Bound with Passion Read online

  Georgie smiled benevolently at the innkeeper, then back to Trevor. “I slipped in late last night—”

  “Yes, the other gentleman said you would—” began the innkeeper, eager to preserve his reputation.

  “What other gentleman?” Trevor interrupted with a raised brow.

  Georgie slid her arm through his and turned him toward the parlor. “Let’s catch up over lunch, shall we? The innkeeper must mean one of the men I’d hired to carry all my trunks and my special gifts for you and Rushford.”

  The innkeeper shook his head and went back to his bookkeeping.

  Trevor tipped his hat to the man and then squeezed Georgie to his side. “I am so pleased to see you, darling. And looking so well.”

  “You’re such a charmer. I know I must look like I’ve been dragged through the Sahara. My skin has become coarse, my arms thick.”

  “Your strength has always appealed to me, you know that.” He smiled and showed her to a table near the window.

  His compliment gave her an unfamiliar blush. “Where is Rushford?” she asked quickly. “Did he also ride ahead to meet me, or are you traveling alone?”

  “No.” Trevor seemed preoccupied, and he kept looking at her in an unusually assessing way. “I wanted to speak to you privately.”

  “Truly? I can’t imagine what you could possibly have to say to me that you wouldn’t say in front of Rushford. Is he as darling as I remember? I’m hoping we can spend lots and lots of time together on this visit, so I can get to know and love him as thoroughly as you do.”

  If Georgie hadn’t known better, she’d suspect that her innocuous statement was making Trevor blush. He looked unaccountably shy.

  Before she could press him for details, the serving girl came over and asked what they’d like to drink, and told them what was on offer for lunch. They ordered, and then Georgie gave Trevor her full attention, reaching for his hands. “What is it, my dear? You look troubled. You know I’ll do anything you need. Is it money?”

  He narrowed his eyes and exhaled. “In a way . . .”

  “Well, that’s easily solved! It turns out I’m quite clever with my finances—my mother’s daughter, in that at least. How is Vanessa, by the by? Still managing everyone?” Georgie knew it was wrong of her to cast her mother in this negative light, but Vanessa was managing, and it was tedious.

  “She and Nora are wonderful.”

  Georgie looked at the wood of the round table, where the sun caught the high polish. “Nora has always been wonderful.”

  “Vanessa has always been wonderful too, Georgie.”

  She looked up. “Yes, yes. Of course she is. So how much do you need? I’ll have it sent up from London.”

  When their drinks arrived, Trevor looked politely at the serving girl, then refocused on Georgie. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

  “Complicated?”

  “This is rather more awkward than I thought when James and I were speaking about it.”

  Georgie smiled and took a sip of her lemonade—her lady’s drink, she thought with a wrinkled nose—and set her glass down. “You don’t ever need to feel awkward with me, Trevor. We’ve seen each other through every possible stage of our silly lives, haven’t we? Remember when I first got my courses? What could possibly be more awkward than that?”

  He paused, then looked straight into her eyes. “I want to marry you.”

  She choked on the second sip of lemonade, and within seconds Trevor was standing behind her, patting her back and giving her one of his perfectly monogrammed linen handkerchiefs to help contain the spray that was threatening to explode from her nose. Several other patrons of the inn turned to make sure she wasn’t actually choking to death, but with a quick smile and nod from Trevor, they were assured of her non-imminent demise.

  When he sat back down across from her, he simply stared. And she simply stared back. And then she started laughing uncontrollably. Her eyes watered, her nostrils burned. He smiled at her and let her mirth run its course.

  “I’ve missed you terribly,” he said at last.

  She breathed deep to prevent a new wave of merriment from overtaking her. “So much so that you now want to marry me?”

  “No!” He smiled through his words. “I mean, yes, of course I’ve missed you desperately and wish you would just move home already, but this isn’t about that.”

  “Are you certain?” She ventured another sip of the lemonade and prayed he didn’t say anything equally absurd while she attempted to swallow it. The idea of Trevor having romantic notions about her was just . . . preposterous. And yet, a silly flush was creeping up her cheeks at the mere idea of it. What if . . .? Of course not!

  “Yes.” He was quite serious this time. “I’m certain. This is not some ploy to bind you to a life you despise.” It was a life he adored, so she always felt small when he said it like that.

  “Oh, don’t say it that way, darling. I don’t despise England. We’re just . . . a poorly matched pair.” She smiled at the equine reference. “Speaking of pairs, have you seen Cyrus and Saladeen?”

  “I have, actually.” He sat back and gazed at her. “I went into the stables a few minutes ago, and there they were looking as regal and out of place as you promised. I was surprised you weren’t bedded down with them in the hay.”

  His good humor was contagious. “Truth be told, it was the first night in many that I didn’t bed down with them.”

  “You can’t be serious.” He looked appalled at the idea. If he only knew.

  “Quite serious.” She waved her gloved hand to swat away that conversation. She’d tell him about her life as George—at some point, or maybe never—but not now. “Now, go back to this perplexing marriage proposal. You must be serious about it or you never would have risked sending me into convulsions. Why?”

