He kissed her once, quickly. “Tomorrow night, you get one.” He spoke low and quiet at her lips before pulling away. Any more, and he would be desperate to have her. He had promised Temple he would take her home. “We must go.”
“I don’t wish to go,” she said, and the honesty in the words was more tempting than he could have imagined. “I wish to stay here. With you.”
“In the gardens of Beaufetheringstone House?”
“Yes,” she said, quietly. “Anywhere that the light doesn’t come through.”
He paused. “You have a problem with light?”
“I have a problem with things that do not thrive in the dark. I am not comfortable with them.”
He understood the words and the sentiment behind them, more than he was willing to admit. In fact, the way they resonated so unsettled him that he was suddenly quite desperate to get her home and away from him, before her liquid honesty inspired his own – drink or no. He took her hand. “We cannot stay here. I have things to do.” She ignored him for a long moment, looking down at their hands, clasped together. Finally, he said, “Georgiana.”
She looked up. “I wish we were not wearing gloves.”
The thought of their hands, skin to skin, tempted him beyond reason. “I am very glad we are wearing them, or I might not be able to resist you.”
She smiled. “You know just what to say to women. You might be a scoundrel after all.”
He met her smile with his own. “I told you I was.”
“Yes, but scoundrels are notorious liars. So I had no way of knowing if I should believe you.”
“A great logical conundrum. If one tells the truth about being a scoundrel, is he scoundrel at all?”
“Perhaps a scoundrel with a gentlemanly core.”
He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. You shall ruin my reputation.”
She laughed, and the sound gave him immense pleasure. He was sad when it was gone, stolen into the dark gardens on a breeze. After a long stretch of silence, she said, “You said you had a message for Chase.”
Chase.
Duncan had avoided asking for Tremley’s file for a plain, simple reason. It was stupidity on his part – she was bound to Chase in ways he did not understand and he could not stop – but it did not change the fact that he didn’t want her near the founder of The Fallen Angel if she didn’t need to be there.
He didn’t want her near him if she did need to be there.
He’d get the file another way. Without using her. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said. “I saw your face when you sought me out. Tell me. I’ll …” She hesitated, and he wondered what she meant to say. Before he could ask, she said, “I’ll pass Chase your message. Give it to me.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want you involved in this.”
“In what?”
In his mess.
In Tremley’s threats.
It was bad enough that his sister was in danger, but he could protect Cynthia. He had less control over Georgiana. And he couldn’t be certain that Chase would care for her if need be.
She had to remain clear of this.
He shook his head. “It’s time you distance yourself from him.”
“From Chase?” she asked. “If only it were as easily done as said.”
He hated the words and the sadness in her small smile. “I shall help.” He’d do whatever he could to get her away from Chase and his unfettered, unreasonable power over her.
She nodded. “Your papers will help. Anna will have to disappear once Georgiana is married.”
He would help, papers be damned.
But she did not need to know that now.
The following morning, Georgiana sat at her enormous desk at The Fallen Angel, attempting to focus on the work of the casino, as Cross placed a parcel at the edge of her desk.
“From West,” he said. “Delivered from his offices this morning.”
She looked to the parcel, wondering for a fleeting moment if West had packed it himself. Before she could stop herself, she reached for the paper-wrapped parcel, her fingers toying with the string that kept its contents secret from prying eyes at his offices and hers. If he’d tied it himself, he’d had to have done it without gloves. She stroked down the ridge of one loop of the string. Just as she was without gloves now.
Just as she would be this evening, when he made good on his promise. And she made good on hers.
Realizing that she was being a cabbagehead, and that Cross was staring at her as though she’d grown a second head, made of cabbage, she snatched her fingers away. “Thank you,” she said, affecting her greatest tone of dismissal.
She ignored the look of amusement on his handsome face. “A note arrived at the same time. For Anna.”
He set the crisp ecru square on top of the parcel, and she resisted the urge to tear open the envelope, instead turning her face back to her work – a movement that both made her look exceedingly busy and hid her flaming cheeks from her business partner, who would no doubt tell all the others if he suspected her embarrassment. “Thank you.”
He did not move.
She willed the blush away.
It did not work.
“Is there something else?”
He did not reply.
She had no choice. She looked up. He was trying not to laugh at her. She scowled. “I am not above turning you out on your ass.”