A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  “He made me believe he loved me,” Georgiana said and wiped furiously at her eyes.

  Eleanor handed her a handkerchief. She leaned across the carriage. “He did far worse than that, my dear. He made you believe you are lovable. How dare he? Ask him. And listen with your heart and not your stiff-necked manners or notions of what you deserve.”

  The door opened and a footman stood at the bottom of the lowered steps. He handed Eleanor out and glanced expectantly at Georgiana.

  “Consider it over a raspberry tart or twelve and a cup of tea.”

  Georgiana smiled and gave the footman her hand. The front door burst open and the Dorrill’s normally composed butler stepped onto the doorstep.

  “Thank goodness you are returned, ma’am. There is a small incident in the kitchen with the dogs, a beef roast, Cook, and a rather large knife,” the poor white-faced servant rattled off urgently. He glanced up and down the street nervously.

  “Aunt Georgie!”

  Georgiana and Eleanor glanced in the direction of the park. Matthias sat poised at the top of the railings.

  “Why must he climb out of the park when there is a perfectly fine gate from which to leave?” Eleanor asked with fond exasperation. She looked back to the butler.

  “I will fetch him, Eleanor,” Georgiana offered. “Go and save those poor dogs from becoming dinner.”

  “Bless you.” Eleanor rushed into the house, the butler hurrying behind her.

  Georgiana crossed to the garden at the center of St. James Square. At the far end of the square a dray driver shouted at his team which refused to move. An older open barouche entered the square. Matthias waved at her and shimmied down the railings to drop to the pavement.

  “Have you come to help us eat some tarts?” he asked as he took her outstretched hand.

  “I have if you have left me one or two.”

  “Papa says you need to knock some sense into Uncle Ethan. They’ve gone for a ride, but perhaps when they return you can try. Papa says Uncle Ethan has a prodigiously hard head.”

  “Ethan is coming here?” They crossed the street and walked toward the Dorrills’ townhouse. The old barouche sat in the place where Eleanor’s carriage had been a moment ago. Eleanor was nearly as devious as Ethan’s grandfather. Come to eat raspberry tarts, indeed.

  “Unless Pumpkin dumped him on his arse and ran away again like she did on Tuesday,” Matthias replied.

  Torn between laughter, tears, and an odd sense of hope, Georgiana continued up the walk whilst her young escort stopped to speak to the gentleman in the barouche. The front door opened and two of the largest dogs she’d ever seen bounded out, one of them with a leg of mutton in his mouth.

  “No!” Matthias cried. “Put me down!”

  Georgiana ran back through the gate. The old man in the barouche had Matthias by the arm, attempting to drag him into the conveyance. The dogs went after the driver, who abandoned his post and ran down the nearest street, the behemoth canines hard on his heels. Georgiana grabbed Matthias around the waist and pulled. The horses in the traces reared and squealed in fear.

  “Give me my grandson, you stupid bitch. I told Asherton and Ethan the price for disobeying me.” The old man leaned toward her. His greasy grey hair and rheumy eyes made her think of a villain in a novel. Grandson? Thomas Dorrill.

  Matthias flailed and cried out for his father. Dorrill stood and raised his cane over Georgiana’s head. One of the dogs loped back up the street, barking ferociously. The horses lunged forward. Georgiana tugged Matthias free and shoved him toward the house. “Run, Matthias. Run!” An explosion of pain burst in her cheek and eye. She raised her hand to fend off another blow that did not come. The barouche careened down the street.

  “Georgiana!”

  “Ethan,” she whispered as darkness overcame her and the hard pavement rose to meet her.

  ***

  “I think you are improving,” Ash said as he handed Ethan the reins.

  “At what? Riding or falling off?” Ethan settled back into the saddle and resumed their slow trek past Hyde Park Corner. “Is that His Grace waving from the window?”

  “I believe it is. He’ll be disappointed. He wagered you’d fall off in front of Hatchard’s today.”

  “He should have told Pumpkin. I am certain she’d have tried her best for Old Hooky.”

  “Not that I don’t enjoy these daily rides, but how long are you going to continue following Lady Georgiana about like a stray hound in search of a bone?”

