When he had appeared before her at the Walfords’ ball the evening after their momentous visit to the Whitworths’, she had offered him welcome far in excess of what might reasonably be excused on the grounds that he was her patroness’s brother. She hoped he had put it down to a gush of girlish gratitude, no matter how the very thought irked her. But the warmth in his blue eyes had left her with an uncomfortable feeling of no longer being in control, as if some hand more powerful than hers was directing her affairs. Dominic—Lord Alton!—continued to rescue her from the worst of her importunate court. In fact he was now so often by her side that the rest of her admirers tended to fade into the background, at least in her eyes. Georgiana frowned at the wandering sunbeam which had moved to light the bedpost. Now she came to consider the matter, it was almost as if Lord Alton himself was paying court to her.
Another unladylike snort ruffled the serenity of the afternoon. Ridiculous idea! He was merely being kind, giving her what protection he could from the fortunehunters, knowing she did not like her prominence one little bit. He was her patroness’s brother, that was all.
Nothing more.
THE HUM of a hundred conversations eddied about Georgiana, enclosing her within the cocoon of the Massinghams’ rout party. The bright lights of the chandeliers winked from thousands of facets, none more brilliant than the sparkling eyes of the débutantes as they dipped and swayed through the first cotillion. Laughter tinkled and ran like a silver ribbon through the crowd. It was a glittering occasion; all present were pleased to be seen to be pleased. The ballroom was bedecked with tubs of hothouse blooms, vying with the ladies’ dresses in splashes of glorious colour, perfuming the warm air with subtle scents. A small orchestra added its mite to the din, striving valiantly to be heard above the busy chatter.
Newly entered on the scene, Georgiana had taken no more than three steps before being surrounded by her intrepid admirers, all clamouring for the honour of setting their name in her dance card. With a charm none the less successful for being automatic, she set about her regular task of ordering her evening.
“My dear Miss Hartley, if you would allow me the supper waltz I should be greatly honoured.”
Georgiana glanced up and found the serious face of Mr Swinson, one of her earnest suitors, who had become even more earnest over the last few days, hovering beside her. All her instincts cautioned her to refuse his request. The supper waltz, with the implied intention of going into supper on the gentleman’s arm at the conclusion of the measure, was the most highly prized of the dances at such a gathering. Whenever possible, Georgiana strove to grant that dance to one or other of her refused suitors, so as not to raise any false hopes among others of her court. But what excuse could she give, so early in the evening? A lie? Resolute, she opened her mouth to deny Mr Swinson, hoping he would accept her refusal without excuse, but was forestalled by a deep voice, speaking from behind her left ear.
“I believe the supper waltz is mine, Swinson.”
Swaying slightly with the dizziness his nearness always induced, Georgiana struggled to keep her expression within the limits of the acceptable, and knew she failed dismally. Her eyes were alight, her nerves tingling. She turned and gave her hand to Lord Alton. She didn’t even notice Mr Swinson huffily withdraw, eyeing the elegant person of the Viscount with marked disfavour.
Lord Alton bowed low over her hand. “Fairest Georgiana.”
His words were a seductive murmur, rippling across her senses. Then, knowing it was unwise, but utterly incapable of resisting the compulsion, Georgiana met his eyes, and the warmth she saw there spread through her, leaving dizzy happiness in its wake.
“My lord.”
She retained just enough wit to return his greeting, dropping her eyes from his in a flurry of shyness.
With a gentle smile, Viscount Alton tucked the hand he was still holding into the crook of his arm, thereby making life exceedingly difficult for the numerous other gentlemen waiting to pay court to this most desirable of young ladies. Lord Ellsmere, by his friend’s side, grinned. Taking pity on Georgiana, he engaged her in light-hearted conversation.
Georgiana’s hand burned where it lay on Lord Alton’s silk sleeve. Why was he behaving so? Under cover of paying polite attention to Lord Ellsmere as he related the latest on dit, she glanced up to find the Viscount’s blue eyes regarding her, an expression she dared not place lighting their depths. Another glance around showed her frustrated court dwindling, leaving only those gentlemen she regarded more as friends than suitors. Unlike those whose interest was primarily pecuniary, none of these gentlemen seemed to find Lord Alton’s possessive attitude any impediment to conversing with her.