  He tapped the table with his index finger several times, then stopped and looked up at her. “It’s my father. He’s gone a bit berserk ever since my mother died—”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss—you received my letters, yes?”

  “Yes, thank you. It wasn’t awful—as far as these things go. She was in fine fettle, and then last winter she fell ill, and she was gone in a matter of weeks. I understand my father’s misery—he was entirely devoted to her—but her absence has, well, made him quite . . . difficult. He’s threatening to withhold my inheritance if I don’t marry . . . a woman.”

  She smiled at the unnecessary addendum. Of course, James and Trevor had been living together as bachelors for many years, but Trevor’s father had never—would never—accept the truth of their partnership. “Thank you for clarifying your father’s preference for the gender of the person you marry.”

  When he looked at her then, Georgie saw something so much deeper, so much tenderer than her light words could possibly allay. The man was in trouble. Not because of who he was or whom he loved, but because this damnable society was punishing him for being the wonderful person he was. Her heart hammered for him.

  “What about my assets?” she asked pragmatically. “I’m generous, but I shan’t become feme covert, even for you, my sweet. I shall never be a man’s property.”

  “Are you s-saying—” He stuttered. “Are you even willing to entertain the idea, if we can iron out the logistics of you retaining your independence, financial and otherwise?”

  She spread her arms wide. “As you can see. Here I am, entertaining the idea of marrying you.”

  “Oh, my dear, dear friend.”

  “There are many particulars, I presume. Your father isn’t going to simply accept a marriage of convenience. First off, I shan’t have children under any circumstances—”

  “Oh! Of course not! No. I mean—” He stuttered again, and Georgie reached for his hand and held it in hers. “Not that I wouldn’t, you know, if you ever wanted that, I mean—”

  The poor man. “I love you, Trevor. You know that. Just tell me everything and we will sort it out. You won’t ever need to bed
me, if that’s what you’re getting to.” The words came out sounding cavalier enough, but something went a bit haywire in Georgie’s chest when she uttered the words bed me while looking into Trevor’s eyes and holding his hand in hers.

  He squeezed her hand and breathed a sigh. “James thought I was crazy to even suggest it—the marriage, I mean!—but I knew you would be your breezy self. I’m so relieved you didn’t take offense.”

  “Offense? James must think very little of me if that’s what he thought.”

  “No. Quite the opposite. He thinks very highly of you and didn’t want you to think I was—oh, I don’t know—toying with you or forcing you into anything.”

  “Well,” she chuckled, “then he and I really do need to get to know each other better, because you of all people know that I will not be forced into anything . . . ever.”

  Trevor laughed and then leaned across the table and kissed her cheek. That damn flush crept up her neck again, and she shivered and pretended it was the draft that had just come into the parlor as the front door swung open.

  “That’s exactly what I told him,” Trevor continued. “That’s why you were the perfect person to ask. You would never be coerced into doing something you didn’t want to do.”

  She smiled back at him. “Quite so.”

  “James then made a joke about whether or not you could be coerced into something you did want to do.”

  “Oh, I like him all over again for saying that.” Georgie patted Trevor’s hand and slipped her own back into her lap. There had been some sort of tingling in her palms when she held Trevor’s hand in hers, and that needed to stop immediately. What in the world had got into her? Her best friend was asking her for what amounted to a legal favor; he was not pledging his troth, for goodness’ sake.

  She sat up straighter, took another sip of lemonade, and then looked him straight in the eye. “How soon do you want to call the banns?”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon meticulously sorting out the details of a settlement. It turned out Trevor really had no need of her funds; once he married, according to the terms of his father’s wishes, he would inherit both the real property and a sizable portion of the income from his mother’s myriad investments. His family home, Mayfield House, was a vast country estate in need of renovation and attention. All of the agriculture had stagnated under his father’s less-than-watchful eyes, and Trevor was eager to implement the latest crop rotations and irrigation schemes.

  Knowing this, Viscount Mayfield was threatening to halt any financial support for the modernization of Mayfield House and the surrounding lands. If that occurred, Trevor was sure the place would descend into bankruptcy within five years, if not sooner. How his father could allow that to happen—to embark upon a self-destructive path that was so obviously motivated by spite—Georgie did not want to contemplate. The viscount had always preferred his life in London, and the glory of Mayfield was lost on him. Not so Trevor, who had inherited his mother’s love of the land.

  The next day they rode into Derby and met with their respective solicitors. It was all very unusual according to Messrs. Ward and Wooley, but they drew up the papers nonetheless, and everything was sealed with wax and rings and stamps.

  As the somber clerks went about their business, Georgie turned to Trevor. “I am finding this all quite delightful! To be poking fun at the law satisfies my rebellious nature, and to be helping you attain what was rightfully yours suits my heart.”

  He lifted her ungloved hand and kissed it. “You suit me, Georgie.” There was nothing more to it, she told herself. They were best friends. That’s all he meant. Of course that’s what he meant. He loved James Rushford. Why was her silly heart fluttering, then? Preposterous heart.

  “I am to marry my best friend. How lucky am I?” She turned to Trevor and laughed from the sheer joy of it all, then handed him the pen for him to sign the rest of the documents that granted her complete financial independence.

