by Regina Darcy
If this was what was incumbent upon a performer, then Georgiana realised that she would have to rethink her options. She was not, she could not continue to participate in such a licentious display of what was surely nothing less than vice incarnate.
The song ended, and Marie, her cheeks flushed and her eyes merry, came over. “You’ll play ‘Little Lord Willie’ next,” she said, humming the tune so that Georgiana could recall it. “The girls are taking a bit of a break now, getting to meet the gents. I’ll whistle when we’re ready to start again.” Georgiana nodded, too embarrassed to look at Marie in her costume.
For the duration of the performance, Georgiana played. When the entertainment ended, the applause was thunderous.
“A hand for our pianist,” Marie called out. “Stand up, dearie, and let everyone see you.”
Whistles and clapping accompanied this announcement. Woodenly, Georgiana stood and then sat down again. Fortunately, the audience and the performers had already begun to mingle. She saw Marie, off the floor, her arms held by one gentleman, her legs held by another, lifting the decanter to her lips to take a generous swig from the contents as the men roared their approval.
Quietly, Georgiana moved from the piano, making her exit without drawing attention to herself. Only one man’s eyes noticed, following the girl’s lissom figure as she glided through the groups of men and dancers in a dress that looked like jewellery in motion. The Duke of Eanverness was thirty-four, experienced, and intrigued by something new.
A performer who adopted the masquerade of innocence and elegance was certainly new indeed.
SEVEN
“You might try the library, miss,” whispered a voice as she left the room.
Startled, Georgiana looked around. Lucas, the footman, stood at the door. “Nobody will be going in there,” he explained. “You can be off by yourself for a bit. Then, once they’re all in the rooms, you can go on quietly to your own room and be alone for the night.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, grateful that someone in the debauched estate had been kind enough to point her to a sanctuary. Following the directions that Lucas had provided, she carefully walked to the room where he said she would not be bothered by any of the guests. Inside, the room was hushed and tranquil, the walls a fortress of shelves with books on them.
Georgiana settled into a corner of the sofa. Now that she was alone, she could try to gather her thoughts. Tomorrow, when the stagecoach came to pick them up, she would ask to be taken to the post house so that she could continue on her journey to Bath to meet her relatives. This episode was not one which she intended to ever repeat. What had she been thinking? From now on, she decided, she would forego adventure and concentrate on getting to Bath without interruption.
But how would she claim her wages for her piano playing? Whom should she ask? She was certainly entitled to be paid. She didn’t expect a guinea for her efforts, but she had done her part and should receive her due. She would have to ask the ladies when they were leaving tomorrow, or perhaps Marie would know what she should do.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the library door open and failed to realise that anyone was in the room until a man stepped out of the shadows.
“Good evening, miss? I apologise; I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
Georgiana stood up. “I’m Lizzie, Sir.”
“Lizzie. For Elizabeth the first, The Virgin Queen herself?”
She recognised his voice. It was the Duke of Eanverness. He sounded very courteous and polite as she spoke. What then, had he been doing in that room with such a gathering?
He lit the lamps, and his face came into focus as the shadows faded. She saw that he had pleasing features: dark eyes, a full mouth, and what she would have called a noble nose had she not so recently seen him in a room that was undoubtedly a scene of debauchery. His hair was dark, the locks arranged in what she had no doubt was the very peak of London fashion. As he was a duke, it was logical that he had a wardrobe and manners to match. But what on earth was he doing in the library?
“Just Lizzie, Sir.”
His fingers brushed her chin. “Never just Lizzie,” he murmured.
She raised her eyes to meet his. He was tall and she was not, so she was obliged to lean her head back. The Duke’s eyes roamed over her slender throat and then lower.
“Dear Lizzie,” he said in a voice that, were circumstances different, Georgiana would have thought quite appealing. “If you should turn out to have the same attributes as The Virgin Queen, I promise to take due consideration.”
His words had Georgiana confused. What was he eluding to? She frowned and the blurted out the first thing on her mind “Eh—Your Grace, who is going to pay me?”
“Pay you?” The Duke laughed softly. “Payment is generally given at the end of the . . . performance, when satisfaction has been rendered.”
“Yes, well, I’m done playing and I shall be going to bed, so I should prefer to be paid now, with your permission.”
He was smiling. “What an intriguing little minx you are. Very well, I shall pay you now.”
He placed a coin in her hand. “Is that sufficient?” he asked politely. “Or do you believe you will earn more?”
Her earning was done for the night. “This is sufficient.” It was more than sufficient, she realised. He had paid most generously. Perhaps he had liked her piano playing.
“And now you say that you are going to bed?” he inquired, his dark, restless eyes roaming over her hair and face as if he were memorising her looks.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m not sure which bedroom is mine. Perhaps you could tell me?”
He smiled. “I’ll do better than that. I shall show you.”
He insisted that she walk ahead of him up the staircase. At the door closest to the stairs, he stopped. “I think you will find everything within to your satisfaction,” he said.
He towered over her; the shadows created by the candlestick in his hand enveloped the two of them in a dark embrace.
“I’m sure I will. Thank you again.”
