The crowd cheered and tossed coins into the charmer’s bowl. Simon threw out a few sovereigns and then tugged on Georgiana’s hand.
“That was amazing,” she gushed. “Have you ever seen anything like it before?”
“A few times,” Simon admitted.
“I was positive he was bitten!” she exclaimed. “Absolutely positive.”
Simon grinned. “I hate to disappoint you, but very few snake charmers use snakes that are intact. Often the charmer has either removed the snake’s fangs or sewn its mouth shut.”
Georgiana frowned. “That’s horrible,” she stated. “How does the snake eat?”
“It doesn’t. And some might argue that the method is sensible,” he pointed out. “After all, a dead snake charmer isn’t a very successful one.”
“But what happens when the snake starves? The charmer is out of business.”
“Plenty of cobras live in India, my dear,” he countered. “They catch a new one once their old one dies.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s true.”
That was another thing Simon adored about Georgiana. She was genuinely open to hearing other people’s thoughts. It was refreshing, really, to have another person actually respect a difference of opinion.
Normally they spent their walk through the marketplace fighting the push and pull of the crowd, discussing and dissecting everything they had witnessed during the day. Today, however, Simon mindlessly flowed with the tide of people around them, and he allowed Georgiana to rehash their latest visit with the weaver. As he half-listened to her happy chatter, he felt a deep restlessness, an odd dissatisfaction, and he let himself tentatively examine the reason for it.
He wanted to bed Georgiana—that was a given—but what was more surprising to admit was that he actually liked Georgiana Phillips. He liked the sincere enthusiasm she showed for this foreign culture and the people they met. He was charmed by the way every little detail of India fascinated her. She was funny and forthright and clever, and he found that he looked forward to seeing her each morning. It was one of the reasons he and Baljit had made breakfasting at Sir Jon’s home a daily ritual.
On the days they didn’t visit the weaver, she and Jane accompanied him to various project sites. He would oversee his projects while the ladies examined the flora, and the occasional wild animal, all the time Jane sketching and Georgiana taking copious notes. It was with great effort that he returned her to her grandfather’s bungalow at the end of each day.
Liking Georgiana Phillips seemed unwise. He was already too infatuated with her to think rationally in her presence. Simon knew if he saw her as something more than a potential bedmate, he could lose his head completely. Frankly, falling in love with a woman as sharp and determined as Georgiana was a frightening thought.
In spite of this bit of self-awareness, Simon understood his ship was sinking fast. He also knew there was little he could do about it.
Mulling it over, he suddenly realized his companion had grown quiet. He looked down into her violet eyes and nearly tripped over his own feet. She smirked impishly at him and looked ahead.
“You were wool-gathering,” she accused, though there was no anger in her voice. “I do believe my darling husband has not heard a single word I’ve said.” She glanced quickly at him, her eyes dancing. “Don’t tell me we’ve moved from pretend newlyweds to pretend old married couple so quickly?”
Simon forced himself to breathe. This was when he found Georgiana most difficult to be around. Something about her gentle teasing—and that secret smile—made his blood race. He lived for these times, even though he always found himself cutting them short.
Lord, he wanted to kiss her.
Instead, he strove to keep his tone light. “Apologies, Princess. I fear I’m the worst phony spouse in the history of phony spouses.”
Georgiana patted his arm. “Not at all,” she said. “If anything, I’m the guilty party. You, on the other hand, kindly indulge my every whim.”
Simon shrugged, pushing away thoughts of his own whims.
He heard her clear her throat and peeked at her. By the look on her face, he knew he didn’t want to hear what she was about to say. He pretended not to notice the gentle tug indicating her desire to stop. A serious conversation with Georgiana Phillips in the bustling, sticky marketplace was not something he wanted to participate in.
“Simon,” she insisted in a rather loud voice, for the third time.
He sighed and turned to face her, ignoring the blow that glanced his back when he stopped abruptly. The crowd continued to push around them, bumping him until he was within a hair’s breadth of her. “What?”
