by Reid, Stacy
“This ball may not be the right setting to make an assessment, but do you believe my sisters can find happiness?”
“They all want to marry?”
“Lydia and Grace. Joanna is more reticent on the matter, but I see the hunger in her eyes. She feels her scar will prevent a man from wanting her.”
Georgiana thought of Joanna, with her dark-red hair and light-blue eyes. The scar on her cheek was not awful, just obvious in an otherwise stunningly beautiful face. “I can see she has very charming manners and is quite intelligent. If any gentleman were to be repulsed by her scar, he would be unworthy.”
A rough sound came from Rhys. “I’ve collected an arsenal of secrets, land, and wealth over the years, and yet I cannot give my sisters what they desire.”
“You are now on the right path.”
“I have secrets to hold over many of the ton. A simple threat might see my sisters married well.”
“Blackmail!”
“More like a business transaction. The thought has occurred me to more than once.”
“Why haven’t you taken that route? Many ladies of society find themselves wed to the men of their father or guardian’s choice.”
“My sisters’ happiness matters to me,” he said gruffly. “They have silly romantic dreams I would never want to see crushed.”
Georgiana’s steps faltered, and they stopped. She faced him and touched the shadowed line of his jaw. In a world where most men saw women as bodies to barter without care for their wishes, his ardent dedication and love for his sisters was…wonderful. He was so unlike any other man she had ever known. How could one be ruthless enough to take a life, but then do everything possible to make others happy?
“You, too, will need to position yourself within society.” The very idea of Rhys with another woman left a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she had to fight not to retract her words. It would be too selfish of her if she did not express the advantages of a society match.
“Meaning?”
“Your sisters would be better received if you were also wedded to a suitable young lady of the ton. Perhaps a family who needs money and won’t mind so much…won’t mind so much that…”
“That I am a mongrel?”
She flushed. “That you are without a title. Your sisters are very fortunate to have a brother like you. I remember having romantic dreams and how scared I felt when I was told I was to become the Duchess of Hardcastle.”
She lowered her hand and stepped back, but Rhys placed his hands on her hips and tugged her to him. The simple caress sent waves of heat curling through her body. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of his body tight against hers.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice warm, sensual, caressing.
“I…I was only thirteen at the time and had those silly romantic feelings for Lord Andrew Winthrop, my brother’s friend. I had dreams of a season, of being wooed and taken to the opera and the theater.”
“Your duke did not woo you?”
She laughed lightly. “No. I was simply told by my parents I was to be his bride. I ran crying to my brother, and he reminded me that my duty was to wed into a family that would solidify our power and finances. And that I would be a duchess. What could be grander? And deep in my heart, I wanted to be a duchess. I then spent the next three years absorbing etiquette lessons, reading political and fashion papers. I badgered Mr. Henshaw, my father’s steward, to show me our ledgers and operations. I wanted to be a good wife to a man and to be an exemplary duchess to his tenants, and servants, whom I’d never met.”
He slipped his hands from her waist and looped one of her arms with his, and they continued toward the seaside. The crashing of the waves reached her ears, and a stiff wind blew across the lands, tangling the skirts of her gown around her legs.
“Do you regret marrying your duke?”
“No. We had a…a…comfortable marriage…and he gave me Nicolas. Traditions, honor, pristine bloodlines, and reputation meant a lot to my family and the duke. It was one of the reasons he approached them for my hand. Our mutual ancestry made for a very strategic alliance.”
“Is it important to you, as well?”
She lifted startled eyes to meet his curious but decidedly cool regard.
“Yes.”
He frowned but made no answer. They walked together in companionable silence.
“Have you ever climbed a tree or fished in a lake?”
Georgiana glanced at him. He was staring at the sea. It took her a few moments before she responded. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Why not?”
She smiled. “I haven’t.”
“Have you ever walked barefoot in the sand?”
“No.” But hadn’t she wanted to as a child and been scolded most severely? She frowned, hating to think her life had been not all it could have been. She had a wonderful life with no regrets, and she wouldn’t allow the dratted man to make her to believe something was missing. She had everything she could possibly need—her son, wealth, power…and a lover to soothe her itch and loneliness.
He stopped and dropped to his haunches. “Brace your hands on my shoulders.”
She complied, and he lifted one foot after the other and slipped off her shoes. Georgiana held herself still when he tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. She swallowed, a sweet ache fluttering low in her stomach when he touched her ankle with his fingers. She gasped softly. He peered up at her from his crouch, his lips curving with sensual intent. The heated desire in his stare kindled a yearning deep inside her body. His fingers were warm, slightly rough, but so perfect. His fingers leisurely skimmed farther yet up to her stocking-clad legs, untied her garters, sensually rolled down her silk stockings. He repeated his actions with her other foot and then stood, stuffing her garters and stockings into his pockets.
She stared at him wordlessly as she dug her toes into the sand. Emotions rose in her throat. How is it that she’d never felt this smoothness beneath the soles of her feet before? She whirled about, staring at the frothing sea. The moonlight glinted off the edge of the water, and the vast power before her beckoned. She ran toward the water. Georgiana gripped the folds of her dress and dragged it up to her knees and then stepped into the shallow tide. “Oh, it’s so cold!”
