Chapter Nine #2
“Consider it a token of my appreciation. You’re bringing back my home.
Handling your mother’s bills is the least I can do.
” James leaned against the hearth, arms crossed, savoring the feeling that had taken root in his chest over the course of the evening.
It was fun to be part of something. These sisters reminded him of the relationships he shared with his own siblings.
But they were off, living their own lives, and he missed them. He missed being part of a family.
“It was almost too easy,” Cecily said. “You two were absolutely correct that she would fall right into our trap.”
“Oh, she’ll throw herself into all of it.
” Georgiana eased into the wingback chair beside the hearth.
The firelight caught in her light hair, turning the edges to gold.
She was beautiful in any light, but never more so than now.
“She’s been starved for relevance since our father’s suicide.
This gives her just enough illusion of control to keep her from meddling somewhere worse. ”
“I certainly hope so,” Cecily muttered. “If she does anything to wreck my Season, I shall never forgive her.”
Georgiana stilled for a moment, then looked away, a faint color rising in her cheeks. “I swear to you both, if she causes one iota of trouble for either of you, I shall take care of her myself and it won’t be pretty.”
“She won’t have time,” James said. “She’ll be busy creating guest lists and planning the theme for the ball. I do worry a little about Mrs. Ellsworth.”
“I do as well,” Georgiana said. “Mother will be high-handed and demanding.”
“Mrs. Ellsworth has enough grit to withstand whatever Mother does,” Cecily said. “I’ve no doubt at all that she’ll be the one in control, not Mother. And anyway, we’ve warned her. She’ll be ready for whatever antics Mother employs.”
“And we’ve got Mrs. Honeycutt for backup,” James said. “She’s dealt with drunks, charlatans, ladies of the evening—you name it and we had them come through the tavern. A vain, middle-aged member of Society won’t worry her at all.”
That made Georgiana laugh. The sound struck him low in his chest.
“I must say,” Georgiana shifted to face him fully, “I never thought I’d find myself plotting with a lord to contain my own mother.”
“Yes, it is rather unusual. But we must approach it as an adventure,” James said.
She didn’t look away, and James felt his breath catch despite himself.
He found himself cataloging details he’d never consciously noticed before—the precise shade of her eyes in firelight, the small scar at the edge of her jaw, how her fingers absently traced the arm of her chair.
Each observation felt dangerous, like stepping onto untested ice.
Cecily yawned and stretched, rising from the settee.
“I’m going to bed. I have to be up early.
Mrs. Ellsworth asked if I’d help interview a gardener.
Good night to both of you and thank you for a most enjoyable evening.
” She paused in the doorway and added with a sly grin, “Who knew this job would be so much fun?”
When she was gone, silence settled in the room, softened by the crackle of the fire and the subtle scent of smoke. The room seemed smaller suddenly, more intimate without Cecily’s bright presence.
Georgiana stood, smoothing her skirts. “You did well tonight, Lord Ashford.”
“You’re not going to call me that any longer,” James said. “I have begun to call you Georgie, as Cecily does. Which means, you should call me James.”
“I suppose we are conspirators, which gives us an intimacy of sorts.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Firelight made shadows dance across the hollow of her throat. “I don’t feel like Lord Ashford anyway. I’m James and I always will be.”
“But you’re meant for greatness,” Georgiana said huskily. “You’re kind and compassionate and thoughtful. All qualities of a true gentleman.”
“Why, thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.” He looked away, embarrassed by her compliments, yet pleased too.
“I should retire as well,” Georgiana said. “Tomorrow will be here before we know it.”
“Yes, I suppose it will.”
“Good night, James.” She flushed, tugging at her ear. “It might take time to grow accustomed to calling you James.”
“You’ll think of me as James soon enough.” He smiled back at her. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”
As she moved toward the doorway, her glove slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor.
They both reached for it at the same time, James taking an instinctive step forward.
Their hands met over the scrap of fabric, his fingers closing over hers for just a heartbeat.
The contact sent heat racing up his arm, and he felt her slight intake of breath.
He straightened slowly, the glove in his palm, acutely aware of how close they stood. Close enough that he could see the flecks of silver in her eyes, close enough to catch the faint scent of rosewater in her hair.
“James,” she said again, softer this time. “Yes, that sounded better, did it not?”
“Indeed.” In fact, the sound of it nearly undid him.
His pulse hammered in his throat, and every instinct urged him to close the remaining distance between them, to discover if her lips were as soft as they looked.
The urge was so powerful it took all his willpower to step back, to place the glove carefully in her outstretched palm without allowing their skin to touch again.
“Good night, Georgie.”
She lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, as if she too were reluctant to break whatever spell had settled over them. Then she nodded and disappeared into the hallway, leaving him alone with the dying fire and the thundering of his own heart.
James clenched his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to follow her, to call her back. The sweet scent of rosewater still lingered in the air, and he closed his eyes, breathing it in like a man starved.
For the first time, he wished desperately that the manor required more work than it actually did, that he could find some excuse to keep her here indefinitely. But he knew that was impossible. Someday—too soon—he would have to say goodbye for good.
The realization stole the air from his lungs and left him hollow and aching. Her disappearing from his life wouldn’t just break his heart. It might destroy him entirely.
This was a most unwelcome discovery.