Possessive? Georgiana’s thoughts froze. Then, inwardly, she shrugged. If the shoe fitted… And really there was no other way to describe the way he was behaving. This was the third night in a row he had appeared by her side almost immediately she had entered a room. By his mere presence he eased the crush about her, bringing relief which would doubtless be acute if she could feel anything through the sheer exhilaration of having him so near.
With an effort Georgiana forced herself to attend to the conversation, grateful for the distraction of Mr Havelock, who now joined them. By imperceptible degrees, the circle about them grew as more acquaintances stopped to talk. Gradually the sense of being, in some strange way, identifiably his receded, leaving only a subtle feeling of security.
When Lord Aylesham approached to claim the next dance, Lord Alton relinquished her with no more than a warm smile and a whispered reminder of their later appointment.
Released from the mesmerising effect of the Viscount at close quarters, Georgiana determinedly devoted a large part of her mind to a detailed analysis of his actions and motives. None of her partners noticed anything amiss; she was now too thoroughly practised in the arts of dancing, conversing and general entertaining to need to assign more than a small portion of her attention to these endeavours.
Of all the questions revolving in her head, the most insistent was, Why? Why was he doing all the things he was? Why was he behaving as he was? Again and again, only one answer came. It was impossible to attribute his actions to any other cause. He was making her the object of his attentions. Delicious shivers ran up her spine when she finally allowed her mind to enunciate that fact. Mr Sherry, whose arms she graced at the time, looked at her askance. Georgiana smiled dazzlingly upon him, completely stunning the poor man.
The next instant her sky clouded again. How could she believe such a magnificent man, with all the advantages of birth, position and fortune, would seriously look in her direction? That he was contemplating anything other than the acceptable was unthinkable. But perhaps he wasn’t contemplating anything at all. Maybe she was just an amusing aside, his sister’s protégée who needed looking after. Was she simply a naïve foreigner, reading far more into the situation than was intended? Georgiana forgot to suppress her sigh, and was forced to spend the rest of the dance soothing a ruffled Mr Sherry.
While Georgiana struggled with question and answer, alternating between cloud nine and prosaic despondency, the object of her thoughts strolled about the rooms, stopping here and there to chat as the mood seized him. Dominic was in a state of pleasurable anticipation. To his mind, his course was clear. While it was not one he had followed previously, he did not doubt his ability to carry the thing off. The major problem was time—or, rather, the patience required to see the campaign through.
The necessity for taking things slowly was self-evident. This time the object of his desires was not an experienced woman, capable of playing the game with a facility on a par with his. This time he wanted a green girl, an innocent, an angel whose conquest meant more to him than all the others combined. She needed gentle wooing. So the habits of the last ten years were set aside in favour of the strict dictates of propriety. With a wry grin at no one in particular, Dominic wondered how long he could harness the coiled tension that was growing, day by day, beneath the surface of his
suave urbanity.
“Dominic! What ho, lad! Up from the princely delights of Brighton?”
Dominic swung to face the speaker, a smile lighting his face. “My lord.” He nodded to Lord Moreton, one of his late father’s contemporaries. “As you say, sir, the amenities of Brighton palled.”
“Palled before the attractions of the young ladies, eh?”
Unperturbed by the close scrutiny of a pair of sharp grey eyes overhung by bushy brows, Dominic smiled in his usual benign way and agreed. “Oh, Prinny’s no competition, I assure you.”
Lord Moreton guffawed. Slapping Dominic on the back, he resumed his peregrination through the crowd, allowing Dominic to do likewise.
