by Dayna Quince
She sighed. “Is it wrong that the idea of being seduced sounds a little bit exciting? To think that a man like…” She dare not even utter his name aloud. She blushed. “I just want to be noticed for something other than being the odd sister. I have to do things women shouldn’t do, things my father should be doing, but his only skill is—well, with nine daughters you can guess, can’t you?” she whispered.
“And after seventeen years, he’s done it again. My mother is with child. We can only pray it is a boy, but after nine daughters, there isn’t much hope. A boy would help us a great deal. A son can inherit the house and the land but a daughter cannot. ’Tis not fair at all. And once my father is gone, our cousin and his wife will take our home and we’ll be left with nothing. Have you any brothers?” she asked the little kit. His nose crinkled as he sniffed the air.
“I’m the closest thing my father’s got to a son, but the house and the land is entailed. This party and these gentlemen may be our only chance to save each other from starving, from losing everything we love.” She stroked his head. “I suppose we can always depend on the duchess for help. Or we can take to the woods like wild women and build our shelter out of sticks and mud, hunt for our meals, and wear scraps for clothing.”
She sighed. “Though it sounds amusing to me, I don’t think my sisters would be enamored of the idea. We don’t have much in the way of luxury, but they do enjoy their comforts.”
Georgie smiled to herself. She knew she was different from them. She understood herself, and she could even say she liked herself, but she had no illusions about this party. None of these men would want to marry a woman like her. Her sisters had better odds of gaining a husband than she did. They all looked the same, with dark hair and brown eyes, but Georgie had spent far more time in the sun, earning patches of freckles on her cheeks and nose. She was also unfashionably skinny, as her mother would say, but spending all her time doing physical work will do that to a body. She envied her sisters feminine forms, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Chores must be done, stalls cleaned, sheep tended. What was she to do? Sit around and eat comfits all day?
Please. She welcomed the challenge. Give her a household of staff and she’d happily spend her time taking hour-long soaks in a bath and reading by the fire.
But no. She had to work or her family could not eat. She wasn’t the type to sit around and do nothing. She’d always had too much energy for that.
She’d lost a bit of her femininity, her hands calloused and her nails clipped short. Her skin tanned by the sun, scars and bruises marking her arms and legs. She would never be an elegant lady. But her sisters would have a chance because of this party, and she had to be careful not to ruin it for them.
Georgie considered the little kit curled up tightly in his cage. He wasn’t warm enough here in the stable. Her sister, Anne, had forbidden her from bringing any of her little patients into her room during the house party at Selbourne Castle. But what was Georgie to do? The others were fine. Opal, the little brown rabbit with her splinted leg, and Franklin, her one-eyed tawny owl with chestnut and gray feathers were still recuperating from their injuries but otherwise strong. It was a miracle the duke allowed her to use space in the stable. She couldn’t trust her father to care for these ill animals like she could with their sturdier farm stock. But this little kit, he could freeze to death as weak as he was.
No one would know.
She scooped up the little ball of fur, barely filling the palm of her hand, and tucked him in her bodice. This way she wouldn’t have to come to the stable multiple times during the day to feed him and he’d be warm. He squirmed a bit, his little nails scoring her skin, but he quickly settled, burrowing into the valley between her breasts and curling up again. She could feel him breathing.
“There now. No one will know, right little kit? Hmm. Kit. I think that’s what I will call you.”
She smiled, at ease with her decision. She tended her other patients, checking Opal’s bandage and cleaning Franklin’s healing eye. She swept their cages free of droppings and refilled their bowls of food.
“There now, breakfast is served and I will see you later today,” she said. “Don’t be troublesome. You’re a guest here just like me.”
She turned away, her heart jumping to her throat as she locked gazes with the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Mr. Cage.
The one man she’d been blathering on to Kit about.
She couldn’t speak at first. She’d already made a terrible impression in front of him at the start of the party. Seeing him in the stables at this early hour of the morning would not improve that impression. If she needed to prove she was not suitable wife material for any of the sophisticated gentlemen at this party, here it was. She was a poor country woman, who knew far too much about animal husbandry for most men to tolerate, let alone one whose lingering gaze made her stomach flutter and her toes curl in her mud-caked, boy boots.
She placed a hand over Kit, worried the glaring drum of her heart might frighten him. It was loud in her own ears.
It had to be deafening to him.
“You surprised me, Mr. Cage.”
“My apologies, Miss Marsden. Who were you talking to?”
Georgie swallowed as she gestured behind her to Opal and Franklin. “My patients. His Grace allowed me the use of the tack room to care for them during the party instead of leaving them at home.”
He entered the tack room, and the space shrunk to an uncomfortable degree, the air abruptly warm and thick with the sweet scent of hay and alfalfa.
Georgie tried to regulate her breathing. She knew this man, not well, but this was their second party together. The first party some months ago when it was Roderick who was meant to find a match. Now she was a guest of honor with the sole purpose of snaring a husband. But how could a woman ever hope to ensnare this gorgeous creature? His thick mahogany hair, windblown and damp with morning mist, made her fingers itch to smooth it. His gaze undressed her, stripping away her confidence, her armor, exposing the feminine vulnerability she’d forgotten she’d had over the years, tending her family’s humble livestock.
