Page 77 of Much Ado about a Widow

As the cold dawn broke next morning, Rob and Georgie stood arm in arm on the bow of the Justine as it sailed into the cove. They had slept little, but had made love only once with a desperation that broke Georgie’s heart. Perhaps their last moments of intimacy ever, and she’d not been able to savor them as she should for thinking that they were indeed the last. Instead, the rest of the time she’d lain in Rob’s arms, breathing in the clean scent of him, mixed with the musky hints of their joining. Relishing the stroke of his fingers along her naked back, trying frantically to imprint the sensation into her memory, so she could call it to mind during the long, horrible years ahead without him.

Despite Rob’s brave words, she simply could not foresee any outcome of the approaching meeting in which she and Rob would be allowed to be together. It was one thing to order about an officer who worked for her father. It was quite another to defy her father to his face without expecting retribution of the ghastliest sort. At worst she’d be locked up in the lunatic asylum; at best forced to marry Travers. Bleaker outcomes she could not imagine.

The Justine had stilled almost to a halt when Cartwright dropped the anchor and the crew readied the boat to take them to shore. Georgie gripped Rob’s hand as he helped her in, dread filling her heart.

“Do not worry, sweetheart.” Rob ran his thumb over the back of her hand. “I will make certain you marry no one but me.”

Gazing up at him, she tried to speak words of comfort, but they choked her throat. So she smiled and laced their fingers together.

The crew lowered them over the side.

Time to face her fate.

When they reached the narrow dock, Rob helped her out and together they turned toward the shore, where a sea of faces awaited them. Georgie gasped and stopped. Had everyone come to witness the final battle of wills?

“Come, my love. Let’s put our best foot forward.” Rob started her moving again.

“I would if I thought it would do any good.” The stern set of her father’s face was familiar at least. Several of his liveried servants stood behind him, an impassive wall. Jemmy and Elizabeth stood to the side of Father, looking glum. To his left Lord Travers had made an appearance, apparently recovered from Georgie’s brutal tactics. He’d apparently brought some of his men as well, a puny show of his strength next to her father’s. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. If Father forced this marriage, she vowed she’d make sure she wasn’t the only one sorry about it. Even Lady St. Just was present, and interestingly one of the friendlier faces in the group. Georgie would have loved being her daughter-in-law.

“Georgie.” Elizabeth rushed past Georgie’s father, and Georgie flew into her arms. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, for the moment at least.” She hugged her friend fiercely. “But not for much longer, I’m afraid.”

Boney fingers clamped onto her wrist as her father hauled her out of Elizabeth’s arms.

“You will not get away from me again, Georgina.” Father released her, his mouth pursed as if touching her were the most distasteful thing he’d done in an age. “At least not before I dispose of you as I promised. Travers.”

Limping slightly, Lord Travers shuffled over to them, his bloodshot eyes taking her in from top to bottom. “My lady, are you quite all right after your ordeal?”

“Thank you for your concern, my lord.” Georgie stared him down. “But of what ordeal do you speak? The only thing to distress me recently was your unwanted attempt to ravish me, from which I have thankfully recovered, although”—she eyed the area of his fall very obviously—“I see you have not. If you continue to limp, I would suggest you consult one of the doctors in Harley Street. Perhaps they can put you to rights.”

“Georgina!” Her father spun her around and slapped her across the mouth. “I will not tolerate insolence nor rudeness to your prospective husband.”

Before she could raise her hand to her smarting cheek, Rob had appeared in front of her, pushing her behind him. Towering over her father, fists clenched, lips in a snarl, he looked like an avenging angel—and every inch her hero. “Lady Georgina has expressed neither insolence nor rudeness to me, my lord, and as I am her prospective husband—”

A roar of outrage erupted from Lord Travers, who hobbled toward Rob with an uneven gait. “You are not her prospective anything, St. Just. I have her father’s oath and a promise, written in her own hand, swearing to marry me.”

“And as that promise was elicited from her by coercion”—Rob swung his blistering gaze from her father to Travers—“and she has recently revoked her consent, it is no more valid than your claim to her hand. So, my lords, you will refrain from touching her again, either of you, in any capacity. I am not a man who suffers fools with any particular patience. And you are fools indeed if you believe I will allow any man, other than me, to lay hands on her.”

“This is outrageous!” Her father’s face had turned a ghastly shade of red. “My lady.” He turned to Lady St. Just, standing serenely by, missing not a word. “Take your whelp in hand and instruct him that he has absolutely no authority over my daughter, nor shall he ever have. Perhaps he’ll listen to his parent as he will not to his betters.”

“I suspect, Blackham, that if he had been given instruction by his betters he would have heeded it. I have raised him to be respectful of those worthy of respect.” Fixing her father with a steely eye, the marchioness stared at him unblinking until amazingly, he dropped his gaze. Without missing a beat, she turned to her son. “St. Just, you have laid claim to Lady Georgina’s hand, even though it has already been given to another. Do you perhaps have a claim on her that her father has not yet discovered?”

Frowning, Georgie glanced at Rob. What was his mother talking about? He had no formal right to marry her, save that he loved her and she loved him. Unfortunately, a strong claim on her heart would hold less than no weight with her father. To her surprise, however, after a confused moment, Rob grinned broadly. What had she missed?

“I do have such a claim, Mother. No one knows of it yet, save Lady Georgina and I.”

Everyone’s gaze was now firmly fixed on Rob.

“What nonsense is this?” Blustering much more than usual, Father looked from Rob to his mother, and seemed to hesitate. “He has no right, no claim to my daughter whatsoever.”

“Indeed I do have the better claim than Lord Travers, not only by having secured the lady’s regard, but by virtue of circumstances that have recently arisen.” He shifted his gaze to Georgie, mouthed “I love you” to her, and plowed firmly on. “I declare that I know for a fact that Lady Georgina is, at this moment, carrying my child.”

Oh, dear Lord. Hanging her head to hide not only her hot cheeks but the murder certainly in her eyes, Georgie tried to ignore the gasps from all assembled and then the silence. Cautiously, she raised her head to find everyone’s attention now on her.

“No! This cannot be true.” Travers barged in between Rob and Father, his eyes almost starting from their sockets. “I was the first one in her bed. If she is with child, it is mine.”

Outrage pouring through her, Georgie pushed past Rob and stalked up to Travers, who skidded to a stop. “You, my lord, are a liar.”