by Reid, Stacy
“Your Grace, how wonderful to see you,” Lydia said warmly, dipping into a most elegant curtsy.
“How are you, Lydia?” Georgiana replied, her heart a pounding mess. Had Rhys arrived with his sister?
She felt the weight of his eyes boring into her before she saw him. Her skin prickled, and her heart lurched. He was moving in her direction, and she tried to find the words to greet him with. She was shocked when he looked past her as she if was a nonentity and handed a glass of champage to a laughing lady. He gave his attention to the fashionable and quite beautiful Lady Wexham, a dowager countess. The smile the countess gave him was lascivious as she gently squeezed his arm, her invitation to come to her bed evident. Rhys smiled in reply, and Georgiana stumbled, pain piercing her heart. As if he felt her regard, he glanced up. His expression was shuttered, and the look he dealt her held a promise of an unfathomable emotion she could not identify.
Lady Wexham was behaving scandalously indeed, for she tipped onto her toes and whispered something to Rhys, wresting his attention from Georgiana. Her heart a pounding mess, she directed her gaze to Lydia, whose eyes were filled with sympathy.
Never had she imagined he would have simply moved on. Dear God. Her fingers trembled, and she struggled for equanimity. To think she had been plotting their life together, and he had been acquiring himself another lover. A sharp pang of loss cut deep into her heart. The bloody scoundrel. But could she blame him? She had told him he was inferior to her in wealth and connection, and she would not be induced to marry. The realization that she loved him beyond propriety and could endure any scandal if he was by her side had come a bit too late.
I love you, Georgiana.
Forcing down the misery, she allowed herself to smile and chat with Lydia for a few minutes. Several friends came by, and though she tried her best to appear lively, she wanted to march over to Rhys and slap him. Belatedly, she realized several high-placed members of the ton greeted him and spoke of him in admiring tones. Hiding her shock, she stood silent while Lady Chestnut and Viscountess Primrose discussed him.
“He is the nephew of Viscount Westcott, and rumors say he has over a hundred thousand pounds a year from his business interests alone. Not to mention the income from his lands and properties.”
She swallowed an exasperated curse. Of course, they would not admire the man himself, his character, or his honor. She watched him discreetly, at times willing him to glance in her direction. Instead, he made the rounds with Lady Wexham at his side. Why was he with her?
He was so clever, wily, the ton not realizing they had somehow let the devil into their midst. He was calculating in whom he drew into his web, a Russian prince, a countess, yet he also indulged the wallflowers, and by the end of the first hour, his name seemed to be on everyone’s lips. They loved the complex mystery of this man who seemed to blend effortlessly into their world, the delicious ruthlessness he vibrated with, his shocking handsomeness, and the fact he was wealthy enough to rival the most notable lord of their gathering.
What is he doing? The few times she had witnessed him in her world, he had stayed in the shadows, evidently apart from the ton. Somehow, he was wooing them to his side, perhaps plying them with secrets? Her heart thudded, and each time she thought he would approach, he veered and gave his attention elsewhere. Georgiana was a wreck.
“Many maters are casting the lure in his direction. I do not blame them,” the viscountess said with a light, tinkling laugh to Lady Chestnut. “If I were not married, perhaps I would be tempted, too.”
Georgiana’s stomach roiled, and she hurriedly excused herself and ran smack into Lord Locksley.
“Oh dear,” she gasped with a laugh. “Forgive my clumsiness.”
He held her elbow lightly and directed her to the windows, which opened into a large garden.
“Think nothing of it. In fact, I am quite pleased you bumped into me.”
“You are?” she asked with a light laugh.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks. You have been missing all the events of the season.”
“I have been enjoying myself with my son.”
“And how is the duke?”
“He is quite well.” With an effort that was almost painful, she prevented herself from looking in Rhys’s direction. She felt a dread-filled recognition. This was the same manner in which she had ignored his presence at Lady Sheffield’s ball. Had her indifference pierced him in a similar wretched manner? Was this how he had felt when she had danced the night away with the marquess and other gentlemen? How arrogant and silly she had been. The keen regret that pierced her almost made her knees buckle.
Her lips trembled slightly, and Locksley’s gaze sharpened. “Are you well?”
She touched him briefly. “I’m fine, my lord.” She needed to leave—she felt too inclined to burst into raw, ugly tears.
“Would you partner me on the boat ride tomorrow?” he asked with a charming smile. “It promises to be quite romantic.”
It was almost foolhardy for the countess to have midnight boat rides at her house party. But Lady Chestnut wanted her event to be the talk of the season and had several exciting experiences planned for her guests. Midnight boat rides, a masquerade ball, and even curricle racing. The countess was determined to outdo the Duchess of Waverham’s house party a few weeks ago that had been the talk of the season so far. Georgiana had missed it, but her mother had plied her with all the delightful tidbits she had witnessed.
Georgiana smiled. “I believe I will retire early. I am a bit tired, and Lady Chestnut promises tomorrow to be wildly exciting.”
Disappointment settled on his face, but there was also a deep concern. It warmed her heart to see it, but she could not give this man anything beyond friendship.
“May I speak with you alone for a few moments, in privacy?”
