First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4) - Julia Quinn Page 0,28
Rokesby had known her his entire life. He didn’t want to marry her. He felt sorry for her.
Then she nearly choked on her thoughts. Because she knew Lord Manston. He was her godfather, her own father’s closest friend. And she’d seen him with his sons often enough to know exactly how the conversation must have gone.
He had not asked Nicholas to marry her.
She forced herself to look at him. “Your father ordered you to marry me, didn’t he?”
“No,” he said, but she could tell he was lying. He’d never been a good liar. She couldn’t imagine why his father thought he could fake his way through a proposal of marriage.
Honestly, he was the worst.
“He can’t order me to marry you,” Nicholas said somewhat stiffly. “I’m a grown man.”
She scoffed. “Some grown man. Your father sent for you and you came trotting down like a good little boy.”
“Stop it,” he snapped.
“Don’t pretend any of this is your idea. You are doing nothing but your father’s bidding.”
“I am doing you a favor!”
Georgie gasped.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Nicholas said quickly.
“Oh, I know how you meant it.”
“Georgie—”
“Consider this a refusal,” she said, each word a little snip of fury.
“You’re saying no.” He didn’t ask it like a question. It was more of a statement of disbelief.
“Of course I’m saying no. How can you possibly think I would accept such an offer?”
“Because it would be the reasonable thing to do.”
“Because it would be the reasonable thing to do,” she scoffed. “Were you laughing at me?”
He grabbed her arm. “You know that we weren’t.”
“I can’t believe this,” she ground out, yanking herself from his grasp. “Do you understand—No, you couldn’t possibly understand what it feels like to be so utterly without choices.”
“You think not?”
“Oh, you think this”—she waved her arm wildly—“this counts as having no choice? Being ordered to marry me? At least you get to feel good about yourself.”
“I feel splendid right now, let me tell you.”
“You get to call yourself a hero, saving poor little ruined Georgiana Bridgerton. Whereas I—I get to decide between the man who ruined me and a man who pities me.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“But you don’t love me.”
He looked ready to tear his hair out. “Do you want me to?”
“No!”
“Then for the love of God, Georgie, what is the problem? I’m trying to help.”
She crossed her arms. “I am not a charity. I don’t want to be your good works.”
“Do you think I wanted to sacrifice my life for you?”
Oh, that stung.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Nicholas said quickly.
Her brows rose. “That’s the second time you’ve had to make that statement in the past few minutes.”
He cursed under his breath, and she was shallow enough that she took pleasure in his discomfort.
“I hereby release you from all obligation,” she said in her most annoyingly supercilious voice. “You asked. I said no. You have done your duty.”
“It is not my duty,” he bit off. “It is my choice.”
“Even better. That means you will respect my choice. To say no.”
He took a breath. “You are not thinking clearly.”
“I’m not thinking clearly?” God help a man who told a woman she was not thinking clearly. Freddie Oakes had said the same thing in the carriage heading north to Gretna Green. If Georgie heard it one more time, she wasn’t sure she could answer to the consequences.
“Keep your voice down,” Nicholas hissed. He jerked his head toward Anthony and Benedict, who had halted their games and were now looking their way.
“Did you find more worms?” Georgie called out. She had no idea how she managed to sound so cheerful. She didn’t sound so cheerful when she was cheerful.
“No,” Anthony said, but he looked suspicious. “They’re not fun if they don’t bother anyone.”
“Right, well, carry on then.” She smiled so broadly her cheeks hurt.
“You’re going to injure yourself,” Nicholas muttered.
“Shut up and smile so they stop looking at us.”
“You look deranged.”
“I feel deranged,” she practically hissed. “Which should worry you.”
He held up his hands and took a step back, a motion so patronizing she nearly went for his throat.
“Aunt Georgie, why do you look like you’re going to strike Uncle Nicholas?”
Georgie froze, only then realizing she’d made a fist. “I’m not going to strike anyone,” she said to Benedict, who was regarding her with undisguised curiosity. “And he’s not your uncle.”
“He’s not?” Benedict looked from Nicholas to Georgie and back again. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then turned back to Georgie, this time with a slightly suspicious expression. “Are you