by Jo Beverley
She quickly wrote a note.
“Jane, take this to Lord Dracy. I owe him some time as a Town guide.”
But Jane returned to say that he’d left. “Summoned to the Admiralty, milady, by an important-looking letter.”
“Heavens, he can’t be ordered back to sea, can he?”
“I don’t know, milady, but it’s unlikely, isn’t it? We’re not at war as best I know.”
“Of course,” Georgia said, but was disturbed by the flat panic she’d felt for a moment. At sea or in Devon, he would soon be out of her orbit, and infuriatingly, he wasn’t available for a tour around the Town.
“Oh well, I’ll write letters for a while, and then we’ll visit some shops until dinnertime. After dinner, I’ll visit Mary’s to be sure all’s well.”
She wrote to Lizzie, to Clara Allworthy in Wiltshire, and to Anna Long in Ireland. Repeating the same news was tedious, however, especially when she left out a great deal in her letters to Clara and Anna. The shops didn’t prove as amusing as they should, and when she realized she was being avoided by some ladies, she retreated back home to safety.
Oh, but she hated this, and hated the people who’d brought it about. Her situation wouldn’t be nearly as bad without that wicked letter. Eloisa Cardross and who? Who hated her so? When Dracy didn’t appear for dinner, she could almost have cried.
“Dining at the Admiralty, I assume,” she said, striving for indifference. “What they can want of him, I can’t imagine.”
“Have sense, child,” her mother said. “He’s now a lord. A mere baron, but that gives him a seat in the House. They’ll want to ensure that he casts his vote in favor of the navy.”
Georgia supposed that was true, but she knew he’d cast it the way he thought right, not to order.
They were eight to dine today, including two wives who were so meticulously polite that it was an insult. Georgia coped in the only way she could, by being calm and unaffected, but gave thanks when the event was over and all the guests had left.
She was leaving the drawing room when her mother said, “We are invited to an exhibition at the Danish embassy tonight. Do you wish to come?”
Georgia knew she should. Should again present a sweet, innocent appearance and charm people back into their wits, but she couldn’t face it. “I’ve felt out of sorts all day, Mother. I’ll go early to bed.”
When she returned from Mary Gifford’s Georgia played cards with Jane for a while and then did prepare for bed early. She dismissed Jane but couldn’t settle. She tried to read but too often went to the window to peer out, hoping to see a carriage approaching, carrying Dracy home.
It was both foolish and wicked, and tonight she had no excuse to visit his room, but temptation danced through her. She could come up with an excuse.
Where on earth was he? It was gone eight o’clock. Admiralty business couldn’t last so late. For a man who didn’t care for Town, he seemed able to enjoy it very well.
She sat to read a new book of poetry, forbidding herself from going to the window. The verses were quite good, and when she heard something out in the street, the clock said almost ten.
She hurried to the window but saw only three gentlemen walking away. Perhaps they’d simply been walking past, but had she heard a knock at the door?
She pulled her wrap around her and crept into the corridor, listening.
Voices in the hall.
As she went to the top of the stairs, the voices became clearer. Dracy’s and probably a footman’s.
“I was attacked in the street,” Dracy said. “Thieves. Any chance of bandages?”
Georgia ran down the stairs. “Bandages! What’s happened?”
Dracy stared up at her, and she remembered how she was dressed, but she couldn’t retreat, not when his buff waistcoat was stained with blood. She ran up to him. “What’s happened to you?”
“Footpads. I’m all right.”
“Not if you need bandages. You’re covered with blood!”
“Not covered…”
There was a slur to his voice.
“Dracy, are you drunk?”
“Guilty as charged, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes, but she’d dealt with Dickon in a similar state. “Come, I’ll assist you to your room. Get washing water,” she ordered the footman, “and something that will make bandages. Come along.”
“And brandy,” Dracy added.
“You don’t need more drink,” she said, trying to put her arm around him.
He fended her off. “You don’t want blood on your gown…or whatever that thing you’re wearing is. I’m steady on my feet.”
“More or less,” she muttered, as he made his way carefully up the stairs. He couldn’t be seriously wounded, however, and her heart rate began to settle.
He paused at the top to get his balance on the newel post. “Where’re your parents?”
“Mother went to the Danish ambassador’s house, and Father was to join her there. I chose a quiet evening.”
