“The journey to Camberley will take us the full day,” Harland said.
A whole day in a carriage with Harland? Why? What did he want from her?
Georgy was suddenly aware of how she was sitting. Her back was rigid and her jaw was clenched. She was tense and uncomfortable, hunched into her small corner. Unlike Harland, who was stretched out, lean and handsome, the very picture of relaxed indolence. And why not? Wouldn’t she be like him in his place? Nothing to worry about but the cut of his coats.
She closed her eyes. God, she hated this feeling. Resentment, fear and foreboding all mixed up. The awful sense of powerlessness. And still she felt that foolish pull towards him, fuelled now by the memory of their kiss.
John appeared at the window. “Are you ready, my lord?”
“Yes, let’s be off.”
John disappeared from view and a few moments later, the carriage lurched forward. The horses began slowly, walking down the pristine drive to the gates. The luggage coach driven by Arthur would bring up the rear. The gatekeeper opened the gates for them and a few minutes later they turned onto the public road, the horses picking up speed now. Georgy kept her gaze fixed outside the window.
After a few moments, Harland said, “Feel free to put your boots up on the seat opposite. Make yourself comfortable.”
It was a crime to put boots on that velvet, but she lifted her feet anyway and placed them on the seat, forcing herself to sink back against the upholstery and feign relaxation.
“How long is it since you wore a gown, Georgy?” Harland asked after a few minutes had passed.
Her name on his lips was still as shocking as it had been that first time. She looked up and his gaze was fixed squarely upon her. Her own slid away again.
“Since before I took employment with you.” She pretended absorption in the state of her cuffs.
“Quite a long time, then. Do you miss dressing as a woman?”
“Not much.” In truth, she missed pretty feminine things a great deal, but she wasn’t about to admit that sort of weakness to him. It would be a mistake to admit any weakness to this man.
He looked interested. “You prefer dressing as a man?”
Childishly, she wanted to shock him.
“Of course.” It was true, in a way.
“Of course? Why ‘of course’?” He looked at her as though fascinated, those midnight eyes fixed, raptor-like, on her. A tiny part of her was stupidly flattered by that interest; it fluttered to life inside her, basking in his attention. All these months of being invisible, and now, suddenly, he saw her. She had to guard against this hunger to open herself to him. She was far too vulnerable to his interest.
“It’s liberating,” she said. “I can do anything dressed as man. So many things you take for granted.”
“Such as what?”
“Everything. Move, stride, run, jump.”
He smiled. “Of course. I’d forgotten, but you’re quite the athlete, aren’t you?” When she sent him a puzzled look, he added, “Don’t you remember when I saw you with Lily Hawkins?”
She immediately thought of the kiss he’d witnessed and felt heat rush into her cheeks. “Athlete?”
“You were jumping over fences like a young blood. Not the sort of thing I’d have thought a young woman would be up to—except maybe one who performs at Astley’s Amphitheatre. Is that where you’re from, Georgy? Are you a circus performer?” He arched his brows, his eyes amused.
“No,” she said shortly.
“Some sort of performer? An actress?” Harland guessed, eyeing her. “You know Lily Hawkins, after all, and you’ve acted the part of a man without being discovered—except by me.”
Georgy said nothing, alarmed by the connections he was making. How was she going to deal with all his questions? Was that why he wanted her in his carriage? So he could interrogate her for the whole journey? At some point she might let something important slip—and Dunsmore was his friend. Harland might not have delivered her into Dunsmore’s hands so far, but she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He was interested in her now. The question was, why?
She didn’t flatter herself that it was a physical interest. Oh, he had enjoyed her kiss, but she suspected it was the novelty of the situation that had intrigued him, more than her particularly.
“Am I close?” he prompted.
She shrugged again, non-committal, and he laughed in acknowledgement of her evasiveness. His unexpected good humour made her wary. When he’d discovered her coming out of Dunsmore’s study yesterday he’d been furious with her, though he’d taken no steps to try to force her story out of her. All last night he’d brooded and even this morning he’d been withdrawn. Now, suddenly, he was wreathed in smiles. He looked as though he was enjoying himself.
Was this how a cat looked at a mouse?
“All right then, let me try another question. How are old are you? Surely you can tell me that at least?”
She considered for a moment. “Three and twenty.”
He mulled that over.
“Are you married?” he asked at length. She couldn’t hide her surprise at that question—it came so out of the blue—and he chuckled. “Ah. At last, an ungoverned reaction. A ‘no,’ I think?”
“Correct.” The word emerged firm, almost fierce. Harland raised an eyebrow.
“Why such vehemence? Is it because—” He glanced up at the ceiling of the carriage as though considering the precise words to use. When he looked back down, his expression was sly. “Is it because you prefer females, Georgy?”
She wondered if she had misheard him at first. It seemed such an absurd question. A few moments passed during which he merely waited for her answer. She laughed—an exclamation of disbelief.
“Are you serious?” she said.
