Page 109 of Lyon of Least Resistance

By the time the building was in sight, the sun had risen fully, bathing the stone structure in a soft-yellow light. After leaving the horses to Edwards’s care, James took Cordelia’s hand, offered his arm to Georgiana, and led them toward the house.

The main doors opened to reveal the housekeeper.

“Oh, Miss Georgiana!” she cried. “What’s happened? You look very ill. Come in out of the cold, quickly! The air has such a nip in its teeth this morning.”

As they stepped inside, Cordelia’s heart sank. The guests were descending the stairs on their way to the breakfast room, Earl and Countess Stiles leading the procession. The earl’s gaze wandered over the three of them with the intensity of an experienced and insightful magistrate, and Cordelia shivered at the memory of his holding court, presiding over the battered whores whose fates he decided.

“My dear girl!” Countess Stiles broke free from her husband and rushed toward Georgiana. “What’s happened?”

Stiles’s expression grew thoughtful, and James met Cordelia’s gaze, a plea in his eyes.

“Georgiana was feeling unwell this morning,” she said.

Sir George Marlow frowned. “And you thought an excursion would cure her, on this cold morning?”

“I foolishly believed a morning ride might do her good,” Cordelia continued. “Fresh air can work wonders on a constitution after a meal as rich as that which we enjoyed last night. I myself felt a little unwell after having indulged in a little too much of Mrs. Vaughan’s excellent apple tart.”

Stiles arched an eyebrow. Then his left eye twitched—almost as if he winked at her.

“I suffered the most, having eaten three slices,” he said. “My constitution’s a little delicate also.”

Leonard Marlow stepped toward Georgiana, his cheeks reddening. “A-are you feeling better, Miss Bedford?”

Georgiana turned to him, but the contempt that Cordelia expected was absent, and she smiled at the young man.

“Much better, thank you, Mr. Marlow. You’re very kind to show such concern.”

His blush deepened.

“You should rest, Georgiana,” Cordelia said. “I’ll arrange for some sweet tea in your room. I can take care of our guests today.”

Her heart soared as Georgiana took her hand.

“You’re very kind,” Georgiana said. “Forgive me for not appreciating you enough. Perhaps I shall spend the rest of the day in my chamber.”

Leonard’s smile faltered and he thrust his hands into his pockets, disappointment in his eyes.

“Or,” Georgiana continued, “I might rejoin the party after luncheon. I had thought we could enjoy a little palle-maille in the garden if the weather’s as fine as it was yesterday. Mr. Marlow, do you play?”

“I-I fear not, Miss Bedford.”

“Then I must teach you, if you’d like that?”

“Oh yes! Very much, I…” He hesitated. “F-forgive me, I mean…that would be most pleasant.”

Lady Marlow patted her son’s arm and gave him a smile of encouragement.

“James,” Cordelia said, “might you escort our guests into the breakfast room, while I take care of Georgiana? Margaret will be awake by now, and she’ll be anxious to know how her sister fares.”

James took her hand, then lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Anything you say, my love,” he replied. “Perhaps after breakfast, we could discuss the plans you had for the garden gate. Or, if you prefer, you could show me.”

Before she could reply, hoofbeats approached from outside, crunching on the gravel path. Someone knocked on the front door with a violence almost enough to shake the building, and it opened to reveal Sir Iain Leaney, his hair plastered to his face, sweat beading on his brow.

“What the devil are you doing, Sir Iain?” James said.

“I’m come to take what is due to me,” Sir Iain replied.