by Jo Beverley
When that dance ended, she saw Sellerby approaching. She would have to grant him a dance, but she was growing worried about Dracy, so she excused herself with a smiling apology and went in search again. When she saw her brother-in-law, she asked, “Is Lord Dracy here yet?”
“Dracy?” Thretford asked. “Oh, your father’s protégé, the naval man. No idea, my dear. Perhaps he’s lost his way, not being used to navigating on land.”
He chortled at his own joke and moved on to greet a late guest. Not Dracy. She circled the house again, but then returned to the dancing to find Sellerby standing out, waiting for her. He took her hand. “I feast my eyes on Lady May!”
He really was ridiculous at times. “Do eyes have teeth, then, Sellerby?”
He chuckled. “Clever girl. Only lashes.”
“All the better to whip me with? Come, come, this is an odd line of speech.”
“You leapt from feast to teeth, my dear Georgie, but I assure you, if I were ever to whip you, it would be a very gentle chastisement.”
“If you were to…”
“When you are mine. But come, let us join this dance.”
His words, his sense of ownership, made her rebel. “I regret you must excuse me, Sellerby. Something has disagreed with me.…”
She hurried away, as if suddenly in need of the ladies’ room, hoping her abrupt exit hadn’t been noticed and added to talk about her.
She made her way down a corridor, but the house was filling beyond capacity, and the sweaty, perfumed space made her feel truly unwell. She escaped onto the terrace to inhale fresh air and steady her panicked heart but stayed out of sight of the windows. In his present mood, Sellerby might pursue, and he was becoming very strange.
They’d enjoyed that sort of badinage many a time, but whips? And when you are mine? She’d never given him reason to think that.
Oh, he’d meant nothing by it and she’d overreacted because of the pressure of this event. Even though it was going well, she still felt on trial. She’d make it up to Sellerby in due course. For now, no one else was on the terrace so she could linger, breathing in fresh air and regaining her composure. Soon one or more admiring gentlemen would find her and she’d return to the dance escorted and in good spirits.
She’d organized the flowers out here, so she surveyed her work. Urns had been placed in the corners, all holding tall white blooms and trailing variegated ivy. Pale colors always worked well for night events, for they caught the light, whereas colored blooms turned gray and dull when the sun set. To increase the effect, each urn also held a tall lamp in a frosted shade. Pools of light, but leaving shadowy corners such as the one in which she stood, so useful for trysts.
Alas, no trysts for her tonight, here or in the gardens below.
The colored lanterns in the trees were charming, but she could take no credit for them. Winnie had used them before and her people had known just what to do there and with the lights on the pond. She’d like to see the pond now darkness was settling, so she walked to the front of the terrace. Delightful! The bobbing lights in colored glass were like jewels on black satin.
But where were her swains? She was in full sight of the dancing room now and should have been swarmed.
Oh, that was ridiculous. Richmond and Beaufort knew better than to seek another dance so soon after their first, and Sellerby thought her unwell. He’d have chosen another partner. If Dracy had been here…
She remembered the perfumed tobacco. She’d wanted some in the urns, but the gardener had claimed he had only two healthy plants. She’d wondered if he’d deliberately damaged the others, but there’d been no means of knowing. She’d told him to place the two near the central steps down to the garden. She walked to the steps, unable to detect the sweet, distinctive perfume. Devil take the man. But then she caught the scent, a very faint scent.
She put a hand on the low copingstone and carefully leaned forward.
“Do please tell me you’re not attempting to put an end to your existence, Lady Maybury.”
Georgia straightened quickly but took her time in turning, aware of a speeding heart.
He’d come.
Then, as she faced him, her heart went into full gallop.
Dear heaven, the man was gorgeous! The embroidered gray and powdered wig in some way enhanced the active energy that seemed not of her fashionable world. Even the scar, starkly clear and undisguised, and the cynical twist it gave his face, made him more, not less.…
Breathe, Georgia, breathe.
Chapter 13
Dracy kept his composure, but it wasn’t easy when faced with Lady May in full, glorious plumage. She looked just like that miniature, but in the round, in the flesh, and more.
The most round, most eye-catching flesh was her breasts, rising plumply above the tight front of her stiffly embroidered bodice. That bodice covered her nipples, but surely only just.…
A peacock-feather fan rose to block the view.
He looked up. “My apologies, Lady Maybury, but to ignore such wonders would be unforgivable.”
Her lips twitched, and then she chuckled, sweeping the fan aside. “Look all you want, sir, but if you ogle the other ladies so boldly, you may come to grief.”
“I doubt any match you in magnificence.”
