The Spinster and the Rake

by Eva Devon

  “No.”

  “And your intended, she must have a curious mind,” Montrose intoned. “For she has got quite the better of you.”

  “She has not.”

  “Oh no?” Montrose’s lips twitched.

  Miss Bly had been quite fiery in his study but had made no advance upon him. She had stayed. And it had been he who had closed in on her, determined to make her leave.

  Had she not intended to find him alone and to arrange for them to be caught together? No, certainly not. He didn’t even entertain the thought any longer. Especially after their discourse this afternoon.

  In fact, upon recollection, she’d assumed he was a poorly dressed servant.

  “What the devil are you thinking?” Montrose asked.

  Edward closed his eyes. “If you must know, she did seem to suggest I was a footman before I kissed her.”

  “A footman?” Montrose guffawed.

  Edward found himself grinning. A most odd reaction. “She made comment about my ability to carry logs and the dubious state of my clothes.”

  “Did she, by God?” Montrose laughed. “So, you think she did not arrange it? She is as caught as you?”

  “I don’t know. The marriage is advantageous to her and her family. They would have faced a severe decline when their annuity was lost. Her mother is well enough, but her father?” Edward groaned. “If he bounces around me again, I might have apoplexy.”

  Montrose snorted. “You are not capable of apoplexy, Thornfield. You’re far too serious for that. Nothing affects you.”

  “That’s not true,” Edward said solemnly, “and you know it.”

  Montrose was quiet for a moment.

  They both knew it, indeed.

  Chapter Ten

  “He did what?” Elizabeth yelped.

  Georgiana tucked up her night rail–clad knees to her chin. She barely believed what had transpired herself. “He kissed me again.”

  “In his library? During your lessons?”

  They sat on Georgiana’s bed in their small bedroom. They were lucky enough to have the one between them, the eldest sisters. A cheery but frugal fire, despite the summer, crackled in the hearth. Yorkshire summers were not warm, and the cold had come in that night. The damp walls were particularly chilly.

  Elizabeth sat staring at her in wide-eyed silence until Georgiana couldn’t bear the tension any longer, and tried to loosen it.

  “Elizabeth, do not be so amazed,” she teased. “We are to be married. And besides, he was an absolute bounder.”

  “The Duke of Thornfield, really? He’s devilishly handsome, of course, and a rake, but you are not the sort of girl—” Elizabeth stopped suddenly, her mouth forming a perfect O then curving into a wicked grin, and she whispered dramatically, “He must think you are absolutely delicious. It’s the only logical explanation.”

  Nothing her sister had said sounded logical.

  And what a strange thought that was, that her future husband thought her delicious. She had never thought of anyone in such a way. As if one was something to be consumed.

  But it had felt as if he was trying to devour her…and she had liked it.

  Truth be told, before the duke, she could not remember a single time when a gentleman had looked at her with any particular interest. Most of her life, she paid little attention to gentlemen at all. They seemed rather foolish, in her opinion, only capable of talking about horses and hounds and their new coats.

  She liked horses.

  She liked hounds.

  She could even appreciate a well-tailored coat.

  But she valued books above all things, and as far as she could see, the vast majority of gentlemen had no interest in them whatsoever. Truthfully, she wondered if most had ever even opened one without the threat of a tutor.

  And so, gentlemen had found her to be most vexing in turn.

  Thornfield, on the other hand, was most definitely interested in books, and he had looked at her as if he might wish to eat her up like a dessert that one could never quite take enough of. Perhaps her sister was right. He did think her delicious. But why?

  If she inspired no such feelings in others, why should she inspire such a feeling in him? Certainly, she inspired some sort of feeling in him.

  Though it had seemed he’d been most distressed by her today, because he had left in quite a huff. Georgiana traced the hem of her night rail. “Well, his kisses are—”

  “Yes?” Elizabeth asked, leaning forward, her eyes bright with curiosity.

  “I cannot explain what they do to me,” Georgiana said honestly, her breath growing short even as she recalled the touch of his lips.

  She swallowed, then shook her head, not wishing to let herself be carried away. “But he was most rude. He said he kissed me to make me quiet, and at his ball, he kissed me to make me leave. I cannot think these are good things.”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth mused, but then her gaze brightened. “Perhaps he was only looking for excuses to kiss you, Georgiana.”

  That had never occurred to her before. Would a duke need an excuse to kiss a young woman? Perhaps they would if they fancied themselves above kissing unmarried young ladies.

  “It is impossible to say what is in that head of his, but his kisses are marvelous.” Georgiana scowled, annoyed that the thought of his kiss could distract her from his shortcomings. “He is exceptionally disagreeable, though. I do not think that I can like him.”

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter if you like him,” Elizabeth said. “You’re going to be married to him and that’s that. And you shall have to get an heir you know.”

  Oh, dear Lord. An heir. That was rather important. Duchesses did produce heirs.

  Georgiana’s heart slammed so hard and so quickly in her chest, she wondered if she was about to spontaneously combust with the realization of what was required of her.

