by Anna Bradley
Georgiana hadn’t expected that. It wasn’t some harmless little falsehood. The duchess was at the center of a storm of gossip, a scandal being whispered over in every drawing room in London.
Georgiana didn’t much care whether the Duchess of Kenilworth was having an affair with Lord Draven or not, but she didn’t appreciate being sent into battle with the ton without the proper armor.
She’d been thrown off her guard tonight when that intolerable Lord Harrington had spoken of Lord Draven’s “secrets” in such a derisive manner, but that was nothing to the shock of discovering the two people rumored to be having a torrid liaison were the same two people who were searching for Clara Beauchamp.
There wasn’t the least chance that was a coincidence—
“Wandering about in the dark all by yourself, Miss Harley?”
Georgiana startled at the sound of the low, deep voice behind her, her thoughts scattering.
“Such a clever lady, yet so careless with your safety.”
That voice, it was familiar. She’d heard it before, but she couldn’t quite place—
“You never know who might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for you.” Footsteps thudded softly behind her, and when the voice spoke again, it was closer. “Why, it could be anyone.”
Georgiana closed her eyes as that husky murmur hit the back of her neck. Sweat broke out on her palms, her fingers went slack, and the next thing she knew, her precious jar of quince preserves slipped from her hand and rolled down the steps. “Oh, no!” She raced after it, but it was already too late. The jar smashed to the ground in a splatter of thick orange syrup and shattered glass. “My preserves!”
“I beg your pardon.” The toe of a spotless evening pump nudged a piece of the broken glass aside. “They look delicious, too. Thick, but not too thick, just as preserves should be. Pity.”
That drawl, slow and deep, faintly mocking…
She knew that voice, knew the shape and plumpness of the lips from which it emerged, despite her every effort to forget them. Georgiana reminded herself to hold onto her dignity as she raised her eyes to meet his, but when she caught sight of her tormentor’s face, only one word seemed appropriate. “You.”
“Me, indeed. You do remember me, then?”
Remember him? She could sooner forget a fiend on the back of a hound from hell riding straight from one end of London to the other than she could Lord Haslemere. “Vividly.”
He grinned. “I’m flattered, Miss Harley.”
Georgiana eyed him, her lips going tight. “I don’t see why you should be. People remember all sorts of unpleasant things, Lord Haslemere. Breaking a bone, falling down the stairs, having a tooth pulled.”
Her irritation only amused him, and his infuriating grin widened. “You seem cross, Miss Harley. If I didn’t know better, I might think you aren’t pleased to see me.”
“What are you doing here, my lord?” The duchess had promised he was safely tucked away at his country estate in Surrey, and would remain there for the season. Why, then, was he hiding in the shadows, leaping out at innocent passersby and smashing their precious preserves to bits?
“Perhaps I came here to see you.” He slouched against the wrought iron railing that led to the front door, one arm draped carelessly over the top of it. “Perhaps I missed you, and longed to see your face again—”
Georgiana held up her hand to silence him. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Why should you doubt it?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Miss Harley.”
No, but I’d like to.
Georgiana knew she didn’t have the sort of face that inspired surprise visits from handsome earls, and she had no desire to listen to Lord Haslemere’s flirtatious nonsense. “It’s not my face that’s brought you all the way from Surrey.”
His dark eyes flicked over her, a frown marring his handsome features. “Your face quite haunts me, I assure you. I even dream of it, on occasion. Fierce brown eyes, pert nose, scolding lips.”
Georgiana snorted. He was mocking her, of course. If he was as enamored of her face as he claimed, he’d know her eyes weren’t brown. “Well, you’ve seen it now, so do feel free to leave again.”
Nothing could possibly interest her less than Lord Haslemere’s scandalous comings and goings, of course. She was only surprised she hadn’t heard he’d returned to London. The man couldn’t stir a step without half of England knowing of it. The ton awaited his every move with such breathless anticipation, even she couldn’t avoid hearing about him.
