Page 44 of One Night with a Rake

Nate chuckled. “Sure I do. Spoiled. Sulky. Always expecting others to pick up after his mess. I believe I have Lord Fishwick’s measure.”

Georgette bade the Daventrys a good evening and thanked them for inviting her. Then she smiled across the room at Lord Winthrop, who’d been not-so-covertly watching her all evening, no doubt hoping to catch her in some unroyalty-like faux pas.

“Speaking of taking someone’s measure,” Nathaniel murmured as Lord Winthrop lowered his lorgnette and nodded at her gravely.

“He’s doing his job, I suppose, but it does grate on one to be under constant scrutiny.”

“I believe that about sums up the life of a royal. But cheer up, Georgie. Looks as if you passed muster,” Nate said as he draped her short cape over her shoulders. “You were serene, elegant, and as remote as the moon. Clearly regal material. His Highness’s lapdog seems satisfied with your performance.”

Georgette snorted. The idea of the corpulent Lord Winthrop on anyone’s lap was laughable.

“So Winthrop is a lapdog and, according to Roger, you’re a wolfhound,” she said. “It seems I’m besieged by canines at every turn.”

“I won’t argue the point. As a general rule, all gentlemen are dogs and—what do you mean, Roger?” He had been about to pop his top hat on his head, but he stopped with the hat halfway to its goal. “Just how well do you know that dandy?”

“Don’t make a fuss,” she said as she led the way out the Daventrys’ double doors and into the crisp, starry night. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Lord Fishwick and I crossed paths as children. I know him well enough to know he can be a very unpleasant person. Let’s leave it at that.”

He offered her his hand and helped her into the waiting carriage. “Was he troubling you?”

The only man in the world who truly troubled her climbed after her into the barouche and settled on the squab beside her. “If he was, it’s none of your affair.”

“I’ll make it my affair.”

“No, you won’t,” she said in clipped tones. “Because you don’t mean any of it.”

Georgette pressed her lips tightly together. She hadn’t meant to toss his words from that night in the library back at him. The fact that she did meant they’d wounded her. And she couldn’t bear him knowing that.

She drew the velvet curtains aside and looked out the window, feigning interest in the twisted spider-leg streets of London that sheared off the main thoroughfare. So many lives intersecting in those little crooked ways.

Nathaniel took her hand, but she still didn’t turn her gaze from the window. She also didn’t pull her hand free.

“Georgette, I’m sorry I hurt you. Contrary to Lord Fishwick’s opinion, I’m not a hound of any sort,” he said. “I’m a cur.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You weren’t supposed to agree so quickly.”

Against her better judgment, a smile tugged at her lips. “I can’t help it if I’m the agreeable sort.”

“Ha! You are many things, Georgette Yorkingham, but agreeable is not one of them. In fact, I think it irks you when you have to be.”

He knew her too well for her comfort. Well, he would, wouldn’t he, seeing as how he’d all but known her in the biblical sense.

“If I’m not agreeable, what am I?”

His thumb circled her gloved knuckles. She let the curtain drop back into place and wished the thin silk of her gloves didn’t separate her skin from his touch.

“You’re infuriating,” he said. “Mostly.”

She jerked her hand away at that. “Careful, sir. A lady can only stand so much charm,” she said, her tone sharp with sarcasm. “You’ll turn my head.”

“I meant it in a good way,” he amended.

“How, pray tell, can one be infuriating in a good way?”

“Infuriating probably isn’t the right word. What I really mean is that you irritate me.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Not an improvement. A word to the not-so-wise: when one finds oneself so deep in a hole, it’s generally advisable to stop digging.”