“The very same.”
“Well, that’s mildly unkind.”
Georgiana turned and asked, “Don’t you have places to be?”
“As we are indolent aristocrats,” Mara said, “no.”
It wasn’t true, of course. Mara ran a home for boys, and had raised thirty thousand pounds in close to a year to expand the home and send the boys to university. Pippa was a renowned horticulturalist, always speaking to some society of old men about her work with hybrid roses. And between raising a lovely little girl and preparing for a second child – who Bourne was certain was going to be a boy – Penelope was one of the most prominent, active members of the ladies’ side of the club.
These were not idle women.
So why did they insist on hounding her?
“The point is, Georgiana —”
“Oh, there is a point?”
“There is a point. Namely, that you think you are somehow different from every woman who has ever come before you.”
She was different.
“Even now, you think it. You think that because of this life you lead, because of your casino and your secret identity and the company you keep —”
“— present company excepted,” Penelope interjected.
“Obviously,” Mara agreed, turning back to Georgiana. “But because of the company you keep other than us, and the damn trousers you wear… you think you are different. You think you don’t deserve what every other woman deserves. What every other woman seems to have. Even worse, you think that even if you did deserve it, you don’t have the opportunity for it. Or maybe you think you don’t want it.”
“I don’t.” The words shocked everyone in the room, none more than Georgiana herself.
“Georgiana —” Mara was out of her chair, headed for her, when Georgiana held up a hand.
“No.” Mara stopped, and Georgiana was grateful for it. “Even if I could have it. Even if there were someone willing to give it to me – someone to have me despite my being saddled with ruin, an unwed mother, a casino owner with three male business partners and a bevy of prostitutes at my beck and call – I don’t want it.”
“You don’t want love?” Penelope sounded shocked.
Love. The thing that had seen her through the heights and depths of life. The threat of it had ruined her ten years ago, then the reality of it had made her strong and resolute when Caroline was born. And then, last night, it had lured her. “I do not. While it teases with its pretty words and prettier touches, love has already had a run at me, and I am too wrecked by it.”
There was a pause, then Mara asked, “But if he would have you? If he would give it to you?”
He. Duncan West.
“He does not seem the kind of man who would ruin you,” Penelope said.
“They never seem like the kind of men who would ruin you,” Georgiana replied.
They had lied so much to each other. It was hard to imagine the truth between them. She shook her head, spoke the words that she thought whenever he was near, and she ached for his touch, and she wished for more than one night. One week. “It is too dangerous.”
“For whom?”
An excellent question. “For both of us.”
The door opened, revealing Bourne. He crossed the room, not even looking at Georgiana, focused only on his wife, beaming at him from her place by the pram. He smiled, pulling her into his arms. “Hello, Sixpence, I would have come more quickly, but they only just told me you were here.”
Penelope smiled. “I came to see Stephen.” She nodded at the pram. “Doesn’t he look just like Temple?”
Bourne leaned over the sleeping child. “He does, indeed. Poor thing.”
Mara laughed. “I shall tell him you said it.”
He smiled. “I shall tell him first.” He looked to Georgiana, his smile fading. “But first, I’ve something to tell you.” He moved to sit in one of the large chairs, pulling Penelope down to his lap, placing a large hand over the place where his second child grew. “West went to Tremley today.”
She did not hide her surprise. “Why?”
Bourne shook his head. “It is unclear. But it was early, and he was not entirely welcome.” He paused. “And then he was somewhat irritated that we were following him.”
Her eyes widened. “You were seen?”
“It was Mayfair at nine o’clock in the morning. It’s not easy to hide.”
She sighed. “What happened?”
“He hit Bruno.” Bourne shrugged. “Bruno hit back, if that’s any consolation.”
It wasn’t.
“But the point is, there’s something there. He didn’t just want Tremley for the papers. He wanted him for more. And you should also know that he is furious with us.”
“With who?”
“With the Angel. And I think you’re the one to talk him down, so —”
A sharp knock sounded, interrupting the words, heralding one of the handful of people who knew that the owners’ suite existed. Pippa moved to the door, cracked it. Turned back. “I believe my line is, Something wicked this way comes.”
She opened the door wide to reveal Duncan West.
What in hell was he doing here?
Bourne was out of his chair instantly, setting Penelope on her feet as Georgiana headed for West, who was stepping over the threshold and into the room, his gaze taking in everything from the stained glass behind her to her aristocratic companions, finally settling on her. She saw irritation in his eyes when he looked at her, as though he had not been expecting her.