“Most certainly.”
“A turn in the gardens?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
She inclined her head and looped her hands with his. They walked away from the crowded drawing room, the sensation of Rhys’s stare penetrating her gown. Unable to stifle the impulse, she glanced back to see him watching her with penetrating intensity.
The marquess glanced back, no doubt to see what had caught her attention, and she quickly fixed her stare forward, her throat tightening. She had been ravaged with pain and tears daily, battling with her family’s expectations, society’s condemnation and herself…while he had simply found himself another lover, or was about to.
Firming her lips and governing her emotions, she allowed the marquess to lead them to a hidden alcove. She lowered herself to a wrought-iron bench with a sigh of pleasure. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d felt.
“My dear,” Locksley murmured.
Georgiana shifted to face him and froze.
“I believe you know why I’ve asked for a private moment.”
“I do,” she said softly.
“Let me also confess, I had not planned to attend Lady Chestnut’s house party. But your brother paid me a visit a few days ago, and I felt inspired to accept the invitation.”
Blast Simon.
“I am renewing my sentiments, Georgiana. Marry me.”
Anticipation sharpened the handsome marquess’s features, and a faint veil of color accentuated his cheekbones. A frown split his brow at her silence. “Georgiana?”
She closed her eyes briefly, then peered up at him. “Oh, Andrew, I do not mean to cause you any discomfort, but I cannot accept your offer.”
He gripped her hand in his, searching her face. “If it is more time you need, I am willing—”
She gently extracted her hands from his. “Please, Andrew, it is not that.”
“Then what is it? Your brother led me to believe you would be very receptive to my offer.”
A different kind of pain pierced her heart. Her brother and Andrew had been friends for years. To think that he would willingly deceive his friend and encourage her to deceive this man and fois
t another man’s child upon him to preserve their reputation was heartrending.
She took a bracing breath. “I find my heart is entangled elsewhere, and it would be selfish for me to not admit it.” Nor could she marry this man and pretend that Rhys’s baby was his.
“Meaning?”
“I’ve had a lover,” she said bluntly, hating that her face heated.
“My dear, since we are honest, so have I. Several, in fact. My most recent only being last week.”
A startled laugh escaped from her.
“You are a widow, and a passionate woman, I believe. No one expected you to remain celibate. Though I commend you on your discretion, for I’ve not heard a word.”
His lips smiled, but in his eyes, there was a keen watchfulness. Though the drawing in the papers had been a month ago, surely the marquess remembered it. His efforts to be so generous made her throat tighten.
“Do you love me?”
His eyes widened. “I never thought you a romantic,” he mused softly.
She tried to smile. “One can be realistic and still believe in love, Andrew. Do you love me?”
“I feel affection for you,” he said gruffly. “I am attracted to you, and I believe we will have a pleasant marriage together.”
Pleasant. “I love someone. And the feelings he inspires in me are not pleasant, they are riotous. I want him and all his complexities with every breath in my body.”
He appeared equally fascinated and appalled at her declarations. “Upon my word, Georgiana…”
She stood. “I like you, Andrew, you are a dear friend. I married once for duty, and I had a pleasant marriage, and I was lonely within its amiable confines. I do not believe I can endure such a state again.”
He surged to his feet, a grimace twisting his expression. “I will try and be gracious in accepting your rejection. You are beyond charming, and now I regret I did not pursue you for an affair.”
She gasped softly.
A wry smile slanted across his lips. “Yes, I did want that, but I went the honorable route.”
Regret lay heavy within his tone. There was a flash of loneliness in his eyes, and her heart ached to see it. How they surrounded themselves with the trappings of the ton but were empty inside. She recalled the unhappiness on her dear friend Daphne’s face, who had fled to Berkshire and refused to respond to Georgiana’s letters. “If you are determined to select your bride this season, perhaps you could consider Lady Felicity Bramwell.”
He arched a brow. “Lord Stillwell’s daughter? She is a bloody wallflower.”
“She is very pleasant and intelligent, and I believe halfway in love with you. Perhaps a dance and a few conversations might change your perspective,” Georgiana gently urged.
“You are a good friend,” he murmured, dipping his head to brush a brief kiss on her lips. “I beseech you to be my partner on this afternoon’s curricle drive. Lady Agatha will find a way to become my partner, and I cannot abide her screeching and cackling laughter.”
Though Georgiana wanted to retreat to her chambers and burrow herself under the covers on her bed, she nodded. “I will, because you have been so gracious, my lord.”
His eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Allow me to escort you inside.”
So that she could observe Rhys and the delectable widow? “I would prefer a few moments by myself.”
He bowed and with long strides exited the garden. A gusty sigh slipped from her, and she lifted her face to the warm rays of the sun fighting valiantly to pierce through darkened clouds. A rustle had her spinning around to see her mother hurrying toward her, a smile on her face.
“Are we to expect an announcement at tomorrow’s ball?”
“Oh, Mother, I refused his offer.”
The countess gaped, and her eyes dropped to Georgiana’s still-flat stomach.
“My dear, you are not thinking clearly.”
“Mother, please, I know you and Simon love me and want what is best for our family and me, but deceiving the marquess in such a horrid manner is not the way.”
