Page 89 of The Mistletoe Dare

He frowned, avoiding her gaze.

“Was it so forgettable an event?” she pressed, knowing this would provoke an answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said at once. “It was the only thing I could think of, as you well know. It was she who slipped my mind. I didn’t think of her. She’s barely a part of my life and… and I knew she’d only say something spiteful, so I didn’t bother.”

Georgie relaxed, her heart aching for him. She could not imagine a life where she did not share her every triumph and happiness, as well as the disasters, with her family. He had been so alone for so long. She could hardly blame him for keeping his happiness to himself, where his mother could not take the shine from it.

“Well then. She’s in for a big surprise this morning,” she said wryly.

Rochford groaned and buried his face against her breasts. “Shall we go back to Scotland?” he asked, his voice muffled.

Georgie laughed and stroked his dark hair. “Do you think I’d let your mother rout me before we even meet? I think not, Rochford.”

He groaned again and held her tighter. “Don’t let her change you, or the way you want to do things, love. Promise me.”

Georgie looked down at him, surprised that he believed it possible.

“Have you met me?” she asked, quirking one eyebrow. “I’m a graceless, mannerless baggage, remember?”

“Georgie,” he said, his dark eyes filled with reproach. “Don’t make me remember how ill I treated you, the things I said. I’m so sorry.”

She made a very Scottish sound of disgust and pressed a finger to his lips. “I did not say it to make you feel bad, but to remind you that you married that girl. Did I ever back down from you, duke?”

“No,” he said, adoration shining in his eyes. “Never.”

“Do you truly think your mother will get the better of me?”

Rochford hesitated. “She has a way of saying things, of… pricking your tender parts.”

“She’s spiteful,” Georgie said, unsurprised. “Don’t you worry about me, my sweet. I shall do just fine.”

“Sweet?” Rochford repeated, a little incredulous.

Georgie nodded, enjoying his dumbfounded expression. “Yes. Sweet. My sweet big bear.”

“Ugh,” he said, looking askance.

“Don’t like it?” she asked, wide-eyed with innocence.

“No I d—”

“Kiss me.”

“I like it fine,” he muttered, and did as she asked.

Rochford strode into Mulcaster Castle, wondering at how completely his world had changed since he’d left the place so many months earlier. He ought to have returned in October of last year but hadn’t had the heart for it then. He’d put it off, and put it off, and then snatched at Jules’ offer to come for Christmas, not knowing how fortune was smiling upon him. He owed Jules a good deal, he reflected now. A debt he must repay one day.

He had always dreaded coming back here. Not because he hated the castle. He didn’t. Though there were too many memories he’d rather be rid of, he did not blame the ancient stones for his unhappiness. There was a stark grandeur to this ancestral monstrosity that pleased him, and he looked forward to Georgie’s help in making it into a home for them both. A home. It startled him to realise how desperately he wanted that. He’d thought such things as a home and a family were for other people, not for men like him. His parents and his experiences had made it very clear to him that he was unlovable, but that wasn’t true. Not at all. Georgie was right. If you gave people a chance, some of them would surprise you. Not all, but he did not want or need everyone to like him. Even before Georgie, he’d had Jules, and Joe, and even the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin, had made him welcome in their home. Miss Knight had been kind, and so had Lady Rosalind, though he knew he intimidated her. Not everyone judged his appearance and saw a monster.

He held Georgie’s hand tightly, aware she was feeling overwhelmed no matter how courageous she was. This huge behemoth was her home now, and his mother didn’t even know she existed. Well, that at least was quickly remedied.

“We’ll get the traumatic part of the day over quickly,” he said, hurrying her towards his mother’s apartment. “Like ripping off a plaster bandage.”

“That’s encouraging,” Georgie said dryly.

Rochford shrugged. “I’m not expecting to enjoy this, but it’s a big place. I only see her once a month. She rarely leaves her rooms.”

“Is she ill?”