Chapter 26
“Wherein love is given a chance to hope ...”
Lord Falmouth looked up in surprise as she entered the breakfast room.
“I know, a ridiculous time of the day to be up,” she said by way of apology. “And I expect you were looking forward to a peaceful breakfast alone.”
He chuckled and shook his head, folding the paper he had been reading and putting it aside.
“Not at all,” he replied. “You know perfectly well I usually join Céleste at a later hour, but as it happens, she is feeling a trifle under the weather at the moment,” he replied, concern in his grey eyes. “Just a bit of a headache I understand. She’ll be up presently I’m sure.”
He gave her a rather searching look and she braced herself for his question.
“I take it you didn’t sleep well?”
“Not a wink,” she replied with a bleak smile as she poured herself a cup of chocolate. She was tired beyond measure, the whole night spent tossing and turning as variations of her possible futures paraded behind her eyelids and made sleep impossible.
“I am not the slightest bit surprised. I don’t envy you the choice.”
She laughed and shook her head. One of the things she had found rather intimidating about the man opposite her was his rather forthright nature, but she had come to appreciate it. You knew where you stood with a man like that.
“Well if it comes to that, neither do I!” she replied with some asperity.
He chuckled again and then gave her a more concerned glance. “Seriously now, have you any idea to accept either of them?”
“Yes, no ... I don’t know,” she replied with a grimace. “There you see my reasoning.”
“Hmmm,” he replied. “I’d be bound to say, I’d rather you accept Nibley. He’s a decent man, a kind one. He’d make you a good husband.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know that.”
“But ...” he added, and there was a glimmer in his eyes that made her believe he knew exactly her dilemma. Given the passionate nature she’d come to know his wife possessed, she found that wasn’t as embarrassing as it might have been.
“But,” she repeated nodding her head. “You have it in a nutshell.”
They ate their breakfast in companionable silence for a while, until he spoke again.
“I’m going to Hatchard’s this morning,” he said, surprising her.
“My sister-in-law Henrietta is desperate for some new English titles, she lives in France you see. So, I promised to send a parcel to her, and I rather fancied a browse myself. I find it relaxing,” he added, smiling at her. “Would you like to accompany me?”
“What a wonderful idea,” she replied, grateful for anything that distracted her attention from her troubles for an hour or two.
“It also has the added attraction of being practically empty at this early hour as all the fashionable people are still abed.”
“Better and better, my lord,” she said, grinning at him.
He smiled and nodded at her. “My carriage will be ready in ten minutes, oh, and Georgiana?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I think perhaps you might call me Alex.”
Georgiana spent a pleasant hour browsing the shelves and wandering around by herself. Alex had been quite correct. The place was deserted and was a wonderfully peaceful place to be.
She was walking along one of the upper levels. A thin balustrade overlooked the floor below and at the end of the long room was a beautiful arched window. Leaning against the frame of the window, a book held in his hands, stood a tall, dark figure that made Georgiana’s heart leap in her chest.
She carried on along the walkway, observing the look of concentration on his face. A slight frown furrowed his brow as though something didn’t make sense to him, though she was just as taken by the way the sunlight glinted on his deep brown hair, showing glints of chestnut and bronze.
From her lofty vantage point she could look down on him without being observed, and she leaned over the balcony a little, trying to observe what it was that was causing him such consternation. The title of the poem he was reading leapt out at her and made her catch her breath.
The Corsair.
“I thought you didn’t like that one?” The words were out before she could consider the wisdom of speaking to him after the scene the day before last.
He looked around, startled by her voice, and on seeing no one nearby, looked up. The pleasure in his eyes on seeing her chased away any doubts she’d had. They were warm and inviting, the smile that spread over his mouth quite obviously genuine.
“Georgiana!” he exclaimed, and then held the book up with a rueful smile. “I’m afraid my opinion remains the same. Am I a terrible philistine?”
“Oh yes, certainly,” she replied, shaking her head at him. “Though at least you are making an effort to try,” she added with her most condescending tone.
He laughed at that and nodded. “I am very trying,” he said, joking with her in return.
She gave a surprised laugh, delighted by his silly joke. “But why are you reading it?” she pressed, staring into those dark eyes and praying she had guessed the answer correctly.
He stilled and the smile fell from his face. Smoothing his hands over the sleek leather cover, he shook his head.
“I don’t know really, just that ... It reminded me of you, of ... our time together and I thought perhaps if I understood what you loved about it I could ...”
He stopped and looked up at her, a beseeching look in his eyes that made her chest ache with longing.
“You could what?” she whispered, clutching the rail of the balustrade so hard her fingers hurt.
He took a deep breath and she could see the tension in his broad shoulders, admired the sleek fit of his waistcoat as his chest expanded.
“I could find a way to make you forgive me,” he said in a rush, the desperation in his voice only too audible now. “To ... to go back and find everything I lost.”
She stared down at him, her chest too tight for her to breathe easily, and she felt she could hardly breathe at all.
“I’ve been such a fool, love,” he whispered, staring up at her with anguish as she felt tears prickle in her eyes. “I was coming to you, you see. The night before Almack’s. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I missed you so much.”
