Despite his wanting to marry her for her property, something she was honest enough to acknowledge was commonplace in his world, she had always felt safe with him. He had never intentionally done anything to cause her grief. If he ever learned she loved him—not gently, as a well bred young lady should, but to distraction—she doubted he would accept a denial of his suit. He would not cause her pain.
Could he be made to understand that loving him as she did, being married to him, knowing he did not love her in the same way, would cause her even greater pain that if she was never to see him again?
His eyes remained shut. Georgiana could not resist the temptation to study his face, memorising each detail, storing the vision in her heart to last her for a lifetime. She saw his eyelids flicker, then slowly rise. Ill prepared to
meet his blue gaze, she straightened and turned slightly away, furiously blinking back the tears which suddenly threatened, pressing her hands tightly together to still their trembling.
Dominic took one look at his love, all but quivering with suppressed emotion, and his anger abruptly vanished.
“Georgiana?”
When she made no answer beyond a small wave of her hand, Dominic drew back, giving her the time she needed to compose herself, ruthlessly stilling the instinctive urge to wrap her in his arms and comfort her. He didn’t dare touch her. Frustrated beyond measure, he felt an insane desire to laugh, to catch her to him and kiss her worries, whatever they were, away. Her silence screamed the fact that she was still labouring under some delusion sufficient to make her balk at the very mention of marriage. Her forlorn countenance showed he had his work very much ahead of him.
His eyes on her guinea-gold curls, Dominic sighed. He wanted her, and he was tired of the roundabout the prescribed methods of courtship had put them on.
He waited until her breathing became less laboured, until the pulse at the base of her throat beat less tumultuously. Then he tried again. “Georgiana, my dear, what is it?”
Georgiana put up one small hand in a gesture he found both imperious and, in her present state, endearing.
“Please, my lord. You must let me speak.” Her voice was low, urgent and breathless.
“Of course, my dear.” Dominic managed a politely attentive tone. He made no move to take her hand, but continued to sit beside her, the flounce of her skirt brushing his boots, his head inclined to watch her face. She did not look up at him, but fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, tensed in her lap.
Georgiana drew a shuddering breath at his easy acquiescence. If only he would remain so calm, she might manage to accomplish her task. But he was near, so near. Speak—she had to speak or her resolution would crumble. “My lord, you must believe that I most earnestly value your friendship, and the…the proper feeling that lies behind your wish to marry me.” She paused, reaching deep to dredge the remainder of her strength, before continuing, “I am aware—have always been aware—that my ownership of the Place was fundamental to your interest in me. Now that you own the Place, there is no reason for any further talk of marriage between us.” Resolutely she swallowed the sob that rose in her throat and hurried on. “I realise that, if I were of the ton and chose to continue living in London, our association these past weeks might give rise to awkward conjecture. However, as I intend returning to Ravello shortly, I beg you will not let such considerations sway you.”
Beside her, Dominic allowed his brows to rise. A smile, soft and gentle, curved his lips.
Georgiana drew a deep breath. “My lord, I hope you will see that, in the circumstances, there is no reason for you to offer for me. Indeed,” she said, struggling to subdue her treacherous tears, “I beg you will not renew your offer.”
“Of course not.”
The calm words brought Georgiana up short. One moment she was about to dissolve in tears, the next she had turned and her eyes met his. “I beg your pardon?” she asked weakly.
Smiling sympathetically, Dominic said, “My dear, if my offering for you will cause you distress, then of course I’ll not do it. I would never knowingly distress you.”
The look which accompanied his words warmed Georgiana through and through, despite the total depression which now hung like a cold black pall over her. He was convinced. He was going to make it easy for her. Tremulously, she smiled.
Seeing this evidence that she had pulled back from the brink, Dominic smiled back and possessed himself of one small hand.
Georgiana was so relieved that she only just stopped herself from leaning against him, so close as he was. Her head was spinning. Was it possible to feel so cherished and yet know one was unloved? She wasn’t sure. In fact she was no longer sure of any number of things. But thankfully he had taken charge. She was sure he wouldn’t press her for further words.
Words, especially from his beloved, were very far from Dominic’s mind. He had no intention of giving her the opportunity to refuse him again. It occurred to him that there were other routes to his desired goal. The time had come to consider alternatives—his patience was wearing wafer-thin. On impulse, he raised the hand he held and touched it to his lips, then, yielding to a need he was endeavouring to subdue, turned it and pressed a kiss to her palm. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, and glanced up to smile reassuringly at her.
“My dear, you’re overset. I give you my word I’ll press you to do nothing unless it is your wish, urge you to nothing beyond what is in your heart to do. Remember that.”
Georgiana blushed. As a parting speech, it held a note of promise entirely out of place with its supposed intent.
Dominic watched her confusion grow, turning her eyes a deeper shade, like toffee. Repressing the all but overwhelming urge to kiss her, he reluctantly released her hand, adding in a conversational tone, “It’s very likely I’ll be out of town for the next few days, but I’ll see you before you leave town.” It would take a day or two to organise his trap, but he had no intention of letting her escape.
The hack turned into a square and pulled up before an imposing mansion. Within minutes Georgiana was ushered inside to find Bella anxiously waiting.
“DUCKETT? What the devil are you doing here?”
Slouched in the armchair before the fireplace, Dominic frowned as his head butler, whom he had supposed still at Candlewick, entered the room. Unperturbed by his greeting, Duckett held a long taper to the fire and proceeded to circumnavigate the room, lighting candles as he went.
“Timms is ill, m’lord. You’d given orders to shut up this house, so the lad very properly sent for me.”
Dominic snorted. Lad? Timms was all of thirty-five if he was a day. But he was one of Duckett’s protégés and, provided he obeyed Duckett’s guidelines to the letter, would always be assured of the head butler’s protection.