“Scared?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re a bad liar, Georgia.”
“And you are stupid with drink. Come along.”
Again he fended her off and made his way to his room. He turned the knob and went in.
When she followed, he said, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Come in. I might ravish you.”
Her heart thumped. “You’re wounded!”
“The one doesn’t preclude the other. Though my arm might make it tricky.” He sat on the bed, cradling it. “If I attack you, sweet Circe, hit my left arm.”
Georgia stared at him but knew he was serious. Drink had loosened his restraints and he wanted to ravish her. She was both thrilled and terrified.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” she asked from the safety of the door.
“Cudgel.”
“Is it broken?”
“No.”
“Can you be sure?”
He flexed it, so he was probably correct, even though he winced.
“What happened to your side?”
“Knife.”
“You could have been killed!” She stepped forward, but at that moment the footman entered bearing hot water, followed by Jane bearing bandages and giving Georgia a ferocious frown.
“He needed help,” Georgia protested.
“He has it now. Let Jem tend to him, milady.”
“He’s drunk.”
“All the more reason to let Jem tend to him, milady.”
“Good idea,” Dracy said and waved his right arm grandly. “Ladies, leave the ship! There are likely to be sights unsuitable.”
Georgia giggled. “Very well, but I’m returning to make sure you’ll survive the night.”
As soon as the door shut, Jane said, “Don’t you be so foolish, milady.”
“It’s my duty.”
“Then come and get decently dressed.”
“Jane, cease your fussing. I’m covered neck to toes, and to reassemble myself in stays and petticoats would be ridiculous. In any case, he’s too hurt to molest me.”
Jane muttered, but Georgia shooed her off to bed and hoped she went.
For her part, she couldn’t wait to return and make sure Dracy was all right.
Drunk! She covered her mouth on another chuckle. He always seemed so neatly put together that it was delightful to see him loosened by drink.
But he’d been attacked!
She crossed the corridor and opened his door just a crack. “Dracy, do you need a doctor?”
“No, thank you. Go away, Lady Maybury.”
She closed the door and returned to her room. Was he being rational? Men often overestimated their health. She heard footsteps in the hall and looked out to see the housekeeper, Mistress Crombie, march into his room.
“My own salve, milord, efficacious against bruising.”
“I thank you, ma’am. Any possibility of coffee?”
“Of course,
milord, but if I may offer a word of advice. It’s unwise to walk the night streets of London alone.”
“I’d certainly have been better alone than with that linkboy,” Dracy said. “Are they often in league with thieves, ma’am?”
“I suppose that can happen, milord, but most men know where they’re going.”
“A profound observation, ma’am.”
Mistress Crombie left him then and closed the door.
Georgia paced her room. Linkboy? In league with thieves? He truly could have been killed! When his coffee arrived she’d be able to visit him and hear the full story.
She heard the footsteps and the opening of the door.
“Pour me a cup, Jem, and then you can go.”
Soon two footmen left the room, closed the door, and walked away, gossiping quietly about the wicked state of the streets.
Georgia gathered her nerve and slipped into Dracy’s room.
“How are you?” she said, but then stopped. She hadn’t thought that he too might have changed into his nightwear and be a lot less clothed than he normally was.
He was sitting propped up on the bed, coffee in hand, in his nightshirt. Not even a robe. His lower legs were very hairy, his feet rather noble and strong.
He was watching her, inscrutable.
She would not be maidenly. She hurried to the bed. “Are you all right?”
He toasted her with his coffee. “Enchanted unto madness by you, Circe.”
“Still silly with drink, I see. Where were you to become so addled?”
“Easy enough to achieve all around the Town.”
“Unfortunately true. How are your wounds?”
“Minor.”
“Your side?”
“A mere scratch.”
“Your arm?”
“Hurts.”
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“Yes. Could you put my cup on the table?”
She did so but returned to her perch, finding him adorably boyish in drink. “This will confirm your low opinion of London, I fear.”
“It certainly hasn’t improved it, but…”
“But?”
“I know better than to blindly follow a linkboy, so it was my own fault.”
“How many attacked you?”
“Three.”
“Three against one? How did you escape?”
“My sword kept them at bay, but I called for help and some gentlemen ran to my aid. If the cudgel had hit true…”
“Cudgel! Dracy…”
“A glancing blow. No real harm done.”
