7. Chapter 7
Georgiana
Georgie hadn't slept. She'd lain in her bed staring at the ceiling while the house went quiet around her, and she'd thought about Louis and how she hadn't gone to him. She couldn't. Not with Dunblane under the same roof, watching her with heated stares that made her skin crawl.
She'd spent years learning the lesson he’d taught her. Since that bastard, she kept a careful distance from every man who tried to get close. And now he was here and saying things to her that made her never want to find herself alone with him.
Louis had asked her who Dunblane was. She'd said no one. The lie had tasted bitter in her mouth, and she was still choking on it. She should have just told him the truth. Not just about Dunblane, but about how she felt.
Dunblane meant nothing to her. But explaining to Louis what he had come to mean to her, that was what she couldn’t do. It was madness and made no sense that she could develop feelings so fast, and she didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust herself to tell the difference between lust and love.
By morning, she'd resolved to avoid both of them.
Louis, because she couldn't look at him without wanting to tell him everything.
And Dunblane, because being near him made her feel like a foolish miss right out of the school room again, unsure of herself and susceptible to the notions of a charming man.
She dressed and went down to breakfast to sit with her mother, which was its own form of punishment. At least her mother's relentless campaign to see Georgie settled provided a distraction from the wreckage of the rest of her life.
The distraction didn't last.
Dunblane found her after breakfast. She'd been crossing the gallery toward the morning room, alone for the first time that day, when his voice came from behind her.
“Georgiana. I was hoping to catch you without an audience.”
Her stomach dropped. She turned and found him leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, wearing a smile that she couldn’t believe she'd once thought was charming. What a fool she had been. She knew better now.
“Lord Dunblane. I'm on my way to meet Her Grace—”
“This won't take long.” He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her.
She held her ground. Retreating would make him think he had some hold on her, and she refused to give this man anything ever again.
“I must say, you've grown into yourself since the last time we were alone together.
You were lovely as an eager debutante. Now, you're magnificent.”
“What do you want?”
The arse chuckled. “Direct. I’ve always liked that about you.” He stopped close enough that she could smell his cologne, and the familiarity of it made her throat close. “We had a wonderful time together, you and I. We find ourselves together for several days and might as well make the most of it.”
“I am beyond your charms of seduction. I’ve already had what you have to offer my lord, and I never want to experience it again.” She squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin.
“Is that so?” He looked amused, and it took everything she had not to slap him. “You were a willing participant. Enthusiastic, even. As I recall, you’d hoped to become my wife.”
She scoffed and smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her gown. “And now I know better.”
He waved a hand, as if he were brushing aside a minor inconvenience. “Yet you’ve never married. Might you be waiting for me to come back around and pay you a bit of attention?” His voice dropped. “You want more of what you know I can give you, don’t you?”
Her blood went cold. “You think far too highly of yourself.”
Dunblane stepped closer. “I think we could enjoy each other's company again. For old time's sake. No promises this time—we both know better.”
“I would sooner throw myself from the roof of this house.” She held his gaze and didn't blink. “You are the worst thing that ever happened to me, and the fact that you don't know that tells me everything about the kind of man you are.”
Something flickered in his expression—not shame, not hurt, but the irritation of a man who'd expected an easy conquest but found resistance.
“Am I?” His eyes moved over her body in a way that made her need to bathe. “You're here without Max, your mother is too distracted to keep proper watch, and I'm told your room is at the end of the guest wing.” He smiled. “I could come to you tonight. No one needs to know.”
“If you come near my room, I will scream this house down and tell everyone what you did to me.”
“And what did I do to you, exactly?” His tone was patient, condescending.
“Courted you? Made love to you with your full consent? You were eighteen, Georgiana, not a child. And you wanted it. We both know that.” He tilted his head.
“What would your mother think if she knew her only daughter was a lightskirt?”
She couldn't breathe. The gallery was too warm.
His face was too close. The words were stirring memories she'd long since tried to forget.
Because he wasn't wrong. She had been willing.
She had wanted him. And the ton would see exactly what Dunblane wanted them to see—a woman of loose morals who'd given herself to a man.
His reputation would recover. Hers would be in shambles.
“Stay away from me,” she said. Her voice came out steady despite how badly she wanted to slap the bastard.
“Think about my offer.” He straightened and smoothed his coat. “Or perhaps I’ll find someone as eager as you used to be.”
He walked past her and disappeared down the corridor, and Georgie stood in the gallery with shaking hands, a hammering heart, and the taste of bile in her throat.
She pressed her back against the wall and forced herself to breathe.
In and out. In and out. The way she'd taught herself after he'd disappeared the first time, when she'd spent three weeks waiting for a letter that never came and then realized it never would.