With a laugh, she sprinted from the waters, and he grabbed her around the waist and headed back toward the sea. “You wouldn’t dare, Rhys!”
His breath brushed her ear. “Wouldn’t I?”
“Infuriating man.”
He lowered her and slowly turned her to face him.
Her knees wobbled, and a trembling laugh escaped her. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
“This doesn’t feel like we’re conducting an affair.” It felt more like courtship, like they were getting to know each other for something more permanent, more lasting.
“I thought you had never had an affair before.”
“I haven’t!”
“Who says a part of it isn’t taking a long walk on the beach in the dark?”
She scowled up at him. “You’ve had an affair before?”
“No…you’re my first and my last.”
She scoffed, quite unladylike. “You cannot know if I will be your last.” She felt an odd arrow of envy at the idea of another woman taking walks along the seaside with him, missing him, taking him into her body and holding him close.
“I just know,” he said softly. “You’re different, in a good way. I’ve been reminded there is more to life than simply securing power and existing in a shadow of what could be.”
Pleasure scythed though her, making her chest tight until she could scarcely breathe. She couldn’t find a quick repartee and could only stare at him helplessly. “It’s best I return home.”
A wicked smile of knowledge slashed his strong, sensual mouth. “Afraid to be alone with me?” he taunted.
Without thought, without reason, she yearned to stay
with him for the entire night. “The opposite—I fear I do not want to leave.” She stepped to him and gripped the lapel of his jacket.
His eyes flared. “What—”
She fastened her lips to his. Her hands fisted in his hair to hold him closer. His sensual mouth was like a brand on hers. Rhys took control of their kiss, sinking to his knees in the sand and lowering himself to the ground, his hands on her hips, pulling her atop him. A moan of surprise slipped from her, and all thoughts to protest were burned away by the desire pouring through her like molten lava. He made love to her mouth with devastating expertise.
Georgiana was shattered by the awareness that she wanted him inside her, making love with her, as fiercely as she wanted air to breathe. His hands cupped her backside and pressed her closer. She felt the searing brand of his erection and his unyielding strength through the layers of their clothes. He kissed her slowly, with an irresistible passion.
Though they were hugged in the arms of darkness, anyone could come upon them and witness her acting with a careless wantonness. That realization gave her the strength to pull her lips from his and scramble off him to sprawl indecorously onto the sand.
A mortified giggle slipped from her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Rhys had already surged to his feet and held out his hand. She clasped it, and he hauled her up. “This reckless need you inspire in me has to stop,” she said a bit too breathlessly.
“Pity, I was quite enjoying your reckless heart.”
“I have no intention of starting a scandal anytime soon.”
“I suppose the rumors would not be kind if you were caught with me.”
“If I was seen with any man, cavorting in the sand, the scandal would be spectacular.”
“I’m quite aware, Georgiana, the scandal would be more horrendous if you were seen with me.” His lean, darkly handsome face was unrevealing.
His bluntness made her feel vulnerable and threatened. “There is sand in your hair,” she said softly, unable to refute his claims.
“And in my extremities, too,” he returned drolly.
Rhys prowled over to her and started dusting the sand from the back of her gown.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, always.”
Patting her hair to assess its state of dishabille, she was grateful to realize her chignon was still in place.
“I’ve ruined your dress.”
“It’s inconsequential.”
“Is it? My sisters tell me you are regularly featured in Lady’s Monthly Museum for your exquisite flare. That was a direct quote from Grace, who wishes to emulate your fashion sense but was given a scolding from our mother. I’ve also learned you are an avid patron of the fine arts, and I was ordered to comport myself with extreme gentility around you. I failed.”
She laughed, delighted with his teasing. “I do love fashion and all the arts. They have been my solace in a time when my loneliness hurt.” The admission slipped from her without thought.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“Do you truly wish to know?”
“Yes.” The way he considered her as if he wanted to peer into her soul fascinated Georgiana.
“I got used to the idea of being a duchess a few months after my parents informed me I would be wed to Hardcastle. Though I employed all my intellect and wit to learn how to be a proper wife, sometimes I felt imprisoned by the roles expected of me. I was encouraged to read books I had no interest in, like The Mirror of the Graces by a lady of distinction, and Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women, instead of the gothic romances I longed to devour, books like The Mysteries of Udolpho.”
The night seemed to close around them, the crashing surf a lullaby instead of a discordant jangle. “I was urged by my mother and the duke to dress with elegant yet respectable demureness befitting my station. I did not resent Hardcastle’s instructions, for I wanted to be the best possible duchess. My father died a few months after the duke. I lost the two people who had impressed upon me the most stringent need for strict propriety, and it became frustratingly hard to remain in the mold in which I’d been cast,” she said softly. “I found myself buying those books he had warned me did not edify my thoughts and intellect. I found that the vibrant colors and daring styles I’d long desired to wear as part of my ensemble suited me. I actively sponsored young artists and attended the theaters, and it wasn’t long before I wasn’t a duchess to be pitied because I had lost my husband so young, but a person to be admired. Yet despite the joy and wonder I found with my son and indulging in the lavish extravagances of the last few seasons, I felt empty.” Until you… “I must go.”