“Y--you were going to Cornwall, to see me?” she stammered as the idea sank in.
“Yes,” he said, such longing in that one word she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I didn’t mean the things I said.”
She stared at him, struck by the look on his face, by the uncertainty in his bearing.
“I was angry that ...” he paused and ran a hand through his thick hair, dishevelling the carefully careless arrangement he’d crafted and leaving something rather softer in its place.
He looked younger suddenly, unsure of himself.
“I idolised my father,” he admitted. “I always wanted to remember him as this ... paragon.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh and shrugged his big shoulders.
“It was only after ... after Beau dunked me,” he said with a grin.
“That I came to think about him as an ordinary man.”
His face grew serious and he stepped closer to the balustrade, staring up at her.
“I was right about one thing though. If your mother was half as lovely as you, if he felt a fraction of what I do ... I know just how he felt. I understand now how he could be so reckless, why he risked everything. For if he was plagued by dreams of her, by endless nights and empty days where all he could do was live for the moment, he might see her again ... I understand it. I do.”
She gasped and felt for a moment she was living in a dream. It seemed so impossible and unlikely that he should declare himself in the middle of a book shop of all places.
“You look like Juliet,” he said, smiling up at her. “I only hope we have a happier ending,” he added, his voice low and full of anxiety.
“Me too,” she replied, her words little more than a whisper.
“May I come up?” he asked, and she nodded, wiping away a tear that had fallen despite her best efforts as she watched him almost run for the stairs, and then mount them two at a time. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her leaping nerves, and then there he was, standing in front of her.
She looked up at him and wondered if she had forgotten just what an impressive sight he was, for he stole her breath all over again.
His dark blue coat was perfectly cut and clung to him lovingly, accentuating hard muscle and powerful arms. She remembered what it had felt like to have those arms around her, the weight of his body on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin.
A flush burned over her cheeks, and she hoped he couldn’t guess at her thoughts.
“I wanted to kill Beau,” he said, his voice rough and yet hesitant. “When I heard ...”
She looked away, embarrassed that he should know about that. “You were right,” she admitted. “I should never have gone in the boat with him.”
“He kissed you?”
She looked back at him in horror, how could he stand there and ask that? Did he really expect an answer? It was clear he didn’t need one further than her silence as his fists clenched and he cursed under his breath.
“He’s offered for me,” she said, wanting him to understand how precarious her position was. She would have to marry someone, she’d be no man’s mistress, stuck in a half-life between his worlds. “So, has Lord Nibley.”
His eyes widened, his throat working as he seemed to struggle to find the words for his next question.
“You’ve ... have you ...”
“No,” she replied with a sad smile. “No, I’ve not answered yet. I couldn’t when ...”
She stared at him, unwilling to put into words what ought to be blatantly obvious.
“I can’t ...” he exclaimed, holding out his hands to her, the sentence left undone, hanging in the air between them.
He can’t marry you, she thought. That’s what he’s trying to say. Except suddenly his hands were cradling her face, his lips so close she could feel his breath on her skin.
“I can’t let you marry someone else!” he rasped, his voice harsh and urgent, his eyes so wild she took a breath. “I’ll run mad if you do, Georgiana. Please, please, love. Tell me you’ll not accept them?”
She felt her breathing hitch, wanting so much to tell him what he wanted to hear, but he hadn’t asked.
“I ... I must marry, your grace. You know I must.”
“Your grace?” he bit out. “Not your grace, dammit, Georgiana. Sebastian. Say my name.”
“Sebastian,” she whispered, and she realised she was trembling, caught in the fire in his eyes, terrified she might accept whatever indecent offer he put to her.
“Tell me you still love me,” he commanded, and she felt as though he really had control of her thoughts, of her tongue, as she was powerless to refuse the need in his expression. She stared into the dark of his irises, lost again in the little universe of golden flecks that burned in his eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, Sebastian.”
She heard the catch in his breath, felt the warmth of his thumb as it caressed her cheek.
“Will you be in tomorrow morning if I call on you?” he asked, a new note of determination in his voice.
She nodded, too shocked to speak, hope blooming to life like a flame in her chest, warming the heart that had been so frozen with sorrow since he’d left her.
“I’ll call on you,” he said, so assured in his manner she couldn’t doubt him. There was a look in his eyes that promised so much. “I have things to do, to consider ... things I must ... arrange. But I’ll come, I swear it.”
She nodded again, blinking as her vision blurred.
He stepped closer, their bodies touching, here in the book shop, where anyone could walk in and see. “Wait for me,” he pleaded. “Wait for me, love. Promise?”
“P-promise,” she stammered, half laughing, half crying as he laughed too, and pressed a kiss to her lips.
“I won’t let you down, my love,” he said, his smile wide and brilliant now. “Until tomorrow.”
He stepped back and began to walk away, but then paused and turned back to her, as though needing to reassure himself she was really there.
“Until tomorrow,” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips in wonder. Until tomorrow. She hugged the words to her heart, watching as he strode out of sight.