“Marriage used to be for gain, don’t you know, or to unite great families…which would never have applied to us in any case, would it, love? But these days it’s back to primitive basics, society’s sanction of lust. In that, we’re quite compatible, I’d say.”
Those words kept coming back to Georgina in the two weeks that followed her fateful surrender to James Malory’s finesse, reminding her that she shouldn’t have tried to read more into the return of his desire for her. All she’d asked him was what he intended to do about their marriage, if he meant to honor it or get out of it. She wouldn’t call his answer an answer. And she hadn’t needed to be told that all they shared was mutual lust as far as he was concerned.
And yet, there was so much tenderness in that lust; so often when she lay in his arms she felt cherished…almost loved. And that more than anything else kept her tongue still each time she thought to ask again about the future. Of course, getting straight answers out of James was next to impossible anymore. If his replies weren’t derogatory, which annoyed her into shutting up, then they were evasive. And she had learned very quickly that if she tried to bring up what had happened in Connecticut, or even came close to mentioning her brothers, she’d get singed by the fire-breathing dragon again.
So they existed much as they had before, as lovers and companions, with one exception. Touchy subjects were forbidden. It was almost like having an unspoken truce; at least Georgina looked at it that way. And if she wanted to savor and enjoy this time with James, and she did want that at least, then she had to bury her pride and anxieties for a while. When they arrived at their destination it would be soon enough to find out where she stood, if James meant to keep her or send her home.
And it was such a short while. Without having to fight the westerly winds, the Maiden Anne made such good time, she was sailing up the Thames almost three weeks to the day after she’d left the American coast behind.
Georgina had known right from that first night that she was going to be visiting England again, since James had discussed their course with Connie while she was still tucked to his hip. She didn’t even have to wonder long why he wasn’t returning to Jamaica to finish his business there. That was one of the forbidden subjects, so she didn’t bother to ask him, but Connie could be questioned on impersonal matters, and he’d informed her that James had fortunately found an agent to dispose of his property in the islands while he was waiting for his crew to be rounded up. At least she didn’t have that to be held against her, too, though she had to wonder if she’d ever know what had really brought James Malory to Connecticut in such a vengeful state of mind.
Once again Georgina had packed James’s trunks for him in preparation for departure, this time including her few articles of borrowed clothing. But this time when she came on deck, she found Artie and Henry stationed on either side of the gangplank, both men making no pretense about keeping an eye on her.
She found that amusing. Had she been able to speak of it, she could have told James that he’d never find a Skylark vessel in London harbor. So, he could have been assured that she had nowhere to run off to, if he didn’t care to lose her just yet. But he knew that she had no money with her, so setting watchdogs on her was really absurd. She did have her jade ring back, given to her for a wedding ring since James happened to be wearing it on a chain around his neck at the time, but she wasn’t going to consider parting with it again.
The ring on her finger was now a reminder of what was so easily forgotten, that she was a married woman. Easily forgotten, too, was her pregnancy, since she was suffering not the least bit of discomfort or sickness with it, nor had she even begun to expand, except for a very slight enlargement in her breasts. Yet she was now two and a half months along. But she’d never mentioned it again to James, nor had he ever spoken of it even once. She wasn’t even sure he’d heard her that day she’d blurted it out in her anger as she slammed out of his cabin.
Just now, Georgina pulled James’s heavy Garrick coat closer about her to ward off the chill. The harbor was a bleak-looking place in the middle of November. Cold, overcast, the day was as gloomy as her thoughts were becoming as she waited for James to join her.
What, if anything, awaited her here?
Georgina remembered Piccadilly. She almost mentioned it to James, that she and Mac had stayed in the Albany Hotel, which the rented carriage had just passed. But one look at her husband’s expression changed her mind. He’d been like that since they left the ship, actually since they’d first sighted England.
She didn’t bother to ask what had turned his mood so dark. He’d just give her some careless remark that would tell her absolutely nothing, and that would only irritate her. And she was trying her best not to aggravate the situation by giving her own gloomy mood free rein. But she would have thought James would be glad to be home. She knew he had family here, even a son…Good Lord, how could she have forgotten that? He had a seventeen-year-old son, a boy only five years her junior. Was James worried about having to explain why he was coming home with a wife? Would he even bother to explain? Was he even bringing her home?
