“Were you able to meet your mother before—”
“No.” he replied. “She died last summer.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Georgie’s apology at the loss of a woman he didn’t know was unexpected. Or was it? While Georgie was all about manners, there was something earnest in her condolences and they caught in Tom’s chest.
“Thank you,” he said, determined not to let her words or the concern across her brow soften him. He would not fall prey to that pretty face again. He straightened and added more curtly than might have been needed, “While appreciated, I do not require condolences. Indeed, I never knew her.”
“But she cared enough to ensure you were raised by good people, and then, before the end, risked the judgment of her character to make your existence known,” she replied. “She clearly loved you.”
Something weighed in Tom’s chest, of regret, perhaps. Of course, Georgie would be concerned about society scandal due to a deathbed confession. Still, her consideration tugged at Tom’s heart.
He swallowed back that softening toward her he could feel creeping into his body. He couldn’t allow it again. It had hurt too damn much. She’d claimed his heart once upon a time, then when he’d asked for even a scrap of hope she might return the feeling, Georgie had crumpled it up and tossed it back at him, leaving his self-worth in tatters. He’d stopped being soft then, and he owed her nothing now. He pulled on bits of hurt and used them to form his reply.
“Thanks to her,” he said, choosing his next words—or rather hers—carefully, “I now know I’m more than ‘Tom, son of no one in particular.’”
Her lashes fluttered as the words landed. If he’d entertained the idea she’d forgotten them, he’d been mistaken. It was beneath him, perhaps, to use those words, and the satisfaction he thought he’d feel dulled somehow at the look of embarrassment on her face. He thought she might run, but she stayed in place, still but for the few locks of stray blonde hair that fluttered in the afternoon breeze.
“Yes, well,” she began, her voice small. Then nodding to herself, she pulled herself a little straighter and looked him straight in the eye. “I should not have said that, all those years ago. It was unkind. I’m sorry.”
She turned to leave but Tom reached out for her, catching her by the hand. The movement shocked them both apparently, and she turned to face him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She yanked her hand free, her mouth pulling into a frown. “I could ask you the same.”
“I’m doing what every other man of means does when he has both time and money on his hands,” he said. “Gambling.”
It was a lie and damn it if it didn’t make him feel like a bloody hypocrite.
“It doesn’t explain why you’re here,” she said, raising a finger and poking him in the chest. “Surely you can play at White’s. I can’t imagine your father wouldn’t have had a membership there for you from the day you arrived.”
“I do,” he replied, then lowered his voice and leaned in closer. He was being reckless, but he couldn’t help himself. “But temptations here are second to none.”
Was that a lick of jealousy moving across her face? It shouldn’t have been so damned satisfying.
“I shall leave you to them,” she replied, turning up her nose and spinning around on her heel.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he called out. “And I can’t help but wonder how such a proper lady preoccupied with following every rule finds herself wandering the maze, unchaperoned, in such a notorious gaming hell.”
She paused, then turned around, giving him a flash of defiance he’d not seen before.
“I am not unchaperoned,” she said. “My companion should return any moment. And if you must know, I am here on a dare.”
“A dare?” he said, unable to hold back a laugh. “Lady Georgiana Hawthorne? I don’t believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter if you do,” she replied. “Now if you will excuse me, I have to find my companion.”
“Afraid of being discovered, my lady?”
“There are plenty of things to fear,” she said. “But you are not one of them.”
She turned, dashing away like a rabbit through the wood.
He was tempted to give chase, but he’d been bitten by her once before. The cruel irony was that, on the surface, marrying Lady Georgiana would have more than met the criteria of social acceptability to satisfy his grandmother. But she’d damaged not only his heart—his pride had been battered too. If he proposed now, which he definitely wouldnotdo, she would have accepted him because only now had he’d become worthy of her. Only for his title. Being Tom had never been enough for her.
He waited a few moments for her to leave before taking a different path out of the maze. He would need a drink, and possibly two, to recover himself and prepare for this ridiculous matchmaking game he’d entered. As he exited the maze, Georgie was nowhere to be found. He headed back along the meandering paths, intent on finding solace in the library with a glass of port. He had not made it very far, however, when he came upon none other than Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Clad in her ever-present widow’s weeds, she looked out of place amongst the nascent cherry blossoms of a rather spectacular tree. She was speaking with two ladies. He was tempted to turn back toward the maze, but his presence had already been noticed, and he was summoned with a polite wave from Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
