Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night (Rebellious Desires)

by Reid, Stacy

  Without proffering an answer, Rhys walked away, strolling from the upstairs bower to the lower floors. Georgiana glanced up and spied him heading toward her. The laugh strangled in her throat and her eyes widened in obvious distress. Two of the ladies she had been conversing with threw him a speculative glance before shifting their curious gazes to the duchess. Chilling indifference settled on her lovely face, rendering her aloof and haughty. Without any indication she was familiar with him, she turned away and greeted a few gentlemen who approached. He did not slow his steps but prowled past her, hating the tight feeling clutching at his chest.

  His lips curved in self-disgust. What the hell had he expected? That because they had danced before, she would smile at him in welcome and perhaps even be open to dancing with him again? Was he foolish enough to consider that because he was allowed in her body, riding her almost nightly, she would happily acknowledge him as her lover to her set? Christ. He’d known that she only wanted a discreet liaison with him. It wasn’t that he wanted more. Liar. Inexplicably, he craved her at his side always. Rhys veered left, toward the open French doors, then walked down a few steps out into the surprisingly empty courtyard.

  The thought of eventually relinquishing her to the arms of the marquess or any other man who wouldn’t take the time to know her, to understand the strength in her heart, to savor the sweetness of her lips, to stoke her passion instead of shaming her for it, left a bitter flavor of regret in his mouth. He was a damn fool to allow himself to crave a woman who wouldn’t condescend to marry him if he should dare to ask. Rhys faltered. Did he want a wife? No. But would he take Georgiana to be his wife if she would consent? Yes.

  Cutting the need from his heart, he pulled a cheroot from the inner pocket of his jacket. He stayed in the gardens, hidden in the shadows, and watched his sister for the night, contented to linger there alone.

  A few minutes after midnight, Lydia had pled a headache and Rhys had escorted her to their townhouse in Mayfair. Restlessness had pushed him to The Asylum, where he’d gambled and turned down several pieces of business for the night. Riordan had thrown him a few puzzled queries, for the connections he could have had from them held immense possibilities. There was a distraction about Rhys that he could only blame on the duchess. She had been an unexpected intrusion into his life, and he had to turn his thoughts to the ending of their affair. How long did they have left? Weeks? A few months? Or perhaps days?

  Unable to focus on his card game, Rhys bowed out. He moved through the throng, intent on visiting his private quarters. He’d recently invested in a brewery and had not paid much attention to the investors’ meeting held yesterday. Perhaps it would be best if he ensconced himself in his office and pored over the operations to see how he could offer insight for its improvement. It made no sense to travel home—he did not want to encounter the expectant hope on his mother’s face in the morning, nor his sisters’ expectations. Not when he had this disturbing and uncommon bleakness rising inside.

  A bright flash snagged his attention, and he faltered, his breath hissing through his teeth as a masked Georgiana strolled into The Asylum. Her wig tonight was golden, and her dress was black, with a provocatively lowered neckline. The delicate mask hid most of her features, but he would recognize that bold yet sensual stride anywhere. The tension that had knotted his gut since he’d departed Lady Sheffield’s midnight ball eased. He’d not thought his duchess would show tonight, not after the way she had ignored him for the night and danced with her marquess.

  Despite her presence, the perplexing ache inside his chest did not ease.

  “Your mysterious lady is back,” Riordan said, strolling to stand beside Rhys. “This is the fourth time she’s visited my club…and each time a different wig and a mask. Curious.”

  “She is no one of import.” She is fast becoming the center of my existence.

  Riordan chuckled. “I’ve never known you to be distracted by thoughts of a woman before. In fact, at times, I wondered if you were interested in them.”

  Rhys frowned. “You thought I was a molly?”

  “More like a bloody monk. There is more to life than manipulations and power play. For a while, I never realized you knew it.”

  Rhys’s mouth curved slightly in a humorless smile. “I’ve had women over the years.” Quick, nameless liaisons that he had never understood lacked the deep satisfaction of holding a lover close afterward.