She wanted Louis. The thought came unbidden, and it was the worst possible thing she could want right now.
Louis was the one person she couldn't face with Dunblane's words still ringing in her ears.
What would Louis think if he knew? That the woman who'd set terms to stay in control and never let anyone past her walls had once been a naive girl?
What if he knew she had given everything to a rake with a handsome face and pretty words?
After her encounter with Dunblane, she spent the morning in the company of the other women and kept her composure intact through force of will alone. She managed to engage in conversation and avoid Louis.
Thea had tea brought out for all of them when Georgie spotted the figures moving along the walk.
Dunblane was in the garden with a group of the other guests.
Among them was Miss Felicity Barrow—the daughter of a baronet, fresh from her first Season, with wide eyes and a nervous laugh.
She had the glow of a young woman who hadn't yet learned what men were capable of, and she hung on Dunblane’s every word.
Georgie watched from the terrace as the arse bent his head toward the girl and said something that made her blush. His hand found her elbow. He guided her to a bench and sat too close, and the girl didn't move away, even though she should know better.
Georgie had known better.
She'd been that girl. She'd blushed at his smooth words and thought they meant something.
Her vision went red.
She crossed the garden before she'd made a conscious decision to move. Dunblane looked up as she approached, and the smile he gave her was the smile of a man who believed he held all the cards.
“Miss Barrow.” Georgie's voice was pleasant and controlled. “Her Grace was looking for you. Something about the evening's entertainment.”
The girl stood, flustered, and hurried toward the house with a quick curtsey. Dunblane watched her go with an expression that made Georgie's fists clench at her sides.
“Are we jealous, little minx?”
Georgie scoffed. It would never be that. “Stay away from her.”
“Or what?” He stood from the bench, and his charming grin dropped.
Underneath was the extent of his entitlement on display.
The absolute certainty that he could take what he wanted and no one would stop him.
“You'll cause a scene? Tell everyone your sordid little secret?
I think we both know you won't do that.”
“You think I won't?” She stepped closer, not away. “Try me. I promise you, I will burn your reputation and mine to the ground before I let you lay a hand on that poor girl.”
His jaw tightened. For a second—one satisfying second—she saw something shift behind his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by that smooth, entitled calm.
“There’s a much more pleasurable way to solve this.
” He caught her wrist. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to hold her in place.
“Spend the rest of this party warming my bed, and I won't need to entertain myself with Miss Barrow.” He pulled her closer and dropped his voice.
“If the rumor I heard is true, I imagine you're even better now.”
“Let go of me.” She tried to pull her arm free, but his grip tightened.
“I think part of you missed this. Missed me. All those men you've been keeping at arm's length—you were looking for what I gave you.”
“You gave me nothing.” She wrenched her arm free, but she stumbled in the process and fell forward right into his arms.
She planted her hands on his chest, trying to push him away.
“That’s much more like it.” He teased, pressing his lips to her left ear.
She turned her head to the right, trying to pull away from him and noticed a figure watching them.
Louis was standing at the edge of the garden path. She didn't know how long he'd been there or how much he'd heard, but his face—his face told her everything. His lips were curled in disgust and his gaze burned holes into her.
His focus was on Dunblane’s hand, which had drifted to her bottom.
“Louis,” she breathed.
He held up a hand. He looked at her for one more second—long enough for her to see the hurt—and then he turned and walked away, shoulders rigid and hands fisted at his sides.
“It seems your lover doesn’t want to share,” Dunblane teased, tightening his hold. “It seems you are free to be mine this evening.”
Georgie drew back her knee and slammed it into his groin, causing him to double over and release her.
She took the opportunity to hurry away from him, not looking back.
“Louis!” She called out, trying to catch up with him. If he heard her, he didn’t show it.
Her heart ached allowing him to believe for even a moment that she wanted Dunblane. He needed to know the truth. But what was the truth? That she wanted Louis. And it wasn’t just lust.
She followed behind and watched him disappear toward the stables. A few minutes later, a horse emerged at a gallop, heading for the open fields beyond the estate. Louis was gone.
For years she’d told herself she would be fine without ever knowing love. She'd built a life around finding independence in a world where women had very few choices. But what she felt for Louis was enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
If she let him go now, she would lose him. She knew it. He didn’t trust easily, and he believed she’d broken that trust. She couldn’t have that.
The groom looked startled when she asked him to saddle a horse. She was in a day dress and had no riding habit. But she didn't care. He opened his mouth to object, and something in her expression made him close it again.
Once the horse was readied, she mounted and pointed the horse toward the open fields where Louis had vanished.
No more running.