It was, Dominic supposed, inevitable that people would start to speculate. The very fact that he was here, attending all the balls and parties of the Little Season, rather than pursuing a very different course, in very different company, positively invited the attention of the gabble-mongers. No one was as yet sufficiently bold to put their speculation into circulation, but doubtless that, too, would come. For his part, he didn’t give a damn what the gossips said. He’d weathered far worse. But he would need to be vigilant to ensure no disturbing whispers reached his Georgiana’s ears. In truth, he was not sure how she might respond. But, with firsthand knowledge of the spitefulness of some among society’s civilised hordes, he was not prepared to take any chances.
For the first time, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, he was seriously wooing a young lady. The pace grated. The slowly compounding returns, when set against the constantly high expense in time and restraint, were hard to bear, particularly for one to whom instant gratification of the smallest whim, however fleeting, had become the norm. And unusual abstinence only aggravated his state.
Still, there was at least one shining beacon on the horizon, holding the promise of safe haven in the end. He was too experienced not to be able to read the signs. Her response to him was gratifying, even at thirty-two. Who would have imagined he would be so susceptible to such flattery? Dominic allowed a slow grin to twist his lips. The pull he sensed between them—that magnetic attraction that drew man to woman and bound them together with silken strands of desire—was so strong that he felt sufficently confident to leave her, essentially unwatched, for half the evening. The other half, of course, would be his. At least this way the gossip-mongers would have to wait a little longer for their on dit.
“What on earth are you grinning at?”
Startled, Dominic turned to find Bella at his side. His slow smile surfaced. “Pleasant thoughts, my dear.” His eyes scanned her face, noting the pallor she had attempted to hide with rouge. “How goes it with you?”
A small frown worried at Bella’s arched brows. “Oh, so-so.” she paused, then went on in a rush, “If I wasn’t so concerned about Georgie, I declare I would have stayed at home with Arthur. These affairs are becoming a dreadful bore.”
The quavering note in her voice alerted Dominic to her state. He drew her hand comfortingly through his arm, stroking it soothingly, a small gesture he had used since she was a child. It had the desired effect. While his sister regained her composure, it occurred to him that time, his present arbiter, was about to place a limit on his courtship. The Season had only two more weeks to run. Then the ton would retire to their estates for Christmas and the worst of the winter. He was unsure if Bella had yet recognised her condition. Typically she was not one to coddle herself and could be relied on to fail to consider such possibilities until they became too obvious to ignore. But Arthur was not so sanguine. He would undoubtedly wish to remove from London as soon as the Season ended. Which raised the question of Georgiana’s future plans.
On impulse, Dominic turned to his sister. “Incidentally, what are you planning for Christmas?”
Diverted, Bella gave him a clear blue stare. “Christmas?” Then, recovering from her surprise, “I haven’t given it much thought.” She shrugged. “I suppose we’ll go down to Winsmere, as usual.”
“Why not come to Candlewick? You haven’t spent Christmas there since you married. I want to open the house up—just us, but the place needs warming.”
Bella was taken aback by the invitation, but the more she considered it, the more value she could see in the suggestion. While she was very comfortable at Winsmere Lodge, it couldn’t compare with the graciousness of Candlewick. Nothing could. “I’m sure Arthur wouldn’t mind. I’ll speak to him tomorrow.”
Dominic nodded. “What about Georgiana?”
Bella’s brow clouded again. “I’ve already asked, but she seems set on returning to Italy. I’ve tried to talk her out of it, but she’s so stubborn!”
His suspicions confirmed, Dominic, repressing a grin at his sister’s disgruntled tone, said, “Leave it to me. I’ll see what my persuasions can do.”
Big beseeching blue eyes met his. “Oh, Dominic. If you could only persuade her to stay, I just know she’ll make a good match once she gets over this horrible mystery gentleman of hers.” Remembering her brother’s promise, Bella added, “You haven’t found out who he is yet, have you?”
It was Dominic’s turn to frown. Amid the delights of wooing Georgiana, he’d forgotten the existence of her “secret love”. Now, considering the matter carefully, knowing what he did of that young lady, he was hard put to it to credit the notion. If she had ever in truth had a “secret love”, then the man was all but forgotten already. The unwelcome idea that Georgiana’s partiality could vacillate like a darting sunbeam, now here, now there, awoke in his mind. Resolutely he quashed it. Quite simply, he had no intention of allowing her the leeway neccesary to vacillate. Seeing the worry etched in Bella’s face, he yielded to the impulse to reassure her. “Don’t worry your head about your protégée. From all I’ve seen, she’s well on the way to achieving a highly creditable alliance.”