“But…” She moved to feel his head, but he fended her off.
“Georgia, behave yourself. You shouldn’t even be here.”
She considered him. “Perhaps not, but I’m a widow, not an innocent miss, and you’re a guest in this house and injured.”
It sounded very well, but she wasn’t surprised that he looked skeptical.
“And,” she added, “I’m insatiably curious. Tell me all about it.”
He shook his head at her, but he was smiling too. “On your head be it. If we’re caught…”
“It will be by my parents, who will scold us both but invoke secrecy. What happened? Start from the beginning. I was told you’d been summoned to the Admiralty.”
“I was, and there I met some old, landlocked friends who carried me off to dinner. After dinner we went to a tavern to talk of old times, and eventually we rolled on to another establishment.”
“What establishment?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“I thought you meant one of those establishments. Which one?”
“You’re incorrigible. Mirabelle’s.”
“My husband said it was an excellent place.”
He glared at her. “It’s a brothel.”
“Among other things. Maybury liked to game there whilst watching the living statues.”
“Do you know how little those living statues wear?”
His outrage made her want to laugh. What a strange model of her he carried in his mind. “Nothing but a veil, but often a very pretty veil.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Of course not, but we had something similar for an entertainment at Sansouci. Male as well as female.”
“That’s not decent!”
She had to laugh then, just a little. “The men wore a kind of codpiece. But if it’s decent to have naked statues around a house, why not the same thing in the flesh, with veils?”
“It’s different and you know it.”
“Don’t be provincial.”
“You’re too young for such things.”
She smiled out of pure fondness and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Dear, sweet Dracy.”
He grabbed her hair and forced her lips to his.
Georgia pushed back in shock, but she’d been wanting another kiss like the one at Thretford.
This wasn’t like the one at Thretford. He was kissing her with passion and possessive skill, as if her mouth was his to explore without restraint. A forbidden kiss, but she cradled his head and kissed him back, shifting to an ever-more comfortable position, silk slithering and rucking up all around her. Mind his arm. But get closer, tighter…ah, yes, delightful, delicious.
The taste of him was so familiar, as if they’d kissed a thousand times through the ages and sustained each other for eons. The smell of his body, the feel of his hair, of the bones beneath, the entire shape of him was simply him and always had been.
He stilled and then gently moved her away. “Enough, enough. You must leave now, Georgia.”
He was right, but she didn’t.
“That was a splendid kiss.” And not enough.
“I don’t deny it,” he said, squeezing a hand on her hip.
Georgia realized that she was straddling him! And a hard ridge lay between her thighs. It moved, sending a hot ache through her innards, stealing her breath.
So easy. So easy. Simply shift some clothing and move a little that way.…
She stared at him and he stared back, eyes dark, reflecting her hungers. Magnifying them.
She wanted him. Wanted to join with him here as she’d never wanted such a joining before. If only she’d felt like this with Dickon, how glorious it…
At that thought, she scrambled off him, off the bed, pushing down her clothing, backing away, feeling on the brink of adultery.
“Wise enchantress,” he said, smiling his crooked smile.
His cock was visible under his nightshirt, still summoning her to the feast.
The words escaped. “I wish I could.”
He closed his eyes, laughing softly. “Devastating honesty. It must be difficult to be a widow, having enjoyed bed.”
She shouldn’t speak the words, but there was something about this moment that demanded honesty. “I didn’t,” she said. “Enjoy it.”
He opened his eyes. “Are you saying you’re a virgin?”
“No! No. I just didn’t enjoy it. I shouldn’t be saying these things.”
“No, but…I’m sorry that you were deprived of pleasure. That’s something to try to ensure with your next husband.”
“How do I do that, sir, without ruining myself?”
“You’re here and unruined.”
“I’m not likely to sleep so close to a suitable man,” she pointed out.
“The unsuitable man craves your pardon.”
She put hands to her hot cheeks. “Oh, don’t! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…But you know it would never work!”
“I know one way it would work.”
She did too, and still ached with the need to prove it.
“You’re not unique,” she reminded him.
“We’re all unique, but you’re correct. Many men have the ability to pleasure you, but many don’t, and some won’t.”
“I know. But…”
“You’re not thinking of it, are you?”