Georgiana bit her lip, but she was too refined to call him on his poor manners. “I wanted you to know,” she stopped as she too was jostled by the crowd and had to find her footing. “That is to say, you’ve been so kind and so thoughtful since we arrived. And I was, well, rather awful to you. I—”
She was completely undoing him, and she had no idea. He tried to interrupt, but she stopped him, of course.
“I wanted to tell you,” she continued, “that I’m sorry for deceiving you. It was wrong of me to conceal my identity and put Jane in my place. I never meant to embarrass or offend you, and I’m truly sorry.”
Something unfamiliar and fierce swelled within him, and Simon dug his fingernails into his palms in order to stop himself from grabbing her. “You’re apologizing to me?” he muttered at last.
“I was hoping we might be friends,” she smiled hesitantly.
“‘Friends,’” he echoed, trying to fit the word to the feelings he had for her. He hated it instantly.
Her smile wavered. “Yes. You know, friends. People who enjoy spending time with each other—talking, laughing—that sort of thing.”
The crowd shifted and Georgiana suddenly fell forward. Into him. Simon caught her by the elbows, her hands trapped against his chest. The smell of lavender and ink and her made him slightly dizzy, and he felt blood rushing to the southern parts of his anatomy. She was looking up at him, he knew that instinctively, but he dared not match her gaze, certain his thoughts would be transparent. Instead he helped her find her balance, letting go as soon as she was steady.
It was only then that he dared meet her eyes. They were large and very dusky. A glimpse of something—confusion? awareness?—played across her face, and Simon felt his grip on his control loosening. He dropped her elbows as though he’d been burned.
“Miss Phillips, I accept your apology. But please forgive me when I tell you that I do not feel friendly toward you,” he muttered, his voice rather gravelly.
For a moment her disappointment was palpable. Something that looked suspiciously like hurt flashed in those violet depths. Then she squared her shoulders. Georgiana rallied quickly, he had to give her that. Taking his arm again, she inclined her head. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Ashford. Perhaps we should return to the cantonment.”
“That would be best,” Simon agreed, beyond grateful that she did not press the issue.
They strolled in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Georgiana said politely, “I believe we shall have some inclement weather soon. The clouds look rather ominous.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, just as politely. “Baljit assures me that rainy season will start any day now. If you found London weather soggy, wait until you experience an Indian monsoon.”
“Well, I suppose it will be a nice break from this heat.” Her tone held none of the warmth it had earlier.
“Yes,” Simon snapped, frowning. Wonderful, he thought to himself. His declaration had put them squarely back where they had started eight years ago.
* * *
Georgiana eyed her grandfather’s sleeping form and sighed. Not sleeping, she amended with frustration, passed out. She crossed the small br
eakfast room that had been converted into their makeshift study and poked her head into the hall. Every once in a while Georgiana missed certain luxuries that were no longer afforded her—burly footmen being one of them.
Her dander up, she cut through the kitchen and knocked on Jane’s bedroom door. “Janie? Are you asleep?” Georgiana called, pushing down her guilt.
Jane opened the door, and Georgiana felt doubly bad. Her cousin looked ready for bed. Jane took one look at Georgiana’s face and blew out an exasperated breath.
“Again?” Jane asked. Georgiana nodded, and Jane shook her head.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you, dearest,” Georgiana said, sincerely contrite as they cut back through the kitchen to the study. “But he seems to have fallen asleep on my notes.” She gestured to the grizzled man sprawled across her desk, snoring loudly.
“Thank goodness Mrs. Kettle has retired for the evening,” Jane said. “If he keeps drinking like this we’ll never be able to keep his ‘episodes’ out of public purview. He’s getting worse.”
Georgiana shook her head. “I hope he isn’t drooling this time,” she said, not unkindly. “I’d hate to smudge my notes about the snake charmer.”
Jane surveyed their grandsire, lips pinched. “This has to stop, Gi. Nathaniel will return any day now. If he discovers Grandpapa like this, we’re done.”
