Page 12 of Much Ado about a Widow

“I do hope so. They didn’t seem particularly blissful when last I saw them.” St. Just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“When was that?”

“At that very exciting house party in Kent, last October.”

“Oh.” Georgie waved his concerns away. “Heaps of things have happened since then. Fanny was kidnapped and almost murdered. But Lord Lathbury saved her, and now they are very much in love.”

“So Lady Lathbury was kidnapped also?” His brows rose to an impossible height.

As did Georgie’s hackles. “Her kidnaping had nothing whatsoever to do with mine. That was all Lord Theale.”

“So who kidnapped you?”

“I don’t know.”

A look of pained patience, such as one would have if talking to a small child or a lunatic came over St. Just’s face. “Then how do you know—”

“I have begun badly, my lord. Please forgive me and let me start again.”

The door opened, bringing in Cartwright with the tea tray. Once he deposited it and left, St. Just poured cups for them all and passed them around the little circle as deftly as any London hostess. “You were going to begin again, Lady Georgina.”

“I will, my lord, although it would help us both if you would listen to me as if you intend to believe what I’m saying rather than presupposing that I’m making all of this up. On my oath, I am not.”

The gentleman opposite her sighed, then nodded. “I beg your pardon. I promise you I will listen with a completely open mind to your tale.” He smiled, making his handsome features—his firm jaw, his high cheekbones, and his devastatingly different gray eyes—even more irresistible.

Her stomach fluttered, as if butterflies fought to get out.

“Please begin again. You have my complete attention.”

Flustered, but determined to continue, Georgie proceeded to tell the marquess, with absolutely as little embellishment as possible, what had occurred earlier today, up until the point they met. Settling back in the seat, sipping the almost cold tea, Georgie congratulated herself on delivering a coherent and rather moving rendition of the tale. “So there you have it, my lord.” Surely he must believe her now. If he did not, she, Clara, and Lulu would be in a fix.

Lord St. Just sat still, his fingers from both hands lightly touching one another at the tips, his face a study.

“If you could loan us your carriage, we will be on our way to Blackham Castle before the sun has traveled another hour. Once we are out of Portsmouth, we can stop at an inn for tonight and complete our journey tomorrow. My father will, of course, arrange to have your carriage returned.”

“I am sorry to put a damper on your plans, but I am afraid I have no vehicle to loan you.” His grave countenance affirmed that he spoke the truth.

“Whyever not?” The words made no sense. Why would a gentleman of means not keep some sort of vehicle? Oh. “I see. You mean you do not have a carriage. Allow me to assure you, a curricle, while not as comfortable for a long drive, will certainly do under the circumstances.”

A gentle smile spread over his face. “I fear I must truly disappoint you, Lady Georgina, but I have no means of transportation of any kind here in Portsmouth, save the Justine.”

“You don’t?” How singular of him. “Do you prefer to walk everywhere?”

A deep chuckle erupted as his chest shook with laughter. “Not at all. I simply don’t keep a carriage in a small port town, such as Portsmouth. I arrived here this morning to procure equipment for our mining operation in Cornwall. My carriage is there, in St. Just.”

“Oh.” The unsettling feeling of falling but with no ground to land upon swept through her. “I beg your pardon.” Heat to rival the stove rose in her cheeks. “I did not know this was not your home, although I should have realized it because you had told me at Charlotte’s party that you were intimate with a smugglers’ gang.” In fact, she’d remarked to Jemmy at the time that Lord St. Just was a wild young gentleman who seemed to fancy himself a pirate. “I suppose smugglers wouldn’t choose such a civilized place as Portsmouth for their lair.”

“And Cornwall is less civilized, and therefore a much more perfect place for all sorts of nefarious characters.” The twinkle in St. Just’s eyes belied his arch tone, but Georgie had had enough.

“Perhaps it is, my lord. I would not know, because I have never journeyed there. However, if I were to judge by what I know about it from you, I might have to agree.” Why did the man annoy her so much? She always got along famously with the gentlemen of her and her brother’s acquaintance. This one, however, always seemed to cut up her peace.

Surprisingly, the gentleman did not take offense. “I hope to change your opinion of Cornwall someday, my lady, if not your opinion of me.” He sobered. “As I have no carriage to offer you, we must produce an alternate plan, post haste.”

Georgie was getting tired of all the subterfuge. “Can you not simply hire a carriage in the town to take us to Blackham?” The easiest solution seemed obvious even to Georgie.

“I could, my lady,” he said slowly, pouring another cup for himself. “The question is, should I? This late in the day I do not think it wise.” St. Just sipped his tea and shook his head, his curly dark hair catching rays of the afternoon sun as if to point out the lateness of the hour. “You would not be able to travel very far. And where, pray tell, would you spend the night? Who would accompany you? Previously you had the protection of your father’s servants. Now you would be traveling only with your maid. Far too dangerous by half, especially with kidnappers after you.”

Georgie pursed her lips, itching to decry his estimation of the scheme, but drat it, she could not. He was probably right about Odd Fellow and the other kidnappers. They would be searching for her in every nook and cranny in the area. And checking every carriage that left the city heading east toward Sussex. It would be more prudent to stop here, retire to an inn, and send to her father. “As you say.” She rose and pulled on her gloves. “Then Clara and Lulu and I will retire to an inn and await the morning. If you will be so kind as to escort us to a decent inn—you do know of a well-run inn hereabouts, I hope?” The question was only half in jest. St. Just might know very little about the city, even though he visited it frequently.