A slow smile curved his lips. “Oh, I’m not leaving yet, princess.”
Princess? Georgiana gave him an incredulous look. “Did you just call me princess?”
He paused, as if deciding whether or not the words had come from his lips, then shrugged. “I believe I did, yes.”
“Why?” It wasn’t what she meant to say, or not all she meant to say, but for the first time in as long as Georgiana could remember, her sharp tongue failed her.
He let out an impatient sigh. “I haven’t the faintest idea, unless it’s that you have an untouchable air about you. What does it matter? The point, Miss Harley, is I have some delicate busines that will keep me in London for some time.”
Georgiana crossed her arms over her chest. “Delicate business, my lord? Is there a wager that needs laying, or a mistress who requires jewels? The mind boggles at the possibilities.”
“Ah, there’s that sharp tongue.” He straightened from the railing and sauntered closer. “Now I hear it again, I do believe I’ve missed it even more than I missed your face. I do like a lady who knows how to wield her tongue.”
If she didn’t know it to be impossible, Georgiana would have sworn he was staring at her mouth. Except, of course, it was impossible. “That surprises me, Lord Haslemere. From what I’ve heard, you’ve tamed half the tongues in London.”
His eyebrows shot up, then he threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “Have you been listening to the gossip about me? Shame on you, Miss Harley. I thought you were above all that.”
Georgiana scowled at him. She didn’t know why he was wasting his charm on her, but his teasing wouldn’t get him anywhere. “One can’t avoid hearing the gossip about you, my lord. There’s simply too much of it. Now, if you’d be so good as to be on your way—”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t leave quite yet.” He stepped in front of her when she moved to brush past him. “You see, Miss Harley, I’m curious about something, and I’m hoping you can enlighten me.”
“Me?” Ah, now it was starting to make sense. He was flirting with her because he wanted something. She didn’t bother to ask what it was. It didn’t matter, because she wouldn’t give it to him. “Nothing would please me more than to help you, Lord Haslemere, but as enlightenment requires humility, I’m afraid it’s hopeless.”
She made to sweep past him again, her nose as high in the air as a lady with quince preserves splattered on her hems could manage, but he caught her arm and turned her to face him before she could escape. “Oh, but I have unerring faith in you, Miss Harley. If anyone can command me, it’s you.”
Command him? Georgiana never permitted herself to blush, but to her horror, she felt her cheeks heating. “Very well, my lord, since you insist on it. I command you to leave here at once.”
“Not just yet. Not until you answer my questions, Miss Harley.”
He stepped closer, close enough that it was impossible to avoid his eyes. Georgiana had been doing her best to keep from looking at him, because looking at Lord Haslemere was rather like looking at the sun. He burned one’s retinas long after they’d averted their gaze.
But when she did risk another glance at him, she noticed something she’d overlooked before.
Lord Haslemere affected a certain casualness in dress, a Bohemian flair that was much imitated among the fashionable gentlemen of th
e ton. He even had a cravat knot named after him—the Haslemere—which was, as far as Georgiana could tell, a clumsily tied cascade knot, with the fall off-centered.
Not that she cared one whit about Lord Haslemere’s fashion choices. Not at all. She’d simply…stumbled across the information somewhere.
Tonight, however, he was in evening dress. Every thick, silky lock of his auburn hair was in place, every fold of his cravat terrifyingly symmetrical, his coat and waistcoat impeccably tailored, his gloves spotless, and…
Her eyes widened. A black masque was dangling from his fingertips.
Had he been at Lady Wylde’s ball tonight? If so, why hadn’t she seen him there? It seemed impossible she could have missed him. With his height and auburn hair, he wasn’t the sort of gentleman who blended into a crowd.
Georgiana cleared her throat. “Have you been, er…at an entertainment this evening, my lord?”
“No. That is, unless you consider Lady Wylde’s masque ball entertaining. Personally, I found it unspeakably dull.”