  “What would you suggest I do? She refuses to see me.” Ethan had been unable to eat or sleep or think of anything save Georgiana for the last week. He’d written letter after letter, not flowery or poetic, but as honest as he knew how to be and as awkward as his love for her made him feel. She’d not answered a single one. She’d returned his gifts.

  “Appeal to her father. Once you are in the house, she will have no choice but to see you.”

  “I want her to have a choice, Ash. I want her to choose me, not…”—he waved his hand at the houses and streets of Mayfair—“what she has been told to choose.”

  “You are in love, poor sod.”

  “And you are no help at all.” Ethan guided Pumpkin ahead of his brother’s horse and around the garden in St. James Square. “What the devil?”

  He and Ash came upon a scene of mayhem. Matthias’s monstrous dog came around the corner barking. His nephew was screaming. A barouche stood before Ash’s door and in it—

  “Georgiana!” Ethan slid from Pumpkin’s back, stumbled and then raced toward the carriage, Ash hard on his heels. The barouche’s horses took off, flinging its passenger out of the carriage and beneath its wheels.

  “Matthias!” Ash ran into the house calling his son’s name.

  Ethan fell to his knees at Georgiana’s side. A trickle of blood trailed down the side of her face from her temple all the way down her neck. He gathered her in his arms and got to his feet. The doorway filled with people. Eleanor gasped and called for the footman, Dickie. The young man raced to Ash’s horse, threw himself into the saddle and galloped in the direction of Bruton Street. Matthias clung to his father. Eleanor hurried up the stairs barking orders at the butler, housekeeper and maids. She led Ethan to a bedchamber, flung open the door, and hurried to turn back the counterpane and sheet.

  “Georgiana, love, please,” Ethan murmured as he placed her gently on the bed. He sat beside her and chafed her hand, so cold, between his own. His mind screamed, making no sense at all. Begging, pleading, promising a God he seldom consulted anything at all if only she might open her eyes and speak.

  Eleanor set about removing Georgiana’s shoes. She tugged off her gloves and unbuttoned enough buttons of her gown to discreetly reach in and loosen her stays. The housekeeper bustled in with a team of maids in tow. Ethan was vaguely aware of them placing basins of warm water on the bedside table.

  “Let them see to her, Ethan.” Eleanor squeezed his shoulder. It took a moment for her words to penetrate the fog of terror and anguish swirling around him. “Sit on the other side.” She pulled Georgiana’s hand free and guided him around the bed. Ethan’s eyes never left Georgiana’s face. He willed her to awaken, even if it was to send him on his way. He clasped her hand between his and watched as the housekeeper cleaned Georgiana’s wound. Eleanor stood at the foot of the bed, her face pale and her hands shaking.

  Time limped along, marked by the tick of the mantel clock between figurines of shepherds and shepherdesses. Georgiana might have been sleeping, save that Ethan knew what she looked like asleep. What she sounded like. She had the most adorable little snore. She snatched the bedclothes and wrapped herself in them. She was warm and smelled of gardenia and lemons. He wanted to howl. He wanted to beat Thomas Dorrill to a bloody pulp. The bastard had struck her with that damned cane. If she died… He sucked in a brief, painful breath. His vision burned and blurred.

  “The physician is here,” Ash announced. A distinguished looking gentleman, not much older
than Ethan, strode into the room, a black satchel in his hand.

  “Is this water clean?” he demanded as he pointed at a steaming basin on the fireside hob.

  “It is,” the housekeeper assured him.

  He handed her his bag, removed his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. “Everyone out, save Mrs. Dorrill. Now.”

  The maids and housekeeper looked to Eleanor, who nodded. She placed her palm on Ethan’s shoulder. “Go with Ash. I will come to you as soon as Dr. Meeks is finished.”

  He didn’t want to leave her.

  Ash came around the bed and took his elbow. He led him from the room down a flight of stairs and into his study. He shoved Ethan into a thick-cushioned leather chair and went to the sideboard to pour them each a healthy glass of brandy. Ethan took the glass he offered but did not drink.

