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Georgina looked down at her slippers, as if concerned the silk of her skirts had caught against his legs and she’d tear her hem. The pads of his fingers pressed painfully into her waist as regret coursed through her.
He will never forgive me.
When the dance ended, Leo bowed politely for the benefit of onlookers, his handsome features bland. Unfeeling. As if she were some elderly wallflower he’d been forced to dance with.
“Good evening, Lady Masterson.”
He didn’t once glance back as he strolled back into the crowd, leaving her battered and bruised. He was welcomed into a group of gentlemen at the other side of the hall, most of whom already seemed well acquainted with him. Georgina recognized Mr. Schuller of Merchant’s Bank. She’d once been friends with his daughter.
Leo has been in New York far longer than I supposed.
There was little to set Leo apart from the other men in attendance tonight except for the precision with which he’d gutted her during their dance. Even his formal evening wear was perfect with no sign of the hideously garish waistcoats he so loved. Only his looks made him stand out. He was still so damned beautiful. Even if he hated her.
Georgina pulled her hands into her skirts so that no one would see her hands shaking. She knew she shouldn’t have come tonight. Poor Mr. Woodstock had been the least of her worries.
* * *
Leo watchedGeorgina glide across the room, shoulders straight as she made her way back to her mother’s side. She nodded to those around her. Smiled. Took another glass of champagne. Greeted two young ladies warmly. If Leo didn’t know her so well, hadn’t spent so many hours watching her, he would have assumed their conversation hadn’t rattled her. But she had to struggle to hold her chin up, jerking it sharply whenever her manner slipped. And she was drinking far too much champagne.
Georgina, as a rule, didn’t care overmuch for champagne.
He thought he’d feel vindicated after lashing out at her as he’d dreamt of doing since reading his father’s letter. But he didn’t. Hurting Georgina hadn’t helped his mood at all; in fact, it had done nothing but make Leo realize how badly he’d behaved toward her from the day they’d met.
She’s my person and always has been.
Easy to see now what he’d refused to acknowledge. A deathbed confession and a reexamination of your life often did that to a person. Left them seeing things in a different light.
Which brought Leo to his next point.
If Georgina thought for one bloody moment he was going to allow her to marry that oversized thug masquerading as a gentleman who was whispering in her ear, she was mistaken.
The gentleman in question cast a glance in Leo’s direction, pulling Georgina closer. She nodded her head, placing a fingertip against her temple. A headache, he could almost hear her say. The gentleman placed a consoling hand on the small of Georgina’s back, comforting her.
Leo gripped his glass so tightly, he nearly snapped the fragile stem.
Smiling and nodding automatically, he pretended to listen to Schuller and another gentleman, Klyburn, both of whom were discussing the price of cotton, which Leo found somewhat interesting. Hedidown a textile mill. And quite a bit of property in London along with a sheep farm. Then, of course, there was Beechwood Court.
His gut twisted.
Beechwood Court was forher.
On the eternity it had taken Leo to cross the Atlantic, a terrifying experience he was in no hurry to endure again, his feelings for Georgina had ebbed and flowed along with the waves that had pushed him closer to her and America. He’d had plenty of time to look hard at the truths of his life. Leo remembered with startling detail watching Tony cradle his dead mother at the bottom of the stairs at Cherry Hill. The screams of his own mother, Molly, at seeing her mistress at the bottom of the steps. How Molly had taken his hand and dragged him away, cursing both herself and Leo for being the instruments of the duchess’s death.
In his heart, Leo blamed himself because she’d found out about him. Her husband’s bastard. But it was Marcus Barrington’s fault for making him a bastard. Maybe that’s why, when Tony vowed that his father’s legitimate line would end with him, Leo had vowed to end the illegitimate line as well. Solidarity with the older brother he adored.
Guilt was a wonderful motivator.
But Leo adored children. The only reason he’d ever gone to the Averell mansion in London was to see his half-sisters. He would bring them dolls. Ribbons. Hold serious discussions with Romy about dressmaking or study Theodosia’s paintings pretending he had an eye for art. Olivia would have him drip honey on her toast while Phaedra pranced about, antagonizing the staff.
He’d been halfway to America, finally able to keep his meals from coming back up, when he’d allowed the pure joy of knowing he had a child to fill him. True, his child was a bastard, something he would have to remedy with money and a good solicitor, but so wanted.
As Marcus had wanted him.
Leo scratched his chest at the slight pain, regret over how he’d treated his father. Marcus had died a better man. Leo hoped he would too.
And yes, he had told Georgina he hadn’t wanted a child and had sputtered something about an apothecary. But nottheirchild. Not part of Georgina. His perfect person.
Leo set aside the champagne glass.
He glanced in her direction again. Everything inside Leo told him to go to her, but he didn’t. It was time to leave Mrs. Rutherford’s lovely party, as he had no desire to sit through an opera or endure any more of Miss Schuller’s chattering.
Excusing himself, Leo walked through the crowd, beginning to make their way upstairs, stopping only to glance in Georgina’s direction. He was unsurprised to find her gone, though her escort still lingered.
Miss Schuller caught sight of Leo and tried to waylay him as he made his way to the doors, but he ignored her. Once outside, Leo surveyed the line of carriages, wondering which one held Georgina. Anger still simmered beneath his skin, so it was probably for the best he hadn’t caught up with her.
But he would. Eventually.