For God’s sake, this was utterly ridiculous, when a little communication would put her mind at ease…or not, as the case might be. “James—?”
“We’re here.”
The carriage stopped just as he said it, and he was out the door before she’d even gotten a look out the window. “Here, where?”
His hands reached back in to lift her down to the curb. “My brother’s townhouse.”
“Which brother?”
“Anthony. You’ll remember him. Dark as sin, I believe you called him once.”
Her brows drew together with a sudden suspicion that released all her pent-up anxiety in a burst of anger. “You’re dumping me here, aren’t you? You haven’t the guts to take me home with you, so you’re leaving me with your rakehell brother. Which is it you don’t want to explain to your son, that I’m an American or that I’m your wife?”
“I despise that word. Call yourself anything else you like, but kindly strike that word from your vocabulary.”
That he said it calmly only infuriated her more. “All right. Will whore do?”
“Preferably.”
“You bastard!”
“My dear girl, you really must curb this propensity you have for swearing. And as usual, you’ve managed to air our dirty laundry for the delectation of the masses.”
The “masses” happened to be Dobson, Anthony’s butler, who had diligently opened the door before it was required of him, having heard the carriage arriving. Georgina blushed profusely to have been caught shouting profanities. But to look at the stoic-faced Englishman, you’d have thought he hadn’t heard a word.
“Welcome home, Lord Malory,” he said as he thrust the door open wider.
At that point, Georgina almost had to be dragged inside. Despite her boy’s clothes, which couldn’t be helped, she had so wanted to make a good impression today of all days, what with the possibility of meeting James’s family. But then he hadn’t denied he was going to drop her off here with Anthony, and everything she’d ever heard him say about this brother, and what she’d seen for herself, had led her to believe he was as disreputable a fellow as James was, so what was the difference? She had no care to impress him. Still, servants gossiped, and this one likely knew the servants of the rest of the family. Devil take it, she could kick James for making her finally lose her temper.
And James could have kicked himself for making things worse with her, but he couldn’t seem to break the habit of a lifetime. But she was so bloody thin-skinned. She ought to know by now he didn’t mean it. But he was damned annoyed with her.
She’d had more than enough time to give him some clue about how she felt about him now, but not one bloody word had passed her lips on the subject. And he’d never felt more insecure in his entire life. The only thing he was sure about was that she desired him as much as he did her. But he’d known too many women not to know that that meant absolutely nothing where their true feelings were concerned.
The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to marry him. She’d told her brothers so. She’d told him so. She was going to have his baby, but still she’d flatly refused to marry him. She’d had to be forced right along with him, and everything she’d done since had led him to believe she was just biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to run from him again. And now she’d have all the opportunity she could want, which put him in a devil of a bad temper. But he hadn’t meant to take it out on her. He ought to apologize…damned if he would.
“I don’t suppose my brother is at home this time of day?” James inquired of Dobson.
“Sir Anthony is at Knighton’s Hall, I believe, for his customary exercise in the pugilist ring.”
“I could do with a bit of that myself just now. And Lady Roslynn?”
“Visiting the countess of Sherfield.”
“Countess? Ah, that’s right, Amherst wed Roslynn’s friend not too long ago.” His eyes locked with Georgina’s before he added, “Poor man,” and he was satisfied to note that her expression of embarrassment switched to one of anger. “And is my son at school, Dobson?”
“He got sent home for the week, my lord, but Sir Anthony has already filed a complaint with the headmaster, and his lordship the marquis is also looking into the matter.”
“And the lad was likely totally to blame for whatever it was they say he did. Damned scamp. I leave him alone for a few months—”
“Father!”
Georgina turned to see a young man practically flying down the stairs and then slamming into the brick wall that was her husband, and apparently his father, though it was not a foregone conclusion by any means. The boy didn’t look all of seventeen as she’d been told, but much closer to her own age. Was it just the height? He was as tall as James, though not nearly as broad of frame. He was more on the slim side, yet his shoulders promised to get wider. He was being crushed right now in a bear hug, and laughing, and she realized with a start that he bore no resemblance to James at all, though no one could deny he was just as handsome.
