Georgiana swallowed hard. Her lips and throat were unaccountably dry. “I never told him,” she admitted, “though I’m sure he suspected. He knew I’d been...smitten with you.”
“Smitten?” he echoed. He was staring at her with a carefully blank expression. The muscle in his jaw twitched violently, however, belying his calm. “Does Nath know?” Simon ground out.
“I saw no reason to ruin your friendship over a minor indiscretion,” she said softly.
Simon made a strangled growl and lay back, his chest heaving. He threw an arm over his eyes. “A minor indiscretion,” he muttered.
“Christ, Georgie...the night I kissed you, you led me to believe that you welcomed my courtship! I went to your house every day for a week hoping to convince your father that you and I should marry. I argued with that man until we were both tired of hearing my voice, and then I worried myself sick over you when you were sent away. I blamed myself for every slight, every jest at your expense. Now I find out you didn’t even want me?”
“I did want you,” she whispered. “I just—”
There was no use prevaricating, she realized, especially considering how hurt he seemed. “You’d been with so many women...and we didn’t know each other, not really. I knew you’d get bored with me and I—I didn’t want to spend my life with someone who had married me because he was...obligated.
“So I told Father that I’d rather live as a pariah than marry a man who offered for me out of a sense of duty,” she explained softly. “He threatened me with whatever he could. He even locked me in my room and told me I couldn’t come out until I agreed to marry. So I stopped eating. Finally my mother intervened and told him Jane would take me in. When he realized I wouldn’t capitulate, he sent me away.”
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, as though fighting off the start of a headache. “Did it ever occur to you, Georgie, that I might have feelings for you? Or that maybe, just maybe, I’d be the type of husband who actually held to his vows?”
“No,” she admitted softly.
He sat up abruptly. “Did you even stop to consider how refusing my proposal might affect me? That I might be upset by it? Did any of that cross your mind as you decided our futures?
“So while you were sent to live with wealthy Cousin Jane in France,” he said coolly, “I joined the bloody army. Do you have any idea, Georgie, what I endured because you were too much of a coward to take a chance on me?”
Georgiana couldn’t meet his eye.
Simon shackled her wrists roughly in one large hand but tugged her gently toward him, keeping her slightly off balance. His other hand tangled in her hair and pulled. It wasn’t enough to be painful, but it did force her to look up at him. She was close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. He was hurt, she realized, and like a wounded animal, he was looking to inflict pain. Despite knowing this, his next words still stung.
“But what cuts me most, Princess,” his voice dangerously low, “is that after spending almost every single day of the last month with me, after knowing the type of man I am, you still don’t trust my intentions. Tell me, Georgie, did last night mean anything to you...or was I just research?”
That his words so closely mirrored her morning’s thoughts made her slightly nauseous. Georgiana felt a stinging in her eyes. Drawing in a shaky breath, she tried to say something, to explain the paralyzing fear she had of being vulnerable to him. Of losing him. That it would break her heart to see him tire of her and set her aside.
But the words never came out.
“I guess I have my answer,” he muttered, pushing her away. Simon swore viciously and sat up. “Do you have any feeling in that frigid little heart of yours?”
Without awaiting an answer, he rose and went to the washing pot in the corner. He sluiced water over his face and hair. After a brief attempt to conquer the thick black mane, he gave up with a disgusted grunt. He gathered his borrowed trousers, yanking them on with a force bordering on violent. Without looking at her, he paused at the door and told her dryly, “I’ll fetch your clothes.”
She watched him go, feeling very empty in his absence. This was exactly why she didn’t want to marry him, she reminded herself, trying to brace herself against the ache in her heart. It hurt too much to feel this deeply. Huge, scalding tears slipped down her cheeks, and Georgiana didn’t even bother wiping them away.
* * *
Simon had never felt more furious toward anyone in his life as he currently did toward Miss Georgiana Phillips. He watched her stumble along the slippery jungle floor as she tried to keep up with the steady pace of their Dongari guides, and Simon struggled again with his self-restraint. It took a Herculean effort not to drag the obstinate little baggage into the trees and just have his way with her for days and days to work off his frustration.
He wanted to punish her for every single moment they had lost during their years apart, especially in light of last night and this morning. The knowledge of what they were like together—they could have had that six years ago!—made his anger flare again. The thought of being denied so many years with her made him nearly insane.
Oh yes, she was going to spend the rest of her life making up for lost time.
But first he had to figure out a way to convince her to marry him.
Simon tamped down his irritation. He should have known Georgiana was the architect of her own exile. Lord Elliott Phillips was a traditional, starchy old goat who would have insisted his daughter marry the man who’d dishonored her—if he’d known who that man was. The scandal had robbed Georgiana of most respectable marriage prospects. And because she’d had so many fortune hunters step forth as her debaucher, it didn’t surprise Simon that her father had been unwilling to marry her off without the truth. Phillips wouldn’t want to take on a conniving free-loader.
It also explained why Phillips had seemed grateful for Simon’s proposal, though he ultimately refused it. Simon wasn’t titled, true, but he was from an old and respected family. It would have been an acceptable match, especially if people thought the couple was in love.
