a desperate need to haul her into his arms assailed him. And her rose-scented perfume was not helping matters.
“Next time you wish to pull off a male disguise, I suggest you leave off with the rose oil.”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “I did not apply any oil. It must be my shampoo you’re smelling.”
He clenched his jaw imaging her bounty of hair, currently hidden underneath a perfectly hideous beaver hat, loose and falling about her shoulders.
“We are straying from the point. Georgina, why are you here?”
“Why are you?” she countered.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I never asked you,” she said softly. “How is your father? Is he well, I hope?”
He dropped his hand and stared at her. This woman. Ever concerned for him. For his well-being. For his inmost thoughts and feelings and struggles—and joys. Despite the circumstances, warmth pervaded his insides.
“As it happens, he is on the road to recovery. As for our relationship, I’ve made it abundantly clear that things are going to change, or there won’t be one. But that is something I’ll share with you in detail at another time, should the matter interest you.”
“Oh, yes, very much so.” She drew what appeared to be a bracing breath. “Does that mean…does that mean you have decided to forgive me? That you do not hate me?”
Her watchful, uncertain gaze locked on him, and he could no more maintain the distance between them than allow her to exit his life.
In one stride, he reached her, pulled her into his arms, and ran his hands over her, greedy for the supple feel of her.
Then he laughed. “What are you wearing?” he demanded, leaning back only far enough to scrutinize her.
“You seem to be carrying a few extra pounds.”
She laughed her musical laugh, swatting him. “You devil. This happens to be an old suit of Drake’s. It’s too large, so I stuffed the waistcoat with a pillow.”
He shook his head. “Very ingenious of you.” Sobering, he went on, “As to your previous question, no, I do not hate you. I could never hate you, Georgina. I cannot conceive a reality where that is a remote possibility.
“Now, kindly tell me what has happened, really, that led you here, and led you to the erroneous conclusion you would marry another.”
Hope lit her liquid-silver eyes as she searched his face. “Very well. As it happens, my father was not ill as Mother implied.”
“As she stated,” he clipped.
She lowered her lashes. “Father wanted me home in order to tell me he’d contracted a marriage between myself and their neighbor, Mr. Mealy.”
“Mr. Mealy,” he bit out as acid churned in his gut. He’d known there was a threat hidden in that letter from her mother. What favor Mr. Mealy might require, indeed.
“He’s a wealthy American who purchased the townhouse across from ours just over a year ago. For some odd reason, he developed a fascination for me.”
“You don’t say,” he drawled. That, Teddy had no problem understanding. Anyone could see his wife was bloody delectable. “Well, that’s unfortunate for him, isn’t it? As you’re taken.”
She slanted him an uncertain gaze. One he couldn’t read. Did she want to spend her life with him? He was so sure when he’d departed his father’s manse.
Of course she did. She would not have gone through all she had for him, would not have professed feelings of love for him.
He forced himself to cease his endless cogitation. The point was moot. She was his wife.
“Well?” He arched his brows. “I assume you informed your parents, and this Mealy, you were not interested in marriage to him?”
Her brows furrowed. “I…did. Only, as it happens, Mr. Mealy purchased my father’s vowels.”
Teddy emitted a low curse. “I knew it. In other words, your father found another way to fund his habit. Of all the underhanded, unscrupulous—”
“There’s more.”
He released her, crossed his arms over his chest, schooled his features. Here was where he came in, no doubt. “Go on.”
“I went to speak with Mealy, directly. To tell him I could never marry him. And that’s when he played his ace. He revealed that he knew my secret and implied, if I did not marry him, he would tell it to the world.”
Cold seeped into him. And here he’d thought she was protecting him. “I begin to comprehend.”
She slanted him a sharp glance. “What do you comprehend?”
“You’re concerned about destroying your career. Understandable. You’ve worked hard. You don’t want to see your success derailed.”
Her brows slammed together in obvious annoyance, and she fisted her hands on her hips.
He nearly grinned at the sight of her, attempting to chastise him in her ill-fitting suit. “You know nothing, Teddy Arlington. That is not the secret which concerns me.”
“Enlighten me.”
Spreading her arms, she exclaimed, “You. Us. Living as man and wife when we were not.”
“Oh, is that it?” Now that he could breathe again, he grinned at her. “I do not foresee a problem.”
“Is that it? You foresee no problem? Teddy, you clearly fail to see the possible ramifications. Your name, your title, dragged through the muck. Not to mention you would probably feel coerced into marriage to me, which, of course, would also mean”—her expression turned sullen—“you could not marry Lady Catherine.”
For the love of God, this again. He wanted to laugh. She really was selfless, his delectable, misguided wife. “Georgina.”
She all but glared at him. “Yes?”
Tenderness, poignant to the point of pain, filled his chest. “Are you jealous at the thought of me marrying another?”
Her brows furrowed. “No.”
He waited.
“Yes,” she blurted, hands fisting. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
The tiny smile playing at her lush mouth told him he’d mollified her.
“Good. Now listen, very carefully.”
“Very well.”
He took each of her delicate hands in his, and met her eyes. “Are you listening?”
Though she clearly fought the impulse, her smile broadened. “Yes.”
“Forget Catherine,” he said. “We ended things before I sailed for Spain—a mutually agreed upon parting of the ways.” For the most part. He’d had to direct her to the appropriate conclusion, but she’d got there. He would be forever grateful to her alternate suitor, Prince Rolfe.
“I see.”
“Now, tell me why you called on Mrs. Dove-Lyon, again.”
“After I…er…told my parents I would marry Mr. Mealy—”
“You did what?” he erupted.
She ignored him and went on. “I became so miserable, thinking you hated me, that I might never again see you, speak to you, kiss you, and you did seem rather displeased when I told you of my betrothal—”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered, even as he hung on her every word.
“And I thought, perhaps…” She swallowed, and pressed her lips shut.
“Perhaps?” he prodded.
She ducked her head and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Perhaps, if I found a way to purchase my father’s vowels back, and somehow found a way to silence Mr. Mealy, and then proved to you that I wasn’t trying to entrap you, well…” She huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.
“Go on,” he whispered, his heart slamming his ribs.
“You might realize…” A shiver went through her, transmitting itself through her hands to his, and to his great distress, her voice began to warble. “That you might consider marrying me, for real this time.” She shook her head. “Never mind. It sounds silly now, saying it aloud.”
Far from silly, it sounded glorious. Exactly right. “As it happens, as I’ve already tried to tell you, you are my wife, Lady Arlington.”
Her head popped up. “Teddy, I already told you—”
“Yes I know. The paper you showed me from our so-called Gretna Green adventure was fake. But the one your butler, Mr. Danvers, handed to me prior to my journey to London was not.”
With reluctance, he released one of her hands to delve into his inner pocket, the one closest to his heart, to withdraw the folded, sealed, very official license, attesting to their marriage. “Have a look, Lady Arlington.”
She snatched the paper, eliciting a snort of humor from him. Then, another emotion entirely welled-up inside him, watching her scan the paper while her hands shook.
Pressing the paper to her heart, she looked up at him. “Is this truly what you wish? You will not blame me in future years, for entrapping you?”
He sent her a cocksure grin. “I’m content with my choice. So you see, you have nothing to fear from Mealy. I will see to it that he understands.” With pleasure. “But now, if you do not mind, I must consult with the Black Widow.”
“But there’s still so much for us to discuss, not to mention, you mean we must meet Mrs.—”
He placed two fingers over her soft, eminently kissable lips. “No, darling. Not this time. You’ve been taking care of me. It’s time to let your husband manage a few things and take care of you, hm?”