Chapter Twenty-Two
Can it be that the vivacious Lady B— has replaced the ever lovely dowager Lady G— in a certain duke’s affections?
Tête-à-Tête, 25 December 1788
After spending the morning listening to a drunk and clearly despondent earl, Brimstone made his way upstairs with a luncheon tray and forced his way into George’s room, sending her new maid scurrying away.
His quarry was curled up in the window seat, as she always was when upset. Only his quick reflexes and thorough knowledge of the reception he was likely to receive saved him from being struck in the head with a well-aimed shoe.
‘Go away, Gabe,’ George hissed, sniffling at the same time. ‘I don’t want to eat anything, and I don’t want to see any of you. I know you put him up to it, damn you all.’
Brimstone kicked the door shut and put the tray down.
‘I can’t tell you some of our friends haven’t been busy playing Cupid, but you’ll have to acquit me of any such crime.’
He plucked the glass of brandy from the tray and joined George in the window seat, ousting her just enough to climb in behind her.
‘Come here, sweetheart.’ He handed her the glass and gathered her up against him. George resisted for a moment, going stiff, then relented and collapsed in a heap on his chest, spilling brandy all over the floor.
‘How could he?’ she asked, her voice catching between sobs.
‘Shhh, darling.’ He patted her back, letting her have a good cry. When she’d settled into mere hiccups he dried her face and settled them both more comfortably in the window box. He hadn’t seen George cry in years. Not since she was a girl and her pony had to be shot when it broke its leg in a rabbit hole.
He’d missed the first few weeks after Lyon had been killed, and by the time she’d come home, she was over the shock of it, and had retreated to a more private grief. Anger, he’d fully expected; tears from George rather scared him.
Tears were worrisome.
‘He’s a man, love, and at our best we’re all idiots, especially when it comes to women. He thought he had a brilliant plan. Thought it would please you. Maybe even thought it would keep you safe. It’s not his fault he’s the only one brave enough to get on with it.’
‘Liar,’ George retorted, still sniffling. ‘Nothing to do with bravery, none of the rest of you is in love with me in the least.’ She hiccupped then looked up at him. ‘You wouldn’t be dumb enough to make such a public declaration, would you?’
‘No, my dear, I wouldn’t, but I’ve known you since you were a brat with no front teeth, so I’ve the benefit of experience. Poor Somercote’s badly bitten, and Lord knows I can’t fault him for his taste. The real question is, what do you want? Eh-eh-eh.’ He held up a hand to halt her protestations when she pushed away and turned her head to face him. ‘It’s no use telling me you don’t love him. I’ve seen you together.’
She hunched a shoulder and turned her face so he couldn’t see her expression clearly. ‘I know what I don’t want. And I don’t want to be made to look the fool in front of my entire family. And I don’t want to married for the sake of keeping me safe from some madman. Maybe I’m being ridiculous, but I wish I felt like he’d actually asked me, and not like he made the assumption that my answer was a foregone conclusion.’
‘No question he fouled it up, love. No question at all.’ Brimstone sighed. He and the rest of the boys were in for far more work than they’d anticipated.
Somercote didn’t have a clue as to how to manage George, and if he couldn’t figure it out, Gabriel wasn’t at all sure that helping him to marry her would be doing either of them a favour. Not to mention that they still had to deal with a murderous black cloud on the horizon…Who in the hell would want to kill George? He, himself, had had the odd urge to throttle her over the years, but this was different.
Sadly, Somercote was cut from a far different cloth than their little band. He was, to put it bluntly, a good man. Perhaps too good a man. George required a man who was willing to be a bit of a scoundrel when the situation called for it.
George had had the bit between her teeth since before she’d put her hair up, and he didn’t think that likely to change. Somercote was certainly drawn to the flair George displayed—many men were—but the charm of her outrageousness might fade quickly once she was his wife.
Ivo groaned as the curtains of his bed were flung back and light flooded in.
‘Up!’
The covers were yanked away. Cold air washed over him and then his banyan hit him full in the face. He groped for it and managed to drag himself from the bed and pull it on without falling back into the bed.
Brimstone stood a few feet from the bed, fully dressed and glowering. The smell of coffee greeted Ivo as he stumbled towards the fire, the icy floor making him hurry towards the hearth rug.
In general, he never got so foxed as to earn himself a sore head the next day, but it was becoming almost a regular occurrence of late. He’d spent an inordinate amount of the last two months at least half-sprung, and a good deal of it nearly ape-drunk.
‘Do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?’
Ivo sank down into one of the chairs and poured himself a cup of coffee with unsteady hands. ‘In for?’ What the hell
