The Kiss (27 page)

Georgiana looked disbelievingly at the tiny drops of blood on her shift and squeezed her eyes shut. She should be relieved, and yet she was not. She should be delirious. She was not. It was the shock, she supposed.

She had been late. But then that always happened when she was overly worried. So it should have been expected, but it had not been. She had convinced herself she was with child, and had taken a perverse amount of joy in it. If she couldn't have Quinn's love, then at least she would have a part of him, tangible proof that at one single moment in time they had shared passion. She'd tried to keep at bay her deep longing for a child, something she had not dreamed of ever having after Anthony died.

Well. It was not to be.

She should be glad.

But she was not.

And now she would be forced to find a moment of privacy with him and suffer the extraordinary embarrassment of having to inform him that their actions had not produced a child, thereby reminding him of what had happened between them.

Something he clearly regretted, given the amount of time he spent escorting her beautiful friend Grace Sheffey and the other widows about the countryside to various amusements.

She closed her eyes and hoped his relief would not be too obvious when she told him.

Well, those who dabbled with letting loose their tightly bound secrets and long-held desires always suffered the consequences.

She avoided him most of the day, until her emotions were as taut as a child's when facing the tooth drawer.

Quinn had taken all the widows, or Beauties, as he still insisted on calling them, on a long tour of ancient druid burial grounds. Georgiana had declined, pleading some excuse, and then she had had to suffer watching her friends return two by two, each pair laughing as they arrived, explaining their plan of leaving Quinn and Grace alone together.

Ata was the last to return, with Rosamunde, who glanced at Georgiana with a knowing expression while Ata prattled on about her plan.

Rosamunde surreptitously stole to Georgiana's side while Ata dismounted and gave an enormous apple to her mount. "If Grace ends up hurt again, I won't forgive you," Rosamunde whispered to her.

"I'm certain we already had this conversation," Georgiana replied quietly.

Rosamunde pulled her to the other side of her own horse. "When are you going to force the issue?"

"I did. I told him."

"What? Wait a minute, I have to hear this. Ata," Rosamunde called out to her grandmother-in-law, "I swear I can hear Caro and Henry crying up at the great house. Would you be so good as to see to them for a moment while I take a peek at these two horses Georgiana is so intent on purchasing?" Rosamunde winked at her.

"Take your time, Rosamunde," Ata replied out of sight, not waiting for another invitation to spend time with her beloved great-grandchildren. "Oh, I do so love babies. I hope Grace and Quinn have a child by next summer. It would be so delightful for Caro and Henry to have a friend. And just think, maybe in another two decades we could plan a wedding between the two families ... finally."

Rosamunde rolled her eyes. And Georgiana couldn't help but laugh in the agony of the moment.

Ata left a moment later, humming a wedding march.

"You know you can't listen to Ata, dearest," Rosamunde said. "I love her and I would never let anyone say a word against her, but she is wrong in this case. You know it and I know it. And if no one else can see it, then they are blind fools. Now what on earth did you tell him?"

"What you never had the courage to tell Luc last year."

"You didn't..." Rosamunde said, wide-eyed.

"I did. And he didn't return the favor."

"What?" Rosamunde said, disbelieving.

"Not everyone is allowed a fairy-tale ending, Rosamunde."

"I don't believe it. You told him
you love him
and he said nothing?"

"No. He called me his 'dear, dear, Georgiana' when I said it, and
then
he said nothing."

"I'll kill him." Rosamunde pulled her down the long aisle of horse stalls when a stable hand appeared nearby. "Or better yet, I'll let Luc kill him. He's been dying for any excuse to do it. When we returned home the night of the ball he cursed a blue streak and immediately began sharpening two dueling swords, a medieval saber and a nasty-looking little dagger." She shook her head.

Georgiana suppressed a sigh.

"Georgiana?"

"Yes?"

"He hasn't taken any ... well, any
liberties
with you, has he?"

She refused to look away from Rosamunde's beautiful, pale aquamarine eyes.

"I'll kill him myself, after all."

"We're not talking about this, Rosamunde. It was my choice."

"With that little dagger, in his sleep."

"Tell me you didn't do the very same thing with Luc St. Aubyn last summer, when you—"

"That was different," Rosamunde interrupted, then stopped. A soft smile appeared at the edges of her mouth. "Oh, perhaps it isn't different. But—"

A clatter of hooves sounded from the outside, and within moments the silhouetted forms of Quinn and Grace appeared at the stable entrance.

Georgiana pulled Rosamunde close. "I beg of you to find an excuse to escort Grace to the hall. I need a word with Quinn."

Rosamunde's eyebrows rose.

"Please..."

"I will, if only to allow you a chance to strangle him in private. If you don't, I'll return this week to do the job myself."