The glow in Bella’s face brought a smile to Dominic’s lips.
“Who? Where…? I haven’t noticed any particular gentleman… Oh, Dominic! Don’t tease! Who is he?”
But Dominic only shook his head, smiling at her chagrin. “Patience, sister, dear. Don’t crowd out the action. Just keep your eyes open and you’ll doubtless see it all. But,” he said, returning to a sterner tone, “believe me, there’s no need for you to worry.”
Bella grimaced up at him.
Dominic’s brows rose, with that faintly supercilious air that warned Bella he was in earnest. Her rejoinder was destined to remain unuttered as Viscount Molesworth approached to claim her for the cotillion just forming.
Free again, Dominic continued his amble, determined to eschew Georgiana’s company until the supper dance provided him with adequate excuse. At the door to the card-room, he was hailed by his brother-in-law.
“Thought you were at home,” Dominic said, strolling up and nodding to Lord Green, standing beside Arthur.
“Finished my last box earlier than I’d thought. You’ve seen Bella?”
Dominic nodded. “She’s dancing with Molesworth.”
“In that case, come and join us.”
“Just a quiet hand,” put in Lord Green with a smile, “but at least more life than you’re likely to find out here.”
The smile on Dominic’s face broadened. “Not tonight. I have other fish to fry.”
“Ah.” Arthur’s pensive eye met his brother-in-law’s bright blue gaze. “And what a shock that must be to the system.”
Dominic’s lips twitched, but he responded calmly. “As you say.”
“Still,” said Arthur, his eyes now on the figure of his wife twirling down the set with Viscount Molesworth, “it’s worth it in the end.”
With a nod and a smile, Dominic moved on. The cotillion had ended, and the dancers were taking their places, with a great deal of noisy laughter, for a set of country dances. His eyes were drawn to where Georgiana was standing, partnered by Julian Ellsmere. Dominic stood unobtrusively between a sofa occupied by two turbaned dowagers and a potted palm and watched the dancers, anticipati
on growing keener by the minute.
Suddenly the irritation of being stared at caused him to lift his eyes and look over the dancers’ heads. Directly opposite, Elaine Changley stood watching him.
She smiled as their eyes made contact. Then, completely ignoring the ladies beside her, she glided across the ballroom in his direction.
It was a bold move. Under his breath, Dominic uttered an oath, completely forgetting the proximity of the elderly dowagers. As he watched her progress between the sets, he allowed himself to examine, as if from a distance, her attractions. Other than as a passing diversion, she had failed to activate his interest. He had never encouraged her to believe otherwise. It amazed him that she could confuse the emotion he felt for the lady he would marry with the fleeting passion he had indulged with her.
Elaine Changley was desperate. Just how desperate, she had not known until she had seen the handsome form of Dominic Ridgeley across the room and realised the smile on his face was caused by the sight of his sister’s protégée. Her present play was a gamble. By the time she reached his side, she realised how dangerous a gamble it was.
Dominic greeted her with a formal bow and a cold, “Elaine.”
Inwardly, Lady Changley winced, but she kept a bright if brittle smile fixed on her lips and attempted to inject some warmth into her habitually cold gaze. “Dominic, darling,” she purred, “how pleasant to find you here. Have you come to alleviate the singular boredom of this party?”
Dominic allowed his gaze, which had returned to the dancers immediately after greeting her, to come slowly about to rest on her face—a handsome face, pale and perfectly featured, but devoid of all softness, all womanly feeling.
The music stopped.
Suddenly nervous, Elaine Changley plied her fan, fluttering it delicately just below her eyes.
Curtly Dominic bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I am engaged for the next dance.”
Impetuous Innocent Page 17