“I think you’ve just answered my question,” he replied. “But, yes, I had wondered. I’ve seen you with women in your male persona. They like you. I could barely coax a smile out of Lily Hawkins, but she was vastly charmed by you. She kissed you.” He frowned, as though something new had occurred to him. “Does she know what you really are? I’d assumed so, but—”
She laughed again, astonished, even as her mind raced. Lily and Max had impressed upon her that she should stick to the truth as far as possible, but Harland’s rapid barrage of questions was unnerving her. She decided to go back to his first question and lure him away from the second.
“I prefer men.”
He smiled then, looking well satisfied with her response. Resentment at his good humour warred with the pleasure she got from looking at him. God, but he undid her. That smile was pure wickedness, leavened by the sort of dimple a grown man ought not to possess.
“What kind of men?”
Was she to be subjected to this all day? She prevaricated.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Do you like tall men, short men, fat or thin? Fair? Dark? Rich? Poor?” He counted the list off on his elegant fingers, then looked at her questioningly.
“It is not so easy as that,” Georgy said. “No one is merely the sum of those sorts of parts.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Think of the last man you kissed—besides my good self, I mean. What was he like?”
She knew exactly who that was. Michael McCall at a party at the Camelot. She’d been wearing her favourite violet silk and her hair had been down. She’d drunk too much punch and they’d danced together till her feet hurt. And then he’d pulled her into a scenery cupboard and kissed her soundly. Eventually she’d pushed him away.
Why had she done that? He was lovely. Good-looking and uncomplicated. And he kissed very nicely.
“He was tall,” she told Harland. “Dark.”
“Tall and dark?” He grinned. “What else?”
“Handsome,” she said, defiant now. “Dashing.”
A smile spread slowly over Harland’s face. “How handsome?”
“Very,” she retorted. “He was the handsomest man I’ve ever seen.” Now that was a bou
ncer.
“Was? Do I take it he is no longer around?”
Damn. Typical of Harland to pounce on that. She thought quickly about how to respond and decided to plump for a worldly lack of concern.
“He moved on,” she said, and shrugged. “People do sometimes.”
Harland tilted his head slightly and stared at her for a long uncomfortable moment. It was a struggle to keep her careless expression in place in the face of that scrutiny, but eventually he let his gaze drift away again, his eyes moving to look at what lay outside the window.
“Yes,” he said. “They do rather, don’t they?”
Chapter 16
It was dark by the time they arrived at Camberley, dark as only the countryside could be. The sky was full of snow-filled clouds and not so much as a single star twinkled.
The great house sprawled at the end of the drive, with only a couple of windows on the ground floor illuminated. Nathan jumped out as soon as the carriage halted, just as the main door opened and a broad, middle-aged woman emerged, holding a candle.
“Mrs. Lowe,” Nathan said, smiling. “Merry Christmas to you!”
She smiled back. “And to you, my lord.”
He glanced behind him.
“Mr. Fellowes, step this way, if you please.”
Georgy followed him up the steps and bowed respectfully to the housekeeper.
“This is Mr. Fellowes, Mrs. Lowe, my new valet. He can sleep in my dressing room.”
Mrs. Lowe, usually the most discreet of servants, wasn’t quite quick enough to conceal her surprise. Jarvis had never slept in Nathan’s apartments. He had his own room, probably one of the best servants’ rooms, Nathan supposed. Mrs. Lowe’s eyes widened and her gaze shot from Nathan to Georgy before she managed to mask her reaction. Georgy looked mortified by Mrs. Lowe’s response and he suppressed his smile as he stepped inside the house, the two women following him.
“When would you wish to dine this evening, my lord?” Mrs. Lowe asked, her habitual expression back in place.
He checked his watch.
“It’s almost five o’clock. Hmm. I don’t think I’ll dine formally tonight, Mrs. Lowe. Just a light supper in the library at seven or so. In fact, Mr. Fellowes can join me. He’ll have unpacking to do, so he won’t be able to eat before them. Thank you.”
This time, despite the unusual request, Mrs. Lowe didn’t miss a beat.
“Of course, your lordship. Would you like me to have a bath brought up for you just now?”
He was about to shake his head when he glanced at Georgy. She looked rumpled and tired and cold.
“Yes, please. John and Arthur will be unloading the carriages. Have one of the footmen bring the valises up directly. There are some crates too, but put those anywhere for now. I will speak to you tomorrow about where the contents are to go.”
“Very good, my lord.” The housekeeper curtseyed.
“Follow me, Fellowes,” he said, heading for the stairs.
His bedchamber had been made ready and a fire burned merrily in the grate. He ushered Georgy inside and shut the door behind them with a soft click. When he turned around, he saw that she looked wary, a little angry even.
“What do you mean by having me sleep up here?” she hissed.
Without speaking, he crossed the room to the dressing room door and opened it, standing to one side and gesturing her in with one outspread arm. The dressing room was at least three times the size of the dressing room she had slept in at Dunsmore Manor and there was a proper bed in it—small, but better than the truckle bed. Georgy scowled and walked forward to peer inside. He watched her face with interest, detecting a glimmer of relief.
