Walter Foxworthy. He would know everything worth knowing about the man by this time tomorrow. If anyone would make a claim on Georgiana Huffington, it would be him.
He stood. “I shall be by to pick you up at seven o’clock tomorrow evening. Lord Carlington is hosting a ball at the Argyle Rooms. I think a quiet announcement to family and friends of our pending nuptials would be an appropriate place to start. Unless—” he turned to her with a quirked eyebrow “—you’d rather have a formal announcement with all that implies.”
Her eyes widened and something churned in his stomach. As she stood, a faint scent of lilac wafted up to him. Lord, she did not have to do much to bring him to a boil.
“Goodness, no! Even if it were real, making a formal announcement would be inappropriate. We must not make too much of this or it will be awkward to extricate ourselves when it is over.”
He gave her a grim smile. “That will have little significance, Mrs. Huffington. I do not intend to marry, and you’ve declared you are done with matrimony. It will signify nothing if we are both branded as jilts.”
“Very well. If you are not concerned over your reputation, why should I be?”
Ah, she was peeved. But why? His offhand approach to their plan? Or did she, indeed, mean to seek out a third husband, despite her protests? It was time to remind her who she was playing with. He stepped closer to her and tilted her chin up to him. “I think we should behave in a more familiar manner, Mrs. Huffington. How can we hope to convince society we are fond of each other if we snap and address each other with formality? Yes, I think I shall call you Georgiana on occasion, and you should refer to me as Charles. If we were really betrothed, such familiarity would be convincing, would it not?”
“I...I...”
“I think so, too,” he said as he lowered his lips to hers. After a moment of shock, she relaxed and accepted his gesture. Her lips trembled just enough for him to know that she was not as calm as she seemed. No doubt she took comfort from the fact that they were in her home, and he would not dare take advantage of her here.
Poor deluded thing.
He slipped his arm around her and drew her close, relishing the feel of her soft breasts crushed to his chest and her little intake of breath when she felt the evidence of his arousal against her. The way she parted her lips—half innocent, half wanton—was incredibly erotic to him. An enigma he wanted to explore. Indeed, if it was not imperative that he hand on this information to Richardson at once, he would take this not-so-innocent kiss a great deal further.
Reluctantly, he released her. “I think I am going to enjoy this charade, Georgiana.”
* * *
“Magnifique!” Madame Marie exclaimed as she inspected her handiwork. “Turn about, Mrs. ’Uffington. ‘Ave you ever seen anything so lovely?”
Georgiana could barely look at her reflection in the mirror the next afternoon at La Meilleure Robe. Self-loathing rather than modesty was the cause. She could not wipe from her mind how she had allowed Charles Hunter to continue his attempts to seduce her when she knew full well that he only wanted the challenge, and did not bear any particular fondness for her.
“Come, little Georgiana. Do not sulk. When the seams are all sewn, you will like it better. No?”
“Oh! I was thinking of something else, Madame. Of course I like the gown.” She finally gave herself a critical glance in the tall cheval looking glass. The gown was really quite remarkable. The color was as stunning as Madame had promised, and the style was...well, unlike any other she owned.
Aunt Caroline had picked all her gowns from a fashion book and had employed the village dressmaker to execute them. Gina had told her once that she’d thought Georgiana dowdy when they’d first met. But no one would think her dowdy in Madame Marie’s gown. The cut emphasized the curve of her breasts and the slender figure beneath. So this was what Madame had meant by using the new lower waist. The woman was a genius.
Georgiana smoothed the drape of the soft violet silk over her hips and sighed. “I’ve never had a gown more beautiful, Madame. I think I should have one in every color.”
The modiste chortled. “Not every color, I think, chèri. But a few more of this cut would discourage your competition. No?”
Her competition? For what?
“I shall change the colors and trim. Per’aps add a flounce at the ’em on one, or embroider the ’em on another. They will never realize it is the same as this one. Oh, I should like to shut their mouths.”
Georgiana noted the frown on Madame Marie’s face and realized the woman was talking about something specific. “What have they been saying, Madame?”
“Oh, I did not mean... Well, per’aps you should know. Two exceedingly plain women were in for fittings yesterday. One said that Mrs. ’Uffington is a brazen ’ussy. That no man will propose to you, no matter ’ow you bait the ’ook. The other said you are like Circe, casting a spell over unwary men.”
Georgiana felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “I am not casting a spell or a hook, Madame. I am in town on business.”
The woman dimpled. “Of course you are, chèri. They are simply jealous, yes?”
“Yes. I mean...no!”
Madame laughed a full-bodied enjoyment of Georgiana’s confusion. “Ignore them, chèri. Enduring such talk
is the fate of every great beauty. And when this gown is finished, you will ’ave the envy of everyone who sees you.”
Georgiana was about to protest when there was a soft knock at the side door to the fitting room.
“Come, François. She is decent.”
Mr. Renquist peeked around the door before entering. He went to a far corner and leaned one shoulder against the wall, but not before Georgiana noted a look of appreciation pass over his usually inscrutable face.
