The Season for Loving: A Renegade Royals Novella Read online

  But Eliza clamped a hand on her husband’s arm and tugged him around. Although Fergus couldn’t hear what she said, she spoke with animation, gesturing to the other side of the dance floor. When Bertie set off in that direction, Eliza looked straight at Fergus and winked.

  Good God, another bloody matchmaker in the house. While that should make him happy, he felt the weight of guilt on his shoulders. Because at the end of the day he was going to have to disappoint them all—especially Georgie, it would seem.

  They passed through the doors and into the hall, where the sound of holiday revels was now muted. Georgie cast a quick glance at his face, and her smile died. “You’re looking quite frowny, all of the sudden. Perhaps you’re not happy with me dragging you all over the place, after all.” She made a funny, adorable grimace. “I’ve been doing that for the last two weeks without a word of complaint from you. How dreadful of me to be so selfish.”

  Fergus simply couldn’t lie to her, even if he should. “It’s been the opposite of dreadful. In fact, I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.”

  She grinned. “Then I can get on with the dragging?”

  He should say no. But soon enough he would have to say goodbye, probably forever. Like a greedy fool, he couldn’t pass up the chance to spend more time with her, storing up as many memories as he could.

  He held out a hand in silent invitation. She slipped her fingers into his and led him across the hall. The butler scrambled to reach the door before them, holding it open with a flourishing bow. “Allow me, Mademois—er, Miss Georgette,” Florian said.

  She sweetly thanked him. As they walked past, Fergus swore the man gave him a wink.

  Demented. The whole lot of them.

  He’d intended to leave the door open, but Florian closed it with a decided click. Georgie let go his arm and breathed out a relieved sigh. “Oh, this is so much better. I was finding it rather hot and crowded in the ballroom.”

  “That’s because you’ve been dancing so much. I don’t think you’ve sat out one set.”

  Georgie paused on the way to her brother’s enormous desk at the end of the imposing, oak paneled room. “Goodness, Mr. Haddon. Do I detect a note of disapproval? Do you think I’m having too good a time?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that—” He clamped his lips shut. After all, what could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a coxcomb? He had no right to be jealous, and he should be happy she was enjoying herself. Georgie deserved to have fun.

  “Oh,” she said, her expression going flat. “You think I’m exerting myself too much. That I’m wearing myself out.”

  He took a quick step toward her. “No. You should dance as much as you want, and have as much fun as you want. No one deserves it more.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “Then what is it?”

  “Well, it’s rather stupid.”

  “I won’t mind, I promise.”

  “You haven’t danced with me, that’s all,” he said.

  Her eyebrows flew up in a comical arch. “You haven’t asked me to dance.”

  “I know,” he said with a rueful smile. “But there’s been quite the line in front of me.”

  She studied him for a moment longer before giving him a smile he couldn’t decipher. “It’s rather splendid, don’t you think? I’ve never been the belle of the ball until tonight.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He sounded like a persnickety old bachelor.

  With another enigmatic smile, Georgie flitted behind her brother’s desk. But instead of retrieving the Bible, she plucked a glass from the drinks trolley tucked behind the desk and poured a healthy splash of brandy from one of the decanters.

  “Ah, what are you doing?” he asked as she took a sip.

  She let out a sigh replete with satisfaction. The warm, voluptuous sound sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin, and he had a sudden, vivid image of a naked and sated Georgie sighing in his arms.

  “I’m having some brandy, you silly man,” she said, coming round to perch on the front of the desk. She got comfortable, as if she intended to stay for a while.

  “I didn’t know you drank brandy.” Georgie never drank anything alcoholic except ratafia or a small glass of wine with dinner.

  “Only on occasion, and only when I’m by myself. Bertie’s a bit of an old stick when it comes to that sort of thing.”

  “And he’s never noticed?” Given the eagle eye Bertie kept on her, Fergus thought that rather amazing. Then again, brothers were dolts when it came to sisters. They generally saw only what they wanted to see.