  “And she is just another?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I happened to pass by your private quarters the last time she was here. I admit, I waited for a few beats. Your masked lady is a passionate woman, isn’t she? You tupped her roughly, I could tell, and from her pleas and sobs, I also surmised she loved every crude, filthy word you were whispering. I am intrigued. Perhaps when you are finished with her, I will—”

  Rhys’s hand darted like a striking adder and grabbed his friend’s throat in a merciless grip. In Riordan’s eyes, Rhys spied a taunting watchfulness. “Do not test me regarding her,” he warned, uncaring of the throb of violence in his tone. “Friendship or no, if you step or speak wrongly in her direction, you will rue the day.”

  Riordan’s muscles locked at the promise of violence in the threat. “She is precious?”

  In the silence that ensued, Rhys struggled to mask his reaction. He relented, not wanting to prevaricate with his closest friend. “She is precious,” he admitted gruffly, easing his clasp.

  “Do not pretend with me,” Riordan said softly. “I can see the need burning in your soul to claim this woman. She matters to you; thus, she matters to me. You’re my goddamned brother, Rhys, we’ve bled and scrabbled together. There is no need to lie to me.”

  He slowly released Riordan’s throat, the need for violence sweeping away like ashes in the wind.

  “I can sense she is a pedigree, and you are nothing but a mongrel. I’ve never seen you this…this obsessed by a woman.”

  Rhys suddenly knew that he would be very lonely when Georgiana went out of his life. He liked everything about her. Love, you idiot, love. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling inexplicably unnerved. He’d never loved anyone outside his family before.

  “You have no idea what you are doing, do you?” Riordan said, sounding a bit shocked.

  “She has stolen my ability to think and sleep. All I think of is her and how to make this…whatever this need is brewing in my soul to see her beside me always.”

  After rendering his friend speechless, he strolled down the hallway and down the stairs to where she hovered in the crowd. As if she felt his approach, her eyes unerringly found him through the ribald crush.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded as he reached her side.

  Her throat worked on a swallow, but she remained mute. Her eyes were luminous, and hurt lurked in their turquoise depth.

  “I…” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I needed to see you. Shall we go to your quarters?”

  Biting back a curse, he tugged her to his side and pushed through the crowd. She kept his swift pace until he reached his private office on the upper floor. Fishing the keys from his pocket, he opened the door and ushered her inside.

  “How did you arrive?” He’d always sent an unmarked carriage for her with a trusted driver and able-bodied footmen equipped to defend her life if such actions proved necessary.

  She wetted her lips, a nervous reaction he was not used to seeing from her.

  “I was very careful. My carriage was unmarked.”

  Her gaze swept over him hungrily, and an icy anger started to burgeon inside him. Where was that need earlier? He prowled over to her until he caged her in front of the large oak desk. She gasped when her hips bumped into the edge, but she lifted her eyes to his. Unable to bear not seeing all of her, he gripped the eye mask and pulled it off.

  “I was afraid,” she said suddenly, and he stilled.

  “To speak to me, to even look in my direction?”

  “Yes,” she said, her lips trembling sl
ightly before she firmed them. “You are now a curiosity, and your unknown background is stirring everyone’s interest. There is rife speculation as to who you are and your connections, Rhys. I simply wanted to avoid scrutiny upon us together. There were reporters from the Morning Post and the Gazette. I…I was petrified they would see how much I craved your touch, and how helpless I am against your smiles.”

  He hesitated, barely a heartbeat, then asked, “And that would have been so terrible?”

