“Marriage…willnot be so bad?” She stepped away from him. “What can you mean by that? Usingwillas if marriage is a certainty?”
He strode around her. “Because it is.”
“Pardon me?” The slap of her slippers against the floor was as quick as the blood pounding in her heart just before she caught his arm, turned him toward her, held him fast, a manacle of a hand around his biceps so he could not leave. Not without explanation. “It most certainly is not.”
“Don’t be naïve, Georgie. We must wed. Miss Darlington will not stay quiet. Why would she? We let thetonthink for months I was courting you. And surely everyone heard me crashing down your door.”
“And is there no other reason? For kissing me as you did?”
“What other reason could there be?” A wave of red flushed across his cheeks before he paled. “I did not plan for this.”
It was as if he’d said he did notwantthis, despite his bellowing, despite his insistence, despite the way he’d caressed her. Loved her, she’d thought.
With trembling fingers, she released him, shrank from him. “No. You did not. And neither did I. Where are you going?”
He strode for the door, opened it. “I’ll return when you’re more sensible, or you can seek me out. We can discuss where we will live and the like, but we must wed.” The last gaze he gifted her bore no sign of compromise, no softness, humor, or friendship. “You can’t escape it.” He strode into the hall.
She flew after him. “I’ll not marry you, Josiah Evans! I’d rather die.”
He flinched. “We’ll see.” Spoken without even looking over his shoulder at her. With long, calm strides he disappeared down the staircase.
A red rage grew like an ocean wave within her as she reentered her chamber and slammed the door closed. She grabbed the nearest object at hand and threw it at the door where it smashed into countless pieces. Her breath came in heavy, angry pants, but the shattering of the vase had stilled something inside her, chilled her like a deep winter wind. “You are a scoundrel like all the rest, Josiah Evans.” But his betrayal hurt worse than all the rest because she’d thought him better. The best, really.
She turned from the door and marched to the window. She wished she hated him. But she didn’t. Not even a little. Perhaps this was what her aunt had meant when she’d warned her of men. Not of their cruel carelessness or roaming nether regions, not of their dull minds or greedy guts. Perhaps she’d been warning of their inability to know their own hearts, and their willingness to break others.
ChapterSeven
Christmas Day
“Never wait for a man to help you. You must always save yourself.” –from The Masculine Inconvenience: Memoirs of a Superior Lady
Josiah yawned as he stepped foot into the hallway the next morning. Or tried to. The sound caught in his throat, turned into a guttural choke when his brother slammed him up against the wall.
“What the hell?” he tried to say, but it came out more likegrraacckkk.
“What the hell,” Xavier growled, low and feral, “are you doing with Lady Georgiana?”
What was he doing with her? Trying to save her from a fate she didn’t fully understand. A fate she didn’t seem to want to understand.
Josiah curled his hands into fists and curled all his muscles into steel to push against his brother, who held fast. “You can’t get an answer if you strangle me.”
Xavier loosened his grip, and Josiah shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back a few steps. Josiah’s hand made a fist, itched to connect with his brother’s eye, but he shook it out and strode toward the stairs.
“Answer me.” Xavier’s hand on his shoulder yanked him back. “The entire house heard you arguing yesterday when Sarah and I were out gathering greenery. You, they say, demanding to be let into her bedchamber.” He hissed the last two words. “Then neither of you show up for dinner, and today she left with the rising sun, refusing to stay for the ball this evening. Answer me. What the hell happened?”
She’d left? Josiah’s beating heart shocked the air from his lungs. Breathe. He could not breathe. He pulled at his cravat and pushed some words through. “We. We had a. A disagreement. She’s gone?” He found a window at the end of the hallway and peered out, hands clenching the frame. Snow fell hard and fast, and at least two inches of the powdery stuff covered the ground. She’d left for London at the beginning of a snowstorm, and on Christmas day, the anniversary of the day she’d left her family, of her own transformation from poor earl’s daughter to heiress. Alone.
A small growl rumbled through him, a determination to stop that fate.
“Do you care she’s gone?” Xavier demanded, striding toward him.
“Of course, I do! In this weather? It’s much too dangerous for travel.” He headed toward the other end of the hall, Xavier following.
“Is that the only reason you care she’s left?” Xavier asked. Another demand.
And one that poked at a scratching discomfort in Josiah’s gut, a screaming banshee whose wail he could not quite understand over his fervent need to bring Georgie back. Yesterday… yesterday had sent him reeling from the heights of pleasure to the depths of anger and dismay. Frustration, determination, a bit of awe as well—all had wound him tight and clouded his mind. He’d avoided her the rest of the day. She was an intelligent woman. She would realize with rational thought that they must marry. He’d hoped this morning to meet her over the breakfast table and see that recognition in her eyes.
But she’d gone. At the beginning of what might be a snowstorm if the low-hanging gray sky were any indications.
