One Night of Passion Read Free

“I can see my money was ill-spent on your upbringing. If that worthless Taft woman weren’t dead, I’d insist on getting every shilling back. Why, you sound like a Penzance doxy, not a decent miss about to become a countess.” He picked up his wineglass, then frowned when he discovered it empty, so he reached for the decanter. “Now off with you, baggage. I would like to finish my meal in peace.”
    Georgie leaned over the table and moved the decanter out of his grasp. She met his angry stare with a stubborn one of her own. He could say all he wanted about Mrs. Taft, for certainly she hadn’t been the best choice to teach the girls to be ladies. But right now, Georgie was thankful that she had learned other lessons from the worldly woman—like how to stand up for herself.
    “Uncle, if you have no say in this marriage matter, then I will discuss it with Lord Danvers. Summon him here. Tonight if you must.”
    He waved her off. “Impossible. The man is tied up with his own problems. And most likely has fled town by now. He was convicted of treason this morning, or so says the Times.” He shoved the newspaper lying beside his plate toward her. “You ought to consider yourself lucky that I had some say in this, or there is no telling who you would be engaged to right now.”
    “A traitor?” She glanced down at the headline and saw only too clearly that on this, her uncle was being honest. Treason. Her guardian had been convicted of treason. Other words from the long, detailed article leapt out at her.
    Dishonorable. Cowardly. Appalling.
    What had her father been thinking in leaving his children’s guardianship to such a man?
    For the first time in her life, Georgie found herself wishing that her uncle was her guardian. And as much as it graveled her to admit it, she needed his assistance.
    Desperately.
    Why, she’d even cater to him if she must, for the specter of some old, smelly man taking her to his bed was enough to restrain her temper over the situation.
    “Uncle, you did promise me a Season,” she said, edging the wine decanter a little closer to him, like a tempting bribe. “Let me have it so I can at least try to gain a better offer. ’Tis only three months’ time.”
    “A Season? For you?” Uncle Phineas shook his head. “Out of the question. Good money out the door on that one. Your sister mayhap, for she’ll fetch a fine fortune with some help from your Aunt Verena. But you? Hardly.” He laughed, and his merriment stung even if it held some measure of truth.
    At one and twenty, she was a little old to be venturing into the Marriage Mart, and she’d be the first to admit she wasn’t the delicate and cultured miss preferred by the men of the ton.
    She was too tall, too rounded of figure to be called lithe or petite. And far too headstrong ever to keep her opinions strictly on such safe subjects as the weather or her favorite flavor of ices at Gunter’s. Especially when her favorite topics were Italian art and innovations in navigation.
    Still, it didn’t hurt to try. There had to be some man out there who would take her off her uncle’s hands. She cast aside the last remaining shreds of her pride and resorted to begging.
    “Surely, Uncle, even you can spare me the consideration of a Season, and if not for me, then out of respect for my father’s memory.”
    The moment she said the words, she knew she’d gone too far, for Uncle Phineas’s face went a mottled shade almost as ruddy as the wine in the decanter.
    “Bloody consideration? I’ve gone and found you a husband worth twenty thousand a year, and you throw it back at me like some spoiled Bath miss. And how dare you call on your father’s memory as if he were some saint. Bah! He made his choice when he took your mother to wife. French trash, that one. And did he listen to his family or friends? No! Well, he learned his lesson the hard way when she murdered him, and I’ll not see this family disgraced again with a runaway marriage or