“That is the only way to preserve your reputation, sweetheart.”
“And if my child is a boy?”
“Then the marquess would have his heir,” her mother insisted stubbornly.
She walked over to her mother and lightly gripped her hand. “I do not love him, Mamma.”
Her mother scoffed. “Love—”
“Don’t.” She squeezed her hands gently. “You and Papa loved each other and had a wonderful love match. Both of you had great expectations for me, none that included me having a similar love and contentment in my marriage as both of you had. You were both selfish, Mamma, denying me a similar happiness.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed. “I did not marry your father because I loved him. It was my duty, and I grew to love him most ardently. If you married Lord Locksley, it would come.”
“I did my best to honor your and Papa’s expectations. I married a duke, our family prestige soared…and while my marriage was pleasant and amiable, I was never happy until I had Nicolas. He brought me such joy and continues to do so every day. I also have high expectations for him when he takes his seat, but I would never pressure him to marry only for duty and honor. I’ve been married for that reason before, and I was never fulfilled,” Georgiana said hoarsely, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I had a normal marriage, like many lord and ladies of the ton. It was a business transaction with mild affection. I met a man…a wonderful man who loves me. I love him, Mother. More than I thought possible to love another. I cann…cannot walk away from him, from a love that promises to be extraordinary, for the sake of duty and reputation. I do not want to form another alliance using my head or my social position, but with my heart. And my heart is irrevocably linked with Rhys Tremayne.”
Her mother pulled away and wrapped a hand around her middle. It took Georgiana several moments to realize her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Mother?”
“I only wanted your happiness, but you must understand you will never really belong in society anymore if you make this decision.”
Georgiana’s and Rhys’s expectations and connections were so different. All their time wouldn’t be spent in the bedroom, or on a desk…or in a chair or the numerous ways in which he had loved her. Their whirlwind affair had been about feasting on each other, and she had been reckless and irrepressible with her sensuality. He’d allowed her the freedom to express her desires and wanton heart without shame.
Something fierce swelled inside of her, and a revelation flowered. Loving Rhys, choosing to be with him, meant she would never truly belong again, not to her world, or his. In truth, the only place she would truly belong was in his arms, but she would be with him, a man who loved everything about her, and that was all that mattered.
Georgiana hugged her mother briefly before slipping from the gardens. She would find out Rhys’s room’s location, and tonight, she would go to him and dearly hope she wasn’t too late.
Chapter Nineteen
His duchess was unhappy. There were lines of strain around her beautiful mouth, and her eyes appeared haunted. Rhys wanted to gut whoever had placed those shadows there. Georgiana was seated beside the marquess in a landau, resplendent in a high-waisted yellow gown, with a bonnet to protect her fair skin from the sun and half gloves. How was she? His gaze dropped to her stomach. How was their babe?
Lady Chestnut had a finely turfed lawn that stretched for miles for racing. Several gentlemen had arranged for their high perch phaetons to be brought down from London, and others preferred very light curricles in preparation for the lavish entertaining races the countess had planned. However, the members of the four-in-hand club stuck to driving their elaborate landaus. The countess had set a course that bypassed her well-tended lawns and spanned the lanes of the estate onto the open roads.
Lady Wexham prevailed upon Rhys to be her partner, and he was seated with her in her curricle, the reins loosely held in his hands.
&nbs
p; “Today’s racing promises to be glorious,” she said with a tinkling laugh.
He shot her a glance, and she bestowed upon him a warm, pleasant smile, which came as a surprise, for he had tossed her from his room last night. He hadn’t been delicate in his refusal, as he had told her already he was not interested in an affair. He was in truth disgusted with a few of the married ladies who had offered themselves to him without reserve. Their hypocrisy would have been amusing if they weren’t so cruel to those who indulged in the same vices they did so avidly behind closed doors.
A peal of thunder rumbled in the distance, and he frowned. The sky had darkened, but the countess and most of the houseguests would not be deterred. Those who were not participating in the race were either in the card room, rowing on the lake, or picnicking on the southern lawns.
The path of the race was only about two miles long toward the village, then they would cross a small bridge and circle back to the estate. Several footmen had been placed in strategic spots on the race route to warn other possible road users about the race. Rhys admired the powerful but graceful horses he would encourage to speed. Only five curricles were going this round, and he was surprised at the jerk of excitement filling him. He did like competition. Another quick peek at his duchess showed her finally smiling as they were encouraged to move into position.
The race started, and they were off. All the curricles lurched ahead of him, but he did not mind. Though the spirit of competition burned in his veins, he preferred to be in the back so he could discreetly watch his duchess to ensure her safety. Not that he believed she was in danger. But he had always been a cautious man with anyone who mattered to him. And despite the raw pain that still lingered in his heart whenever he gazed upon her, she mattered to him more than anything.
They had not been racing long before a splat landed on his cheek. Lady Wexham cried out, “Drat, now we shall all be soaked.”
Several claps of thunder rumbled in the distance, and he cursed as the few drops turned into a heavier downpour. He gently tugged on the horses’ reins, slowing them to a canter. “I believe it is best we turn back.”