  Her eyes widened. “I…please, let’s not do this. We both knew from the beginning this was an affair that should promise discretion and—”

  Rhys captured the rest of her words with a punishing kiss. He was rough in his demands, and with a muffled moan, her lips parted, and he stormed inside. Without breaking their kiss, he swept her into his arms and in a few steps tumbled them onto the sofa. If she did not wish to speak of it, he would oblige, for he did not want to hear the words from her lips denying the attachment forming within their hearts. Instead, Rhys ravished her for the night, using his touch, his lips, sometimes tenderly, other times so fiercely he knew he shocked her with his intensity, hoping to enslave her to him as she had conquered his soul.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miss Lydia Tremayne’s launch into the ton could be declared a success. The revelation of her deafness had not heralded the condemnation Georgiana had prepared for. Instead, there had been an outpouring of sympathy from those who knew and admired her gentle manners and charm. Lydia had been invited to a few balls and routs without Georgiana needing to use her influence, and at least three young, respectable gentlemen had called upon her. Though there were as yet no marriage offers or declarations of courtship, there was enough interest from polite society to signal their willingness for her to enter their select circles.

  There had been several questions as to her background and connections, and Georgiana had made known the familial connection to Viscount Westcott. Her most respectable caller was the honorable Simon Basil, the son of Viscount Sterling. Lydia was quite taken with him but worried about her dark past, for the ton and everyone simply accepted she and her sisters had been abroad. Georgiana had cautioned her to be careful in her revelations until she was certain of Simon’s intention.

  A knock sounded on the door. Georgiana lowered the reports from the steward overseeing Nicolas’s estate in Devon and answered, “Yes.”

  Gibbs entered, moving more spryly than she had seen him in ages. She had returned to Meadowbrook Park a few days past and spoken to him about his retirement and pension, but he had insisted on staying at Meadowbrook Park. She had relented, for the servants there were his family, and if he retired to the cottage she’d provided, despite its closeness to the estate, Gibbs would be lonely.

  “A letter for you, Your Grace. Lady Fairfax and Lord Fairfax have also come to call.”

  “Thank you. Please see my mother and brother to the sitting room with refreshments. I will be along shortly.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed and shuffled out.

  Eagerly, she slit open the letter, hoping it was from Rhys. Her heart sank. It was a letter from Daphne, informing Georgiana of her departure to Berkshire. She leaned back into the chair with a sigh. Since the night of Lady Sheffield’s ball, three weeks past, there had been a distance between her and Rhys. At times, she wondered if her imagination was simply overwrought. She still slipped away several nights to be with him, but he had been requesting her presence less. There was also a cool watchfulness to his hawkish gaze whenever she encountered his presence at the balls Lydia attended. Even in that area, he had limited himself to only attending two, and their mother accompanied Lydia at other events.

  He had been present last night at Viscountess Pembroke’s soiree, but they had ignored each other as they had been doing whenever he entered the ton. Georgiana had ached to go to him, to just sit with him once, but had held back more from the uncertainty of how he would receive her than anything else. She had not received a note from him this past week, nor had she shared his bed. That was uncommon and alarming.

  A sharp knock rapped on the door to the library before it was flung open, and in marched the countess, a newssheet clutched between her fingers.

  “Mother?”

  “I’ve been waiting in the sitting room for fifteen minutes,” she snapped.

  Georgiana arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware there was a matter of urgency to discuss.”

  “You’ve brought shame upon us. Your father would be appalled if he were alive.”

  Georgiana gasped. “I beg your pardon?”

  Her mother slapped the papers on the table. “Have you seen this?”

  With trembling fingers, she reached for the scandal sheet. It was a drawing of a lady…one who looked remarkably like her, and a man who resembled Rhys. Dear God. That was the only thought to blast in her mind for precious seconds. Then anger at the intrusion into her private life stirred within her heart. “It seems the reporters have little to talk about this season. This is simply baseless conjecture on their part, hoping to start a scandal.”

  Even knowing her assessment to be true, discomfort burned in her heart. The drawing depicted Georgiana standing in the center of an empty ballroom, and a dark, shadowy figure of Rhys prowling to her, his gaze so intent on her, it was clear his only purpose was debauchery and ravishment. There was an accompanying expository on the mysterious and wealthy Mr. Rhys Tremayne, who seemed to only possess eyes for the Duchess of Hardcastle. It was noted he asked no lady to the dance floor, he did not join the card rooms, and the ton must be intrigued at this anomaly within their midst.