“Dracy, you’ve been taking lessons in flattery!”
“Only for use with other ladies.”
“Training in a nimble tongue too, I see. But not in punctuality? You’re late.”
“I was delayed by a visit from a friend. He was quite amused to find me in such finery.”
“A naval friend?”
“No, from Devon. He’s keeping an eye on Dracy for me and reported that nothing is worse than it usually is.”
She chuckled as if that were a joke, but those had been Tom’s words, with reproach implied. Tom had been worried about Dracy lingering in London, and even more so when he’d found him in finery, about to set out for a ball held by Georgia Maybury’s sister. He’d put Tom off, but he’d have to calm him down tomorrow.
“Do I detect nicotiana?” he said.
“I’ve educated your nose!”
“My nose is humbly grateful.”
She chuckled again. It was good to see her in light spirits. The event must be going well.
But then why was she out here alone?
“Mother sent my sister some seeds, but the gardener planted them in an obscure corner. I think he must lack all sense of smell.”
“Or isn’t out in the garden as it grows dark?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I’m tempted to summon him here now.”
“He’s doubtless in his worthy bed, in preparation for rising with the dawn.”
Clearly she hadn’t thought of that either.
“When we frivolous creatures will be seeking ours. We live in different worlds, don’t we?”
One of the many things he liked about Georgia Maybury was the way her agile mind caught an idea and leapt onto another. Some might see it as a magpie quality, but her mental leaps were always to the point.
“There’s rarely any lying abed in the navy either,” he pointed out. He could add, or in struggling to restore a ruined estate.
“Then you’re well away from it,” she declared. “I’ll leave the gardener to his world of sleep, especially as he did obey and plant at least one down there. I was trying to see.”
“I could pick you up again.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“A challenge, Georgia?”
Her chin went up when she said, “Yes,” but her eyes were bright.
She probably wanted him to pick her up again, whether she knew it or not, so instead he looked over the low balustrade himself. “Two, but spindly specimens.”
“Because he originally planted them in a poor spot and probably moved them roughly.”
Dracy straightened. “You have a great interest in things being where they should be. First a horse, now a plant.”
“Why not?
Plants thrive in one location and shrivel in another.”
“You are truly interested in gardening?”
“The home is the lady’s responsibility, and a garden enhances a home. Don’t imagine me on my knees grubbing in the soil as my mother sometimes does, Dracy. I merely issue orders.”
“That I can believe, but Lady Hernescroft?”
She walked past the steps and continued along the terrace. “I think perhaps you put people into narrow slots.”
“I’m learning not to. Your mother promised me seeds, and my home certainly needs enhancing, but I have no terraces.”
“Then erect some,” she said, as if it were as simple as planting seeds.
“I have other demands on my purse for now.”
She was so easy to read. He saw her think that odd, but then accept it as part of his very different world. Just as well he didn’t harbor too much hope of installing her as mistress of Dracy Manor.
“Are there any beds against the house?” she asked. “The perfume would rise at night to enter an open window.”
“Into the bedchamber, perhaps,” he said. Where you and I lie tangled in sheets, contented and entwined. Perhaps his tone was too easy to read, for her eloquent fan unfurled and wafted. That was always a lady’s defense, feeble though it was.
“What sort of house is Dracy?” she asked.
He gave her the truth. “A simple manor house, badly neglected. My cousin spent his income on his London home.”
“He did mostly live in Town, so that’s not unreasonable.”
“He shouldn’t have mostly lived in Town. Not when he had an estate to run and a house that needed care.”
She halted and looked him in the eye. “Are you criticizing me and my husband, Lord Dracy?”
He hadn’t been, intentionally at least, but it was a point. “You do seem to be birds of a feather with my cousin.”
Her jaw dropped. “With Ceddie Dracy? If you make comparisons like that, sir…”
He raised a hand, laughing. “Don’t challenge me to a duel.” Gads, that wasn’t a good joke to toss at her. “Why? Where’s the difference?”
“Where…?”
“I see I’ve truly offended you. My deepest apologies. I met my cousin only once from the time I went to sea.”
“Your cousin, sir, was a fop of the silliest sort. He mistook price for value and indulged in all the most expensive follies. He had no taste or style and lacked the good sense to seek the advice of those who did.”
“Blasted with all guns! Poor Ceddie. At least, I might feel sorry for him if he’d not beggared Dracy in the process. If he’d squandered it all on paintings or statues I might have been able to sell them, but he bought fripperies and friends, neither of which are worth a farthing now.”
“I can imagine. A sad burden to inherit.”
Perhaps unthinkingly, she’d put a hand on his sleeve.
