Page 64 of Scandal’s Daughter

The Corsair.

“I thought you didn’t like that one?” The words were out before she could consider the wisdom of speaking to him after the scene the day before last.

He looked around, startled by her voice, and on seeing no one nearby, looked up. The pleasure in his eyes on seeing her chased away any doubts she’d had. They were warm and inviting, the smile that spread over his mouth quite obviously genuine.

“Georgiana!” he exclaimed, and then held the book up with a rueful smile. “I’m afraid my opinion remains the same. Am I a terrible philistine?”

“Oh yes, certainly,” she replied, shaking her head at him. “Though at least you are making an effort to try,” she added with her most condescending tone.

He laughed at that and nodded. “I am very trying,” he said, joking with her in return.

She gave a surprised laugh, delighted by his silly joke. “But why are you reading it?” she pressed, staring into those dark eyes and praying she had guessed the answer correctly.

He stilled and the smile fell from his face. Smoothing his hands over the sleek leather cover, he shook his head.

“I don’t know really, just that ... It reminded me of you, of ... our time together and I thought perhaps if I understood what you loved about it I could ...”

He stopped and looked up at her, a beseeching look in his eyes that made her chest ache with longing.

“You could what?” she whispered, clutching the rail of the balustrade so hard her fingers hurt.

He took a deep breath and she could see the tension in his broad shoulders, admired the sleek fit of his waistcoat as his chest expanded.

“I could find a way to make you forgive me,” he said in a rush, the desperation in his voice only too audible now. “To ... to go back and find everything I lost.”

She stared down at him, her chest too tight for her to breathe easily, and she felt she could hardly breathe at all.

“I’ve been such a fool, love,” he whispered, staring up at her with anguish as she felt tears prickle in her eyes. “I was coming to you, you see. The night before Almack’s. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I missed you so much.”

“Y--you were going to Cornwall, to see me?” she stammered as the idea sank in.

“Yes,” he said, such longing in that one word she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I didn’t mean the things I said.”

She stared at him, struck by the look on his face, by the uncertainty in his bearing.

“I was angry that ...” he paused and ran a hand through his thick hair, dishevelling the carefully careless arrangement he’d crafted and leaving something rather softer in its place. He looked younger suddenly, unsure of himself. “I idolised my father,” he admitted. “I always wanted to remember him as this ... paragon.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh and shrugged his big shoulders. “It was only after ... after Beau dunked me,” he said with a grin. “That I came to think about him as an ordinary man.”

His face grew serious and he stepped closer to the balustrade, staring up at her.

“I was right about one thing though. If your mother was half as lovely as you, if he felt a fraction of what I do ... I know just how he felt. I understand now how he could be so reckless, why he risked everything. For if he was plagued by dreams of her, by endless nights and empty days where all he could do was live for the moment, he might see her again ... I understand it. I do.”

She gasped and felt for a moment she was living in a dream. It seemed so impossible and unlikely that he should declare himself in the middle of a book shop of all places.

“You look like Juliet,” he said, smiling up at her. “I only hope we have a happier ending,” he added, his voice low and full of anxiety.

“Me too,” she replied, her words little more than a whisper.

“May I come up?” he asked, and she nodded, wiping away a tear that had fallen despite her best efforts as she watched him almost run for the stairs, and then mount them two at a time. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her leaping nerves, and then there he was, standing in front of her.

She looked up at him and wondered if she had forgotten just what an impressive sight he was, for he stole her breath all over again. His dark blue coat was perfectly cut and clung to him lovingly, accentuating hard muscle and powerful arms. She remembered what it had felt like to have those arms around her, the weight of his body on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin. A flush burned over her cheeks, and she hoped he couldn’t guess at her thoughts.

“I wanted to kill Beau,” he said, his voice rough and yet hesitant. “When I heard ...”

She looked away, embarrassed that he should know about that. “You were right,” she admitted. “I should never have gone in the boat with him.”

“He kissed you?”

She looked back at him in horror, how could he stand there and ask that? Did he really expect an answer? It was clear he didn’t need one further than her silence as his fists clenched and he cursed under his breath.