Why Earls Fall in Love (22 page)

All of this and more flashed through Georgie’s mind, until she found further thought impossible and the passion Con stoked in her overtook conscious thought. And when she felt her body climbing toward that place where they’d dissolve together, she held on to him for dear life. As spasm after spasm rocked through her and she clenched around him, she felt him go over the edge too, following her into bliss, as he thrust one last time into her and she was lost.

Fourteen

They made love again before Con regretfully left the cozy warmth of Georgina’s bed to return to his own bedchamber. He did not wish his aunt to be disturbed by tales of bed-hopping, and aside from that, he wanted the fact of whatever was between himself and Georgina to remain their own secret for now.

If he were to act purely based on his own wishes, he’d be riding hell for leather to Coniston Grange to retrieve his mother’s wedding ring, with a brief detour to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license. But a good hunter knows not to rush his fences. And for all that Georgina had been willing to share her body with him, he sensed even now a reluctance to make things more permanent between them.

Oh, she was quite willing to be with him, and perhaps even to give him her heart, but he wasn’t sure she was yet ready for marriage to any man, let alone himself. But he remembered what she’d said last night when they were talking of marriage and a woman’s reasons for marrying. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but he would rather err on the side of caution than risk alienating her forever. That did not mean that he would not let her know that he wanted to marry her, however. Just that he would wait to ask her.

Some hours later, he found her alone in the breakfast chamber and had the devil of a time walking past without touching her. He managed it, however, and he even greeted her without sounding like a lovesick swain before loading a plate for himself from the sideboard and taking the chair opposite hers.

“I trust you are well,” he said, imbuing the words with far more meaning than they connoted on their own. “You are looking quite well this morning. I daresay it was all that sleep you got last night.”

To his amusement her cheeks colored prettily. “Indeed, my lord,” she said calmly despite her blush. “I tried a new sleeping aid. It seems to have worked rather well. Though it had to be repeated in the night. One does wish to ensure such methods are thoroughly tried before abandoning them.”

Con nearly choked on his toast. “I should hate to think of your abandoning such an effective method. Perhaps you should give it a while to ensure that it takes.”

“Oh, I shall continue the treatment so long as I am able,” she said with a cheeky smile. “It depends of course on the availability of the … ah … proper tool, so to speak.”

He did choke then, which turned into a coughing then laughing fit. “I had no idea you were so skilled at the art of innuendo, Mrs. Mowbray,” he said as he wiped his streaming eyes. Grateful for the solitude of the breakfast parlor, he looked at her seriously now. “I do hope you are truly well and not suffering any aftereffects of, um, you know…” He waved his hand in the air.

Now it was Georgina’s turn to laugh. In a low voice she said, “I am quite well, my lord. Indeed, I am feeling quite invigorated and ready to embark upon the search for the person or persons responsible for threatening me. If you will recall, we got a bit distracted from our purpose last evening when I was supposed to show you the letters.”

Con was slightly disappointed at the change of subject, but supposed that they could hardly go on exchanging lascivious puns in Aunt Russell’s breakfast parlor all morning. Aloud he said, “You are correct. Perhaps we can see if the young dowager and Lord Archer would care to join us in a picnic on the grounds of the ruins?”

“An excellent notion,” she said with a smile. “I’ll go have a word with cook. Perhaps you can send a note along to the dowager and to Lord Archer?”

The matter settled, they went about their proposed tasks, and it was nearly two hours later that they found themselves in Lady Russell’s open carriage. The weather was, for Bath, quite good, and though there was a bit of autumn chill in the air, the sun coupled with warm shawls for the ladies prevented them from becoming too cold.

“Georgie,” Perdita said in a low voice as the gentlemen discussed a prizefight that was scheduled to take place later in the week. “What’s amiss between you and Lord Coniston? I don’t believe you’ve spoken two words to one another since we entered the carriage.”

Fighting the urge to tell her friend everything that had happened between herself and Lord Coniston the night before, Georgie swallowed before she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. We are as we ever have been. I daresay he didn’t sleep very well last night and is in a bit of a mood. Nothing to concern yourself over.”