Dracy struggled with a jolt of pure lust.
From a hand on a sleeved arm.
But also from the genuine concern in her beautiful eyes—eyes that looked at him without a flinch. Then there was her perfume and her breasts.…
“My lord.” She removed her hand.
He looked up, knowing he’d revealed too much—his desire, yes, but perhaps his deeper feelings.
“I hope I haven’t misled you, Lord Dracy, by my pleasure in your company. I hope we’re friends, but we can never be more.”
“Never?” he asked, trying to hide all reaction.
“Never. Please believe me on that. If I think that will be difficult for you, we cannot even be friends. I’m no Barbara Allen.”
The pure steely honesty conquered his heart. Many beauties enjoyed their conquests and collected broken hearts as trophies, as with the Barbara Allen of the song. Not Georgia Maybury, who truly would avoid him if she thought his heart in danger.
“’Struth,” he said lightly, “I’m not the type to die for love, but you have a rare beauty and entrancing personality, and I can’t imagine a man alive who wouldn’t respond to that, friend or foe.”
“I hoped you’d be immune!” she said, not reassured.
“Perhaps if I were to wear a blindfold,” he teased, “and you were to cease wearing your magical perfume?”
It hung in the balance, but then she laughed, shaking her head. “Admire and inhale, then, but don’t fall in love. I already have a surfeit of unwanted devotees. On strict terms of friendship, I’ll risk my toes and dance the next set with you.”
“You do like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
“Often,” she said and led the way back into the house, light of step, graceful, and surely smiling.
Dracy followed, considering the fabulously beautiful, fabulously expensive back of her gown, and their conversation.
Different worlds and broken hearts.
Why did he even hope at all?
At least he’d returned her in good spirits. When he’d arrived and wandered the house in search of her, he’d heard gossip. Lady May, too beautiful for her own good. Or that of her husband’s. Not a trace of shame. For all the attention dukes were paying her, he heard people say, she wouldn’t snare one now.
He was particularly concerned by that now. It had been as if the scandal were new, not a year old. Where were all her dukes? He faced no competition as he led her into place for the next dance.
Georgia dipped a curtsy, hoping Dracy wasn’t too poor a dancer. She’d needed escape from the situation on the terrace, and sooner or later she’d have to dance with him, but she was prepared for another cause for sniggers from her detractors.
As they completed the first turn, she gave him a scathing look. “Hornpipe, indeed.”
He smiled at her. “I can dance a fine one, but you shouldn’t underestimate a naval officer. We are often obliged to do our duties on shore.”
“Which involve dancing?” she asked, turning in the other direction.
“Pleasing the local population as best we can. Especially the ladies.”
The rascal! “One in every port, I hear,” she said, and danced away in a long hay, touching hands to ladies and gentlemen as she wove through the dance.
Damnation. Might he take the tone of her comment as jealousy? Rather, it had been pure irritation. Why would no one be what they were supposed to be tonight?
Instead of being tiresomely adoring, Sellerby had turned threatening. Instead of being ill at ease, Dracy was gorgeous, elegant, and even charming! He danced as well as any man here, and many of the women were noting it. If they’d been shocked or appalled by his face, they’d overcome it. They smiled, they blushed, and a few swayed closer than the dance required. She knew the reputations of those women and had no doubt they were plotting how to get him into their beds. And people criticized her behavior as wanton!
She couldn’t be jealous of a man she didn’t want, but all the same, his words churned in her mind, along with their implications. When the dance brought them together again she said, “I don’t suppose ships are often in port.”
“But when they are,” he said, amused, “it can be for months.”
To add to her strain, Sellerby was standing against the wall, staring at her coldly. Lud! She’d cried off dancing with him and returned with another. That was impossibly discourteous. How could she have been so thoughtless?
When she danced with Dracy again, he asked, “What’s amiss?”
“Nothing,” she said, and moved on in the dance.
When the dance ended, however, he said, “A nothing called Sellerby? He’s been staring at you throughout the dance.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“He offends you?”
He looked so dangerous that she grasped his arm. Then hastily let it go. So many eyes were on her. “I’m at fault. I feigned illness when I was supposed to dance with him. When I returned, it was to dance with you. I will give him the next and my sweet apologies.”
“And charm him out of his sulk.”
“Geo
rgia!” Thank heavens, here came Babs—but her attention was all on Dracy, and she had that look in her eyes.
Georgia wanted to warn him, but warn him of what? Babs was a flirt and adored handsome men, but she was lustily devoted to her husband, even though he was a stocky, short-legged man with a bulldog face. Marital matters were endlessly, frustratingly exasperating.
