“You go on ahead,” Nicholas said to Claire. “I’ll be over shortly but I am certain your brother would appreciate a private word.”
Claire looked like she might protest but with a sigh she relented. She gave her husband a wink that Rhys was embarrassed to witness. “I will try to ease the way.”
Nicholas laughed and the look they shared made Rhys look away in discomfort. Really, this level of public affection was most unusual and extraordinarily inappropriate.
Married couples shouldn’t demonstrate their affection to this extent. It was unseemly.
The moment she walked away, Nicholas turned to him with a grave expression. “Is Mother correct? Do I need to worry about Lord Malcolm and Georgie?”
Rhys hesitated. He had no firm knowledge that anything untoward had occurred. At the moment it was merely a suspicion, and Nicholas had enough emotional family intricacies to resolve this evening with his brother-in-law.
Besides, Rhys had an inexplicable urge to handle this matter on his own.
A memory of Georgie’s glittering green eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. The way she looked at him was so forthright. So full of life and laughter but also held that spark of intelligence. More than all that, what was truly unnerving, was the way she not only looked, but saw.
He had the impression she saw entirely too much.
“You have nothing to fear,” he said to Nicholas. “If anything is amiss, I will handle it.”
Nicholas jerked back in surprise. “You?”
“Yes, me.”
Nicholas stared at him for so long, Rhys looked away again in discomfort, once more seeking out Georgie in the crowd. Solely to assure himself that she was not speaking to that nefarious upstart.
She was not. Good.
Relief was swift and irrational.
Georgie had joined Jed and Claire and the three were talking animatedly as the Clevelands seemed wont to do.
He kept his gaze upon her as Nicholas questioned him once more. “Are you certain? You have never shown much interest in playing the role of chaperone.”
Straightening, he gave his brother a disdainful glare. Playing chaperone. What nonsense. He wasn’t her chaperone any more than he was her brother or her guardian.
He was a duke, for the love of God. And her host. Surely that was the reason he felt this alarming protectiveness toward the girl. The urge to swoop in and save the day. Take her into his arms and keep her from harm.
Any good host would do the same.
He kept her in his sights that night, even as he spoke with several ladies of the list. He was starting to think of them this way now, thanks to Georgie. Ladies of the list. It gave them a rather mythological air, though in reality there was nothing fanciful about any particular lady. Anyone with an ounce of—what was the term Claire had used? Whimsy. Anyone with an ounce of whimsy would never have made his list.
After speaking with four such ladies, he was no closer to narrowing down his choices and the ball was reaching its denouement. One ball down and no bride to be found. The thought was disheartening to say the least, as it meant he’d be forced to endure more of these social events in the very near future.
Fortunately his new houseguest seemed to behave herself, at least as far as he could see. But it was Lord Malcolm who worried him. Georgie might not seek out danger, but that Lord Malcolm chap seemed the type to take advantage of a lively girl’s romantic notions.
He shifted his focus as the night wore on, following Lord Malcolm’s movements rather than Georgie’s. When the younger man left the ballroom to join some gentlemen to the billiard room, he followed.
He helped himself to some brandy as he listened to Lord Malcolm and his cohorts laugh and gossip like a bunch of old spinsters. Their tone was biting as they mocked Miss Thistle with her unfortunate buck teeth and old Lady Burnbaum with her regrettable halitosis.
Their amusement turned his initial disapproval into outright scorn. If it hadn’t been clear before, it certainly was now. Lord Malcolm was not merely a dandy, he was a bully to boot. A charmer with the ladies—a womanizing rake, no doubt. But on top of that he had the callous heart of a rogue.
Lord Malcolm might have an honorific title, but this man was no gentleman. There was no way he could allow his attentions to Georgie to continue. As if her name was summoned by his thoughts, Georgie’s name jarred him from his thoughts as he hovered in the corner by the snifter.
“What’s transpiring between you and the Cleveland girl?” one of the men asked. “Is she your latest interest?”
Rhys stiffened but did not move. The others hadn’t seemed to pay him much mind, if they noticed him there at all. Several other gentlemen had come and gone but this group of cads was too intent on their own entertainment to notice anything.
The young redhead who’d spoken looked as though he were still a schoolboy but his question was clearly directed to Lord Malcolm, who wore a smile so smug it was nearly impossible to resist striking him.
“Georgie?” he asked as though it were completely appropriate to be using her nickname in company such as this. He picked up a billiard stick and sauntered toward the fellow who’d spoken. “Now there’s an amusing lass.”
“She’s certainly a beauty,” one of the men said.
Rhys found he was clenching the glass in his hand with such force it was in danger of breaking in his grip. He forced himself to set it down.
“A beauty and bit of fun,” Lord Malcolm said. “But that’s all, gentlemen.”
“So you’re not courting her then?” the redhead said.
Lord Malcolm scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. She’s not wife material.”
“Does she know that?” another asked, his tone laced with wicked amusement. “The poor girl is clearly besotted.”
Lord Malcolm laughed and the sound of it made Rhys’s blood boil in his veins.
“She’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, I plan to enjoy her…attentions.”