He reached out his hand to turn the doorknob. “Sweet dreams, pretty Lizzie. I shall see you later.”
“Yes, certainly. What time is the stagecoach arriving?”
He laughed. “You won’t miss the stagecoach, I promise you. It will arrive tomorrow afternoon, so that you will have plenty of time to rest after your night has ended. Good night.”
“Good night,” she said cheerfully, stepping into the room. She was surprised to find that her trunk was in the room; the footman must have brought it here after they had left the gallery room. Lord Eanverness had a most efficient staff, she thought. She undressed and put on her nightgown for bed. She was more tired than she realised, and the mattress was exquisitely comfortable. Although she thought that she would be unable to fall asleep, her head no sooner fell upon the pillow than she felt her eyes closing.
When a hand touched her lips, Georgiana at first thought she must be dreaming. The man’s finger gently stroked her lower lip, then her upper lip. It was a heavenly dream and Georgiana surrendered to the sensation of the man’s touch on her mouth.
His lips met hers and the kiss in her dreams was everything she had hoped her first kiss would be, summoning a delight from within that made her want to gasp and embrace the man who had kissed her so gently, yet so decisively. Then she felt the mattress shift under the weight of someone getting into the bed and she realised that she was not dreaming. Startled she opened her eyes.
The Duke was climbing into bed. He had taken off his dressing gown. He was wearing . . . dear God, he did not appear to be wearing a shirt of any kind.
“My lord,” she stammered, her voice was quivering, “you are undressed.”
The Duke laughed that soft, mysterious laugh that hinted at secrets no woman had ever guessed. “You are, as I said, a most intriguing minx,” he said, laying down, his dark hair striking against the white linen of the pillow.
; “Sir, what do you think you are doing?” she demanded, now genuinely frightened, backing away from him.
“Come closer, Elizabeth, and I shall predict what is to happen this night. I shall take off that maidenly nightgown and then I shall take you into my arms. You will resist for a moment, I suspect, but then you shall purr like a kitten with delight. For I shall delight you, sweet Elizabeth and I shall make sure that you earn that guinea I gave you in the library.”
“Sir, you have made a mistake,” Georgiana said to him, stunned by his behaviour. “I am not a—a—I am a —”
“I’m sure you are as pure as the lilies,” he said, grinning.
“It’s a captivating game to play, and you play it well. Play it through the night and perhaps that guinea will be joined by another.”
Georgiana’s hand cracked against his face. Silence fell over the room. His eyes widened and he sat up with deliberate slowness.
“That was, perhaps, a bit too authentic?” he drawled, caressing his jaw with his hand.
“You will leave this bedroom this instant Sir,” she told him.
“I am not one of your soiled doves, hired for a frolic. I am—I am not,” she finished weakly.
He studied her for an intense moment, his dark eyes like magnets drawn to her hidden thoughts. “You are not, are you,” he said at last.
He took his robe and donned it.
“I apologise. The error was entirely mine, and I must beg your pardon. I am . . .” he laughed shakily. “I am not… Nevermind. Goodnight, sweet Lizzie. Perhaps you are indeed the embodiment of the Virgin Queen.”
He left her room as silently as he had entered it. Georgiana, sleep banished for the night, waited in her bed for a time, until she was sure that no one would enter her room. She dressed in one of her school frocks, put her money inside one of the pockets, put on her pelisse, and after locking the trunk, stole down the staircase. The house was silent, as if every door that she had passed was hiding its secrets. She encountered no one, either servant or guest, as she made her way out of the castle, planning her course of action as she walked soundlessly to the stables.
EIGHT
She would borrow a horse, she decided. She knew how to ride, and while it was unheard of for a young woman to ride without an escort, it would be far worse to remain on the premises. She would borrow the horse, she mentally repeated, and ride until she came to the village, where she would obtain a seat on the next stagecoach that would take her to Bath. She would direct the innkeeper to return the horse to the Duke.
“I’ll see ‘im dead for what ‘e’s done.”
Lizzie halted. The voice was coming from inside the stables. The voice was rough and uneducated, layered with anger.
“‘E’s a villain,” agreed another voice. “A villain who deserves what ‘e’ll get.”
“And ‘e’ll get his due. But ‘e’ll never know. We’ve got to plan careful. If the magistrate suspects that it’s us what kills ‘im, we’ll ‘ang.”
“‘E’s the one should ‘ang for what ‘e’s done. A man can do whatever ‘e wants if ‘e’s a dook and there’s no one to stop ‘im, even if it means forcin’ ‘imself on an innocent lass, ruinin’ her and leaving her with a babe and no father for the child. I’m in. What’s the point of fighting the French if we’ve got villains like this running things right ‘ere in England?”
Slowly, Georgiana backed away. They were talking about the Duke. Plotting his death. It sounded as though he had ruined a girl. Would he do that? She had seen his behaviour this very night and there could be no denying that his intentions had not been honourable. But was he capable of forcing himself on a woman? She knew that the answer to that was a resounding no. This left her with only one course of action – she could not leave him to a dastardly fate.
Georgiana returned to the bedroom in the castle. The night was still dark; it would be hours before the stagecoach would arrive. She did not undress.
