Attempting Elizabeth by Jessica Grey Page B

romantic in nature.
    When Wickham came into the sitting room, after the whole bowing and curtsying charade was over and he had walked over to the settee to sit with me, I launched myself at him. I could hear Mrs. Younge’s shocked gasp as I flung myself at Wickham, pressing Georgiana’s lithe body up against his, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him for all I was worth.
    It was surprisingly not unpleasant. I mean, I hate the guy so I would have thought kissing him would make me want to throw up, but no. My traitorous body or mind, I wasn’t sure which, refused to be completely repulsed by him. I have no defense other than he was really, really attractive. And I am apparently, really, really shallow. And I was kissing for my life. Sure, yeah, that was it. Kissing for my life.
    After a brief moment of surprise Wickham started kissing me back. Somehow I’d known he would—he was too much of a rake not to respond. And I hate to sound conceited or anything, but I’m a pretty good kisser. Well, better than Georgiana would have, or should have, been anyway. His arms came up and around my midsection, pulling me even closer, fitting Georgiana’s body rather intimately against his. I heard Mrs. Younge say something—I have no idea what, I was really beyond paying attention to her—and then I heard her footsteps leaving the room. The thought that I’d thoroughly compromised Georgiana filtered through my hazy mind as Wickham ran his tongue over mine. Younge was likely headed off to find the butler or another reliable servant to witness my ruining.
    Well, I’d shaken things up pretty significantly. This was definitely un-Georgiana-like behavior, and yet I hadn’t magically morphed back into Kelsey. I gave in to the urge to bite softly on Wickham’s lower lip. He really did have an amazingly kissable mouth. And kissing him was strangely exhilarating. I must have a thing for rakes. On that lowering realization, I drew back with a resigned sigh.
    “Georgiana—” he started in a raspy voice. Oh interesting, I thought. Wickham wasn’t entirely immune to Georgiana. He was definitely attracted to her, but then it was possible he would react that way to anything in a skirt.
    “Well, crap,” I cut him off. “That was certainly interesting, but unfortunately for me not earth shattering.” The look on Wickham’s face was priceless. If I hadn’t been so frustrated and teetering on the edge of depression I might have enjoyed it. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, same Bat time, same Bat channel.” I turned and marched out of the open sitting room door, just as Mrs. Younge was skidding up with the butler in tow.
    “Hodges,” I nodded to the butler as I swept imperiously by. “Don’t listen to a thing that crazy woman says.”
    Hodges’s face remained impassive but I could tell by his eyes that it was costing him. “Yes, Miss,” he responded gravely.
    I marched back up the stairs to Georgiana’s room. This was getting old. Sew roses. Cause a scene. Spend the rest of the day up in my room (or like yesterday passed out drunk in the sitting room) waiting for it to start over.
    Time for a newer theory: Falling asleep wasn’t a good idea. Maybe the scene jumping happened because I was asleep. If I could stay up all night could I somehow make it to the next day? It might not even happen right when I fell asleep, what if it happened at midnight—like Cinderella’s carriage changing back into a pumpkin? There I was sleeping peacefully, innocently away and then bam —right back into the scene.
    If I could stay awake and could get past whenever the literary clock was resetting itself I could at least continue on with the book instead of repeating this over and over. I mean, if I couldn’t get out , getting through would be the next best option.
    I glanced at the clock on Georgiana’s mantel. It was only a few minutes past two in the afternoon. I always “woke up” in the sitting room a little before 1:30. I