In love. Simon narrowed his eyes at Georgiana’s rigid back. Damn it all, he was in love with her. How could she think he saw her as an obligation?
Simon chewed over the problem of Georgiana as he picked his way through the light drizzle that had begun. He wished he’d told her last night that he loved her. Any declaration now would no doubt be met with suspicion and resistance. The last thing he needed was to push her further away.
So the direct and honest approach was out, he mused. He could try to press her into marriage, but considering how well her parents fared with that approach made him dismiss the idea out of hand. Antagonizing her would likely result in alienating her for another six years. Besides, Simon didn’t want to bully her into marrying him. If she truly didn’t want him, he’d have to let her go.
That didn’t mean he would give up without a fight.
So if honesty and assertion wouldn’t work, what did that leave? Simon shook his head, really hating the answer. He was going to have to grant Georgiana the illusion of a choice, while ensuring she chose him. Somehow, he needed to lead his hardheaded princess to the simple conclusion that marrying him was her heart’s desire. Simon frowned at the thought. He hated manipulating people, even though he was very, very good at it. He was an Ashford, after all, and it tended to be a family trait—from his mother’s side, most likely, as his father had always seemed too self-indulgent to care about what anyone else was doing.
All the Ashfords had the gift. Ethan, his eldest brother, was both brilliant and ruthless when he wanted his way. For Ethan, the ends justified the means, though as the heir he was rarely refused anything. His sisters, Annabelle and Patricia, had spent their Seasons managing any number of suitors and their matchmaking mothers before they were married off. It was probably for the benefit of Society that the
y’d both married men not easily handled. Phillip, his twin, was by far the worst. He enjoyed toying with people, not so much for any real reason, but because he could.
As for himself, Simon was brilliant at reading people, making him the most adept, yet he was the one least likely to use such methods to get people to fall in. He much preferred to be direct and honest. Phillip jokingly called him “the Puritan.” Ethan, for his part, merely patted him on the shoulder and told him he was the best of the bunch.
Yet here he was, ready to manipulate his future wife.
So, how to make her choose him? Georgiana was too levelheaded, too independent, to be swept away by passion and declarations. If she caught even a whiff that he was waging a campaign to get her to the altar, she’d tuck tail and run. Worse, she’d dig in her heels and fight him head-on. His best option was to chip away at her resolve, to keep her off-balance, as he waged a surreptitious crusade.
Simon mulled over the possibilities all afternoon, until he was certain his plan had no clear flaws. It would take patience and perseverance, and a touch of indifference, but in the end, she would surrender. If she cared for him at all, which he was fairly confident she did, this was the best way to bring her to heel.
He silently offered her a hand as she half stumbled, half slid down a slippery incline. Simon became even more irritated when she grumbled a quiet “Thank you” before dropping his hand like it had scalded her. He narrowed his eyes at her retreating back.
Georgiana loved him. She just didn’t want to admit it yet.
* * *
True to Palak’s word, the journey to Puri was an easier trek than they’d had before. They hiked most of the day through the rain and the dense, green jungle, though the landscape was forgiving. Even still, it felt like eternity.
Unable to determine the time of day through the thick canopy of trees, Georgiana sent up a silent plea that they wouldn’t have to spend the night in the jungle. As much as she loved adventure, the thought of trying to sleep unprotected in the wild rattled her nerves.
She was beginning to feel as though they would never find a way out of the heavy knot of trees when the unmistakable tang of salty sea air filled her nostrils. The scent was thick and powerful and most welcome. The thicket began to thin, and before long they emerged so abruptly that the late afternoon sunlight was blinding in its brilliance.
Georgiana stopped for a moment to scrub at her eyes, helping them adjust to the brightness. She opened them to see that they were standing at the edge of a verdant field that opened above the outskirts of the city of Puri. What she saw left her breathless.
The streets were filled with people—hundreds, if not thousands of people. In the distance Georgiana could see a colossal wooden chariot, at least as large as the surrounding buildings. It was painted bright red and yellow, and it appeared to have ornate patterns adorning its massive domed top. The crowds below swept around it like a human tidal wave. They were singing and chanting and dancing in the streets, and Georgiana wanted nothing more than to join them to find out what the revelry was all about.
She wanted to learn all about Puri—the city’s architecture was an odd blend of humble Indian dwellings juxtaposed against ornate European palazzos reminiscent of the Italian villas she had fallen in love with during her time there. When had Europeans settled here? she wondered.
She peeked over at Simon, feeling desperate to grill him about the city and those marvelous creations. She didn’t dare broach him yet—he’d been unwilling to even look at her since that awful scene in the hut and she wasn’t certain he wouldn’t yell at her again.
The two Dongari men who had served as their guides spoke to Simon as she gawked. Simon nodded and asked several questions in Oriya, without offering to translate for her. One of the guides pointed at her, and all three men chuckled. It nearly drove Georgiana insane. She hated being left in the dark.