  “It is my fault,” he finally said. “Thomas destroys everything he touches. I allowed him to blackmail me. I dragged her into my life and look at what it has cost her.”

  “Thomas is no longer a problem.” Ash emptied his glass in one long draught.

  “What?” Why was he talking about their grandfather?

  “Thomas is dead. He fell beneath the carriage wheels.” He sprawled into the chair beside him. They sat in silence.

  Ethan took a sip of his brandy. After a while, he asked, “How is Matthias?” His heart was upstairs in bed with a brave, stiff-necked, wonderful woman who had no idea how beautiful she was. His mind hung in an icy fog. And his soul, God forgive him, was finally free.

  “He’s upset. A little bruised. He is in the nursery with Dickie, the dogs, and a plate of raspberry tarts. He is worried about Lady Georgiana.” Ash sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “She saved my son, Ethan. Thomas has been threatening to have Matthias working on one of his ships, never to return to England again.”

  “What the devil?”

  “He has been doing business with Peabody. Farnsworth and I scotched the deal. So I am as much to blame as you.” He looked up at the sound of a door closing above them. “She’ll be fine.”

  Ethan closed his eyes and downed his glass of brandy. Every moment since he’d met Georgiana had been the most vibrant moments of his life. She’d shown him a world he’d only dreamed of. Not the world of the ton. Not society dinner parties nor even rides in Hyde Park. She’d shown him what it was to put someone else before everything else, everything he’d once thought important.

  “What if she isn’t, Ash? What if I lose her forever?”

  Chapter Ten

  Georgiana’s parents had not bothered to visit. They’d sent round a note and a basket of fruit. She’d been convalescing at the Dorrills’ for a week. She sported an ugly bruise on the side of her face and around her eye. The lump behind her ear had all but disappeared. Eleanor had taken to dressing Georgiana’s hair with ever brighter kerchiefs, giving her a tavern wench sort of air. Ethan had visited every day. He’d read to her, apologized to her, played whist and plied her with raspberry tarts and ices from Gunther’s. She’d made certain Matthias and the dogs were always present, better chaperones than any steely-eyed governess. It ensured she and Ethan had no conversation of substance. She wasn’t ready.

  “So, you finally read them,” Eleanor said from the bedchamber doorway. She indicated the letters spread across the counterpane over Georgiana’s lap. “Were they awful?”

  Georgiana plumped the pillow between her back and the headboard. She gathered the letters and tucked them back into a satin reticule. “Wonderfully awful. He explained…everything. And he wrote such ridiculous things, silly impossible things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  Georgiana shook her head. “I want to believe him, Eleanor.”

  “Then do. Stop listening to everyone else. Stop worrying about your parents. They aren’t your responsibility. They never were. Just as Margaret and Ash were never Ethan’s. The two of you need to start making choices for yourselves. Trust me, if you marry Ethan, you will have your hands full. You won’t have time to worry about anyone else.”

  “Marry? Who said anything about marriage?”

  “Ethan did. Try to act surprised when he asks you. He’ll be up in a moment.” She winked and flitted out the door.

  What on earth?

  Georgiana flung back the bedclothes and snatched her nightrail from the foot of the bed. She wrestled into it and shoved her feet into the soft wool mules beside the bed. She hurried to the vanity and sat down. Her face was horrid. Her hair was not much better. She untied the ribbon and tried to brush the knots from the hip-length locks she’d had Eleanor help her wash last night.

  “Might I be allowed to do that?” Ethan stood in the doorway, a book and a bouquet of primroses in one hand.

  “Does no one in your family knock, Captain Dorrill?”

  “We are a rude bunch. We don’t knock. We insist on courting women who do not want us. We climb garden fences. Oh, and we beat innocent women about the head with canes.”

  “Don’t ever compare yourself to him. I won’t have it.” She dropped the brush and shot to her feet.

  He crossed the room in two strides and clasped her elbow to guide her to the pretty chintz chair before the fire. “Should you be out of bed?” He sat on the ottoman in front of her chair.

  “I am perfectly fine. Are those for me?” She indicated the objects in his hand.

