With a breathless sigh she sat down at her dressing-table and began to unpin the golden headdress. Standing up again she stripped off the gay wedding costume and slipped on her filmy night robe; then she settled herself before her mirror once more.
For a moment she remained quite still, regarding the lovely image of herself. She was still in the first flush of her beauty; not even the suggestion of a wrinkle marred her skin, and with her abounding health, she saw no reason why they should do so for many years to come. Slowly she gave her face the few touches that it needed with the hare's foot and the powder-puff; then she combed through her lustrous black hair, and very conscious that this was no night to do it up in curlpapers, re-arranged it with a blue satin bow to gather her curls in a cluster at the back of her neck.
Dousing the candles on the dressing-table, she walked through to the boudoir and put the lights out there. On her way back she left the door ajar, then removed the big copper warming pan from the bed and wriggled down into its soft, warm depths.
The room was lit now only by the glow of the dying fire and the fat, shaded night-light beside the bed.
Georgina turned on her back and stretched luxuriously, then she relaxed and lay staring up at the draped canopy of the great four-poster.
Her thoughts were still a little chaotic. She was somehow more certain than ever now that she had never really intended to commit herself to-night, and she realised that it was only Roger's stupidity at the card-table that had led her into doing so. Yet she could not find it in her heart to blame him. Such a loss of his normally well-balanced head could only have been caused by some secret disturbance that was going on inside it, and for that there could be only one explanation— her own jilting of him without adequate preparation.
It occurred to her now that she ought to have sent him away a few days ago and said nothing of Vorontzoff's projected visit. He would have gone quite cheerfully then, knowing well enough that in due course she would take another lover, yet still retaining his romantic feelings for her. It grieved her now to think that she had hurt and offended him quite unnecessarily.
This was not the first time that she had had to reproach herself with the results of her besetting sin, which was demanding too much of life. That was the trouble; she always wanted to eat her cake and keep it too. In her heart of hearts she had known perfectly well that Roger would take the Russian's overtures to her badly, yet she had not been sufficiently strong-minded either to send him away or refuse Fox's request that she should invite the Ambassador down for this week-end. She knew too that the reason for that was not far to seek. In spite of the occasional tiffs that had crept into her intimacy with Roger, she was still physically in love with him and wanted him to stay on at Stillwaters with her through the spring.
She was already wishing that it was he who would be corning to her in a few moments now. She loved to gaze her fill into those deep blue eyes and feel his strong arms hold her close. He was such a marvellous lover too, because he had such a happy nature. When roused his passion matched her own, but at times he could be very gentle, and he teased her deliciously. She had never known another man who could bring such an element of merriment to his love-making.
But in a fit of temper she had forbidden Roger her room, and the evening's events had made it quite certain that he would not risk a fresh humiliation by ignoring her prohibition. By now he was either asleep or tossing restlessly in his bed, a prey to bitter, angry thoughts about her. For a moment she thought of getting up and going in to him, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it arose. To do so now might result in a most appalling scene culminating in a duel. It was too late now to undo the web of her own spinning in which she had entangled herself. She must stop thinking about Roger and think about the strange, dark, violent man who was coming to her instead.
She had forced him to give her half an hour's respite and insisted that her mind was not yet made up; but she knew full well that on his return that would count for nothing. There was no escape now from the grasp of those strong, square-fingered hands, and the avid mouth that had crushed itself against hers so fiercely. He was considerably older than any lover that she had previously taken but she felt certain that he did not lack virility. Perhaps, just as she had first thought, his very strangeness would prove terribly exciting. She had not relished his hot flat face being pressed against her own, yet she had given way before to men who had attracted her less, in order to satisfy her curiosity. In any case she had made her bed and must now lie upon it. She wondered then how long he would remain with her, and with a sinking heart recalled his mentioning the dawn. In vain she sought to fight off the conviction that she would hate him before the morning.
A soft footfall caught her ear, followed by the gentle closing of a door. She gave a start, then quickly shut her eyes and stilled her breathing as though she had fallen asleep. It was a last poor little effort at defence on the slender chance that, finding her so, he would grant her a reprieve and refrain from waking her, Yet she knew all the time that it was childish to think for an instant that such a scruple would induce him to forego his victory.
The footsteps drew nearer. They crossed the soft carpet and halted beside the bed. For a moment that seemed to her of almost unendurable length nothing happened. She could hear her heart thumping wildly; a lump was rising in her throat. She felt that unless the tension ended in another instant she would scream.
Then a quiet voice said: " 'Tis a pleasant change to find you without your hair done up in curl papers."
"Roger!" She started up on her elbow; her eyes wide, the blood draining from her face, as she gasped. "What brings you here?"
"To see that you were well, happy, and to wish you a good night," he replied lightly.
"But I forbade you to come!"
"As a lover, perhaps; but you have not withdrawn from me the privilege of a brother."
" ‘Tis no time for splitting straws," she said in a fierce whisper. "You.must go—go instantly."
"Why this perturbation?" he smiled. "And your prodigious eagerness to be rid of me?"
"Because—because Vorontzoff's coming back, and will be here at any moment. If he finds you here..." her voice trailed away on a note of panic.
"And what if he did?"
"Oh, are you mad?" She sat up and wrung her hands. "Spare me, I beg, a brawl in my own room! Or worse! He may challenge you to a duel in which one of you might be killed."
"Nothing would please me better than the chance to spit him like the conceited turkey-cock he is. It made my gall rise till it near choked me to see the way in which he treated you as if already you were his, this evening."
"Oh, Roger, please!" she begged. "I have been at fault, I know. I did not originally intend to bring matters to a head this week-end. I swear it! If I have hurt you 'tis I who am paying for it now. I would with all my heart that I could stop his corning. But 'tis too late. Add not to my distress by creating some dreadful scene that may end in tragedy."
"So you would stop his coming if you could?"
"Yes, yes. But that is of little moment. 'Twill be no more than un mauvais quart d'heure; then I'll get rid of him. What matters is that he should not find you here. Leave me, I implore you!"
He smiled down at her. "Then it seems that I have been able to render you a service. You may set your mind at rest m'dear, regarding this meeting that you now find distasteful. Count Vorontzoff will not be returning to you to-night."
"Roger!" she cried, starting forward in fresh panic. "What have you done?"