Perdita’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated her friend. “Why do I get the feeling you’re fobbing me off?” she asked with a suspicious look between Georgie and Con. “Either the two of you have been fighting about something—probably your refusal to tell him about the letters last season—or, if I didn’t know you would never do so without informing me first, I would almost suspect that the two of you were engaging in some sort of clandestine affair.”

Georgie felt her jaw drop, and was about to confess all when Perdita began to laugh. “What a nonsensical idea,” she said, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “I know I suggested you kiss him last night, but I was only teasing. I know better than to suspect such a thing of happening. You’re friendly enough with one another, but he could hardly take up with his aunt’s companion. What a scandal that would be.”

Feeling a gnawing pain in her belly, Georgie made herself join in her friend’s laughter. Perdita’s assessment of just how society would view any sort of connection between herself and Con was likely accurate. It had not occurred to her in the haze of last night’s bliss, but now in the light of day, she saw their pairing as others would see it and fought the desire to howl with frustration. Not that she had intended to make the arrangement permanent, of course. That would be up to Con, at any rate, and since he hadn’t come to her in a fit of conscience this morning and offered marriage, she knew that he would never do so. If he truly considered her virtue besmirched by their carnal knowledge of one another, then he would have done something about it.

Forcing herself to grin at Perdita, she told her just how silly her idea had been. “It’s almost as hilarious as the notion of some kind of match between you and Lord Archer,” she said with a giggle. “Can you possibly imagine?”

To her surprise, for the briefest of moments, rather than joining in the laughter, Perdita looked as if she were in genuine pain. Then, almost as if Georgie had imagined it, she was her old self again and giggling. “Yes, it’s quite the joke, isn’t it? After all, Lord Archer was my husband’s private secretary. What would people say? Why, they’d probably conjecture that I killed Ormond so that I could finally be with my lover Lord Archer.”

“People are imbeciles,” Georgie said, suddenly feeling sorry for both of them and their hypothetical scandals. “They should mind their own business.”

“It’s the way of the world, my dear,” Perdita said with a sad smile. Georgie knew in that instant that the idea of a romance between her friend and Lord Archer wasn’t as far-fetched as Perdita made out. At least on Perdita’s side of things.

“You aren’t…” Georgie gestured in the air with her hand. “You know…”

Perdita shook her head. “No. We are just good friends. Indeed, I don’t know what I’d do without Archer. Why ruin such a good friendship with something as treacherous as romance?” But her words and her expression were saying two different things and Georgie felt a pang of sadness for her friends. Not only was Perdita denying the possibility that she might share something more than friendship with Lord Archer, he was being denied the chance at such a match as well. At the direction of her thoughts, she shook her head in exasperation. Clearly last night with Con had instilled in her the desire to make matches where none had previously existed.

Schooling her features to amusement, she said, “Listen to us. The gentlemen are going to begin teasing us for being silly romantics any moment.”

“Did someone say ‘silly romantics’?” Con said from across the carriage. “You know I cannot bear to hear Mr. Wordsworth’s reputation besmirched, my dear.”

“Bah,” Archer said with a shudder. “Do not tell me you find him superior to Coleridge. Now there’s a poet with imagination. Give me Xanadu and ‘Kubla Khan’ before yet another poem of the beauties of nature any day.”

And thus they were launched into a discussion of poetry until they reached the landscape surrounding Farley Castle. Clearly they were not the only people in Bath to have the idea for a picnic that afternoon, and to avoid the other visitors, they followed the path leading to a stream marking the boundary of Farley estate.

“Here’s a likely spot,” Con called from where he’d walked on ahead, carrying the picnic basket with him. The others agreed and within minutes they were all seated on the blanket Archer had carried from the carriage, their luncheon feast spread out before them. Fruit, bread, cheese, baked chicken, and raspberry tarts were eaten with relish along with wine from a small decanter. When they had all eaten their fill, amid pleasant chatter, Georgie packed the remains of the meal back into the basket and set it aside.

