“I hope you weren’t waiting for me?”
“I was, actually.” She ran her bottom lip through her teeth. “I wanted to apologize for what I did to you all those years ago.”
Better late than never, he supposed, even though he could never forgive her for it. “It’s all water under the bridge.” He brushed it aside, relieved to know that despite his absentee forgiveness, it actually was.
It was odd. He had been dreading seeing her again after so long, and dreaded his own reaction to her more. But now that both were over and done with, the experience had been cathartic. Like a lurking foe, vanquished.
Yes, he had been every bit as self-conscious as he expected to be after all the futile and pathetic begging he had done that last time in his attempts to win her back. But he was also relieved to discover that his broken heart had not only fully healed—it was indifferent. Elizabeth no longer held any part of it.
In fact, without those lust-fogged, rose-tinted lenses clouding his vision, he realized that Elizabeth had always cared too much for the superficial in life, and her shallow conversations had, if he were honest, always bored him.
Her affectations irritated too. The practiced eyelash-flapping and unsubtle bosom-caressing, which had once drawn him like a moth to a flame, were two cases in point. They were mantraps she used with calculation to control the fools who fell for them, whereasGeorgie was oblivious of her allure, and that was so much more alluring a trait.
With the brutal clarity of hindsight, he could also now see that he had been superficial and shallow back then too. Elizabeth had been an obvious trophy here in Plymouth all those years ago when he had actively been collecting them. Widely considered the most beautiful woman in this small coastal city, he had wanted her because all his peers did, and hubris was no foundation to build a forever on. And while there wasn’t a hot-blooded male at this reception who didn’t envy the beautiful, vivacious redhead he had brought, he wanted Georgie first and foremost because she called to his soul.
“I never should have married Francis. You and I were always…” She ran her fingers along his sleeve. “So much better suited. Francis was a mistake.”
He had a funny feeling he knew where this was headed, but wanted the satisfaction of the confirmation and the closure it would bring. “I am sorry to hear that—but as you rightly said earlier, if you marry in haste, you get to repent at leisure.”
“At least I have given him two sons, so we no longer have to pretend to like one another.” Her bold fingers grazed the back of his hand this time. “That also gives me much more freedom…”
Good grief! She was actually going there? “Freedom to do what?” As she had always thought all men idiots—including him—he decided to play dumb. For sport. And perhaps petty revenge.
“To take a discreet lover, if I wanted.” She stared up at him from beneath her lashes like the practiced, selfish flirt that she was. “I haven’t felt the urge before—but now that you are back in Plymouth and your grandfather isn’t around to meddle in our affairs…” For good measure, she slowly licked her upper lip. “My husband and your fiancée need never know.”
It amused Harry that absolutely nothing stirred within his too-tight dress breeches when throughout the formal dinner he had been in complete agony. Only a part of that was caused by the damned breeches cutting into his backside. The rest was because of Georgie seated opposite who, without any effort whatsoever, made him so rampant with need that he had been ready to explode. “Thank you for that… um… kind offer—but no thanks.”
He took great pleasure in extricating his hand from her grip. “I am head over heels in love with Georgie and I am afraid she is now the only woman on the planet I want.” Even as he said it, he realized the truth of it. Accepted it and simultaneously regretted it. “It was nice to see you again, Elizabeth.” At least in the sense that he could now consign their regrettable interlude firmly to the past, where it belonged.
Georgie knew he had returned to the reception room because the air seemed to shift around her, but she forced herself to continue her conversation with Lady Nugent rather than look.
“Of course we all knew that he and Lady Elizabeth were a match made in hell.” It was clear the admiral’s wife disliked Harry’s former fiancée intensely, as she had sought Georgie out expressly to reassure her she shouldn’t allow “that horrid woman’s” presence to bother her. “Elizabeth was always on the lookout for opportunities to elevate her position and there was no way she was going to settle for a mere lieutenant if there was the merest sniff of anyone with more stripes on the horizon. We were all vastly relieved for Harry when she found Barrett-Hughes. They are both so self-absorbed and selfish, they are perfect for one another.”
The wonderfully indiscreet older woman leaned in to whisper.“And between the pair of them, they always give the rest of us something to gossip about. He seems to have more mistresses than most people have hot dinners and I daresay there aren’t many officers present who haven’t been invited to sample her charms. In fact, the last time Francis sailed away, the running joke was that there was a permanent stepladder from the pavement to her bedchamber window and she wasn’t too particular who she allowed up it.”
“No!” The more she heard about Lady Elizabeth, the more Georgie pitied Harry for loving her. Not that she knew for certain that he still loved her, but he had. Once. That was enough to make her loathe the witch for all eternity.
“Oh yes, my dear—it all goes on in the navy.” Lady Nugent spoke behind her fan this time. “There was also an ongoing affair with one of her husband’s subordinates that ended in fisticuffs on the quayside. In broad daylight and in front of the entire dockyard. Barrett-Hughes accused the man of seducing his wife, and then the officer turned the tables and accused Barrett-Hughes of seducing his wife first. They were all at it! And worse, the younger officer practically bellowed from the rooftops that the only reason he tupped the strumpet in the first place was to get revenge on her predatory husband for impregnating his wife!”
“No,” said Georgie again as her neck began to tingle with awareness. “That’s outrageous.” Then because she couldn’t resist knowing, she asked, “Didhe impregnate her?”
“Indeed he did!” Lady Nugent threw her head back and laughed. “With another set of twins! Then, the fathers of another three sets of Plymouth Dockyard twins—because we had had a bit of an unusual spate of them—all began to question the paternity of their own offspring and then there was more fisticuffs. The Barrett-Hugheses’ mutual philandering caused such a scandal, my husband had to send the pair of them to Newfoundland for a year just to stop all the waving fists and wagging tongues. Yet the arrogant fool wonders why he hasn’t been promoted in years! When to be honest, it’s a miracle he hasn’t been demoted!”
Her new friend winked as she saw Harry approach. “Elizabeth must be spitting feathers to see you on his arm now. She likes to think she is unforgettable, and you only have to see how Captain Kincaid looks at you to see that she has been completely forgotten.”
“Did I just hear my name said in vain?” He arrived smiling and effortlessly delicious. As usual.
“You might have done,” said Lady Nugent, unrepentant, “but listeners never hear any good of themselves and your delightful newfiancéehas been sworn to secrecy on the subject.” She nudged Georgie. “For my sins, as the hostess, I must go mingle with the rest of this dreary crowd, so I shall leave you with your handsome beau and a friendly tip that the terrace is lovely when the moon is full—and likely quite deserted at this time of night.” Then she winked at him. “Oh, what a gift it is to be young and in love. Savor every single moment you have together, as it isn’t easy being a sailor’s wife.”
They watched her leave before he quirked one dark brow. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”
“Not in a million years. How were your exclusive port and cigars?”
“Stuffy.”
“Would you like to go out to the terrace for some fresh air?”
“I’d rather go home—unless you wish to stay, of course?”