  It was one of the most important tenets of the aristocracy, the perpetuation of their lines.

  Once she drew in several deep breaths, the idea was actually rather intriguing.

  She knew about it, of course.

  She’d read a great deal.

  She’d seen several statues.

  One knew about the Greek myths.

  Her husband was a rake… And from all the myths, novels, and plays she’d read? Rakes were absolute bounders.

  She did not like her state of affairs.

  Was he going to continue in his rakish ways once they were wed?

  That was a most disagreeable thought. The idea that he might be sharing his kisses with other women was appalling. How would she negotiate such a thing?

  The very idea, though common amongst the ton, was most upsetting. For her parents had been loyal to each other, even if they were not the most reliable couple that one could think of.

  “You look most distressed, Georgiana,” her sister said softly. “What is it?”

  “I’m thinking about his grace behaving in a way that Zeus might.”

  “Zeus?”

  “Yes.” Georgiana cleared her throat, completely stunned to be discussing such things at all with any relation to her future. “Hera must’ve been absolutely miserable with Zeus going about all over, being all god-like with ladies whenever he saw fit, with whoever he thought fit, and I don’t think that I should like such a thing at all.”

  Elizabeth sat quietly for a moment, hopefully trying to find some bit of good to supply. “Simply tell him you won’t be having it.”

  If only it were that simple. “I don’t have a great deal of power in that regard. What if he tells me to, well, you know, politely tells me to hie off?”

  “Well, then,” Elizabeth said with her quiet firmness. “He’s going to marry you, and if he did not it would be breach of promise. So, perhaps it would be a good idea to make it absolutely clear what yo
ur intentions are and what you require in a marriage, before you make your vows.”

  The idea of being forthright was rather appealing. It’s something that she was rather given to anyway.

  She beamed at her sister. “I think you’re quite right. Just because he’s a duke doesn’t mean he’s always going to get his way, even if he seems to think so.”

  “Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said giddily, “I think your husband’s going to get quite a surprise.”

  “He is indeed.” Georgiana laughed, suddenly quite pleased. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  …

  The impromptu party held at Georgiana’s home was a disaster.

  There was no question—Georgiana wished she could slink underneath the carpet and hide for the rest of the evening, but since she was one of the primary guests, such a thing would be absolutely impossible.

  Her father had what he assumed to be a remarkably good idea. Thus, a small dance in the duke’s honor, since they were bound to become family, had come to pass. The small group of musicians played sprightly reels and jigs.

  She wished she could take her father out to their pretty woodland and scream at him.

  All of their friends had come. Their small ballroom was packed to bursting with all of the people of the county eager to see something they had never seen in such close proximity—a duke. But the truth was they were all in such a socially different strata that the whole thing was terribly strange.

  It was very clear from the way the duke was standing on the other end of the room with two young ladies and a remarkably strange but gloriously handsome fellow that they did not belong together. The Duke of Thornfield peered down his nose as if the idea of dancing a reel was the most appalling thing he could ever think to do.

  Georgiana bit down on her lower lip, feeling torn. This was the man she was going to marry, and he looked as if he might die on the spot from exposure to such low people.

  Was he really so snobbish? Of course he was. He’d declared his own superiority!

  Her father kept darting looks about the room, in turns grinning with delight and then all but wringing his hands. It was clear he was not entirely certain what to do next.

  Charles Bly was ill-advised in many things, but one thing she could not discredit him for was the fact that he truly loved to make people happy, and he always enjoyed gatherings. So to him, a gathering would cause happiness. She wished the duke could see that, at least, and make even a small attempt to have a pleasant time for her father’s sake.

  She wound her gloved hands together, surveying the company from behind a large potted plant.

  Elizabeth rushed up to her and whispered in horrified dismay, “Whatever shall we do? They all seem absolutely miserable.”

  “They are miserable,” Georgiana said. “That’s why they look as if no sugar has been added to the lemon punch.”

  “Perhaps we should pour wine into it!” Elizabeth teased. “And then they might appear a bit more jolly.”

  “Do you think so?” Georgiana queried, unable to hide her skepticism. “I do not think wine should improve them at all. No doubt the duke becomes morose and bad tempered with alcohol.”

  Georgiana blew out a breath. Really, this wasn’t to be borne nor would she bear it! She seized Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her through the crowded ballroom, carefully avoiding fans and feathers.

  Everyone was tittering away, consuming large glasses of punch, all of them appalled by the duke’s behavior and marveling at the fact that he was such an unpleasant presence. For generally, they, as a group, had such a lovely time. He was the veritable thorn in the side of the general company.

  His name was apt.

  Georgiana stopped a few feet in front of her future husband. She and Elizabeth both gave a small curtsy. “Your Grace,” Georgiana said. “Good evening.”

  He looked down at her, perplexed. “We have already greeted each other this evening.”

  “So we have,” she said with forced enthusiasm. “Shall we dance?” It was extraordinary that he had kissed her with such passion before. Twice.

  He looked upon her as a statue might. A very beautiful statue, but an imperious statue, nonetheless. “I thought you did not care for dancing,” he said.