They seemed to skirt as much of the colorful hustle and bustle of the crowds as they could, leaving Georgiana itching to explore the boisterous city. Frustration welled inside her, and it took more than a little restraint to stop from snapping at the men who were still chatting away as though she didn’t even exist. She wanted to know where they were going. She wanted her family to know she was safe. More than that, she wanted to find Julian Thorne before her grandfather did. There was a small chance that Jane and Sir Jon had pushed on from Pipli in the hopes of finding them. If so, she needed to get to Thorne before her grandfather’s drinking problem destroyed his future with the Asiatic Society. Their future, she corrected.
To her disappointment she found herself at the seashore—on a stunning, sandy beach, she admitted reluctantly—overlooking the bay. The late afternoon sun was dipping low in the sky, barely peeking out from fluffy clouds, casting the whole scene in glowing pinks and purples across pristine white sand and rolling waves.
Their guides gestured for them to sit underneath a palm tree and Georgiana opened her mouth to argue. She had things to do, none of which included lounging on the beach. Before she could tell the men what she thought of this little hiatus, however, Simon stepped between her and the Dongari. The look in his eye told her that he knew exactly what she’d been about to do. He murmured a gentle, “No,” then quite rudely sat and took her hand, guiding her down next to him. Since she couldn’t speak Oriya, and he clearly was done talking to their guides, there was nothing more to do but sit and wait.
The Dongari scurried toward the city, without them, and Georgiana felt her frustration grow. She pouted a bit and shot Simon a dark glance.
“The city is preparing for Rath Yatra, its most auspicious festival. People from all over the territory come to celebrate, so it’s too crowded to safely navigate. It’s best for you wait here with me while our Dongari friends find Professor Thorne,” Simon drawled in answer to her unspoken complaint. “They’ll bring him to us.”
Georgiana nodded, feeling both sheepish that she had misjudged his intentions and put out that she hadn’t been part of the decision.
She found a rock near her fingers and began drawing idly in the sand. Simon was unnervingly quiet, and Georgiana began to wonder if this was how it was going to be between them from now on—uncomfortable silence. The thought made her unaccountably sad. Losing Simon’s companionship, his quick wit and quietly astute observations, made her chest feel achingly hollow. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to fix it.
A hand gently cupped her chin and lifted her head. “So,” Simon said, his eyes twinkling when she met his gaze. “This is awkward.”
Georgiana smiled slightly, grateful to him for addressing the problem. “Yes.”
“I guess I know now why I never spent much time outside the bedroom with any of my previous lovers,” he joked. “That and the fact that they usually went home to their husbands.”
Simon stroked her jaw, and Georgiana’s smile faded. “Are you very angry with me?” she asked.
Simon let his hand drop. “Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t know many men who’d handle such rejection without a spot of rancor. But given that you haven’t wavered in your decision over the last six years, I see no point in trying to change your mind now. If marrying me isn’t something you want, I’ll have to accept that. I only wish I’d known sooner, to save myself the embarrassment.”
“Simon, it’s not—” she started to say.
He raised his hand to stop her. “Let’s not rehash this, Georgie. I’m too tired, and it’s all a bit raw yet.”
“I’m sorry,” Georgiana whispered. “I never intended to hurt you.”
“I know,” he gave her a small, crooked smile that made her heart leap.
Georgiana took his hand, determined to make things right. “Well,” she said, ignoring the flutter of heat in her stomach at his touch. Instead, she strove to keep her tone practical. “We’re both logical, sensible adults. There’s no reason thing
s must change between us because we...um, because of last night.”
Simon looked at her a long moment. Unable to turn away, Georgiana felt herself coloring under his scrutiny. She was about to say something—anything—to break the heavy tension between them, when he spoke.
“While I’m willing to admit that I misinterpreted what was happening between us, I’m not willing to pretend it didn’t happen,” Simon exhaled heavily and fingered the cotton band still tied around her wrist. “Things have changed between us, Princess. Significantly.”
“But they don’t have to,” Georgiana disagreed.
He shook his head. “Sweetheart, now that I’ve had you, I can assure you that I’ll be devoting considerable energy to repeating the experience. But,” he raised his hand, cutting off her nascent protest. “I promise not to bother you with any more talk of marriage. It will be entirely on your terms—just sex, as you said.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Georgiana argued, her brain gibbering in panic. He couldn’t be serious!
“You said we wouldn’t be man and wife. That doesn’t stop us from being lovers.” Simon stroked her forearm, making her swallow hard.
“We are not lovers!” she hissed, yanking her arm away and looking around to make sure no one was watching them.
“Princess, in case you don’t remember, you opened that particular door,” he murmured, his voice velvety. “I’m simply walking through it.”
Being with Simon like that was a terrible idea, she reminded herself. Obviously she had little self-control where he was involved. And she already felt too vulnerable around him. It was as though he could see right through her defenses and into the recesses of her soul. Simon knew her, understood her, on a level no other person had ever even attempted. If she allowed him to get any closer, it would be tempting to lose herself completely.
Georgiana shook her head violently. “Simon, I didn’t mean that we should be like that. Last night was...last night...and today is...well, it’s different and I... “ She stopped to take a breath, trying to corral her scattered wits. “I...we need time to...think about things before we make another mistake.
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