He had been there, then. Had he seen her? He might have chosen to ignore her if he had, but he surely would have greeted Lord and Lady Darlington. Unless he’d intentionally kept out of their sight? Why should he, though? Lord Darlington was his closest friend.
“Though now you ask, Miss Harley,” Lord Haslemere went on. “It wasn’t a completely wasted evening. I may have overheard a few things that interested me.”
“Overheard?” Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “That implies you heard things by accident, my lord. I think the more appropriate word is eavesdropped.”
“Let’s not quibble over words, Miss Harley. You may call it whatever you like. The point is I was there, just as you were, though I confess I nearly overlooked you.”
Georgiana regarded him warily, the strangeness of his sudden appearance here sinking in at last. Not just here in London, where he wasn’t meant to be, but at Lady Wylde’s ball, and now here, in front of the Clifford School? It was almost as if he’d followed—
Dear God, he had. There was no other explanation for it.
He’d hidden from her at the ball, eavesdropped on her conversation, then come here and skulked about in the bushes, waiting for her, all with the specific purpose of accosting her!
But why? It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t as if she had any business with him, nor he with her. It was none of her concern what Lord Haslemere got up to, and no reason at all she should be lingering on a dark street with him.
Georgiana blinked, the first question she should have asked dawning on her only now.
Why was she lingering on a dark street with him? She didn’t owe Lord Haslemere any explanations. “As delightful as it’s been to see you, my lord, it’s quite late, and I—”
“You look rather different than you did the last time I saw you.” He frowned, his gaze sweeping from the ribbons in her hair to the toes of her slippers. “If you hadn’t been with Darlington, I’m not certain I would have recognized you.”
Georgiana wasn’t sure how to take that remark, but given she’d been far more plainly attired than any of the other ladies at the ball tonight, she doubted it was a compliment. “It was a masque ball, my lord. You weren’t meant to recognize me.”
“It wasn’t the masque that threw me off.” He eased a little closer to her—not so close as to be threatening, but close enough she could see the gleam of challenge in his eyes. “No, it was that Lady Wylde’s masque ball is the last place in the world I’d expect to find you. So, you see, I can’t help but wonder what you were doing there.”
“Doing?” Georgiana forced a laugh. “Why, the same thing as everyone else. I don’t see what’s so scandalous about my being there. Lady Darlington invited me to go, and so I went. Nothing so amazing in that, is there?”
“Come now, Miss Harley.” A grin played about his lips, but his dark eyes roved over her face, scrutinizing every shift in her expression. “We both know that isn’t true. Lord and Lady Darlington went as a favor to you, not the other way around.”
Georgiana couldn’t prevent a nervous swallow. For a worthless rake, Lord Haslemere was proving far too astute for her liking. “I don’t see what concern it is of yours what I do.”
“No concern at all, under the usual circumstances, but your presence at a ton ball isn’t usual, is it? You see, Miss Harley, even a careless, feather-brained, arrogant rake like myself occasionally has a moment of illumination. You were there for a reason—likely at Lady Clifford’s behest—and I couldn’t help but wonder if that reason has anything to do with my sister, the Duchess of Kenilworth.”
Georgiana just managed to stop her mouth from falling open. How in the name of heaven had he worked that out? All of a sudden it was becoming uncomfortably clear how much trouble Lord Haslemere’s sudden presence in London was going to cause her. That, and how many lies she’d have to tell him if he chose to make a nuisance of himself.
Well, whatever the number, she’d tell them. She’d tell one lie after the next if it meant protecting the duchess’s privacy. Her Grace had made herself perfectly clear on the subject of her brother. Under no circumstances was he to know anything about the search for Clara Beauchamp.
So she crossed her arms over her chest, met his gaze, and spit out her first lie. “I’ve no idea what you mean, my lord. What reason should I have to poke about in the duchess’s business?”
But it was no use. Lord Haslemere was like a dog on a scent. “That’s not a denial, Miss Harley. Indeed, it almost sounds like a confession.”
