“Perhaps then,” Josiah said, “you should seek out conversation with my brother.Ishould have a conversation with my brother.” Only family, Sarah had said, was to be invited. And friends as good as family. Not Mr. Hobbes.
Mr. Hobbes scowled, casting a glance at Lady Georgiana. “I’ve no reason to abandon my conversation with the lovely Lady—”
“But she seems to want to abandon conversation with you.” Josiah gave the man the type of stare he usually reserved for business dealings and drunken tenants who thought they could harm those weaker than themselves.
“Mr. Evans.” Lady Georgiana’s gaze had shifted from relief to irritation like a cold snap at the end of autumn. “I do not require others to speak for me.”
Mr. Hobbes pressed closer to Lady Georgiana. “And I was not done with our discussion.”
Her shoulders stiffened again, becoming the stout, broken branches of an old oak tree. “I was.”
“I don’t think you know your own mind, my lady,” Mr. Hobbes said, oil dripping from every word.
Lord. She’d punch him.
“What would be palatable to me, Mr. Hobbes,” she said, without punching him, “is the immediate removal of your person from my presence.”
ThatJosiah could do. Happily.
“That’s our cue.” Josiah gently tapped the nose hidden in the bundled blankets he bounced in his arms. “Time to intervene.”
“We do not need your interference,” Mr. Hobbes insisted, casting a glare over his shoulder.
“Not your decision to make, Mr. Hobbes. Andshhh.” Josiah glared. “You’ll wake little Beatrice.”
The other man set his jaw. “Lady Georgiana, I would like permission to call on you tomorrow.”
“No.” A rejection like a slammed door.
“I’ll not be discouraged.”
“Is this fellow serious?” Josiah asked Beatrice. He sighed. Time to employ a cannon blast. He held the baby tight to his shoulder with one hand and stepped between Mr. Hobbes and Lady Georgiana. They had been so close that stepping between them put Josiah’s back a breath away from her front. Where her hands fluttered at her belly, they also fluttered at his spine, occasionally touching, sending tendrils of sensation through him he stoutly ignored. Such an innocent touch. Likely only roused him because he’d been oddly chaste the last few months. No time or energy for mistresses while running Apple Grove.
Her fingertips lightly rested on his shoulder. “I do not need a protector, Mr. Evans.”
“And yet you have one.” He barely kept the growl from his voice. He stepped to the side and back until he stood shoulder to shoulder with her. He angled a smile at her and her alone, the tingle of her touch still zipping through his body. “I take particular offense at any man’s pursuit of this woman.”
She paled, then blushed, her eyelids fluttering as her gaze darted about, landing anywhere, it seemed, but on him. He’d never seen her blush before, this ice statue of a woman. It didn’t melt her, but it melted something in him.
Mr. Hobbes cleared his throat, but she did not look away from Josiah, and that felt like victory. Better. Mr. Hobbes made another such noise.
“Are you parched, Hobbes?” Josiah asked, never looking from her. “There’s wine about. Champagne, too. Go get some.”
“Blast,” Mr. Hobbes said, but he turned and left.
Lady Georgiana cocked her head to the side and studied him. “I believe you just insinuated you have an interest in me, Mr. Evans.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“People might think you’re courting me.”
“Let them. Perhaps they’ll leave you alone, then.” He pulled the baby from his shoulder to cradle her in his arms.
“You’re willing to make such sacrifices?”
“I’ve no plans to marry.”
“Hollow words from a man who speaks them while grinning into a baby’s face.”
