Pretty Persuasion Read Free Page B

future? The future it had taken her years of soul-searching to plan to perfection and which was now so close, so completely within her reach.
    Or rather, it had been. Before the Rat had returned.
    She would not have it. He must be deterred, and summarily. "You'd be too late," she stated, hoping her voice quivered less than her insides. "I intend to tell Father all about it this evening."
    Robert raised a dubious eyebrow. He looked the way she felt; the declaration had surprised her, as well. But now that she had jumped on that horse there was nothing to do but ride it and hope she wouldn't be thrown.
    "So you see," she continued, "you'd be wasting your time, and you'd look foolish into the bargain."
    "Give it up, Georgie. I heard your conversation. That precious little dandy of yours made his position quite clear."
    "Oh, that." She made a dismissive gesture, praying he wouldn't notice her hand shaking. "Phillip has too little confidence in his own worth, so he refuses to believe Father would give us his blessing. I shall speak to Father and clear the way. I foresee no complications."
    "I see," he said in a hesitant tone, one that clearly communicated his disbelief. "I expect you're also going to inform the duke that our understanding is at an end?"
    Georgie didn't know why she hesitated, why her tongue suddenly seemed glued to the roof of her mouth. It was not because agreeing would cause a scandal, not really. Their "betrothal" had always been an unofficial agreement, and one of which few outside their immediate families were aware.
    "Naturally," she said at length, striving to sound blasé.
    He gave a short nod. "Excellent."
    And there it was—over with, done with, definite. The end of Georgiana and Robert; the dissolution of a twenty-year-old expectation. It was an odd feeling—a good one, she supposed, though unquestionably strange.
    They stood there for a while, neither uttering a word. Robert began to speak, then caught himself and shook his head, as if he'd been about to blurt something absurd.
    "I really must go." Feeling as if she were a marionette on strings tugged by some invisible force, she offered her hand. He took it and bowed like a man who had performed the act countless times before. Which he had, of course, but oh my, how polite they were being all of a sudden! It would have amused her except she suddenly couldn't remember how amusement felt.
    He didn't release her hand but kept it there, more firmly enveloped within his own than propriety allowed. And, God help her, she was transfixed, unable to break away.
    "Georgie…" He said it much too quietly, as intimate as a caress, and she shivered with undefined emotion.
    This was wrong—so terribly, dreadfully wrong.
    "Good bye, Robert," she said, then had to suppress the growl that rose in her chest:
Why
had she used his Christian name?
    She dislodged her hand, spun around, and all but ran toward the garden path, away from Robert Balfour and feelings she didn't care to examine.
    She didn't look back.
    " WHAT HAPPENED?" LOUISA leapt to her feet, her searching eyes alight with curiosity.
    "What do you think happened? Rob—" Blast it! "
Sheffield
showed up, that's what! He now knows about Phillip and me, and he threatened to tell Father. Why didn't you stop him?"
    Her friend's mouth twisted. "I tried, but he was determined to find you." She craned her neck to look past Georgie. "Where is he? Did he leave the other way?"
    "I don't care—as long as he's not following me." She didn't think he would, but better to not stand around in case he should. She tugged on Louisa's arm. "Come along."
    As they hurried through the garden, Louisa attempted to pry more information out of her, but Georgie only answered in monosyllables. By the time they approached the terrace, it had become exceedingly crowded. The dissonant, staccato chords drifting through the French windows explained the emigration from the parlor; someone was murdering Lord Mansell's pianoforte.
    Louisa