  She wrinkled her nose in that adorable way of hers. He was seized with the impulse to kiss the tip of that pert nose then head due south to her lush mouth.

  “I usually sneak down late at night, once everyone’s gone to bed,” she said. “I drink only for medicinal purposes, of course. It helps me sleep.”

  He laughed.

  “Then you don’t disapprove?” She sounded as if she’d been expecting the opposite reaction.

  “Only that it’s brandy and not whisky, which is what any self-respecting lass from Scotland would drink.”

  Her eyes softened. “I’d love to visit Scotland someday.”

  He’d love that too—more than anything. “Perhaps you shall. Someday,” he said in a polite tone.

  One corner of her mouth pulled into a funny, sideways quirk. She held the glass out to him. “Would you like a sip? I know it’s not whiskey, but it’s an excellent vintage. Bertie discovered it when he was recuperating in France. He brought several casks back with him.”

  When he hesitated, one of her eyebrows went up. “Are you afraid your whisky won’t be able to hold up against a fine French brandy?”

  He couldn’t hold back a smile.

  “Ah, lass,” he said, letting his brogue deepen. “Didn’t ye know that no self-respecting Scotsman could ever say no to a dare, especially one coming from a wee Sassenach?”

  She smothered a laugh. “Good Lord. That brogue of yours is a bit much sometimes.” Still, he couldn’t help noticing that she was blushing.

  By the time he prowled over to the desk, her cheeks had turned quite rosy and her gaze drifted over him in a way that made the blood rush through his veins.

  When he took the glass from her hand, her lips parted and she drew in a deep breath. “I’m so happy you wore your kilt,” she whispered. “You look smashing.”

  Holding her admiring gaze, Fergus took a drink. The smooth burn slid down his throat, sending warmth into his stomach and all through his body. A heady sort of anticipation seemed to shimmer in the air between them. God, he wanted to taste the brandy on her lips and in her mouth.

  “It’s not whisky, but it’ll do.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rough.

  And hungry.

  Georgie gave a little shiver. Through a haze of desire, it occurred to Fergus that she might be cold. After the heated environment of the ballroom, it was no wonder.

  “Are you cold?” he asked gruffly.

  “Actually, I feel like I’m on fire.”

  She plucked the glass from his hand and all but dropped it onto the desk. Then she reached up and wrapped her hands around the back of his neck. Fergus was so surprised that it didn’t even occur to him to resist when she pulled his head down and clamped her sweet mouth on his.

  In an instant, Georgie became the world. There was nothing but the feel of her mouth on his, of her hands around his neck, of her slim body arching up to cuddle against him. He wrapped his hands around her shoulders, hanging on as if she was the only steady point in all of creation.

  And, God, what a kiss. It was so enthusiastically awkward and heartfelt that it was a wonder he could even keep steady on his feet. Fergus had kissed his share of willing lasses over the years, girls who had more experience than he had. He’d enjoyed all those kisses and the caresses that had followed. But none had prepared him for Georgie.

  He slid his arms down to her waist and pulled her
against him, bringing her clean off the desk. When she squeaked and her lips parted, Fergus took full advantage. He slipped inside, teasing her with his tongue, enjoying the taste of hot brandy and delicious girl. She quivered in his embrace, but then pressed herself closer as she murmured deep in her throat.

  Sensation crashed through the remaining frayed threads of his self-restraint. He’d spent the last two years living like a monk, his penance self-imposed. But with Georgie’s body pressed against him, her lips moving over his in a teasing slide, all those dreary months slipped away. She was everything he wanted—generosity, acceptance, and love. Everything he’d been convinced would be forever denied him.

  He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted, setting her gently down on the desk. They broke apart, and their kiss seemed to shimmer and then dissolve into the space between them. It was a bittersweet moment. Their first kiss, and already he mourned its passing.

