Page 86 of Better Love Next Time
“Still, he has shown a particular interest, yes? And if what you say is true, perhaps I can reform him.”
He shoved up and planted himself beside her in the narrow bed. Hands fisted, he shook them at the night. “That dog. That bloody dog. An insult to canines the world over. Why did you keep this from me?”
“I believed it of no interest to you.” Sitting up, she looped her arm about his waist and kissed her fingertip to place on his lips. He jerked away. She settled for his shoulder. “Do not be cross. All of us have secrets. Do you divulge your every association to me?”
“So Anthony Philips is a secret.”
“No, he is not.” She tempered her voice. Her room was far from the family wing but shouting would be heard. “I never thought of him as a potential husband until tonight. And I must marry. At least, if I were to marry Anthony—if he would have me—we could see each other. We could still be friends.”
A long, low growl emitted from his chest. “Exactly.”
“Sir Jeffrey has little funds left. You might say it’s silly, but I fear he might auction me off. They do that, I’ve read. Before Sir Jeffrey sold my mother’s pianoforte, the butcher demanded payment, and I was forced to barter with a gun.”
Julian roused from his sulk. “What did you do? He will miss that gun. A man like him, guns are like mistresses, wives. How much did you barter for?”
“Swofford only required three pounds,” she said, frowning. “But I hadn’t ready coin, and Mrs. Woodberry said we had nothing to eat save beans and greens. I reviewed the ledgers and found an entry for eight pounds, ten shillings for a rifled gun. So I put nine pounds on our account with the gun.”
“Oh God. A rifled gun?” He hung his head. “I’ll visit Swofford tomorrow and get the gun back. And visit the goldsmith and give you half of my money on account.”
“But that is your money. No. I will not take it.”
Julian pressed her to her back, all traces of anger gone. Worry had replaced it. “I admire your resourcefulness. I do. But accept my gift. Please. Or I will have to…” He tiptoed his fingers along the curve of her hip, pausing at her the inlet of her waist. “Tickle you.”
He smothered her giggle with a deep kiss, and the anger that had turned to worry, shifted to the unrestrained passion of youth. Julian reached the center of her senses. He made everything not just tolerable, but bright and shining and perfect. They could argue and laugh and join in wild hunger in tangled sheets, and if that was not love, Kitty would never know the emotion.
Before dawn, Julian woke her with a tender loving and promised to return by noon. He nudged her nose before he departed. Their secret truth.You are everything right and good in my life, and what is wrong is my doing.
Kitty was sowing lettuce seeds in the kitchen garden when Georgiana rounded Notfelle’s corner astride her huge bay stallion and came to a precise halt at the end of the row.
Beneath her cocked hat, Georgiana surveyed Kitty kneeling in dirt. “I have not seen you in eighteen days. Nor have I received a letter. I called, but they said you were ill. You are recovered?”
Eighteen days? Kitty had never gone so long without seeing her friend.
“I was ill,” she said. “But yes, I have improved.”
“Have I done something to anger you?”
Kitty pressed from her knees, realizing how it appeared, supposedly ill and working in the garden.
“Georgiana, no. I am not angry. I am…” Guilt assaulted her from all sides. She had hardly thought of Georgiana since Julian had first come to her room. There had been the pianoforte and Lord Staverton and the antimonial, but she could not lie to herself. It had been Julian who had turned her into the worst friend. Not Julian. Her all-encompassing obsession with him.
Kitty peered at Maggie hoeing to her right. “I have much to explain.”
Georgiana slumped in the saddle seat, relieved. “Then hop behind me, and you can tell me all.”
Kitty flew through the kitchen door to scrub her hands and face and, in the hall, fetched her cloak.
“Good morning, Katherine.”
Kitty whirled about to Sir Jeffrey’s agreeable voice. He stood outside the parlor, legs wide and one large, bony hand gripping a gun. When had he ever bid her good morning? Julian’s words suddenly roared in the silence.What did you do? He will miss that gun. What had she done? If Julian did not arrive by noon…
“You are well, I see,” he observed. “Where are you off to?”
“Georgiana has called.”
“Humph. Go on then.”
Kitty fled, clambering up behind the saddle with the aid of Georgiana’s hand and boot.