  Georgiana flushed. A nosy reporter was bent on stirring society’s attention toward them. She rubbed at the slight ache in her temple. “Is this the reason you and Simon descended on me unannounced?”

  “This is appalling behavior and unwelcomed prying into our lives.”

  “Don’t you mean into my life?”

  Her mother cast her a sharp glance. “In all our lives. I knew that man couldn’t be trusted within our circles. There is a terrible rumor that you are having an affair with him. Have you no thought of your son’s legacy, your reputation, and your sister’s chances for a decent match? Most certainly, you will lose favor in society that may never be regained.”

  She stood and hurried around the desk to stand in front of her mother. “This is all speculation, Mother, and I will not be a party to it. Nor do I have to defend myself to you.”

  Her mother’s lips parted in outrage. Before she could retort, Georgiana continued. “You and Simon are welcomed to stay for a few days if that is your wish, but I will not discuss this further. I promised Nicolas he could swim in the lake with Calliope and Barnaby. I will see you for dinner perhaps?”

  Her mother nodded stiffly, and Georgiana swept from the library. She was suddenly grateful Rhys had not planned any clandestine meetings for the last several days. This scrutiny was decidedly unwelcome, and she felt unsettled. Perhaps she needed to cultivate more distance between herself and Rhys until society found some new tidbit to speculate about. A humorless smile crossed her lips. How careful she had been, how discreet, and the carrion had still found something to print.

  She was suddenly grateful she had traveled down to Meadowbrook Park to spend a few days with her darling son. Her townhouse must have been besieged by callers wanting to judge her reaction to the scandal sheet. She was sorry for the shock her mother had endured. Her parents had always been so proper and respectable, a family that prided themselves on their integrity and that there was no scandal or taint in their background. They had long held the expectations of their children to always comport themselves in a similar exacting manner. She felt a pinch of guilt for the shame her mother must have endured. Her family had always been so dignified and noble, especially her father.

  Your father would be appalled if he were alive.

  Gritting her teeth against the pang of hurt, she hurried up the main staircase and collected her son from the s
choolroom. His face lit with joy when he saw her.

  “Is it time, Mamma?” he shouted, ignoring the frown of his tutor.

  She laughed and held out her arms. Without hesitation, he stumbled from the stool and flung himself into her embrace. Grabbing him up in her arms, she snuggled her face into his neck, inhaling his sweet, unique scent. A happy laugh bubbled from him. She glanced at the scowling tutor who looked displeased she had arrived an hour early.

  “Nicolas, bid Mr. Brantley good day and let our adventures begin.”

  Her son’s dark-blue eyes widened, and a sigh of pleasure issued forth. Wiggling down, he turned and executed a smart bow to his teacher, who returned the honor with a “Your Grace.” Then her son slipped one of his hand between hers, and they hurried away to enjoy the rest of the day in leisure.

  …

  A gentle breeze rolled through the windows, cooling the sweet arousal coiling deep inside Georgiana. She shifted, a moan slipping from her, the smooth sheets beneath her an unbearable friction against her sensitive skin.

  “Wake up,” a voice murmured with a soft brush against her skin. She surged to awareness, her heart a quaking mess. A dark figure hovered above her, from the scent of his cheroot and uniquely male fragrance she knew it to be Rhys.

  The desire his devilish fingers had awakened needed to be assuaged. “Join me,” she purred, tugging the satin peignoir to her thighs and widening her legs lasciviously.

  The sliver of moonlight glinted off the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and he flashed a sensual smile. Another breeze rolled through the windows, shifting the dark purple drapes in her chambers ever so slightly. She frowned and then lurched upright, scrambling from the bed to tug her silken robe from the peg. “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw the drawing in the paper.”

  She glared at him helplessly. “And you crept into my chamber in the dead of night to tell me this? How did you even get in?” She hurried to the door to find it still locked. “That article was a week ago, and it wasn’t a headline that would keep the ton titillated for long. There was no need for you to travel down. However did you manage to gain entrance?”