Chapter Eight #3
“I would not insult you in such a manner.” He frowned. “What do you know of mistresses?”
“England is not the only place where men keep women for the simple purpose of…pleasure.”
“I promise that I will find an excuse that will not see you shamed,” he said just before they reached the Star Hotel and walked beneath a large, stone arch at the center of the building.
The hotel at each side and above. At the opposite end of the tunnel-like arch was a central courtyard where a mail coach waited with three passengers standing nearby.
He paused for a moment.
“What is wrong?”
“I thought mail coaches only carried four passengers.”
Her heart began to pound. She could not wait another three days.
“This one takes extra because so many people travel to London,” a man said as he passed them and joined the others.
With six travelers, it would make for a very crowded coach, but still preferrable to walking.
Damian kept his head down, but Georgie had no need to do so since she knew nobody in London outside of the Wynd family
“Mr. Damian Wynd! I cannot believe that you are also taking a mail coach to London.”
So much for traveling under assumed names.
Georgie turned to find a quite pleasant-looking gentleman with tousled blond hair and humor-filled dark-blue eyes approach.
She smiled at Damian, anxious to hear who she was, or what he would claim she was to him.
“Panmure,” Damian greeted though there was certainly no warmth or friendship that lingered in his tone. “Why are you taking a mail coach?” Damian asked.
“I could ask the same of you.” Panmure grinned.
“My brother and his new wife require the carriage remain here and we do not own a traveling coach.”
“Ah, yes, I had heard Wyndham had married.” Panmure rocked back on his heels. “Came as quite a shock, if you must know, though it should have been expected given the duties required of him, of course.”
“Why are you taking the mail coach?” Damian asked.
“Father has once again cut me off.” Panmure smiled as he rolled his eyes.
“He has objections to my…um…entertainments and has vowed not to provide even the smallest percentage of my quarterlies until I show more maturity in my decisions and put my mind to finding a proper wife since he wants grandsons before he meets his maker.” He grinned.
“Thus, I am without horse, or carriage, and must run away in the most expedient fashion.”
“Does that mean you intend to find a wife in London?” Damian asked.
“Good God, no!”
“Without your quarterlies how do you intend to survive because I am certain working a trade has not even occurred to you.”
“Of course not,” he sneered in disgust. “Gambling and gaming tables. I will take what little I have left and increase it tenfold, just to spite my father, of course.”
“Yes, well, I wish you good luck”
“That I already have.” Panmure then turned his attention to Georgie, his gaze swept her from the top of her head to the toes of her boots and back up again, which for a moment lingered a little too long on her breasts before his eyes met hers.
Georgie had met gentlemen like him before. Rakes and charmers, who would say anything necessary to gain trust and get under a miss’s skirts. Disquiet, disapproval, and distrust settled into her bones, she unconsciously stepped closer to Damian.
As much as she hated to admit that Damian may have been correct that his protection was needed, she was glad he was here. Not that she was susceptible to the charms of this stranger, she just didn’t want to be bothered by him for twelve hours.
He tipped his hat. “Who might you be?” The corner of his mouth tipped as his eyes darkened.
“Georgiana…” Damian placed a palm on her lower back, warming her skin through the muslin, “Wynd.”
Georgie looked up into Damian’s blue eyes and hoped she hid her shock as she forced a smile.
“My wife,” he added, staring into her eyes, auburn eyebrow raised in warning not to contradict him.
That is what he had decided to do? Claim her as his wife! It was one matter when they were to travel under an alias, but Damian Wynd just claimed to have a wife—her!
As she did not know Panmure, but instantly disliked him, and he was someone that Damian knew, she did not argue.
“Yes, Georgiana Wynd,” she returned before she drew a breath and smiled at Panmure, no longer bothered by his presence because being known as a Wynd offered protection that she had not anticipated
“You married as well?” Panmure asked in surprise. “I had not read about it or heard the gossip.”
“It was a quiet, private affair that is of no concern to anyone outside of my family,” Damian coldly returned.
“Yes, well, you Wynds are always private, and mostly responsible. Not at all as fun as you were in school.”
“Some of us have obligations that do not allow for the waste of time spent in gambling dens or…seducing innocents.”
There was such animosity in Damian’s tone, that instead of being put off, drew Georgie even closer to his person. At least she had judged Panmure correctly, though she hated that she would be forced to share a coach with him.