Page 39 of The Mistletoe Dare

Jules rubbed a hand over his face and muttered something that sounded less than complimentary. “No, Rochford. That is not the reason.”

“Why, then?” he demanded.

Rochford stiffened, unsettled by the sympathy in Jules’ expression. “Because, you great ox, you’re my friend, and underneath crabby exterior is a good fellow with a kind heart. I knew you’d need a formidable female to stand you and, having known Georgie since infancy, I thought perhaps she might be the one. By some miracle, it seems she likes you too, or at least, I assume she was kissing you for a reason? She doesn’t go about doing such things as a matter of course, you know. As for her wanting to be a duchess, well, I’m sorry, old man, but she doesn’t give a brass farthing for such titles, so you may as well stop dangling it in front of her because you’ll have the devil’s own job getting her to take it. If ever you’re lucky enough to persuade her to marry you, which you’ve just made about a thousand times more difficult, it will be in spite of the bloody dukedom, not because of it.”

Jules folded his arms regarding Rochford with an enquiring expression. He seemed to require some sort of response, in which case he’d have a long wait, as Rochford didn’t have a damned clue what he was supposed to say to that.

“I thought you liked the girl?” he said in bewilderment and after an interminable wait. It was all he could come up with.

“I do,” Jules replied. “She’s a good friend, almost a sister really.”

“What in God’s name are you doing throwing her at me, then? I’d think you might have a care for her happiness.”

“I do,” Jules said again, frowning. “Didn’t I already say all this?”

Rochford stared at him, utterly baffled. “If you care for her, for her happiness, why would you put her in my care?”

Jules rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “If—and right now this is a very large if—but if Georgie was your wife, would you beat her?”

“God, no!” Rochford exclaimed, taking a step backwards.

The idea of laying a hand on any woman in anger revolted him, but Georgie…. He’d rather die.

Jules nodded. “And if someone insulted or hurt her?”

“I’d bloody kill him,” he said at once.

“And if she were ill?”

“She’d have the best doctors, the best care, of course. What the hell are you driving at?”

“I’m just trying to figure out why being married to you would be such a dreadful fate,” Jules replied gently.

Rochford snorted. “I think she might look higher than a man who’d not beat her and would fetch a doctor if she were ill.”

“So do I. Is that all you can offer her, then?”

Jules watched him, his expression too intent, and Rochford wished once again that he’d never come here. He’d been content enough with the way things had been, until this family had gone and stirred things up, had shown him what a family was supposed to look like. Except he’d not been content, had he? Which was why he’d come, rather than return to Mulcaster, to his only kin: a woman who could not look upon him without revulsion.

Rochford tried to consider the question with detachment. What could he offer a woman like Georgie? Well, she’d be his duchess. It was the only thing he had going for him, but Jules seemed to think that would be reason enough for her to turn him down.

“Don’t say the title,” Jules warned him, confirming his thoughts.

He shrugged. “Damned if I know then,” he said, exasperated. “A bad-tempered husband who hates society and is liable to terrify any children we’d have.”

Jules muttered under his breath. “Has it never occurred to you that your temper might be a deal sweeter if you woke up to discover a woman like Georgie beside you?”

Rochford started in shock. His fists curled, as he realised he was furious with Jules for speaking of Georgina so intimately, for even suggesting such a thing, and yet… and yet, now he could not get the image from his mind. He could see her at Mulcaster, in his bedroom, in his bed, her dark curling hair spilling over the pillow. Christ, what would it feel like to wake beside that beautiful face every morning? There was an odd stabbing sensation in the vicinity of his heart. He imagined watching her dress, perhaps even brushing out her hair for her, sharing breakfast with her. His breath caught.

“She’d be lonely,” he said, reminding himself of all the reasons he’d be a terrible choice for her, when all he truly wanted was for Jules to find an argument to counter each reason.

“She lives in the backend of beyond in Scotland, Rochford,” Jules said, shaking his head. “She’s used to such a life. Of course, she’ll want to see her friends and family, but you could bear that now and then for her sake, couldn’t you?”

Privately, Rochford thought he could stand being slow roasted on a spit for her sake, but he held his tongue. There was something horribly like hope flickering in his heart and he was bloody terrified it would snuff out at any moment.

“I’d embarrass her,” he said, frowning at Jules. “People would mock her.”

Jules’ expression hardened. “Well, I’m sad to say she’s used to that, too. Her grandfather was a cit, and a vulgar one at that. She’s no shrinking violet. Georgie is strong and loyal, and fiercely protective of those she cares for. If a woman like that loved you, she’d stand up to anyone and anything and be proud to do it.”