It made Georgie come to her senses with a start. Claire truly believed that she was infatuated with the duke! What nonsense. She pushed away from the dresser with her nose in the air. “Well, I am not interested.”
“All right.”
“I am merely unsettled.”
“I see.”
Her sister’s tone had her pinching her lips together in frustration. Claire was placating her, pacifying her like a child. But she didn’t believe her.
“I’m unsettled,” she said again, firmer this time. “Because this whole situation is…unsettling.”
“Which would explain why you are so unsettled,” Claire said placidly. Too placidly. There was no denying that Claire was amused. And at her expense.
Georgie stormed out of the room, letting out a growling sound entirely unbefitting any gentlewoman, let alone a duchess.
Not that it mattered what a duchess might or might not do. She wasn’t interested in that title any more than she wished to be the Queen of England. The very thought of her being some high and mighty duchess was laughable.
Her mind’s eye had an image of standing at Roxborough’s side. Of dancing with him again as she had at the ball. Of smiling up at that brooding face of his.
Her insides went topsy-turvy.
She stopped suddenly in the hall and clutched her belly. Perhaps Claire’s guess had been right, after all.
Maybe it was something she ate.
* * *
Georgie still didn’t feel quite right the next afternoon as she and Mary strolled through Hyde Park. But at least at this tête-a-tête she was better able to maintain her equanimity on the topic. She’d prepared in advance what she would say and now the words tripped off her tongue with a practiced smile.
“So you see, it was all just a misunderstanding, really. The duke was merely making it clear to Lord Malcolm and the others that he has a vested interest in my welfare and matrimonial prospects.”
“Because you are his guest,” Mary said, reiterating the point as if for clarification.
Georgie willed her smile to stay in place. “That is correct.”
“I see,” Mary murmured.
Georgie felt Mary’s doubtful stare but kept her gaze and her smile, fixed on the steady stream of people they met walking in the opposite direction.
“So that is it then?” Mary’s disappointment was palpable. Oddly enough, disappointing Mary made some of the tension ease out of her. She always loved to irritate her bosom friend.
“Why, Mary, you almost sound as though you wished for me to become a duchess,” she teased. “We both know you’d hate the thought of such a thing.”
“I would not,” Mary said, tugging her arm from Georgie’s where they were linked. “I am a selfless and generous friend, and I do not appreciate your insinuations.”
Georgie rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You would have been green with envy.” And then, before Mary could argue, she added, “As would I, no doubt.”
Mary turned to her with a smirk. “You would be jealous if the duke were to court me?”
A possessive rage swept through her so strong and fierce, it temporarily obliterated the sunshine and the trees. It nearly blinded her with its force. She stumbled to a stop.
He couldn’t court Mary, he just couldn’t.
Mary’s laughter brought her back to her senses. She was once again aware of the fact that she was taking a stroll on a beautiful summer day and not, in fact, preparing for battle.
“I can’t believe you’d even admit such a thing,” Mary said. “You never admit to being jealous of me.”
“That’s because I’m never jealous of you.” Her response was immediate. A reflex after years of bickering and one-upping her best friend.
“Oh, of course.” Now it was Mary’s turn to roll her eyes.
It was a lie and they both knew it. Their friendship was firmly rooted in jealousy, gossip, and petty revenge. And love, of course. Underneath all the bickering and the in-fighting there was a bond that would never be broken.
Unless Roxborough courted Mary. In that case, all bets were off.
“I can admit that I would be jealous if Roxborough chose you as his bride,” she said slowly, and as evenly as she could manage. “After all, were you to become duchess, you would be insufferable.”
Mary let out a huff of laughter. “Oh all right, I suppose I might’ve been just a bit jealous when I’d heard he was besotted with you.”
Besotted? Some imbecilic part of her mind perked up. Who’d said besotted?
Outwardly she forced a laugh. “Of course you were.”
“But then I realized all the perks that might come from being friends with a duchess and I opted to be supportive,” she explained.
“How very magnanimous of you,” Georgie said.
“I thought so.” Mary gave her a smug smile. “Besides, I’d envy you the title and the power and the fortune…but the man?”
Georgie nearly tripped over her own feet for the second time in as many minutes. Her friend couldn’t be serious. He may not have been classically handsome—his features might have been too fierce and his clothing style too boring—but he was hardly an ogre. “You don’t find Roxborough the least bit attractive?”
Mary made a funny face. “He’s not horrible to look at, I suppose, but that glare.” She mimicked his furrowed brow. Georgie knew she ought to laugh—typically she would laugh, but right now she didn’t feel like it.
Mary feigned a shudder. “No, no. I might be able to tolerate being married to a man who had his face, but his personality? No, thank you.”
“He’s not all that terrible,” Georgie felt compelled to offer.
“Weren’t you the one who told me how he scolded you for dancing at your own sister’s wedding?”