“But what’s happened, then?” Jeremy was asking. “You’re back so soon. Did you decide to keep the plantation?”
“No,” James said. “I just found an agent to dispose of it, is all.”
“So you could hurry back? Missed me, did you?”
“Get that grin off your face, puppy. I thought I’d warned you to stay out of trouble.”
The boy gave Dobson a look of reproach for spilling the news so soon, but he was grinning unrepentently again when he looked back at his father. “Well, she was a prime piece. What was I to do?”
“What did you do?”
“Just had a bloody good time, is all. But they weren’t very understanding about finding the wench in my room, so I told ’em she followed me back, that she refused to leave without making a fuss.”
“And they believed that clanker?”
“The headmaster didn’t.” Jeremy grinned roguishly. “But Uncle Tony did.”
James laughed here. “Tony doesn’t know you well enough yet.” But he tamped down his humor when he noticed Georgina’s look of disgust. “But you’ll attend to your entertainments outside of the school grounds from now on, scamp, that’s if they even allow you back, and you bloody well better hope they do, or I’ll be kicking your arse around the block.”
Jeremy’s grin didn’t waver the least little bit, as if he’d heard such dire warnings a hundred times before and had never once taken them seriously. But he had followed his father’s glance to Georgina, and he was now looking her over himself. Still wrapped up in James’s Garrick coat, and with her hair tucked under her cap, which she’d worn to limit her embarrassment in being dressed as she was, she found it understandable that the boy showed only the mildest interest in her.
But Georgina was still simmering over her latest heated exchange with James, which was aggravated by what she’d just heard. The man was no more than amused that his son was following in his footsteps…another reprehensible rake to be set loose on womankind.
That, coupled with her embarrassment over her shabby appearance, prompted her cutting remark. “He doesn’t look anything like you, James. In fact, he looks more like your brother.” She paused to raise a brow tauntingly. “Are you sure he’s yours?”
“I know you feel justified, love, but don’t take it out on the youngun.”
He said it in a way that guaranteed she’d feel ashamed of herself for behaving pettishly, and she did, extremely so. But instead of cowing her, it only made her angrier. And James, unfortunately, didn’t notice.
“Jeremy,” he continued. “Meet George—”
“His wife,” she cut in scathingly, taking a good deal of satisfaction in saying it, since she was sure James wouldn’t have said it. And then she added innocently, “But I forgot. I’m supposed to delete that word from my vocabulary. And that would make me—”
“George!”
She merely gave James an owl-eyed look, not at all impressed by his bellow. But Jeremy’s interest was now piqued and he stepped closer to her, though it was his father he addressed his questions to.
“Wife? She’s a girl, then?”
“Oh, she’s female all right,” James said testily.
Jeremy yanked off Georgina’s cap before she could stop him. “Oh, I say,” came out with a good deal of male appreciation as her long dark hair tumbled down her shoulders. “Do I get to kiss the bride?”
“Not in the way you’d like to, scamp.” James was scowling now.
But all Georgina wanted to know, was, “Why isn’t he surprised?”
“Because he doesn’t believe a word of it,” James retorted.
She’d anticipated a lot of reactions, but flat disbelief wasn’t one of them. The boy thought they were ribbing him. At the moment, she wished they were.
“Well, that’s just swell-dandy-fine,” she said indignantly. “I’m damned if I care what your family thinks, James Malory, but you can certainly be sure that as long as they don’t think I’m your wife, I’ll be sleeping alone.” And she turned to glare at the butler. “You may show me to a room that is far removed from his.”
“As you wish, my lady,” the butler replied without the slightest crack in his bland expression.
But Georgina, in high dudgeon, explained haughtily, “I’m not your lady, my good man. I’m American.”
That didn’t get a reaction out of him, either, not that she was trying for one. But as she followed the man up the stairs, her exasperation did increase when she heard Jeremy’s remark.
“Hell’s bells, you can’t mean to install your mistress here! Aunt Roslynn won’t stand for it.”
“Your aunt will bloody well be delighted, lad. You may depend upon it. George is a Malory, after all.”
“Sure, and I’m legitimate.”