“Not much to tell, yet, Mrs. Huffington. Just a few items of interest.”
She nodded, waiting for what he’d been able to discover.
“Cautious questioning has led me to believe that the incident outside the Theatre Royal the other night was no accident. Mr. Hunter has made an enemy. The gossip in the rookeries has it that he was the target of that attack.”
Georgiana did not know whether to be relieved or worried. If she was not the object of the attack, was someone targeting Charles because of his appearance with her? “Do you know who was behind it or why, sir?”
“I cannot confirm anything, Mrs. Huffington. A theory has been mentioned, but I have been unable to trace the rumor. I would not feel comfortable mentioning a name until I can confirm the information.”
As much as she would like to press for an answer, she had to respect his wishes. In truth, it made little difference which of them had been the object of the attack. The fact remained that Charles was facing danger in her presence. “What next, Mr. Renquist?”
The man straightened and put his little notebook back in his jacket. “I have gone over my notes from our last meeting, Mrs. Huffington, and I think I shall look into the Misters Foxworthy. Because of their ploy to become your conservators, they have a great deal to gain by keeping you unattached, and the most to lose from any possible remarriage.”
That fact had occurred to Georgiana. Any insights she could gain would be an advantage in dealing with the brothers—Walter in particular. But what of the other claims against her? “Have you any news of Mr. York?”
Mr. Renquist shrugged. “I shall send someone to investigate just to be certain, but I do not consider him as a part of this whole mess, Mrs. Huffington. For one thing, he was related to your second husband and, therefore, could have had no interest in your first husband’s death. And secondly, he has not expressed any particular concern over any remarriage. His suit is more of the common variety of a disgruntled relative who had lived in expectation of an inheritance. Perhaps he has borrowed against future funds and now finds himself i
n a very bad position with his creditors. Whatever the reason, I think we can dismiss him as a killer.”
“Should I make him an offer, sir?”
“That is your decision. How much money would satisfy him, and how badly do you want him disengaged from your life?”
“Very badly,” she confessed.
“On the other hand,” Mr. Renquist continued, “if the rumors are wrong and the shot outside the Theatre Royal was actually meant for you, Mr. York would be the likely suspect. No attacks had been made on you until then—on the settlement of your second husband’s estate. I would advise caution in any event.”
Georgiana sighed. This was all such an impossible muddle.
Chapter Eight
Charles waited on the steps of the Argyle Rooms in Little Argyle Street for any sign of his coach. The evening had turned into a series of frustrations. He’d been delayed at the Home Office, then subjected to a lecture from his eldest brother, Lord Lockwood, on the dangers of becoming involved with Georgiana Huffington, and finally had been summoned to the Argyle Rooms for an early private conversation with Lord Wycliffe. He’d been remiss in not interviewing Lord Carlington after Wycliffe suggested he might want to look into that possible lead.
He watched his coach round a corner and slow as it pulled up to the broad steps and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d sent his driver to retrieve Mrs. Huffington rather than make her wait for his arrival and he’d been half afraid she’d refuse to come alone. Thank heavens she was a sensible woman.
Rather than wait for the footman, he stepped forward, flipped the step down, and opened the door.
“I was beginning to think I’d been kidnapped,” she said as she took the hand he offered to help her down from the coach. “Your driver was quite mysterious.”
She was especially lovely tonight in a deep blue frock with an embroidered hem and neckline in a darker hue. She was sure to draw attention, and he wanted to make certain the whisper of their engagement was circulating before anyone else could make a claim on her. “I apologize, Mrs. Huffington...Georgiana. I was called here early for a meeting and I did not want to leave you waiting at home.”
“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you before we made an appearance. You have not made the announcement to anyone, have you?”
“Second thoughts, my dear?”
“For your sake, sir. Not mine.”
“Come, now. I thought we’d decided I would make an admirable target. Would I not?”
“No! Yes. But you would be killed, would you not?”
“We’ve been over this, Georgiana. I am willing to take the risk.”
“I am not.”
He lowered his voice suggestively. “Have you grown fond of me, Georgie?”
He noted the tightness in her jaw and knew she was holding back a scathing retort. He supposed it was a good thing that one of them had some measure of self-control. He took her arm and led her up the stairs to the grand foyer, then handed her mantle to a footman before leading her up the wide staircase to the private rooms.
“My family is here tonight. Shall we start with them?”
“Start? Oh, you mean...” She heaved a sigh of resignation. “Can we not tell them the truth, Mr. Hunter?”
He shook his head. “I think it best if you and I are the only ones who know. Conversations can be overheard, Georgiana. Should Sarah and Lockwood comment privately in a corner, someone nearby could learn the truth. And you know how quickly scandal travels in the ton. Our game would be up before it began.”
“Your family will not like it.”
“Nonsense! Sarah will be delighted. She has made it her calling in life to see all her brothers married. She has begun to despair of me, so she will be relieved by our announcement.”
Georgiana looked up and gave him a sad smile. “Not if she loves you and wants to see you live to a ripe old age.”