She bristled. If her friend was going to comment on her life, she might at least get the details right. “I didn’t say he scolded, he merely…frowned upon it.” Quite vigorously, if she recalled correctly.
She and Nicholas, her dancing partner had laughed about it. Nicholas, she recalled, had made a teasing comment about his brother’s inability to understand fun.
Yes, she remembered now. Nicholas had said it was a smile—with love, as she might make teasing comments about one of her siblings. But then she’d seen a hint of sadness in his smile as they both looked over to the grim reaper of dancing. “I hope he finds someone who makes him smile,” Nicholas had said.
“Like Claire makes you smile?” she’d teased, giving him the same kind of sappy, lovesick smile he often wore around Claire. “Let’s hope your brother doesn’t become quite so sentimental or no one will recognize him.”
Nicholas had tipped his head back with a laugh. “Do not be too hard on him, Georgie. My brother is a product of his upbringing, as we all are.”
She hadn’t thought much of it then, but she did now. The eldest son, raised to take over the duke’s title. Raised to expect a certain type of wife, a certain type of life. Bogged down with obligations and responsibility from the moment he was born.
Perhaps Nicholas had been on to something, after all. Maybe the best trait one of those potential brides of his could have was the ability to make him smile.
“Why are you grinning like that?”
Georgie’s face fell. “Like what?”
“Like a simpleton.” Mary, ever the impressionist, mimicked her far off gaze and dreamy smile.
“Nonsense.” But she felt herself heat with embarrassment. Perhaps she had allowed herself just a momentary sense of satisfaction that the type of woman the duke required bore more in common with her than she’d thought.
Not that she’d been known to make the duke smile often, but she’d had more success than the average lady, of that she felt certain.
Mary continued uninterrupted, her voice taking on a grudging tone. “I suppose you have every right to look so smug.”
Georgie turned to face her. “What do you mean?”
Mary arched her brows.
“Whether the duke truly wishes to court you or not, his rumored interest has had the effect you no doubt were hoping for.”
Georgie was at a loss. “And what effect is that?”
Mary let out an exasperated sigh. “Lord Malcolm. He’s what all this was about, wasn’t it? You probably asked the duke to insinuate his interest. I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Georgie stared at her friend. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
Mary flashed her an impatient look presumably for having to spell it out. “Lord Malcolm has become quite enamored with you now that he believes the duke is his rival.”
Georgie came to a stop, heedless of the foot traffic behind her. “He…what?”
“I knew it!” Mary stopped too, so they were facing one another in the middle of the path. “You knew he was interested in me, and you couldn’t stand it. Is that it? You figured out how competitive Lord Malcolm is and you orchestrated this whole duke nonsense to get his attention.”
Georgie gaped at her friend, who had clearly lost her faculties. “What are you on about?”
Mary narrowed her eyes. “You had your sights set on Lord Malcolm at the ball. You flaunted it right in front of my face.”
“I—I—” She had. There was no denying it. “Yes, but that all changed when—” She swallowed the rest of that sentence. She hadn’t told her friend about Lord Malcolm’s advances lest word got out and it led to the sort of scandal she wouldn’t be able to walk away from.
Mary might love her, but she loved gossip more.
Reaching out, she took Mary’s hands in hers. “Listen to me, Mary. Lord Malcolm is not the gentleman we believed him to be.”
Mary frowned, her eyes scanning Georgie’s face. “You are serious?”
“Yes.”
“Did he do something or—”
“Just trust me. Please.” She leaned in closer. “Keep your distance from Lord Malcolm, and I will do the same.”
Her friend narrowed her eyes and Georgie could see her brain working, suspicion warring with common sense. “If this is some sort of trick to keep me from dancing with him, I’ll—”
“It is not, I promise.” She let go of one of Mary’s hands so she could cross her heart like they did when they were younger. “I solemnly vow, I am not fibbing about Lord Malcolm’s character.”
After a moment, Mary conceded with a sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll keep my distance. Not that it should prove difficult now that he’s decided you are the one he wants to marry.”
Georgie scoffed. “Hardly.”
That seemed to calm Mary even more and she turned once more so they were facing forward on the path. She held out her arm so they might walk arm-in-arm again, which Georgie knew was Mary’s way of declaring a truce.
After a moment, Mary let out a sigh. “I must say, this is all quite disappointing. I might not have relished the idea of you having a romance with a duke, but it was terribly diverting. Not to mention, all the lovely attention that would have come my way if one of society’s prettiest young ladies were to be taken off the market.”
Georgie squeezed her friend’s arm at the rare and unexpected compliment. “Don’t be so gloomy, dear. I do still aim to be married, you know.”
“Yes, but to whom?”
Mary’s despair echoed her own. She hadn’t given it much thought, really, not until just now. She’d been so focused on that one kiss with Britain’s least eligible bachelor—at least where she was concerned—that she forgot her goal this season was to become engaged.
Well, her true hope was to fall in love and then become engaged, but that first part was proving trickier than anticipated.