  “My lady.” He offered them with a seated bow. “Although, the book is already yours.”

  She brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled. She’d recognized the book at once. Mansfield Park. She placed it on the little inlaid table next to her chair. “I’d like it if you brushed my hair.”

  “So would I,” he replied softly. He retrieved the brush from the vanity and sat on the arm of her chair. “You have the most magnificent hair.”

  “Why did you cut yours?” In all this time, she’d not asked him about it. He was still handsome, but in a very civilized way. She wasn’t certain she wanted civilized.

  “I thought it might help. I didn’t know what else to do.” He brushed her hair in slow, tender strokes, taking great care not to disturb the still bruised side of her head.

  “What else to do?”

  “To win you. To beg your forgiveness. To get you to talk to me, even if to simply tell me to leave you alone.”

  “I loved your hair as it was.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, Ethan. I did.”

  “It will grow back.”

  “Yes.”

  “Eleanor said you read my letters.”

  “Rude and unable to keep a secret,” she declared as she glanced up at him.

  He looked at her confused.

  “Your family.”

  He chuckled. “Eleanor hates secrets. Don’t tell her any you want to keep.”

  “What about you? I know you can keep secrets. Do you like them?”

  He placed the brush on the table and returned to his seat on the ottoman. “No, I don’t. They have cost me the person I want most in the world.”

  “Ethan.”

  “I love you, Georgiana. I want to give you my secrets, my heart, my home, and anything else you want. I want to watch you write your novels and read them if you will allow it. I want to go to bed with you at night and wake up with you in the morning. And I want to work every day of my life to be worthy of your love and trust. And if you don’t stop me, I will probably blather on for another quarter of an hour and then burst into tears.”

  She laughed softly. “I was quite enjoying it, actually. I don’t know that you have spoken that many words at once in all the time I’ve known you.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I haven’t decided,” she teased. She had, actually. The morning she woke up and found Ethan sleeping in a chair at her bedside. The look on his face when she spoke his name. The way he’d clasped her hand and smiled when she asked for a glass of water. Those wonderfully awful letters. And now… His every word confirmed what she�
�d awakened this morning to realize.

  She loved him. She loved who she had become since she’d met him. And she loved the endless possibilities a life with him promised. Now, if he’d only get on with what Eleanor said he’d come to do.

  “Who do you want to be, Ethan?”

  He took her hands in his. His face was so dear, his expression so serious and grave. “I want to be your husband. I don’t really know how, but I’ve asked Matthias for some advice and I have watched Ash and Eleanor. You don’t have to love me at first, but I will try to convince you if you give me the chance. So long as it doesn’t involve attendance at musicales or learning to ride to hounds.”

  “What was Matthias’s advice?”

  “Let you have your way and give you a puppy.”

  “He is going to make some fortunate girl a very good husband.”

  Ethan slid off the ottoman to his knees. “Marry me, Georgiana. I’ll buy you all the naughty books you want and let you redecorate the house as often as you like.”

  “Townsend may turn in his notice.”

  “He may, indeed.”

  “Can we keep the parrot?”

  “So long as we don’t have the vicar to call.”

  “I would like a puppy.”

  “You can have an entire litter, if you like.”

  “If you lie to me again, I will take a cutlass to your rudder.”

  “If I lie to you again, I’ll let you.”

  “When can we marry?”

  A few hours later, Georgiana stood before a vicar in the drawing room of the Dorrills’ St. James Square house dressed like a pirate wench, with her hair tied back with a red kerchief. Beside her, dressed in his frock coat, breeches and boots with a cutlass at his side, Ethan, without a moment’s hesitation, spoke his vows in his rich, dark baritone. When it came to her turn, Georgiana gazed into the faces of those gathered around them—Ash, Eleanor, and Matthias, Lord and Lady Arthur, Daniel and Abigail, her maid, Alma. Her parents had not bothered to attend, but she did not miss them. In this room was all the good society she needed. And the man who waited for her to pledge herself to him was all the life’s companion she ever wanted. She spoke her vows, both of her hands clasped around his. He placed a simple gold band on her finger and it was done. Her life, the life she’d always wanted, had begun.