He guffawed. “Well, if that is the case, she will keep it to herself.”
She murmured something under her breath that he could not make out. Disagreement, he gathered.
At the top of the stairs, Charles turned her down a corridor to the series of rooms reserved for Carlington’s ball. Rather than having a footman announce every new arrival, Lord Carlington, himself, headed a small reception line. Charles felt Georgiana stiffen at his side and wondered at her sudden hesitation. She was shy, but she was not ordinarily timid.
“Lord Carlington, may I present my...dear friend, Mrs. Georgiana Huffington?” He then turned to Georgiana and smiled reassurance. “Mrs. Huffington, please meet Owen Trent, Lord Carlington.”
Georgiana performed a flawless curtsy—deep enough to be deferential, but not so deep as to be falsely flattering. Lady Caroline had trained her well.
Their host performed an equally flawless bow. “Mrs. Huffington. I am pleased to meet you, at last. Your reputation precedes you.”
She blushed and Charles wondered if he should try to fill the suddenly awkward silence, but she recovered quickly. “And I have heard of you, Lord Carlington. I am delighted to put a face with the name at last.”
Carlington gave her an odd look, half bewildered, half admiring. “We must find time to discuss mutual friends, Mrs. Huffington. If not this evening, then in the near future?”
“I shall look forward to it, Lord Carlington.”
The press of the last arriving guests behind them forced them to move forward into a large ballroom lit with brilliant chandeliers and an orchestra at the far end. They paused at a table laden with filled wineglasses and canapés. He handed a glass to his companion.
“How do you know of Carlington, Georgiana?”
“I’ve only heard his name. I believe he knew Aunt Caroline when they were younger.”
“Ah. Well, brace yourself. Here comes my sister and her husband. Have you met Ethan?”
“Lady Sarah introduced us when I went to her...reading group.”
Charles thought back to that day less than a week ago and remembered the surprising nature of his reaction. Even though he’d engineered that meeting, he hadn’t expected her to still cause such a strong reaction in him. Physical, he told himself. Purely physical.
“Here you are, Charlie,” Sarah greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. She gave Georgiana a sweet smile. “And, Mrs. Huffington, how nice to see you again. Will you come to our book club meeting again day after tomorrow?”
“I should love to come, schedule permitting. How kind of you to ask, Lady Sarah.”
“Are you very busy, then?”
Charles seized the opportunity. “She has affairs to put in order before the nuptials.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow and Sarah’s eyes widened. “Nuptials? Are you marrying again, Mrs. Huffington?”
Georgiana opened her mouth and Charles knew she was going to deny him. “I—”
“She has accepted my proposal. I’ve been hoping to catch her between husbands for quite some time now. I’ve been successful at last.”
“This is so sudden.” Sarah looked as if she were doing her best to cover her astonishment. He could not tell if there was a slight element of dismay in her eyes. “I...I did not know you were long acquainted.”
“Not as sudden as it might seem. We met years ago, when Georgiana was first brought to town. Is that not right, my dear?”
She gave him a sideways glance before donning a smile and answering. “Yes. But Charles was not serious minded at the time.”
He had not been serious? Was the treacherous little chit turning her motives around on him? That was a foul play and he’d pay her back in kind.
“That very much sounds like my brother,” Sarah admitted. “But he has always said he will never marry. It seems Cupid has aimed his arrow true.”
He clutched at his heart. “Aye, and ’tis a deep wound.”
He looked down into Georgiana’s face, reading her near rebellion in her dilated pupils. “I pray no one will say anything to dissuade her.”
Sarah looked as if saying nothing would be difficult for her. The silence became awkward and Ethan finally spoke.
“Then I wish you bliss, Charles. It has been a long time coming.”
Charles expelled the breath he’d been holding. Despite his reassurances to Georgiana, he’d been worried there would be objections. There might still be, but at least his family would hold their tongues for the moment.
He glanced toward the door with an air of unconcern. “Carlington is done receiving his guests. I’d like to have a word with him.”
Ethan was quick to seize the opportunity to escape the tension, too. “I shall go with you, Charles. I’ve been meaning to talk to him.”
“Take care of Georgiana while I’m gone, Sarah,” he instructed. He did not want to give her a chance to back out.
As they moved to intercept Lord Carlington, Ethan lowered his voice and said. “Is it true, Charlie? Did you narrowly miss the opportunity to become Mrs. Huffington’s first late husband?”
“Truer than I like to think.”
“You do not intend to go through with it, do you?” Travis lowered his voice. “It’s a ruse, is it not? You are trying to draw a killer out?”
“It is not a ruse, and Lockwood has already given me this lecture, Travis. Do not waste your breath.”
“I am certain you’ve considered the consequences.”
“I have.”
“When do you intend to do this?”
When, indeed? “There are matters she needs to tend to before she is free to think of planning a wedding.”
“Meantime you are a walking target, Charlie. If her curse does not kill you, Gibbons will. Have you lost your mind?”
Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison Page 57