“I cannot fault Lady Russell’s cook,” Archer said, stretching his arms over his head. “But I must admit that what I long for more than anything is a nap.”

“Here,” Con said, tossing him a shiny red apple. “This will help keep you alert while we discuss things.” He himself moved to sit with his back against the large elm tree they’d chosen for its shade. “Now, ladies, I believe you have something to tell me about some letters?”

Holding her hat against the wind that was trying to send it flying away, Georgie exchanged a look with Perdita, who gestured for Georgie to begin. “We have already spoken of what happened to Lady Isabella, or rather the Duchess of Ormond, last year. Well, what we did not tell you, Con—for Lord Archer knows by dint of his presence in the Ormond household when it began—is that both Perdita and I received letters shortly after Isabella’s tormentor was captured. And when Isabella was being taunted, she also received letters that we later discerned had not come from the person who was conducting the campaign against her in person, as it were.”

“So,” Con said thoughtfully, “it was similar to what happened with Lowther and Mrs. Kendrick, in that someone else was directing their movements?”

“Yes,” Georgie said firmly. “It was as if whoever was controlling the business couldn’t help but add his own threats into the mix. Which to my mind is rather foolish, because if he stayed out of things, no one would know about his involvement at all. And the people he had performing his dirty work would have been blamed for it.”

“It is curious,” Archer said, biting into his apple. “It’s almost as if the fellow cannot stand being left out. Reminds me of a land steward my father used to employ. The man couldn’t delegate to save his life. He’d send one of the gardeners off to trim some hedges and before you knew it Hixton was out there trimming them himself because he couldn’t trust them to get the thing done right.”

“It’s a thought,” Con agreed, drawing one knee up before him. “May I see the letters?”

Georgie and Perdita nodded. Georgie removed the reticule from her wrist and loosened the drawstring to remove the bundle of letters. “These are mine.”

“And these,” Perdita said, removing her own bundle of letters from her reticule, “are mine.”

“So you’ve received two more than the duchess at this point,” Con said, comparing Georgie’s large stack to Perdita’s smaller one. “Is that because you’re in the midst of the campaign of terror, so to speak? Whereas the duchess’s has yet to begin?”

“When you put it like that it sounds so…” Perdita paused, looking a little pale. “Inevitable.”

“I’d like to catch the damned coward,” Archer said vehemently. “I despise waiting around for him to make his next move.”

“I should like to think we might be able to stop things before they go any further,” Con said with a frown.

Carefully, he untied the ribbon holding Georgie’s letters together and opened the first one, reading it and then moving on to the next, the next, and the next.

“So the intention of these letters is to hammer home the idea that whatever you three did to cause the death of the late duke has not been forgotten.”

“In a nutshell,” Perdita said with a slight frown. “Though anyone who was there that night would know how preposterous it is to assume he was a helpless victim.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Con asked carefully. “It might help me understand the vehemence with which this person regards your guilt—whether it’s justified or not.”

Abruptly, Perdita rose from the blanket and retrieved her hat, tying it below her chin. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said. “But I simply cannot hear the tale recounted again. Perhaps you can tell him about it, Georgie?” And with that she strode away and down toward where the stream cut through the countryside.

Archer rose and without a backward glance stalked off after her.

Con turned to Georgie with a raised brow. “I take it that the three of you were responsible for his death? Perhaps while he was in the midst of harming the duchess?”

Georgie sighed and stared down at her hands. “It’s rather more complicated than that.” And bit by bit, she told him how she and Isabella had found Perdita being brutalized by her husband that night and how he’d ultimately threatened to kill her outright for her disobedience. And how they were all of them, and none of them, responsible for the way his life had ended.

“Do you carry this pistol with you at all times?” Con asked, his brows knitted. “In your reticule, I mean?”

At Georgie’s nod, he stared at her in amazement, and then began to laugh.

“What’s so amusing about it?” she demanded. “I am just as capable a shot as any gentleman.”