Georgiana looked down at the dear man and nodded. His salt-and-pepper locks were overlong, and his face—still handsome and intelligent—was shadowed with the scruff of a two-day beard. It was also slack from too much drink. Georgiana’s heartstrings pulled. It was painful watching a loved one destroy himself so ruthlessly.
“I’ll speak to him tomorrow morning,” she promised. Jane looked at Sir Jon, then turned to Georgiana with a raised brow. Georgiana snorted. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
Jane nodded. “I’ll ferret out his secret stash and empty the bottles,” she said. “Though I think I’ll blame you this time. He’s still angry with me for dumping that eighteen-year-old scotch into the Nile.”
“Well you did do it right in front of him,” Georgiana reminded her. “You should have been more circumspect. Let’s get him up, shall we?”
Sir Jon’s granddaughters each took an arm and gently lifted him to an upright position, hauling the unconscious man to his feet on Georgiana’s, “One, two, three, up.” He mumbled something incoherent and resumed snoring. They clumsily made their way out of the study and into the kitchen, dragging and pulling him between them.
“We should have given him my room instead of the den,” Jane panted. “It’s closer to the study.”
Georgiana just grunted under her grandfather’s weight. Sir Jon wasn’t a particularly big man, he was only a couple inches taller than she, but at more than eleven stone he was not light. The thought of trying to manage this with someone of Simon’s stature...
No, Georgiana scolded herself, she was not going to think of Simon. Ever since his rather hurtful statement yesterday, she’d chastised herself for her own foolishness. Six years and she still had a silly infatuation with a man who barely noticed her. It was preposterous, really, hoping Simon might kiss her.
She didn’t feel particularly friendly toward him either, but at least she was willing to get along.
Jane shot Georgiana a look that Georgiana knew was nothing close to innocent. Then her cousin said off-handedly, “Mr. Ashford certainly looks quite strong. Perhaps he could be of assistance to us in the future?”
Georgiana grunted again. “Mr. Ashford is Nathaniel’s puppy. I have no doubt he’d turn tail and tattle on us the second he left.”
“Utter rot,” Jane sniffed. “Mr. Ashford is kind and honorable. If we swore him to secrecy, he’d not tell. Besides, I imagine he’s big enough to manage Grandpapa all by himself. He has those lovely broad shoulders, after all. We could just stand back and watch.”
Georgiana scoffed. “How is it everyone thinks I’m the debauched one and you’re the angel? I swear you’re one of the naughtiest women I know.”
Jane giggled. “Of course I’m naughty. I was married to a Frenchmen, after all, and they do enjoy pleasure. You have to admit, watching Mr. Ashford would be no hardship.”
“Hmm,” was all Georgiana dared reply. She did like watching Simon...too much, as it were.
They worked in silence to navigate the smallish path to the den, which served as Sir John’s personal chamber. When they reached the bed Jane suddenly stopped. “Wait! Remember Cairo? We can’t let him fall face first.”
“Right,” Georgiana grumbled, cursing under her breath. “We don’t want his nose bloodied again.”
“I have an idea.” Jane directed her to shuffle enough so that they all three stood with their backs to the bed. At her nod they counted, “One, two, three, down.”
Both women sat down on the mattress, pulling Sir Jon with them. He moaned in protest, but didn’t stir. They each grabbed a leg, pulled off a boot, and swung the rest of their grandsire onto the bed. Jane began rooting around in drawers and trunks, while Georgiana searched under the bed and chair.
Georgiana lifted the two bottles of whiskey she had recovered and looked at her cousin. “Care for a drink?”
“We seem to have plenty,” Jane sighed, raising two bottles of brandy.
The women returned to the study, placing the bottles on the desk. Georgiana checked her work for damage while Jane searched the bookshelves. She grimaced at the three bottles that her cousin retrieved.
“Is your work intact?” Jane asked.