Pulling a chair to the door, she left it there so that, if anyone did attempt to intrude, there would be an obstacle to alert her. She remained in her clothes as she laid atop the bed, keeping her eyes open throughout the night. Her thoughts continued to travel throughout the events of the evening, continually returning to the conversation she had overheard in the stable.
The Duke had not forced himself upon her. As soon as he realised that she was not like the others—and now Georgiana perceived that the performers had not been invited to the castle solely to present a musical act—he had apologised and left her alone in her bedroom. Did he have different standards for different classes of women? But he did not know who she was, and he assumed that she was one of the performers, so that could not explain the discrepancy between his behaviour toward her and the act that the men in the stable accused him of.
That kiss. When she’d thought she was dreaming, she’d responded to a kiss that employed no force. He had been gentle, even tender, even though he had thought she was expecting him to participate in the kind of bawdy behaviour that the other ladies had anticipated. He had been amused by what he originally thought was artifice, but when he realised that she was not a participant in his bed sport, he had departed. There was no indication that he intended to force her, and if he had really believed that she was a hireling, he could have vented his irritation in a violent manner.
That kiss. It hadn’t been a dream. But it had been blissful. Those where her last thoughts as she fell asleep, despite herself.
She awoke when the sunlight was streaming into her bedroom, forcing her eyes to open. It was later than her usual time of rising, but not afternoon. There was still time. She had decided what she needed to do.
After changing clothes, Georgiana left her bedroom and walked down the staircase. She was relieved to see Lucas the footman standing in front of the drawing room.
“I need to speak with His Grace,” she said to him.
“His Lordship is at breakfast,” Lucas said. He had been surprised that the Duke had risen early after a night when outside entertainment had been brought in. No one else was awake yet, but that was to be expected after a night spent in drinking, carousing, and who knew what kind of deeds that had gone on behind closed doors.
“Please bring me to him. It’s very important.”
She looked to be in earnest. “Follow me.”
The footman went into the breakfast room while Georgiana waited anxiously outside. Would he see her? Would he think she had come to accuse him for his actions, or worse, that she had come to accept his offer? He thought she was a common performer, someone who earned her living playing the piano while lewd ladies danced and frolicked.
“Go ahead in, miss.”
Lord Eanverness stood up when she entered. “Are you joining me for breakfast?” he asked. “Please help yourself; the food is on the sideboard.”
“I apologise for intruding on your meal.”
“My dear Lizzie, considering the manner in which I intruded upon you last night, I should say you are more than entitled. Will you have coffee or tea? Lucas is bringing another place setting.”
“I’m not hungry. But I thank you for your kindness. Your Grace, I come to you because there’s a plot against your life.”
There was a pause. “Miss . . . you never did give me your last name.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she replied impatiently. “Did you not hear what I said?”
“Yes, you said there’s a plot against my life. I can only imagine that you would be the one with the greatest motive to kill me, and you do not appear to be armed,” the Duke replied in a dry voice.
“Ahhh, Lucas, thank you. Miss Lizzie will sit down and have breakfast. Please pour her a cup of . . . will you take coffee?”
“Very well, yes that is fine. Thank you, Lucas,” she said as he poured coffee into a cup.
“Will you sit down? Thank you Lucas, that will be all.”
“You don’t appear to be very alarmed at what I’ve told you.”
“Perhaps bec
ause I am still quite embarrassed by what transpired last night and I wish to make amends. But first you must tell me who you are.”
“My name is Lizzie.”
“And your surname?”
“That is of no significance.”
“On the contrary,” he said, using sugar tongs to sweeten her coffee. “It’s of great significance. You are young. You should not be on your own. Do you have a family?”
“That’s of no importance to you.”
“My dear Lizzie,” he said softly. “I am not going to allow you to leave with your . . . colleagues. I am going to keep you here until I know your full name, and then I am going to return you to your family, so that you will be safe from the kind of mishap which could have had a very different ending last night. I do not condone what I did last night; nor can I excuse myself. I am, some would say, a libertine and a man of dissolute habits. But I am not a despoiler of young girls, however jaded I might be. I will at least make sure that you are safely returned to your family so that such a thing does not happen again.” Sincerity shone through his eyes.
Not yet sure how she was supposed to react, Georgiana bit her lower lip and thought hard. Taking a deep breath she came to a decision.
“My lord . . . can I trust you?”
“I should hope so, although I realise that I have given you no reason to think so. Drink your coffee.”
She took a sip, and rewarded him with a brilliant smile. “It’s delicious. How did you know how much sugar I take?”
Lord Eanverness smiled in return.
“I would answer you, but you would suspect me of continuing our conversation from last night. Let it be understood that you appear to be a young lady who likes sweetness, and let’s leave it at that, shall we? Now, tell me why you need to be able to trust me. And then we can discuss this fascinating plan to kill me.”
“I think that I shall trust you,” she said.
“You honour me,” he replied with no indication of irony.
“My name is Georgiana Drew,” she began. She told him the entire story of what had happened from the time she arrived in London from the school in Florence until she had run away because of her stepfather’s intention to marry her off to his friend, Lord Walsingham.