Georgiana entered the nearest stall, to ostensibly look over the big-boned gray hunter that had arrived that morning from the famed Godolphin stables nearby. The sweet smell of alfalfa assailed her. She loved the scent. It reminded her of springtime and racing across meadows and along the beaches. She looked at the horse's intelligent eyes and ran her hands down his deeply sloping shoulders, down his front legs, and then to the rear legs. She examined a swelling on one of the haunches.

Feminine voices drifted away from the stable, leaving only the calming munching sounds of the horses and an occasional pawing of a hoof.

The stall darkened and she knew Quinn stood at its entrance. "Do you think it will heal?"

"I don't know. I doubt it. . . It's such a shame. I first saw him not three months ago," she said, "and at the time I wished there was an excuse to purchase him for Penrose. He had the smoothest gaits."

"He was kicked by another horse?" Quinn entered the stall.

"Yes," she said, "in a pasture at Godolphin."

Quinn's long, tapered fingers stroked the gelding's flank, stopping at the inflammation.

"The stable master was debating what to do with him when I went by last week to find a hunter for you," she explained.

"Mr. Brown told me." He came to stand beside her and leaned in to capture her attention. "Georgiana . . . you have always placed the needs of others and this estate above your own. And you do it without ever drawing attention to the fact. I suspect no one has ever thanked you." He grasped her hands. "I would thank you."

She was so filled with embarrassment and anxiety over what she had to tell him that she released his hands and ignored the compliment as she always did. "I found a lovely bay mare. She's in the next stall for you to look over."

"Yes, I know. I tried her earlier and told the man I would take her."

"I'll arrange for this one to be returned, then."

"No—"

"You don't have to keep him just because I had him brought here. It makes no sense. I had thought maybe he wasn't as badly injured as I originally thought, but clearly . . ." She stopped when their hands accidentally brushed on the horse's flank and Georgiana dropped hers.

"I already paid the man, Georgiana," he said, his deep voice soothing her. "He's staying here. I will personally see to him. I'd forgotten the peace I'd always found tending the animals here."

"I have to tell you something," she said in a rush before her courage failed her. "I'm... I'm not with child. I, well, I... am certain."

During the long pause that followed, Georgiana didn't have the courage to look at him. Instead she stroked the length of the gelding's leg and urged the animal to raise it so she could examine the frog of the hoof. "Well, at least his hooves are sound. Perhaps if we applied compresses to—"

"Georgiana," he interrupted her.

She ignored him. ". . . to the swelling twice a day, he might recover in time."

A shadow passed over her and his arm tugged at hers to release the animal.

"Georgiana, look at me."

She did.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"What?"

"I'm sorry you're not with child."

His expression was so remote, she couldn't tell if he was telling the truth or not. He couldn't possibly really want a child with her.

"I can see you don't believe me," he murmured. "But you see, the truth of the matter is that I'd hoped to have a child of my body one day."

"I don't understand. Fairleigh—"

"—is my daughter," he said fiercely. "Always has been, and always will be. I love her with every fiber of my being and would kill anyone who brought her an ounce of harm. But, she is not..."

Georgiana stood stock-still.

"I know you will not say a word of this to anyone, Georgiana. I only tell you this so you understand I was telling you the truth. And I still implore you to marry me. What we did ... What I did to you ... It makes no difference that there is no child."

"No," she said. "We already discussed this. And I'm begging you to drop it." She circled to the other side of the horse. She looked over the gelding's back and met his gaze. "Please," she begged.

"Because of Anthony," he said. "It's always because of Anthony, isn't it?"

She concentrated on her hand stroking the horse's withers. "Yes. I won't settle for a marriage of convenience—not when I had so much more with
Anthony."
The horse snorted and stomped one hoof. And Georgiana had the nearly irresistible urge to laugh or cry hysterically. Well, at least she had had Anthony's love. It might not keep her warm at night, but at least she knew one man had loved her. And he provided a convenient excuse for not marrying a man who wanted her solely out of a misplaced sense of duty. But it would surely haunt her the rest of her days. She had to take one last chance. Rosamunde would have. "Quinn, I—"

Grace Sheffey's lilting voice sounded from the stable aisle. "Georgiana? Quinn? Oh dear. Excuse me, sir, can you tell me if his lordship left the stable? Or Miss Wilde, or rather Lady Ellesmere— Lady Georgiana?"

Oh God. Even Grace didn't know how to address her. What was she doing here? She didn't belong here. She was the steward's daughter, and disfigured, and everything wrong. She turned suddenly to Quinn. "I won't keep you. Thank you for taking the horse. You always were kind-hearted, always taking pity on injured creatures. I thank you." She bobbed a curtsy and exited the stall.

Exited his life.

Anthony. . . . "Not when I had so much more with Anthony."

Would he never be rid of him? Even in death Anthony was determined to take everything he possibly could. Quinn flexed his hands convulsively and tried to ignore the pounding in his head. The pain had come suddenly and was nearly blinding. This headache was no different from the others he occasionally had suffered. Threads of pain needled their way into the radius of his vision while he escorted Grace Sheffey back to the great house.