The Kiss (38 page)

His heart slammed into his chest.

He looked up to find Georgiana gone.

He searched everywhere for her—he had to apologize. Her team and carriage were still in the stable. She could not have gone far, and her old injuries would prevent her from going anywhere very fast without a horse. But she held the advantage of knowing every corner of the estate even better than he did. There were miles of hedgerows, acres of long grasses along the beachhead, and no end to the number of trees. Three hours later, he wanted to keep going, but his lathered horse could not. Quinn negotiated a steep, winding path to the beach and then rode a short distance toward the rocky cliffs. He dismounted and climbed to a berm of sandy soil and the blessed shade of several wind-whipped pine trees.

Exhausted, he leaned against the rough bark of the tallest tree, the cliffs behind him. A cool, salty wind blew from the swirling morass of the dark blue ocean. The scent of wild gorse and pine teased his senses as despair filtered through every pore.

God. Nothing made any sense. It was
his
image? He retrieved the brooch from his pocket and looked at it again. His thumb felt a tiny indentation along the edge and he noticed a tiny catch. He released it to find a few strands of dark hair. A gust of wind carried the strands away before he could catch them; but he knew they were his own. They were certainly not Anthony's blond. He cursed his stupidity and returned the brooch to his pocket.

The familiar
cree-cree-cree
of a peregrine falcon caught his attention and he looked up to see the raptor fly onto a ledge. He turned quickly and realized he was very close to the place where Geor-giana had fallen all those years ago.

Yes. There was the tree, almost impossible to recognize for it was denuded of all its greenery now, completely dead, unlike before. He swallowed convulsively when he saw the jagged remains of a limb many feet above. That was the one that had given way. He hadn't seen it break, had only come upon her as she was falling.

He could still remember the sickening sound of her body hitting branches in its descent, her petticoat and gown catching and tearing, only to leave her limbs exposed to such terrible injury. He even heard the awful whoosh of her breath as she hit the ground inches from his outstretched hands. And he could remember Anthony's panicked, high-pitched voice from the tree.

Unconsciously, Quinn gripped the strong, living trunk of a pine growing in the shadow of the tree that had caused her so much anguish and changed her life forever. He gazed upward and saw light filtering through the pine needles.

The falcon's scrape was high above and he was suddenly certain he would find a nestling despite the lateness of the season. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. He would retrieve a chick for her barren mews at Trehallow and then leave to fulfill his commitment to Grace.

It was the least he could do for Georgiana. She was so good that he was certain she would accept this peace offering, even if she could never bear to see him again after the awful things he had said to her. It would be a final gift to someone who had given so much of herself to him.

As he climbed the sap-smeared branches of the enormous pine, his mind sifted through his memories. His heart swelled again at the thought that she had cared enough that she had painted his eye to remember him after he had been sent away.
She had missed him.
Deeply.

And he had missed her.

Quinn repositioned his grip on a branch. Then stilled. Memories from so long ago poured over him, pounding the floodgates to his soul.

When he'd been sent away, been locked away, really, with all the other miserable Collager students at Eton, he had used to dream about her. Yet he'd tried to forget those sweet memories because Anthony had always been in those dreams as well.

He'd dreamed about smashing those damned windows in the fourth floor of the dormitory and flying back to Penrose to find her. And she was always waiting for him at the top of some far-flung cliff, her arms wide in greeting, her smile as dazzling as the happiness in her earthy brown eyes. He would capture her in his arms and swing her 'round and 'round until they were dizzy and they fell off the cliff embracing each other. Quinn had felt such happiness gazing into her eyes that he hadn't cared that they were falling, until they crashed to the sand and waves washed over them. Anthony would be waiting to pick up her crumpled form and walk away, leaving Quinn to be pulled out to sea.

But now Quinn realized he didn't care that Anthony had been in the dream. He'd always found happiness when he was with her, Anthony be damned.

While he had been away, he'd missed her innocent goodness, her laughter, and their shared love of nature, and adventure, and animals, and, yes, even painting. He'd forgotten they had used to paint together. They'd shared such a passion for life... for living.