  Georgie stared up at him with eyes glittering with emotion. He felt his throat go tight.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure?”

  Her smile was as soft as a drift of fallen snow. “It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Fergus touched the bare skin of her shoulder, soft as the velvet of her dress. He leaned down to nuzzle her lips and gradually deepened the kiss. Georgie squirmed closer and dug her fingers into his hips, silently urging him closer. But when her fingers bunched into the fabric of his kilt and begin to inch it up, he froze in shock. The realization of what he was doing lanced through his brain like a bolt of lightening.

  Bloody hell.

  Two years ago, Alec had been caught in a similar position with Edie, even though he’d still been officially betrothed to Fergus’ sister. Fergus had almost killed Alec over the betrayal, or what Fergus had seen as the betrayal.

  And yet here he was acting in much the same way with his host’s innocent, virginal sister.

  It didn’t matter that Georgie seemed as entranced as he was. Fergus was a mature man and he should be looking out for her, not taking advantage of her innocence. He was both a cad and a hypocrite, and if he could horsewhip himself he would do it in an instant.

  He pried her hands from his body and stepped away.

  “What…what are you doing?” she stuttered. “Why are you stopping?”

  “Because I must,” he said tersely. “This is wrong, and we both know it.”

  She sat perched on the edge of the desk, her mouth soft and glistening from his kisses. For a few seconds, he could only stare at her, despair fastening its grip on his heart. He wanted her so much and yet could never have her.

  Georgie’s stunned expression transformed into an irritated scowl. “Fergus, are you trying to say you don’t have feelings for me? Because I certainly have feelings for you, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

  “Well, those feelings are…wrong.” As explanations went, it was entirely pathetic, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. It would be too gruesome a burden to place on her.

  “But—”

  He cut her off. “Whatever you might think, it’s simply impossible. I’ve behaved like a bounder, and I beg your apology, Miss Gage. Now, I suggest we retrieve that recipe and return to the party before it’s too late.”

  Her eyes smoldered. “Too late for what?”

  “For anything.”

  Refusing to take his hand, she hopped to the floor on her own, all the while scowling at him with a ferocity he found rather surprising. Miss Georgie Gage clearly had a temper—and a great deal of suppressed passion.

  She stalked around the desk and yanked the Bible from its shelf, flipping it open to extract the recipe. Slamming the tome shut, she put it back and stormed to the door.

  “Georgie, wait.”

  She ground to a halt, and then slowly turned. Her expression was carefully controlled, but her eyes blazed with emotion. “What?” She practically bit off the word and spat it out at his feet.

  “I…nothing. I’m sorry. That’s all.”

  She stared at him with outrage, then spun on her heel and headed for the door—loudly muttering a few oaths that had him blinking at their salty nature. When she marched into the entrance hall, Fergus had no choice but to follow.

  She was halfway across the hall when her brother emerged from the ballroom. “There you are,” Bertie said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Well, you’ve found me,” she growled. “What do you want?”

  Bertie looked comically dismayed, then his gaze flickered over to Fergus. It took only a moment for the genial host to disappear. “What’s going on here?” he asked in a lethally soft voice.

  Georgie let out a bitter laugh. “Absolutely nothing. I was simply fetching something from the old family Bible to show Lady Reese.”

  Bertie never took his suspicious gaze from Fergus. “And you needed Mr. Haddon’s help for that?”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not what it—”

  “Pardon, Monsieur, er, pardon me, Mr. ‘addon,” Florian said, appearing as if by magic from the back hall. He carried a small tray with a teacup, and wore a solicitous smile.

  “Yes?” Fergus said, frowning at him.

  “I ‘ave your chamomile tea, as you asked,” the butler said. “For the stomach that is upset.”

  Florian was a genius. Fergus hated that he would look like a coward in Georgie’s eyes, but it was for the best. She didn’t need to fight with her brother, and no one needed to know what had happened in the library. He couldn’t bear the idea of any nasty rumors besmirching her reputation.