The men snickered at the simple word, which Lord Malcolm had managed to imbue with abhorrent meaning.
“You’ve got her wrapped around your finger then,” the redhead said with a juvenile laugh.
“Oh yes.” He turned to the other with a wink. “In the garden at midnight.”
The laughter that followed made it clear that this was an inside joke, or, at the very least, a common occurrence. Either Lord Malcolm made a habit of seducing young innocents at midnight or he liked the others to believe it.
Rhys stood frozen in the corner for a moment, torn between his desire to attack this man who uttered Georgie’s name with such disregard and the desire to chase Georgie down and whisk her away somewhere safe.
He took a deep breath and picked up the glass for one fortifying sip as his mind once more kicked into gear, overriding his primal response. A lifetime of training made him cold and rational in the fact of a threat. Though for quite possibly the first time in his life, he acted without thinking the situation through. There was no time to stand here and dither when his Georgie—or rather, his houseguest—had her honor maligned.
He took a step forward, out of the shadows and closer to the circle of hooligans. They seemed to notice him now and he was gratified to see Lord Malcolm’s smirk falter at his appearance.
So Lord Malcolm hadn’t been aware of him, that much he’d guessed. Not even this callous upstart would be so rash as to speak unkindly of his relations within his earshot.
Not that she was a relation. He was certainly not “another brother” as she’d put it.
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” he said in his very best ducal tones.
Those who hadn’t seen him approach started at the sound of his voice and Lord Malcolm and the others visibly stiffened. He felt a surge of triumph at their reaction.
Some days it truly was good to be a duke.
He took a leisurely sip of his drink now that he had their attention. Once the room was silent enough to hear Lord Malcolm’s shallow breathing, he continued. “Who were
you just speaking of?”
When no one immediately answered, he arched his brows. “Surely not Miss Cleveland.”
No one responded because by now they must have been aware that he’d heard all.
His mind was busy shifting through his options, an exercise he ought to have undertaken before approaching, but his adrenaline and his rage on Georgie’s behalf had demanded an instantaneous response.
He could call him out. It was his right as her protector, but that would bring more scandal than it eliminated. No, much as he adored the idea of killing this ass, that sort of reaction was unwarranted.
He straightened. This situation called for diplomacy, or at the very least, a show of power. That was all. He just needed to let them know that Georgie was under his protection. No one would toy with her if they knew she was of special regard to the duke.
He turned to Lord Malcolm. “Do you have a particular interest in her, Lord Malcolm?”
The man’s handsome features twisted slightly and a flush rose up his neck. He could practically see the man scrambling to figure out how much he might have heard and what he could say to make this situation better. “Not as such, Your Grace.” At Rhys’s scowl, he added, “Though she is a lovely girl.”
“Mmm.” He took another sip. “She is beautiful, is she not?”
Some of the tension eased around him at his benign answer. Lord Malcolm took a breath of relief as he most assuredly assumed he was out of trouble.
No, Rhys would not call him out on his words. To do so would cause more trouble for Georgie and give them more reason to gossip. When Lord Malcolm’s smirk began to return, he found himself saying, “I’m glad to hear you have no intention of pursuing her, Lord Malcolm, as I have a particular interest in her myself.”
The gasps behind him were satisfying as was Lord Malcolm’s pallor.
There. He set his glass down on an end table as he gave the gentlemen a parting nod. Now it was understood that she was his.
Or rather, under his protection.
His chest swelled with a possessive satisfaction he didn’t care to dissect.
Yes, some days it was indeed good to be a duke.
Chapter Six
As midnight approached, Georgie still had no intention of taking part in some midnight rendezvous with Lord Malcolm or anyone else, for that matter. As the night progressed and she’d danced with other gentlemen and enjoyed conversations with her sister and her friends, she’d tried to summon up the proper amount of outrage at his proposition, but instead she found herself amused.
What on earth had made Lord Malcolm think she would risk her reputation for a kiss at midnight? Certainly she’d entertained the idea of having a proper kiss with a handsome beau. What young lady hadn’t? But the kiss she envisioned was with a man she loved. A man who loved her in return. A man who honored her enough to court her properly.
She sighed wistfully at the romantic vision.
But she fell back to reality when she looked around her and saw no such fairytale. Instead she saw the very same gentlemen who’d been here all night. Not a single knight in shining armor among the lot.
Disappointment pricked at her, making her amusement over the whole ridiculous situation fade into something dismal and gloomy. She was aware of Claire watching her carefully. “Dear, are you certain everything is all right?”
She nodded. “I am fine.”
Her sister had been prodding her ever since her dance with Lord Malcolm but she resisted the urge to tell her of his indecent proposition. After all, it wasn’t as though she were even considering it and it would only bring about a scene when she inevitably told her husband.
Claire and Nicholas would turn a silly man’s foolish words into a crisis situation and that would not do. Better just to forget about it all.
Midnight was quickly approaching and the situation would resolve itself when he went to the gardens and found that she was not there.
Instead she would be at the ladies’ retiring room taking care of her needs. Not exactly a romantic thought, but a necessity nonetheless. She made her excuses to her sister and slipped out of the ballroom, heading down the hallway.