He reached the level of the ledge in the cliff face and peered through the pungent pine needles. An angry-looking adult female guarded three downy white chicks in a scrape made of rough-hewn sticks.

He bit the corner of his lip. Perhaps the falcon would fly away at his approach. He inched along the branch and she screeched in outrage.

He stopped. In that instant, a piece of his spirit fell into place. A piece he'd been denying in order to avoid any chance of repeating the past, where broken trust had plagued his every connection— and scarred his soul as effectively as the accident had scarred Georgiana's body.

He loved her.

No, it was something so much stronger than that. Something he couldn't put into words. She owned his heart and always would. He had been so numb to every emotion that he had been blind.

He had little warning before the tiercel, obviously the mate of the female in front of him, struck, its sharp talons scoring his sleeves and throwing him off balance.

Chapter 20

One could only stay in hiding for so long. And one could only walk for so long—especially with an aching knee. And she was freezing.

Besides, Georgiana knew she was being ridiculous. It was not as if he didn't already know the state of her pathetic heart. It was just that she didn't particularly like acting the fool twice over. As she limped toward Penrose's kitchen entrance, she hoped she would not have to face Quinn again before she left. And she prayed she was making the right decision.

The housekeeper was conferring with Cook in hurried tones. "Pardon me, Mrs. Killen, but has his lordship returned?"

"No, Lady Ellesmere—" the housekeeper said. "But—"

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Killen, but I must see to something immediately." She quickly made her way to the upper floors, unable to stay another moment.

Georgiana leaned heavily against the railing. How she had once loved this house. The wide, polished mahogany railings were so familiar. She had helped Mrs. Killen polish them as a child. She had even slid down them with Anthony when no one was looking. Her fingers traced the pattern of the newel post at the top while she stared at the door that was supposed to have been her chamber as Anthony's wife—the one she had specifically designated for the countess.

She forced herself to walk to the door. She must have a word with Grace, make certain she was recovering, and then gently insist that it would be better if Fairleigh went to the house party. She had no idea if Grace had been present when Quinn had discovered the brooch. She would smooth things over as best she could if that was true. And finally, she would tell Grace that pressing matters required her return to Trehallow.

She knocked on the door.

Silence.

"Grace? Grace, may I come in?"

Silence.

She knocked again and when there was no response, Georgiana eased the door open.

The chamber was in complete disarray, the bed coverings twisted in a heap on the floor. An abandoned, open trunk yawned before the bed, a drift of white frothy linen exposed. On a table, a vase of flowers lay on its side, water dripping from the lip of the marble tabletop onto a darkening spot of carpet below. A single yellow rose rested on a pillow in the middle of the bed.

A note lay under it.

Georgiana peered toward the adjoining sitting room and then crossed the room. Water from the rose's stem had pooled on the black ink lettering, making her name barely visible. Heart pounding, she quickly blotted the drops before breaking the seal.

My dear Georgiana,

When we spoke about love and marriage at Little Roses, there was something I did not fully understand. We agreed that a marriage where one loves and the other doesn't is intolerable. Experiencing unrequited love makes that point very clear in a person's mind. The only difference of opinion we had was of the happiness I am certain two people can find in a marriage of convenience for the mutual goal of simple companionship. You suggested nothing could induce you to marry again except a love match.

I have come to realize there is something possibly worse than unrequited love. It is when a man says he is looking for a marriage of convenience yet refuses to see he might indeed be in love with someone else. Marriage to such a man would be worse than intolerable.

And so I must leave. Mr. Brown has been kind enough to offer me a seat in his carriage.

You are so good I know you and Ata and everyone will grieve for me. But please don't. You see, my heart is not engaged, so I do not suffer. And please don't think you owe me some sort of apology.

Georgiana, he is in love with you. I don't know why he can't grasp what is in front of him. But I think if you have the courage to tell him what I now believe you might still feel for him, all will fall into place. And I wish you both every happiness.

My dearest friend, I am not sad. I am not angry with anyone. I am only discomforted to stay in a place where I do not belong.