Chapter 16
Departing Mem Lavigne’s, Sarah and Colt retreated to the street, where they hailed a hackney to deliver them to Sarah’s residence on Curzon Street.
Since leaving the club, Colt could slice the tension in the air with a knife.
By choosing to disclose George’s secret to Sarah, he had intended to draw her closer, assuming she’d want the truth.
He’d had no way of predicting that she would somehow turn it on to him and hold him accountable for leading Georgina astray.
The two climbed down from the carriage, and Colt supplied the driver with a coin. Silently, he followed Sarah inside.
“We need to discuss Georgina,” she said abruptly. “Let’s have a drink.”
Colt nodded, but a sense of foreboding gnawed at him. He wanted to enjoy a casual drink with Sarah. He did not relish a lecture, not even from her.
A maid scurried over from her chair where she had sat reading a book in comfort.
“Good evening, Mrs Fortescue, I trust you had a pleasant outing,” she ventured, accepting Sarah’s velvet cloak and gloves, and extending her hands for Colt’s greatcoat and hat. She smiled over the top of the pile of articles she held for them.
“Thank you, Rachael. It was most enjoyable. Please leave those things on the hall stand so that Lord Coulthurst can find them on his way out later. Goodnight.”
Sarah led the way into her parlour and sat down as Colt fetched them both some port. She accepted the glass from him, and he sat down beside her, closer than a casual onlooker might deem appropriate. Damn it, if she was going to be cross with him, he was at least going to make himself at home.
Sarah straightened the folds of her gown around her legs. “How did she come to break into Mrs Gardner’s?”
He shrugged. “How does George always land into these dashed scrapes? She went along, resolved to pay her off. The woman confounded the matter by saying no. George got a bee in her bonnet and won’t back down.” He sighed. “It’s not about the vowels, Sarah. It’s about Henry.”
Sarah’s fine lips formed into a silent O shape.
Colt pushed his hair back with his hand. Supporting Georgina had not always been a straightforward matter.
“Hence why I have tried to be gentle with her.”
“Gentle does not seem to be effective with Georgina,” Sarah said. She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him, dark eyes curious. “What is it?”
Colt frowned. “There are times when she talks as though he’s still alive.”
Sarah inhaled sharply.
“Rationally, she must know he is gone, but she is not accepting it,” Colt continued.
“I see. That might explain her need … her compulsion to help Mr Coombes.”
He nodded slowly. “I do not want to be too blunt with her.”
“We have all been sympathetic, allowing her to grieve in her own way.”
“Truly,” Colt agreed. “Even Mem Lavigne and their attendants placate Georgina’s idiosyncrasies. They cater to her addictions and give her free rein to do as she pleases.”
Sarah lowered her eyes. “Perhaps we have been lenient for too long and not encouraged her to confront the pain.”
Colt appreciated why Georgina would not wish to face such misery. “I have done my best to distract her instead.”
“I would much rather she focus her attention on settling herself than seeking distraction or trying to solve the problems of the downtrodden.”
This drew a sudden laugh from him. “George never seeks to be involved in these matters, Sarah. They have a way of finding her.”
“Lady Mortimer seems rather attentive to George,” Sarah remarked. “Do you imagine they might be developing a tendre for one another?”
Colt scowled. “Damn, I should hope not. Can you imagine George shackled to someone as upstanding and dull as Lady Mortimer?”
“We agreed that Georgina would do well to find herself a wife. I do not think it would be such a poor match. I quite like her.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“You do not like her because you cannot gain from her—she is neither interested in a dalliance with you, nor in the pursuit of young debutantes for amusement. Perhaps you are jealous that she steals your friend’s attention.”
Sarah was right, of course, and he loved her for it. Colt draped his arm along the sofa and allowed his hand to toy with one of the ebony curls at the base of her neck.
“You gave Rachael the impression I would not be staying long?” Colt observed, changing the subject. “Though I daresay you could not well tell her I would join you upstairs tonight.” He could see -Sarah’s skin prickle under his soft caress.
“When have I ever permitted you to stay?”
“I am persistent,” he answered.
“I shall not change my mind.”
The firelight made her eyes flash almost black, and her skin glowed a warm shade of bronze. Her gown of jade-coloured Belgium silk created a sublime contrast. She tilted her head to one side so that it rested companionably upon his shoulder.
“Do not seek to ruin our friendship, Robert,” she murmured, staring into the fire.
Colt’s arm tightened around her, and he gathered her a little closer so that she leaned against his broad chest.
“I am not seeking to ruin anything. I would like to strengthen it.”
She relaxed against him, and he rested his chin against the side of her forehead. He inhaled the jasmine scent of her hair deeply as her head rose and fell with the movement of his chest.
With his glass still resting between the fingers of his right hand, he allowed his left hand to stroke her arm.
Sarah shifted so that her ear pressed against the lapel of his coat. She smiled. “Your heart beats quickly, Colt.”
“You have that effect on me, amongst others.”
She had her arm draped along his thigh. So close to the hardness within his breeches that now pushed against her. “You should go home.”
He groaned. “Must I?”
She nodded and sat up, disentangling herself.
Colt finished his drink and bowed his head, clasping his hands around the glass as he took a sharp breath.
Once he composed both his mind and body so that he might walk unhindered and with -dignity, he stood.
Gazing down at her, he tilted her chin up with one of his fingers, inspecting her countenance one more time before departing.
Colt smiled. “Goodnight, my dear.”
“Goodnight, Robert.”
At the door, he hesitated for a moment. The weight of unspoken words chained him to the room.
If he declared his love for her, would she let him stay?
It would not be a lie. Yet it would not solve the problem of her inability to have faith in him.
He could not demand her trust. That had to be bestowed freely.
Without a backward look, he stalked out of the room.