Pretty Persuasion Read Free

silly thing besotted with another man was beside the point. It was the principle of the matter. He'd obviously have to let Georgie go—but not before he had done his duty to her family and discovered what the devil she was about.

Two
     
    "O! glorious day! Attended Vauxhall with the Albermarles in the evening, where I happen'd upon the most extraordinary young Gentleman—tall, handsome, and of Vastly agreeable manners. Fear I abused the Ploy of dropping my kerchief to gain his attention. Am still unaware of his identity, but I know we shall meet again."
     
    — From the diary of Lady Georgiana Montford, aged 19
     
    GEORGIE WATCHED PHILLIP stride away, drinking in the sight of his tall, sinewy frame, the way he filled his well-cut coat, the confidence in his step. When he reached the pathway, he paused to steal a glance up and down the road before continuing. She expected him to look back, blow a kiss or flash a smile. He didn't.
    She heaved a sigh as he disappeared from view. If only he were willing to take the chance that her father might see the worth of his character rather than look for faults with his station and descent… But Georgie knew her father would frown upon Phillip being a "mere" baron, and only a second-generation one, at that.
    Phillip was right; they had to keep their plans a secret. Her chest grew heavy. There would be so much deception, so much guilt. But he was too important to her future, and she could not allow herself to be ruled by her conscience, not in this. No, it could be no other way.
    But enough dallying. She'd kept Louisa waiting far too long. She quickly smoothed down her dress—her new violet, printed cambric; it pleased Phillip when she wore the latest fashion—and patted her hair, leaving her bonnet off. She forced herself to saunter as she left the bower in the event that she should be observed.
    Someone coughed pointedly behind her. She startled, and her bonnet slipped out of her hand and landed on the ground with a soft rustle.
    "Hallo, Georgie," the man said.
    Oh, God. Her lungs tightened; she couldn't breathe. This was not happening. She should have been privy to his return, if not by gossip then by instinct alone. She'd always imagined she'd sense his presence the moment he set foot in England again. The moment he came home.
    It could not be him. And yet, she knew that voice. It was a trace deeper than she remembered, like a nearby crack of thunder rather than a distant rumble, and it belonged to a man who ought to be halfway across the world. She whirled, praying her ears had deceived her.
    Her mouth went dry, and her knees weakened. It
was
the Rat. Robert.
    No, no, she would not be that familiar. He was Sheffield now, and Lord Sheffield was not the Robert she knew. This man's presence crowded her. He seemed larger, his physique no longer resembling that of a society gentleman—he was brawnier, more solid. Pitiless.
    "Have you nothing to say, Georgie? No word of welcome? Come, now; surely you can manage something. An insult, perhaps?"
    He arched a brow and she struggled to come up with a response, but her mind went blank. Completely and utterly blank.
    He stepped closer—much too close but far enough away to rake his eyes over her. Still, she did not feel ogled. He studied her thoroughly, but with a kind of detachment that left her uncertain of his opinion.
    And though she wished with aching desperation that it were not so, the truth remained that his opinion mattered. It always had and no doubt always would. Nails digging into her palms, she searched his countenance for a hint of appreciation. Oh, how abominable this feeling, this longing for him to recognize that she was grown, even desirable—a yearning that was a betrayal of herself, but still would not be suppressed.
    Growing hot and flustered under his piercing gaze, she drew a deep breath and composed herself enough to study him in return. His walnut hair was a shade lighter, his skin darkened by a faint tan. A