it. The truth was, he could think of far worse ways to spend his time than at Kingsworth, alone with Georgie.
He had thought of nothing but her while she was hiding in her room the past few days, and even though their conversation this afternoon had been less than congenial, there was pleasure in simply being near her. It was too soon to speculate upon a possible future with her, but if nothing else, they could at least rediscover their lost friendship.
God, but he
hoped
they could.
"Very well. We'll stay as long as you wish." He held up two fingers. "On two conditions."
Her expression became guarded. "What conditions?"
"You will write to your parents and tell them of the altered plans."
She shook her head and started to speak.
"I don't care which excuse you choose," he interrupted. "I simply refuse to deceive them myself."
"And the second condition?" she asked with a sigh of resignation.
"You will not hide in your room, and you will spend your time with me."
"What?" she blurted, her eyes widening. "No!"
"Then we'll be off at dawn."
Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes sparked. She was bursting to give a retort, he could tell, but seemed to have some modicum of restraint after all. "Very well," she said at last, then added petulantly, "That was three conditions, though."
"My arithmetic has always been rather poor," he quipped.
Making a face at him, she brushed past him to resume their stroll. He followed, staying a few steps behind, just to enjoy the view—the delightfully curvaceous view.
"What are we to do, then?" she asked over her shoulder. "I assume you have some sort of plan."
A plan? He hadn't even known they'd be in Yorkshire much longer. He widened his stride to catch up. "I'll think of something."
She gave him a sideways glance but did not comment. They rounded a corner and a vista appeared in the distance. His ears filled with the dulcet sounds of a spurting fountain. The sun beat down on them now, and as Georgie put on her bonnet, her features twisting in distaste, Robert recalled how she had always disliked wearing one.
"I hope we are not to be outside much," she said as she tied the ribbons loosely under her chin. "I did not bring a parasol."
"Why do you need one?"
"A lady can never be too careful in preserving her complexion," she replied pertly.
He laughed. "What about preserving her freckles?"
Her head whipped around, and the glare she leveled on him was below freezing. "I am not preserving them. I simply do not want more of them."
Robert stopped short, taken utterly by surprise at the ferocity of her reaction. "Why not?"
"Because freckles are horrid!"
"They are?" he asked, feeling as if he were missing some crucial point.
"Yes!" Without warning, she spun on her heel and started back toward the house. "I've had enough fresh air."
Too dumbfounded to argue, Robert ambled along. He thought her freckles extraordinarily fetching. Any fool could see they were part of her allure, and as much a part of her as her midnight-black hair, though he owned it was an unusual combination. But apparently, she didn't, the silly thing.
On the short walk back, he surveyed the verdant landscape, still marveling at the invigorating experience of seeing life revived. Georgie ascended the steps ahead of him, and as his gaze was once again drawn to her well-formed behind, an idea struck, prompted by thoughts of spring and freckles. Suddenly, he did have a plan, and cheered by the prospect of it, he took the steps two at a time.
If it was the last thing he did, he'd make sure that they would rediscover their friendship. And just maybe it would become more than that. Maybe she really was what he needed to achieve the peaceful life he craved—the woman who could be his wife, the mother of his children, and a lifelong companion.
So he would woo her, then. He'd have to move slowly, of course. But no matter what, he'd make the most of their time alone, and, by Jove, he'd make sure she forgot all about that fop
He had thought of nothing but her while she was hiding in her room the past few days, and even though their conversation this afternoon had been less than congenial, there was pleasure in simply being near her. It was too soon to speculate upon a possible future with her, but if nothing else, they could at least rediscover their lost friendship.
God, but he
hoped
they could.
"Very well. We'll stay as long as you wish." He held up two fingers. "On two conditions."
Her expression became guarded. "What conditions?"
"You will write to your parents and tell them of the altered plans."
She shook her head and started to speak.
"I don't care which excuse you choose," he interrupted. "I simply refuse to deceive them myself."
"And the second condition?" she asked with a sigh of resignation.
"You will not hide in your room, and you will spend your time with me."
"What?" she blurted, her eyes widening. "No!"
"Then we'll be off at dawn."
Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes sparked. She was bursting to give a retort, he could tell, but seemed to have some modicum of restraint after all. "Very well," she said at last, then added petulantly, "That was three conditions, though."
"My arithmetic has always been rather poor," he quipped.
Making a face at him, she brushed past him to resume their stroll. He followed, staying a few steps behind, just to enjoy the view—the delightfully curvaceous view.
"What are we to do, then?" she asked over her shoulder. "I assume you have some sort of plan."
A plan? He hadn't even known they'd be in Yorkshire much longer. He widened his stride to catch up. "I'll think of something."
She gave him a sideways glance but did not comment. They rounded a corner and a vista appeared in the distance. His ears filled with the dulcet sounds of a spurting fountain. The sun beat down on them now, and as Georgie put on her bonnet, her features twisting in distaste, Robert recalled how she had always disliked wearing one.
"I hope we are not to be outside much," she said as she tied the ribbons loosely under her chin. "I did not bring a parasol."
"Why do you need one?"
"A lady can never be too careful in preserving her complexion," she replied pertly.
He laughed. "What about preserving her freckles?"
Her head whipped around, and the glare she leveled on him was below freezing. "I am not preserving them. I simply do not want more of them."
Robert stopped short, taken utterly by surprise at the ferocity of her reaction. "Why not?"
"Because freckles are horrid!"
"They are?" he asked, feeling as if he were missing some crucial point.
"Yes!" Without warning, she spun on her heel and started back toward the house. "I've had enough fresh air."
Too dumbfounded to argue, Robert ambled along. He thought her freckles extraordinarily fetching. Any fool could see they were part of her allure, and as much a part of her as her midnight-black hair, though he owned it was an unusual combination. But apparently, she didn't, the silly thing.
On the short walk back, he surveyed the verdant landscape, still marveling at the invigorating experience of seeing life revived. Georgie ascended the steps ahead of him, and as his gaze was once again drawn to her well-formed behind, an idea struck, prompted by thoughts of spring and freckles. Suddenly, he did have a plan, and cheered by the prospect of it, he took the steps two at a time.
If it was the last thing he did, he'd make sure that they would rediscover their friendship. And just maybe it would become more than that. Maybe she really was what he needed to achieve the peaceful life he craved—the woman who could be his wife, the mother of his children, and a lifelong companion.
So he would woo her, then. He'd have to move slowly, of course. But no matter what, he'd make the most of their time alone, and, by Jove, he'd make sure she forgot all about that fop
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