  “Oh, thank you,” he said, reaching for the cup. He took a sip, repressing a grimace at the ghastly taste. It was barely warm and certainly wasn’t chamomile.

  Georgie and her brother stared at him with almost identical expressions of disbelief.

  “Do you really expect me to believe that’s what was going on?” Bertie demanded. “That you’ve been waiting for Florian to treat your bilious insides?”

  Fergus took another sip and gave him a pained smile. It wasn’t hard to pull off because the beverage tasted like dirty socks stewed in ditch water.

  Bertie’s suspicious gaze slid back to his sister.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said. “I just wanted the blasted wassail recipe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lady Reese is waiting.” She gave Fergus a last burning glare, then turned and marched into the ballroom.

  Leaving Fergus with a cup of something truly vile, a conspiratorial butler, and a brother who looked like he wanted to murder him. “Happy Christmas,” he said, raising his cup in a toast.

  Bertie muttered a few choice words that were decidedly lacking in holiday cheer before stalking after his sister.

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  The long case clock outside Georgie’s bedroom bonged out the late hour. The house was finally quiet, everyone safely in bed after the night’s revelries.

  Except for her. She sat in her window alcove, her feet tucked up under her thick flannel wrapper. The fire flickered merrily in the grate, throwing soft patterns of light and shadow throughout the room.

  She gazed through the new double-paned windows at the gardens and the expansive lawn rolling away from the house. A gentle but steady snowfall filled the night sky and slowly blanketed the grounds. Crisply trimmed hedges grew soft and fluffy like cotton balls, and the gravel paths disappeared beneath a frosting of white. It was a perfect Christmas night. If she listened very carefully, she might even hear the music of the spheres or an angel’s celestial song.

  What sentimental twaddle.

  Georgie sighed at the cynical voice in her brain, but it was turning out to be a terrible Christmas, when she’d been hoping it would be the best. After all, for the first time in her life, she was in love. Until a few hours ago, she’d thought Fergus was, too.

  Her ridiculous suggestion that he pretend to court her had actually led to
something wonderful. Georgie had told herself that she’d made the impetuous offer as more of a lark than anything else, and as an excuse to spend more time with someone she quite liked. Now, however, she knew the truth—she’d been falling in love with Fergus even then. Her madcap plan hadn’t been a lark, but a last-ditch effort to turn her dreams into reality.

  Now reality had come crashing down around her ears, and in the most humiliating way she could imagine. Georgie was either a very bad kisser—and that was certainly a possibility, given his horrified reaction to her—or she’d completely misjudged the nature of his attentions. Frankly, she didn’t know which would be worse.

  She slid down from the window seat and headed for her bed. Tomorrow would be a long day. There were boxes to hand out to the servants, and then the skating party for the estate tenants and their children. Under the circumstances, it would never do to look pale and melancholic. Bertie and Mrs. Clotworthy would start to fuss, and Georgie knew she didn’t have the fortitude to deal with them.

  She also knew she had to greet Fergus with some degree of equanimity. She wasn’t sure she had the fortitude for that either. Fortunately, his party would be departing for Hampshire in a few days, and she’d never see him again. That, she’d told herself at least a hundred times in the last few hours, was a good thing.

  A soft knock sounded at the door. Her heart thudded, and for a wild moment she imagined it might be Fergus, coming to apologize.

  “Enter,” she called out.

  Eliza stuck her head around the door. “May I come in, dear?”

  Georgie sighed. “Yes, of course.” She was surprised when Evie Endicott followed Eliza into the room. They were both dressed in sturdy wrappers, with slippers on their feet and frilly caps on their heads.

  “What’s all this about?” Georgie asked. “Did Bertie send you to check-up on me?”

  “Lord, no. He’s snoring away like a dragon with a head cold,” Eliza said. “I could probably hit him over the head with a bedpan, and he wouldn’t feel a thing.”