  The lawyers and clerks merely shook their heads while Georgie and Trevor laughed and signed page after page. When Trevor had signed the last line, he set down the pen and looked at her. “There. Now you will be my wife.” His smile was tentative and adorable, filled with wonder and gratitude.

  In name only, she reminded herself briskly.

  They reached Mayfield two days later, and Georgie decided to stay on with James and Trevor for a little while longer—ostensibly to settle Cyrus and Saladeen into their new home, but mostly to postpone seeing her mother and having to remove to Camburton Castle for the remainder of her visit.

  James was waiting for them at the front door when they rode into the forecourt of Mayfield. Trevor leapt off his horse and tossed the reins to a groom who waited nearby, then took the front steps two at a time to get to James.

  Georgie dismounted more slowly, breathing in the familiar air of home, and trying not to be too obvious about her interest in how Trevor and James behaved in front of the servants. Did they embrace? Shake hands? Nod?

  A second groom took hold of Cyrus for her and she turned casually to see James and Trevor by the front door. They were somehow intimate and appropriate all at once. Trevor had one strong hand gripping Rushford’s firm upper arm and was laughing and talking all at once. Georgie heard bits of the conversation on the wind—“she said yes” came out clearly, and James turned to catch Georgie looking at them. He mouthed a thank you, then returned his attention to Trevor.

  She ascended the steps with ladylike poise, taking care not to stumble on the reams of fabric. She’d got back into the habit of being a lady over the past few days, but it still felt like she was playing a part.

  “Lady Georgiana!” James patted Trevor once on the cheek, then walked around him to greet her. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again after all these years.” He took her hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. “I’ve missed your sparkling company.”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you as well, Mr. Rushford.”

  “What’s all this Mr. Rushford and Lady Georgiana blather?” Trevor asked on a laugh. “Come inside at once and let’s the three of us have tea and cease with these silly formalities. There’s much to celebrate, and I want to be festive with my two favorite people in the world.”

  Rushford held out his forearm for Georgie to take. Very formal. Very appropriate. She rested her hand lightly on the fine fabric of his jacket and accompanied him into the grand front hall. “Thank you. A million thank-yous,” he said in a low, intimate tone. “You have saved this place, but more importantly, you have saved Trevor. I am indebted to you forever.”

  He spoke with such earnest regard, and in a way that was a bit close to her ear. The hot breath of his words tickled Georgie’s neck and she had a strange sensual response to the man’s nearness. Her breasts tightened and a fizzing awareness simmered low in her belly. Perhaps she’d been too long alone on her journey, or perhaps being in England was doing something to her, because it seemed as if every man of her acquaintance was suddenly making her think of . . . fornicating.

  She inhaled to clear her muddled thoughts and then smiled brightly up at James. “It was nothing at all. A favor from one friend to another.”

  He looked taken aback, almost hurt. “Oh, no. It was so much more than that, Lady Georgiana—”

  “Please call me Georgie. I insist.”

  “Very well, Georgie. But you must know what an enormous gift you’ve given him, and how hard it was for him to ask. He simply adores you, you know, and the idea that he was perhaps risking the intimate friendship that you’ve shared all these years. Well, it has been quite a difficult few months while he tried to figure out how best to broach the topic.”

  Perhaps a cold bucket of water was required, thought Georgie, because that devilish flush returned when Rushford said the words he adores you. And worse, she had an image flash in her mind of what it would be like if her intimate friend—and his partner—happened to simply adore her body. The vision was quite abrupt and quite clear. And then it w
as gone in a snap. She opted for silence, lest her voice betray her bizarre imaginings.

  “I am garrulous and you must be tired from your journey.” James laughed at himself and Georgie felt it rumble through her. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to launch into an endless stream before we’d even reached the drawing room. I’m just so grateful, on Trevor’s behalf of course. So grateful.”

  He quieted until they reached the splendid drawing room. When they entered, the fire was crackling and a large tea had been laid out in advance of their arrival.

  “Here we are,” James announced, patting Georgie’s hand where it rested on his forearm, then releasing her and crossing the room to join Trevor.

  The two men stood close together, not actually touching, yet an undeniable heat arced between them. Heat, or love perhaps. They seemed relieved and happy to be in one another’s company, and Georgie enjoyed the simple pleasure of being with like-minded friends. She hoped her strange attraction to Trevor—and now, it seemed, James—would wear off in the next few days, and if it didn’t, at least she would be on her way back to Egypt soon enough. Neither of them fancied her, and it would be preposterous to pursue anything in the bedroom even if they did.

  Preposterous.

  At least that’s what she kept telling herself as one day passed into two, and then a week. She was avoiding going to see her mother, and spending time with James and Trevor was distracting and joyful. Trevor was as mad about horses as she was, and the two of them would ride for hours each day. James was quick-witted and charming, regaling them with stories over dinner about the latest on-dits from London. On-dits that nearly always featured titillating escapades of the aristocracy, which he would finish telling and then raise an eyebrow toward Trevor. The sexual tension between the two men was palpable.

  And no business of Georgie’s.

  At the end of that enjoyable week, Trevor finally played the adult and prodded her about visiting her mother.