Georgiana smiled. “Do not be. I have never doubted Simon’s love for me. He may be arrogant and domineering, but he protects his own.”

“Then why—” Isabel did not understand.

“There is more to my story than a girl who ran away.”

“There always is.”

“I would like to tell you. I think you deserve to know why all this has happened.”

It happened because I trusted a man I should not have trusted.

“I would like to hear it,” Isabel said, silencing the nagging voice.

“I am …” Georgiana paused, looking at the window, where Isabel knew she could see nothing but her own face reflected in the dark glass. “I fell in love. It is not important with whom.”

Isabel did not speak, waiting for the girl to find the courage to go on. “I made a terrible mistake. I believed that he loved me in return.” She stopped, looked down at her hands where they wrung the fabric of her skirts. When she spoke again, it was in a whisper. “But he did not.” She took a deep, stabilizing breath. “I suppose it is for the best … Simon never would have allowed us to marry. I was crushed. He left, without a word. And then—”

She stopped, unable to continue for the weight of her memories. Isabel leaned forward, clasping Georgiana’s hands in her own. “You do not have to tell me.”

“I want to,” Georgiana whispered. “I want someone to hear me say it.”

Isabel remained still, knowing what was to come.

“I discovered that I was with child. I could not tell Simon. I could not disappoint him. Weeks earlier, my maid had told me a story she’d heard of a house in Yorkshire. A place where young women went to start fresh. Run by Lady Isabel.” She smiled, small and uncertain. “And so I came here.”

She looked up, meeting Isabel’s eyes, her gaze wide and innocent … little more than a child herself. “I knew he would come after me. I did not think he would find me so quickly.”

Isabel squeezed the girl’s hands. “I knew he would come after you, as well. It did not change the fact that you are welcome under this roof”—she smiled a small, wry smile—“what little is left of it … with my protection. And the protection of the Earl of Reddich.”

“As much as I admire the earl, Isabel, I do not think he could do much in the face of my brother.”

“Nonsense. It is clear that my brother has a special place in his heart for his governess. I think he would happily do battle for you.”

The girl’s smile grew into a broader grin. “I am very fond of him, you know. And whatever happens, I will always be proud to say I taught the young Earl of Reddich his Latin.”

They shared a smile at the words before Georgiana continued. “There is something else. About Lord Nicholas.”

Isabel sobered, shaking her head. “I shall send him away immediately.”

“I do not think you should.”

Isabel’s mouth fell open. She could not possibly have heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“He is a good man, Isabel. If I had not heard such for years from my brother and his friends—the way they spoke about St. John, as though he were a hero among us … If I had not heard such from ladies who sighed their longing for his return from the Continent, and who sighed their respect for him when his half sister arrived in London and he stood proudly by her side as the rest of the ton laughed at her … I would have known it today, when he could have turned me over to my brother, but he let me return here, with you, instead.”

Isabel’s heart ached at the words, so clearly a description of the man she thought he was. Perhaps he was loyal to his friends, and committed to his sister, and the best of catches for the vapid society ladies who saw only his handsome face and his fat purse. But he had proven today that he was not for her.

She felt tears prick and willed them away. “You are mistaken. It must be another St. John. For this one is a villain who deliberately preyed upon our trust.”

Upon my trust. Upon my feelings.

“I think he was very likely trying to be a good friend to my brother.”

Isabel shook her head. “It does not matter. He did everything he could to get close to me … to find you and reveal your location. I am afraid there is nothing about that man that even comes close to the noble St. John whom you describe.”

And then, as though she had conjured him with her invective, he was there at the entrance to the room, in the doorway Georgiana had left ajar. “I am sorry that you think that.”

Isabel caught her breath at the sight of him, silhouetted, tall and broad and overwhelmingly dark, against the small rectangle of light. His presence brought with it a flood of feeling—betrayal and anger and mistrust, but also sadness and something else that was nearly unbearable.

Longing.

She steeled herself, determined to keep her voice cold despite her roiling emotions. “I feel certain that I must be mistaken. You cannot possibly still be in my home after what you have done.”

She could not see his face, but he stiffened at her words, and suddenly it felt as if there was less air in the room. “I came to speak with you.”

“Well, that shall be something of a problem, I am afraid, as I have no interest in speaking with you.”

He took a long step into the room, the movement obviously born of frustration.

“And now I see that you are committed to insulting me as well as betraying me. You will leave my bedchamber at once.”

He turned his head slightly, focusing all his attention on the other woman in the room. “Lady Georgiana, I would very much like for you to leave us. Lady Isabel and I have things that we must discuss. Alone.”