She straightened her spine. She could not allow herself to be swayed like this and made to feel…less, not that he was doing it intentionally. He hadn’t done anything at all to her. But their differences were painfully obvious in the fine quality of his clothing and the air of authority he carried.
So she wasn’t some elegant lady of Mayfair.
She was Georgette Marsden, third eldest of the Northumberland Nine.
She could castrate a sheep, birth a lamb, and keep her family from starving.
She refused to feel little in the shadow of his magnificence.
“What are you doing out so early in the morning?” she asked. “I thought gentlemen slept late?” Though he didn’t appear fully dressed. He wore an unbuttoned coat and shirt, no waistcoat or cravat. His shirt had spots of dampness that made it almost sheer. She could see the color of his skin and the shadow of a nipple.
Her body grew warm by several degrees as he moved closer, his attention on her patients, and removed his gloves.
Georgie tried to step aside but there was simply no room to do so. He invaded her space, a warm, cloying scent of horse musk, the leather of his gloves, cloves and…something else, salty and heady, filling her senses.
She swallowed, feeling the effects of his nearness like too much wine. She breathed in, hiding her shock by staring down.
She smelled him. His skin, his…essence of man. He’d been riding, clearly, working up a sweat but he did not smell malodorous to her. She was drawn to it. She recalled a passage she’d read about deer and their pheromones, the scents that attracted males and females for mating.
“You tend to injured animals?” he asked, ignoring her earlier question. He must have deemed it unworthy.
“I do,” she stated, glad her voice was calm and not warbling with the erratic pace of her heart.
“Why?
”
She glanced at him in surprise. “Someone needs to. They’d die otherwise.”
“’Tis the way of nature,” he replied. “What happened to this rabbit? Did you steal food from a predator? Now that predator has gone hungry.”
She resisted the urge to glare. “There is never a short supply of rabbits, Mr. Cage. I saw as the hawk snatched it and dropped it. I had to do something.”
He regarded her, his gaze wandering over her simple white linen morning gown.
What does he see when he looks at me?
His lips twitched. “You shouldn’t interfere.”
She straightened in indignation. “If I have the ability to help, I will. I won’t abandon an injured animal. How would you like to be left to die?”
He smirked. “But what of the hawk?”
“I’m sure he found another meal.”
He smiled and her stomach fluttered.
Georgie felt the stirrings of an answering smile. She bit her lip and tramped it down. “I call her Opal, and this is Franklin. He’s lost an eye, though I don’t know how. I found him cowering under a bush.”
His attention returned to the patients, and Georgie could breathe a little easier.
“So you collect injured creatures.”
She bristled. “I rescue animals, rehabilitate them, and release them if they can survive on their own.”
“Interesting…” he drawled.
“It is. I’m a fascinating human being,” she replied dryly.
“I did not mean to insult.”
“I don’t believe you to have an honest interest in my doings, Mr. Cage. Why do you ride so early in the morning?” she prodded.
His gaze wandered over her face. “I like strenuous activity.”
Strenuous? “Are you restless most of the time?”
A blush climbed her cheeks while he continued to stare at her. She willed it to stop, but she only felt warmer. She wanted to press her hands to her face but dare not let him see how he affected her. Men either disregarded her or tried to intimidate her. She suspected the latter were threatened by her knowledge and skill, as if a woman knowing how to do typically masculine things somehow belittled them.
“I’ve always been more inclined to the outdoors,” he answered.
Georgie feigned a gasp of surprise. “By God, we have something in common.”
He chuckled, and this time, Georgie didn’t hide her amused smile. Perhaps he wasn’t either of those things, uninterested or intimidating, maybe… No. She wasn’t going to speculate about his intentions toward her. People revealed themselves in due time. All she had to do was wait. But…what would it be like to be married to such a man? Would his beauty grow tiresome? Would she feel lacking, unrefined?
She terminated that train of thought. She couldn’t deny he interested her. She’d seen him before at the last house party, but only the night of the ball and they hadn’t been introduced until yesterday. She thought she’d chased him away, blurting something stupid in his hearing, but here he was. She wanted to understand him. Not because she thought she had any chance of attracting him romantically—she wasn’t mad—but because it was her nature, the curse of her curiosity, to see a challenge and conquer it. Like climbing the tallest tree on Berwick Vale just to prove that she could when she was fifteen. But her knowledge about men was scant, so she turned to the only source she had, her neighbor Lord Roderick Andrews, the most unscrupulous rake she knew, because surely he had knowledgeable advice about handling men of Mr. Cage’s ilk. In a rare show of maturity yesterday afternoon, Roderick had informed her to be his friend. She gritted her teeth behind her smile.
She’d had very few male friends. Most men were intimidated by her nature. She wasn’t demure or fragile as she was expected to be. She was strong, she could ride, shoot, climb, even make repairs around her home. She did those things because she’d had too. Her father was away most of the time and when he was home, as he was now, well… It was just better if Georgie did most tasks. Her father had said she was the son he’d never had. At the time, it had felt like a compliment, but when faced with such a specimen of a man as Mr. Cage, Georgie would rather feel more womanly, preferably like a woman Mr. Cage would want to know.