Georgiana nodded. “It’s salvageable.” She gestured to the bottles that had accumulated on the desk. “How many more do you think he has hidden away?”
Jane shrugged a shoulder, a very Gallic gesture, and grabbed two glasses from the sidebar. “Do you want a glass of the whiskey or the brandy?”
“Brandy,” Georgiana said. “It seems to be his favorite.”
Jane poured them each a glass, and they raised a toast before taking healthy drinks of the liquor. Georgiana began coughing, feeling as though she’d swallowed fire. Jane patted her on the back.
“I don’t know how he can drink this stuff,” Georgiana stated when she had recovered. “It’s so vile.”
“It makes my eyes water,” Jane said, wiping at her cheeks.
They each collected two bottles and opened the door to the veranda. Georgiana raised her bottles in another toast, and Jane nodded. Without hesitation they emptied the contents into the flowers below.
Jane retrieved the remaining bottles and Georgiana took their glasses. After taking another swig she dumped out their grandfather’s liquor storage. Feeling rather lightheaded, Georgiana tossed the remainder of her glass into the flowers as well.
“We can look for the rest tomorrow,” she said.
* * *
Jane took another swallow and shook her head. She studied Georgiana for a moment, wondering how bold she dared be. Best to be honest, she surmised. This was Georgiana, after all.
“You know, Gi,” she said slowly. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to be, well, nicer to Mr. Ashford.”
Georgiana pulled a face at this turn in the conversation. “Oh?” she asked. “I prefer to think of myself as nice to everyone.”
“You know I adore you, darling,” Jane said, hoping to quell the shadow of hurt in her cousin’s eyes. “But you are beginning to have the look of a Puritan about you.”
Georgiana’s mouth dropped open. She recovered quickly, however, tilting her nose high in the air. “How odd you should think so, cousin. After all, everyone else considers me a veritable lightskirt.”
“Stuff it,” Jane said. “We’ve always spoken candidly, Gi, and you need to hear it. You’re so proper you’re skating dangerously close to becoming a...a prig.”
“I cannot believe you are saying this to me,”
Georgiana said, clearly wounded by Jane’s words. “You know I’ve been the subject of gossip everywhere I go. And now you’re telling me to actually court scandal?”
Jane shook her head. “I’m telling you that it’s time for you to have some fun.” She took Georgiana’s hand. “People are going to gossip about you whether you’re naughty or nice. I’d rather see you enjoying your infamy than not. I just want to see you happy, Gi.”
“I am happy,” Georgiana insisted. But she stopped and mulled over Jane’s words. When she spoke again, she seemed embarrassed. “I know I haven’t shared many details of my scandal, er, scandals, but you should know that none of it’s true. With the exception of that very first rumor,” she said softly. “That was true. Everything else has been the product of overactive imaginations.”
“So you did kiss two men in one night?” Jane asked more than a little surprised by the confession.
“Well, the first wasn’t by choice,” Georgiana said. “That man—that toad—Rowling cornered me and kissed me and tried to...well, you can probably guess what he tried.”
Jane’s heart broke for Georgiana. Most of Society knew Rowling had accosted her cousin, but the damage was irreparable. The unfairness of it left a distinctly bitter taste in the back of Jane’s mouth. “I hope he was trounced,” she said.
Georgiana nodded. “I heard later that he was beaten quite soundly in a brawl, though some claimed it was over a card game and not my reputation.”
“What about the second kiss?” Jane asked.
Her cousin sighed, but the sound was one of pure satisfaction. “The second kiss was redemption. It was with a man who was absolutely exquisite, and it was...wondrous.”
She stared unseeingly into the distance, and her voice sounded wistful when she spoke. “He was gorgeous, Janie. An absolute Adonis. He asked if he could call on me the next day. We were going to go for a drive and kiss some more. He told me he wanted to court me properly, and I believe he intended to do just that. I was quite taken with him.” Georgiana shook off her stupor. “And then Nath stormed in and it was all over.”
An Inconvenient Kiss Page 11