First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4) - Julia Quinn Page 0,36
the job.”
“I don’t have the luxury of finding that woman,” he retorted. “I need to get married now.”
“How far in debt are you?”
“Quite,” he said. “You’re the perfect combination of dowry and tolerability.”
“This is how you think to convince me?”
“I tried to go about it the nice way,” he said.
“Kidnapping?”
He waved dismissively, causing Georgie to once again gasp for his safety. But he did not slip. She recalled that someone had once told her Freddie was a natural athlete, that he’d ruled the cricket fields at Eton. Thank God for that, because she had a feeling it was the only reason he hadn’t yet tumbled to the ground.
“I did everything properly,” he said. “I danced with you. I took you to a bookshop.”
“From which you kidnapped me.”
He shrugged. “My creditors advanced my calendar considerably. Now please, if you would. You haven’t a choice. Surely you must know that. Your reputation is in tatters.”
“Thanks to you!”
“Then let me make it up to you. Once we’re married, it will all go away. You will have the protection of my name.”
“I don’t want the protection of your name,” Georgie seethed.
“You will be Mrs. Oakes,” he said, and Georgie honestly couldn’t tell if he was willfully ignoring her or too caught up in his own greatness to notice that she’d spoken.
He leaned toward her. “When my father passes you will be Lady Nithercott.”
“I’d rather remain Miss Bridgerton.”
“Miss Bridgerton is a spinster.” He started scooting down the branch. “You don’t want to be a spinster.”
“Stop it, Freddie!” Georgie eyed him with growing panic. Surely he didn’t think the branch would hold him all the way to her window.
“I’m coming in.”
“You are not.”
“Accept your fate, Georgiana.”
“I will scream,” she warned.
He actually laughed at her, the cretin. “If you were going to scream, you would have done so by now.”
“The only reason I haven’t is because my brother is here tonight, and he will disembowel you if he finds you anywhere near me.”
“So you do care.”
Dear God, this man was stupid. “About my brother,” she hissed. “I have no wish to see him jailed for murder. And I don’t need another scandal. You’ve already ruined my life.”
“So let me fix it.”
“Your plan all along, I assume.”
He shrugged again as he nudged himself forward a few inches. “You’re not going to do better.”
“Freddie, don’t! It won’t support your weight.”
“Toss me a rope.”
“I don’t have a rope! Why would you think I had a rope in my bedroom? And for the love of God, back up.”
He didn’t listen.
“Do not come closer,” Georgie warned. She was starting to worry that maybe the branch would hold his weight. It wasn’t bowing nearly as much as she would have thought.
“You will marry me,” he growled.
“Would it be easier if I just gave you money?”
He paused. “You would do that?”
“No!” She picked up the closest object she could put her hands on—a book—and hurled it at him.
“Ow!” It clipped him on the shoulder. “Stop that!”
She threw another book.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Defending my honor,” she ground out. She tried to lean forward, but the cats were in the way. Without taking her eyes off Freddie she picked them up one by one and tossed them down. “If you have any care to your well-being,” she warned him, “you’ll remember what happened last time you tried to convince me to marry you.”
“Don’t be a—Jesus Christ!”
She knobbed him on the head with an inkpot.
“I’ve got another right here,” she growled. “I write a lot of letters.”
His face curled into something unpleasant. “I’m beginning to think you’re not worth the trouble.”
“So I’ve been telling you,” she hissed. She hurled the second inkpot at him, but as he moved to dodge it, Cat-Head (who had never been the brightest of her three cats) hopped back up onto the sill, let out an unholy scraw, and launched himself out the window.
“Cat-Head!” Georgie lunged forward, trying to get hold of him, but the cat was on Freddie’s face before she even had her arms out the window.
“Get it off me!” Freddie shrieked.
“Cat-Head! Cat-Head, come back!” Georgie hissed, trying to keep her voice down. The other bedrooms were around the corner, so with any luck no one would have heard Freddie’s cry of distress.
Freddie clawed at the cat, trying to dislodge it, but Cat-Head held firm, wrapped around Freddie’s head like half of a furry octopus.
Half of a furry octopus with claws.
“You bloody—” Freddie’s words disintegrated into a furious grunt as he seized the cat by its midsection.