After she’d taken care of her personal business she came back to the hallway but she hadn’t made it far before she was accosted.
Well, accosted might have been too strong a word for it.
“Miss Cleveland.”
She’d recognize Roxborough’s harsh and disapproving voice anywhere. She spun around to face him. What on earth was he doing coming from that hallway? He approached from the private areas of the house which led to the back garden.
“Your Grace,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He moved toward her. Stalked toward her would be more precise. When he was close enough that she could see his features in the glow of the hallway candles she gasped. Oh dear. What on earth had she done now?
He glowered at her with an anger and a passion that was so out of character it took her breath away. “Is something amiss?” Her mind instantly imagined the worst. “Is my sister all right? Your mother?”
His anger was replaced by confusion for a moment before it returned in force. “Everyone is fine. It is you I’m concerned about.”
She tilted her chin up to better meet his gaze. He’d stopped just short of running into her, towering over her as though he might swoop her up into his arms at any moment.
Her heart picked up its pace at that ludicrous thought. The day the duke swept any woman into a passionate embrace was the day this stone townhouse would crumble into dust.
“Concerned for me?” she repeated. “But…why?”
“Why?” His voice was a growl that sent an alarmed thrill through her, the kind she felt when faced with a thunderstorm or a tiger at the Royal Menagerie.
“Yes, why?” Despite the thrill she couldn’t quite keep the laughter from her tone. But really, he was reacting so strongly as though she had done something remarkable rather than retiring to the ladies’ room.
“You will not go to the gardens,” he said. “I forbid it.”
She blinked up at him. The gardens? Whatever was he—
Her gasp sounded loud in the vacant hallways. She was glad for the dim lighting so he might not see her flush. “How did you—Or rather, what do you—”
His expression darkened and his voice grew ominous. “I know.”
She stared up at him. Two words, but he’d made them sound so heavy. So forbidding. So…knowing. Their meaning registered, as did the dark disapproval in his eyes.
“You know…” Her voice faltered. Too many questions bubbled up. How did he know? Who had told him? Who else knew? But the most important one came tumbling out. “And you believed it?”
He widened his eyes, leaning in closer as if he’d misheard her, though she’d hardly made an attempt to be quiet. Why should she? She had nothing to hide.
Other than the fact that she was alone in a hallway with an eligible gentleman, of course. That knowledge seemed to have a direct impact on her senses. Suddenly they were heightened, and now she could not ignore that heavenly male scent of his, nor the way his large, imposing body seemed to be a self-sustaining source of heat. And then there was the weight of his gaze—yes, a weight. She would never have thought that gazes could be felt, but his could. She could feel it on her skin, which heated and flushed at the intimate, phantom contact.
She watched with fascination as his gaze darted over her face, as if he might be able to read the truth there. As if he could see straight through her outrage and her smiles and her laughter…straight into the heart of her.
She lifted her chin. He could study her as much as he pleased. She had nothing to hide. Watching his disapproval battle with confusion and doubt brought a brief surge of satisfaction.
“But were you not…” He cast a quick glance over his shoulders toward the gardens as if to ascertain that he hadn’t lost his sense of direction.
She straightened to her full height, which
admittedly was not much. She barely reached his chin. Moving forward she tried to make up for that lack of stature through proximity, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Your insinuations are not only incorrect, they are offensive.”
He backed away slightly and she breathed a sigh of relief. Stepping so close to him had been a mistake. She could see that now, but she hadn’t wanted to be the one to give up ground. Not when she was attempting to make a point.
“So you weren’t, er…” Now that his judgmental certainty had wavered, he seemed even less inclined to say it aloud.
She arched an eyebrow in question. “What? Meeting a man I hardly know for an illicit rendezvous that could very well leave me obliged to marry the very same man I do not know?”
He blinked slowly. “Well, when you state it as such—”
“It is preposterous,” Georgie finished for him, warming to her topic. Also, warming in general. She wasn’t quite certain how much of this internal fire was due to his proximity, to the heat he seemed to emanate like a furnace, or the self-righteous anger that made it impossible to remember that this man was her host and, what was more, a duke.
Words like respect and deference bandied about in her mind. It was her mother’s voice speaking, as if she’d been brought back from the dead by Georgie’s lack of social propriety. Perhaps one ought to tell those traveling mediums about this new means of communicating with the dead. If chanting and hand holding failed to bring back a deceased parent, try scolding a duke.
Unfortunately for her mother, Georgie had never been good at listening, not even when her mother was alive and in the same room.
“For you to think that I would do something so rash, so gallingly stupid,” she said, her voice growing louder and far more shrill than she liked.
His surprise was starting to fade and it was tempered with irritation. “How was I supposed to know that you would not—”
“Be a simpleton?” she finished. Certainly finishing a duke’s sentences was frowned upon, but she was too incensed to care. Besides, the fact that her voice dripped with sarcasm was surely the greater offense. “How were you to know that I would not risk my honor and my reputation?”
A Duke’s Distraction: Devilish Lords Page 6