  All at once, her emotions were at war. That he remembered any of their previous conversation had her strangely thrilled. But she was still nettled by his behavior, tone, and the fact he was, in his way, telling her he did not wish to dance at an occasion meant for dancing.

  Her smile was almost painful, but she continued at it, if only for the sake of her papa. “You are correct, I don’t care for dancing,” she said. “But it is the generally accepted thing to do at a ball, and since you and I are the guests of honor, perhaps we should set the proper example.”

  He peered at the empty dance floor.

  He peered at the people gathered around the floor.

  He peered at the musicians, arched a single brow, and said, “I do not dance reels.”

  “Well,” Georgiana said through nearly gritted teeth even as she determined to be optimistic, “we could request anything that you please. A waltz, perhaps?”

  “A waltz?” he echoed, his lip curling ever so slightly. “I do not think so.”

  She nearly threw her hands up and cursed his fate, but such a thing, should she or any of her family wish to show their faces in any part of Europe ever again, was not possible.

  The two young women, Lady Emma and Lady Gwendolyn, stood beside the duke, gawking at Georgiana and Elizabeth as if they were animals in a zoological exhibit. The women were exquisitely beautiful. Lady Emma, with red hair, pale skin, and a gown of emerald green, looked as if she had stepped right out of a canvas. It was almost painful, her beauty.

  The other, Lady Gwendolyn, dark-haired, pink-cheeked, and blue-eyed with a gown of ruby, looked at them as if they were something that she had stepped in.

  Something quite unpleasant.

  And with a noxious scent.

  “Your gathering is most interesting!” said Lady Gwendolyn. “What various people you do know, Your Grace.”

  “The various people,” Georgiana put in, “include his future family.”

  “Yes,” Lady Gwendolyn stated, her brows rising. “How remarkable.”

  Georgiana swung her attention away from the rather venomous Lady G and focused upon her betrothed. “Your Grace, is there nothing I can do to tempt you to dance?”

  The duke’s friend, a man with hair as thick as a lion’s mane gave her a winning grin and announced boldly, “You must dance with me, Miss Bly! You look as if you are a great conversationalist, and I’m sure you will be light on your feet.”

  Thornfield looked at his friend askance. “You are mistaken. She declares that she is quite poor on her feet. Though, she did not step on me when we danced. Perhaps it was luck.”

  Georgiana just refrained from gnashing her teeth. It was very tempting to give him a good set down in public, but she knew that such a thing was simply a fantasy.

  “Of course, I shall dance with you, my lord,” Georgiana said with a cheeky grin. “But I think His Grace only refuses me now because I got the better of him in a discussion about Mr. Shakespeare.”

  “Thornfield, is that true?” asked Montrose, his eyes sparking with amusement.

  She was pleased to see the duke’s lips tighten into a frown.

  “We merely interpret Shakespeare differently,” Thornfield declared.

  “I cannot agree,” Georgiana said. “Shakespeare is a great man. He knew much about love.”

  “He knew about a great many things,” Montrose agreed heartily. “Love, certainly, and the pleasures of love.”

  “I should be happy to discuss it with you!” she exclaimed, hoping all the while that Thornfield was growing irritated.

  From the look upon her sister’s angelic face, s
he must have been hitting her mark. The Duke of Thornfield shifted from dancing shoe to dancing shoe.

  Montrose pressed on. “I shall enjoy that immensely.”

  “As it turns out, I think I am inclined to dance, after all,” Thornfield broke in abruptly. “You may dance with Georgiana’s sister.”

  “Why thank you, Thornfield,” Montrose declared. “How very benevolent of you. And I think it should prove to be absolutely delightful, if the lady consents.”

  Elizabeth blinked in amazement at the rapid change of conversation, then smiled. “Of course, my lord. It would be a pleasure.”

  With that, Georgiana seized the duke’s hand and allowed him to escort her onto the small floor. Finally, she noted from across the room, her father beamed with pleasure.

  At last, things were going to turn in the direction he no doubt hoped.

  “You are not to discuss love or pleasure with my friends,” Thornfield said.

  “Are you afraid that they shall corrupt me?” she asked as he began to lead her in the dance.

  “Yes,” he said frankly. “Montrose has been known to lead many a young lady astray.”

  “He’s not a very good friend to you, then, is he?”

  “He is the dearest friend I have,” he countered, easily leading her about as more and more couples joined them. “I have known him since I was a boy. Nothing shall be said against him.”

  “Ah,” Georgiana said, completely aware of the feel of her hand in his, and his palm pressed to her upper back. “It seems I have found something positive about your character.”

  “Have you?” he asked, clearly unimpressed by her esteem. “And what is that?”

  “That you are loyal to your friends, and that is something I look upon with favor.”

  “Should I be concerned about what else you look upon with favor?” he drawled.

  She narrowed her eyes at his frustrating reply. “Since I am to be your wife, I think it is a good thing that you do.”

  “I am not entirely certain I can appreciate your sense of judgment,” he said. “We must resume your training and then perhaps I shall be concerned with your opinion.”