“May I escort you back to the castle?” he asked.
Well, that was an improvement. Yesterday he’d run away from her, and today he wanted to escort her?
Brilliant. Perhaps figuring him out wouldn’t be as difficult as she thought.
“Certainly, Mr. Cage. I’m done here for the morning.”
He presented his arm.
Georgie placed her hand on it, the firm muscles beneath her fingers tantalizing. She reminded herself of the little lesson Violet had given all the sisters about proper decorum. It would not be appropriate to squeeze his arm and explore those hard muscles more closely.
They sidestepped through the tack room door and exited the stables. The sun had breached the horizon, but it was still early and the grounds were quiet. It felt like they were the only two people in the world. Morning mist clung to the ground as they made the trek up the hill from the stables to the castle.
“I should apologize if I offended you yesterday,” he said.
“You didn’t,” Georgie assured him. She could only imagine his astonishment yesterday, coming upon a castle full of sisters and overhearing her banter about auctioning the gentlemen off. “I realize Lord Andrews was not forthcoming with you and the other guests.”
“No. You were…unexpected.”
“You mean my sisters and I.”
“No, just you.”
She halted. “Me?”
He stopped and faced her. “That didn’t come out as friendly as I’d hoped.”
She folded her arms. “It did not.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You—well…”
Georgie waited. She was not so kind as to let him stumble his way through an apology and accept it graciously.
“I’m usually very adept at reading and understanding women,” he said.
She raised a brow. “Are you certain?”
He folded his arms. “Yes.”
She bit back a smile, some of her embarrassment fading. He seemed just as uncomfortable as she was. “Because I don’t think you are. I think you’re used to a certain type of woman, and I don’t fit that mold.”
He nodded. “You know…I think you’re right.”
She shrugged. “Well, there you have it.” She began to walk again. She reminded herself she didn’t need his attention. It didn’t matter if he liked her. This party was not really for her, after all.
He caught up with her and her nervousness returned.
“So why do you ride so early in the morning?” she asked.
“Are you trying to figure me out now?” His voice was tinged with amusement.
“I’m making conversation.” What else was she to do? She hated awkward silence. Better to be out with it and deal with the awkwardness than let it fester.
He chuckled.
She listened intently to the rumble of his laugh, her nerve endings dancing in delight. It was marvelous, warm, and wholesome. She congratulated herself on amusing him. Laughter meant a person was at ease.
“I like the mornings. It’s quiet, peaceful. Even if I’ve been up all night, I still ride every morning. It resets my mind.”
“Interesting…” Up all night? Doing what?
“Are you mocking me?” he asked, grinning.
“No, I am interested.” She didn’t have the courage to tease him yet.
He stopped, forcing her to stop. It would have been rude to continue on, an indication of her dislike, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He made her feel a number of things, and dislike was not one of them.
“I’m enjoying this little banter, but I think we should be honest with each other,” he said.
“I prefer honesty in all things,” she replied, though she did not feel as calm as she
sounded. This man set off all sorts of sensations inside her that she couldn’t decipher or control. But her organs were dancing, her heart leaping, her stomach doing spins and rolls. Quite the raucous party they were having.
“Good. I’m not going to marry you or anyone else. I like—no, I adore bachelorhood.”
Georgie raised a brow, stunned and a bit amused by his fervor, but surprisingly not disappointed in any way. Good, she wasn’t altogether out of her wits. She was also reminded of something Roderick had also said.
“Men are notorious for not doing the thing that they ought to be doing. All of these men need to get married for various reasons: an heir, duties, etcetera. But they won’t because it scares them. They have to be convinced in subtle ways.”
“Interesting…” Georgie murmured. But why had he felt the need to say it?
“You’re using that word again. I find it very unsettling. I find you very unsettling.”
Well, that did sting a bit. Georgie frowned. “What a terrible problem for you, Mr. Cage. I am so sorry I have unsettled your fragile sensibilities.” Those pleasant flutters inside her turned sour.
“Wait, that—”
Georgie turned and headed up the hill. She didn’t need his bloody escort any more than she needed to withstand all the fluttery feelings he gave her. He was intent not to marry. Bully for him. She hadn’t asked. She supposed he was feeling pressured, but that wasn’t her fault. He had no idea what kind of pressure she and her sisters were under. Another baby on the way, a cousin who was only too eager to take over their home as soon as her father died. And he, with his fine clothes and wealth wanted to make it clear he would not marry her? Fine. She didn’t intend to marry him, and she wasn’t going to waste her breath telling him so.
He marched beside her. “Again, I apologize.”
She waved his apology away. “Don’t bother. You needn’t remain in my company if you don’t wish to. I’m perfectly able to escort myself to the castle. And what’s more, you need a bath.”
He stopped in front of her. “Are you saying I smell?”
“We were in a stable filled with animals, and yet I could distinguish your scent, so yes.”