“I have nothing to confess. Even if I did, I wouldn’t confess it to you. Now, unless you’re such a blackguard you’d keep a lady standing on a dark street against her will, I’ll ask you to stand back.”
He braced his hand on the railing, blocking her way. “One more question first, if you please. Who is Clara Beauchamp? You had a great many questions about Clara Beauchamp for Lady Tilbury. It aroused my curiosity.”
Oh, he’d spent a good, long time eavesdropping on her conversations tonight, hadn’t he? She was not, however, obliged to satisfy his curiosity. “Why, Clara Beauchamp could be anyone, my lord. Perhaps I could help you if you could tell me something more about her.”
His dark eyes narrowed, his playful humor now gone. “That what I’m waiting for you to tell me, Miss Harley.”
Georgiana shrugged. “Forgive me, my lord, but there must be dozens of ladies named Clara Beauchamp in England. I can’t possibly know which one you’re referring to.”
Without warning, she darted under his arm and scurried toward the stairs, more than a little pleased with herself, but before she could escape, his deep voice brought her to a halt on the steps. “Did Lord Draven ask you to prod into my sister’s affairs?”
Georgiana blinked down at him as she turned over his question. Now why should Lord Draven, of all people, want to prod into the duchess’s affairs? If what she’d heard tonight was true, there was little about the duchess Lord Draven didn’t already know.
Of course, it might not be true. “You said one more question, my lord. That’s your second.”
“Indulge me, Miss Harley.” He arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“Why should Lord Draven ask me to prod into your sister’s affairs, Lord Haslemere?” Georgiana asked, thinking quickly. He might know something she didn’t. If he did, this might be her only chance to work it out of him.
But he saw at once what she was about. “Very clever, Miss Harley,” he murmured, one corner of his lips quirking. “But you know the answer to that question already. You were at Lady Wylde’s ball this evening. You heard the gossip about Lord Draven and my sister.”
“Not by choice.” Georgiana loathed gossip and gossipmongers, and went out of her way to avoid hearing their ugly slurs, but the Duchess of Kenilworth and Lord Draven’s names had been on everyone’s lips tonight.
Lord Ha
slemere’s dark eyes flashed. “How noble of you. But I’m her brother, and even I couldn’t stir a step without overhearing some fool or other discussing my sister’s torrid affair with the Earl of Draven. It seemed to me you were as interested in the gossip about her as everyone else.”
Georgiana’s stomach clenched with alarm. Lord Darlington had warned her Lord Haslemere would call out Draven if he thought the man had insulted his sister. She wasn’t worried for Lord Haslemere, of course, it was just…well, no one wanted to see a young man sliced open by a sword or felled by a pistol ball in some ridiculous duel, did they?
She might have a wicked tongue, but she didn’t have a wicked heart. “It’s likely just that, my lord. Gossip, without a drop of truth to it.”
Perhaps he saw a softening in her face, because he stepped closer—so close she felt a surge of heat despite the cold, damp air. “Perhaps, but I know my sister, Miss Harley. Something is amiss, and I think you know what it is. If you’re truly concerned for her, then you’ll tell me all you know so I can help her.”
It wasn’t that simple, however. Georgiana was concerned for the duchess, but she’d given her word, and she wasn’t going to break it, no matter how persuasive Lord Haslemere was. “When your sister wants your help, my lord, surely she’ll ask for it.”
He looked up at her for a long time without speaking, then he said, “You asked me once if I ever took anything seriously. I do. My sister’s and nephew’s well-being are of the utmost importance to me. More so than my own. You’d do well to keep that in mind, princess.”
It wasn’t quite a threat, but it was a warning.
Georgiana rushed up the remaining steps and through the door, shivers running up her spine from the heat of his gaze boring into her back. At last she gained the entryway and pulled the door closed, putting the thick slab of wood between herself and Lord Haslemere.
Yet she felt none of the relief she’d anticipated. She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the spray of gooseflesh there, but she could still feel his dark gaze on her as palpably as a touch, as if it were his hand there, instead of her own.