His decision to force her to sleep here had been deliberate. He wanted to keep her close and off balance. “I’m afraid I don’t trust you enough to have you sleeping in the servants’ quarters,” he said in a clipped way. “But you should find this more comfortable than your last bed.”
She turned her head and stared at him. She looked collected now, her clear gaze as impenetrable as a mirror again. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was quiet. “This is not about you keeping me till you find another valet, is it?”
He hesitated, swithering over whether to deny it. It would be pointless to do so, since she’d plainly divined that much for herself.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
At last, he said, impulsively, “To know you.”
Damn. Too much truth there. He grinned to hide it, turning his lapse into mockery.
Her eyes. She looked so calm, yet he could sense the ripples of disquiet in those placid depths.
“To know me,” she repeated. “What does that mean?”
He wasn’t used to being cross-examined by servants—by anyone—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer her question. Even to himself. He decided to flirt with her, since he’d noticed on the carriage journey that it made her uncomfortable and stopped her seeing through him so easily. He sent her one of his slow smiles.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She didn’t get flustered this time.
“That’s what I’m asking. Am I to draw the obvious conclusion here?”
He had meant it as a rhetorical question. He had imagined her blushing and turning away.
“What is the obvious conclusion?” he hedged.
Her mouth thinned. “I am becoming tired of this dance,” she said. “You know what I am asking. Do you intend to attempt to seduce me?”
Oh yes.
“Do you want me to?”
“Why do you keep turning the question back to me?” She narrowed her clear gaze on him in a way that made him feel strangely uncomfortable. She was shrewd. In a game of wits with her he would have no guarantee of success. It was a thought that made him smile.
“Because I don’t know what I intend,” he said at last, his honesty getting the better of him.
She looked surprised at that, falling silent. So at last he’d flummoxed her—and with the truth, no less.
“Do I want to seduce you?” he continued. “Yes, I do. You have an unusual beauty that appeals to me. Will I seduce you? I don’t know. I think it depends on whether you want to be seduced. I am not interested in unwilling conquests.”
He was rewarded for his honesty with a deep blush that scorched her pale cheeks. He wondered if they would feel as hot as they looked.
“Do you want me to seduce you?” he asked, curious. “I would be delighted to do so. Even if you do not, I daresay I shall still take a few minor liberties as I try to persuade you, but I shall not force you to anything, Georgy.”
She did not answer his question. “So this is not really about you retaining my services as a valet, then.”
“No,” he admitted easily. “Truthfully, I can’t see you as a servant now. Though I will still ask you to help me shave and tie my cravats while you are here, as I don’t have anyone else here to do that.”
“You said you’d let me leave when we got back to London.”
“And I will.”
“And when will that be?”
He paused. “Soon. I promise I won’t keep you here for more than a few days.”
She looked troubled but she said nothing. Her heavy fringe fell over her eyes in that bewitching way he’d become so familiar with. She tossed it out the way with a little flick of her head.
“Was your hair short before you came to work for me?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Until the day before I met you, it was down to here.” She gestured to the indentation of her waist with one hand.
“I wish I could have seen it like that,” he said. “You have gorgeous hair. Like none I’ve ever seen before, except perhaps on a child, it’s so fair.” He closed the distance between them and reached out to take a lock, letting it slip between fingers and thumb in its silky slippery way, admiring the play of the candlelight on its pale metallic colour. “You see?” he said, catching her troubled gaze. “Liberties.”
&nb
sp; She didn’t pull away.
He was so close that he heard the faint rasp of her indrawn breath, saw the slight movement of her chest as she inhaled. He stared down into her face, and her eyes reflected curiosity and fear, a strangely heady mix. He let his fingers move to her face, tenderly tracing one pale eyebrow with his thumb. Those pale crescents were just a shade darker than her hair, slivers of moonlight above her ice-pond eyes. What a startling face, he thought. A winter face, pale as snow. The one bit of colour was the light pink of her lips, lips that parted softly as his thumb came to a rest at her temple.
He wanted her more than he could have thought possible. What was it about her? Her provocative looks, certainly, but not merely that. Maybe something about her that was—what? Free? Yes, that was it. She was not bound to anything, or anyone. She followed a path of her own choosing, the rules be damned.
He realised he wanted to be one of her choices.
God! He had brought her here to send her off-balance and coax her secrets from her, and look at him! Practically on his knees before her. He stared at her for long moments and thought about dipping his head to kiss her, but then a knock sounded on the door. She dropped her gaze and stepped away from him, going to the door to let in the footmen who had brought up the valises.
Nathan sat down to watch as she directed them around. She slipped back into her valet persona easily, something subtly different about her posture, the way she moved.
People see what they expect to see.
Once the footmen had gone, she stepped towards the pile of luggage.
“What are you doing?”
“I am going to unpack.”
“Don’t. You are tired. Wouldn’t you prefer to lie down?”
She looked puzzled. “But my lord—”
“Nathan.”
“What?”
“Call me Nathan. Go on, say it. I want to hear you say my name.”
She laughed, uncertainly.
“It’s too strange. It’s not how I think of you.”
He cocked his head to the side, curious.
“How do you think of me?”
She stared at him for a moment.
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