Page 13 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking

Annoyingly logical.

Georgine loathed being indebted to anyone.

But drat it all—he had thought of everything.

Her sister would be safe and cared for.

“Did the surgeon say how long my recuperation might take?” The question took almost her last ounce of energy.

He ran a hand through his hair. “If all goes well and no infection sets in, at least several weeks.”

A long silence stretched between Georgine and Robyn.

Finally, she exhaled, grudging but reconciled to the inevitable. She would do her part to mend quickly and finish her convalescence in her own bed at the earliest opportunity. “I know my presence is an imposition. Thank you.”

Robyn let out a slow breath, his mouth tilting into a satisfied half-smile.

“There now. Was that so difficult, my fiery bluestocking?”

A spark of irritation flared to life.

Georgine Emily-Jane Edwina Thackerly, you absolute half-wit!

Why had she yielded to good manners and thanked him—given him even a hint of satisfaction?

This man—this grinning, self-satisfied scoundrel—had seized control of her fate, and instead of issuing a scathing retort, she had thanked the vexing man?

And there was the other matter that had her in a pelter of nerves—her reputation.

“Please keep my presence here as discreet as possible, Robyn.”

Lord, Georgine could barely keep her eyes open.

“My repute depends on it, as does Regina’s. You might not fret about gossip, but you are not an unmarried woman with a sister dependent on her. Flapping tongues fanning the flames of hearsay and conjecture could destroy us both.”

His features folding into a serious expression, Robyn nodded. “I understand and assure you, the household will do everything we can to protect your good standing.”

For the first time, the umber-colored bottle on the nightstand caught her attention. “You put laudanum in my water.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Aye,” Robyn admitted without a jot of compunction. “You’ll heal faster if your pain is kept under control and if you sleep.”

Her exhausted body betrayed her yet again, dragging her under before she could give him a piece of her mind.

And she was not his fiery bluestocking.

“Rest, Georgine.” As the darkness crept over her, Robyn’s tone softened to almost tenderness, and he pulled the counterpane up. “I truly regret that you were injured. I promise, I shall take good care of you.”

A flicker of warmth curled uninvited in her chest.

Then, just as she teetered on the edge of sleep, he added in a sarcastic drawl, “I hope you don’t completely disrupt my household overly much.”

Her last conscious thought formed, unwavering and resolute.

Oh, Robyn Fitzlloyd, you can bet this fiery bluestocking shall do her best to do just that!

Five