“Allow me to escort you back to the ball.”
“I would prefer to return to Lady Blanchett’s manor.”
“I am familiar with the viscountess. You are staying with her?”
“With my son. Only for a couple days.”
“Is he recovering well?”
“Yes. He has no memory of the encounter, and I am grateful for it.”
“Has he ever been by the seaside?”
She glanced at Rhys. “Nicolas has never had the pleasure.”
They were silent for a few moments as they padded along the coastline.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I…I had no definitive plan when I came down. I had intended to call upon your family, to meet your sisters in a more informal setting. Did you have something in mind…for us?”
“I thought your son might enjoy the seaside. Would you like to bring him here?”
Uncertainty almost cleaved her in two. Entangling him within her son’s life was far different from having an affair.
Clasping his hands behind him, he tilted his head to the sky, breathing in the crisp, clean air. “I thought we were to be friends.”
“Yes,” she said. “I find I am perplexingly comfortable with you.”
“I promise I would never hurt your son. And when our affair ends, it will have no bearing on whatever bonds of friendship we’ve formed.”
The tightness in her chest eased. “I think Nicolas will love it here.”
Rhys smiled. “Then we’ll meet here in the morning, early when everyone will still be abed.”
She wanted to say she would meet him at whatever time but knew, even so far removed in the country, the speculation would be too much to bear. “I would like that. And Barnaby and Calliope will be joining us.”
“And who are Barnaby and Calliope?”
“Nicolas’s pups. They are one-year-old wolfhounds and are quite large, but Nicolas goes nowhere without them,” she said, laughing.
This friendly companionship was dangerous. They were not of the same world, and she should be pushing away from him, not drawing closer. She was leading her heart to break, and she was helpless to stop it.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite the warnings in her heart that she was falling far too deep with Rhys Tremayne, the very next day, Georgiana returned to the seaside with Nicolas, Calliope, and Barnaby in tow. A happy Nicolas had run barefoot in the sand until he had exhausted himself. He’d been a bit hesitant with Rhys initially, but it had melted away alarmingly fast after Rhys had shrugged from his coat and rolled in the sand with the large wolfhounds. At times, they played in the shallow part of the sea, the water barely passing their shins. Georgiana had stayed by the shore and watched them, simply enjoying the shrieks of pleasure that were emitted by her son and the echoing barks from their dogs as they chased birds, and Nicolas.
Barnaby barked and sprinted in the sand toward a large rock in the sea. He growled and released a series of barks.
“Mamma, look!” Nicolas pointed toward the left at a large stone with a mess of reeds floating on the surface of the sea and butting against the stone.
Without hesitation, Rhys waded toward the tangled mess, and God in heavens, her son waded out with him. She expected Rhys to shoo him back, but instead, he held Nicolas’s arm as they pushed toward the tangled mess a few feet fr
om them. When the water got too deep, her son climbed atop Rhys’s shoulders, and she could hear his excited chatter from where she stood. They worked together, head bent over whatever it was, until they dragged it onto the sand.
Georgiana walked toward the duo, who were too engrossed in what they were doing to pay her any attention. It was some sort of bird, and its beak and feathers were tangled in fisherman’s netting.
“Is it alive?” her son whispered.
“It seems that way. Though I believe the wing may be broken. It is bent at an unnatural angle.”
“Oh.” Her son sounded forlorn at the realization. “So, should we put it back?”
Rhys stilled for a moment. “In the sea?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Nicolas’s face scrunched into a frown. “But the wing is broken. It won’t live long with a broken piece.”
“We should still untangle it and assess its chances.”
“Because we must help things weaker than us?”
Rhys’s lips twitched. “Yes.”
“That is what my mamma says. To be a good duke, I must be kind and help others. I think she means birds, too.”
Rhys glanced at her, before turning his regard back to her son. “I believe she meant them, as well.”
Her son nodded solemnly, and they worked to untangle the bird, which lay still, barely moving. They worked diligently together until several minutes passed and the bird was free. It squawked fiercely, and Nicolas jerked then giggled.
“I think she is happy we are freeing her.”
Georgiana missed Rhys’s reply, being too enraptured by the glowing admiration on her son’s face as he peered up at Rhys. Not even with Simon had she ever seen her son wear that expression. Her throat closed as they finally freed the bird from the last tangle. The bird stood and shook itself, and her son exclaimed his happiness at seeing that the bird’s wings were intact. After a few halting movements, the bird launched away into the sky, flapping its wings as fast as it could.
Her eyes collided with Rhys’s, he grinned, then winked, and Georgiana laughed. She felt wonderful, and at this moment there was nowhere else she would prefer to be. The realization was exhilarating and frightening. This affection and friendship was much harder to bear than passion and would only make their parting harder.