Perhaps it was time to give up on the idea of love. After all, two sisters finding true love with a worthy, eligible man of the ton was good luck. But three?
That seemed rather like a miracle. Drat. Now she’d sunk into a gloomy state herself.
She blamed Mary.
Her friend glanced over and now it was her turn to give Georgie’s arm a comforting pat. “Do not fret, dear. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Georgie sighed. “Perhaps this season is already a lost cause.”
“Don’t say that,” Mary said. “Why, you are the talk of the town. Your greatest wish has been granted and you are now the center of attention. With word about that Lord Malcolm and a duke are vying for your affection, you could have any gentleman you wanted for a husband.”
Georgie forced a smile she did not feel. “Any gentleman except for Roxborough, I think you mean.”
A low voice behind her gave her a start.
“What about me?”
She and Mary both jumped and then clumsily bumped into one another in their attempt to spin around.
There he was. The great, brooding duke himself. And he was glowering at them.
Despite the fact that he’d caught them talking about him and despite the fact that she was still angry with him, she found her earlier gloom lift like a cloud.
She grinned up at him. He was clearly expecting an answer as to why they were speaking of him and Mary, bless her heart, was stammering and curtsying and turning a peculiar shade of red in the face of Roxborough’s harsh, all-seeing glare.
She curtsied as well, but she’d grown immune to his dark looks. Now she knew better. She knew him better. He wasn’t so very cruel. Serious, yes, but rather kind underneath it all.
“What a surprise, Your Grace,” she said when she stood. “Mary and I were just talking marriage prospects.”
He arched his brows. “And my name came up, did it?”
Mary made a squeaking noise in her distress.
“Indeed it did,” Georgie said, not looking away from that sharp stare. “I was just telling Mary that you are the one gentleman I would definitely not be marrying.”
Chapter Ten
Rhys didn’t often find himself at a loss of words—unless Georgie Cleveland was in the vicinity. In that case, he was rendered speechless quite often.
Like now, for example.
You are the one gentleman I would definitely not be marrying.
It was the truth, of course, but hearing it aloud still shocked him. Her words were so very unexpected, that was all. How on earth was a gentleman supposed to respond to that? Chivalrously, he supposed. He gave a short bow. “And what a loss for me, I might add.”
Her smile grew and her eyes lit with laughter. “Isn’t it though?”
His own lips twitched up in response as though they were in on some private joke. Yes, it truly is. Bloody hell, he was falling under her spell again.
He looked up to the sky—the safe, blue sky. “Beautiful day, is it not?”
Her friend stammered some sort of response, but it was only Georgie’s voice that he heard. Hers stuck out as it was filled with laughter.
“Yes, a beautiful day.” Her tone teased him. It all but said, Be brave, man, tell me what you’re really doing here.
Fine. Small talk about the weather wouldn’t make this any easier. He hadn’t been able to take the silence in his study one moment longer. Ever since their last encounter, that silence was filled with recriminations, and he was filled with guilt.
He owed her an apology. A proper one. And today he’d sought her out to do just that.
He dragged his gaze away from Georgie—Good Lord, no woman should look so fetching out in public. Turning his focus to her friend whose name he’d forgotten though Georgie had introduced them before, he pretended to notice the way she blushed and trembled at his undivided attention. “Would you be so kind as to give us a moment?”
Her eyes widened with shock as though he’d just suggested he was going to ravish her. “N-no, that is…” She looked to Georgie, as if seeking her permission. Georgie was all but laughing outright at her friend’s panic. “It is all right, Mary. His Grace and I were hoping to discuss the upcoming soiree, isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
He thinned his lips in displeasure. He shouldn’t have to explain why he might want a word with hi
s guest. Mary seemed to sense his displeasure and dropped her gaze to her feet. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll just follow behind you.”
That was her way of telling him she would be their chaperone, he supposed. Good. That was only proper.
Too little too late.
He pushed the thought to the side. One kiss had hardly ruined the girl. Soon enough he and Georgie were strolling side by side, with Mary trailing far enough behind that they could speak candidly.
Georgie was the first to break the silence, not surprisingly. “Aren’t you worried that us walking together like this will only fuel those ridiculous rumors?”
He shrugged. “I never worry about ridiculous rumors.” That much was true. After surviving true scandal, some idle gossip did not overly concern him. “Besides, you and my mother seem to think these rumors will only improve my chances of winning one of the—”
Damn. He caught himself just in time. But he couldn’t stop Georgie from taking on that ridiculously melodramatic tone as she finished for him. “One of the illustrious ladies of the list.”
He let out a sound that was part huff of amusement and part scoff of derision. Honestly, he never quite knew how to respond to her antics. They were too innocent to be mean, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he and his serious ways were always at the heart of the joke.
“Are you quite done?” he said slowly, making her laugh.
“Yes, I’m done. But might I take a moment to gloat?” she asked. Turning her face to look up at him, she gave him a mischievous grin. “After all, I told you so.”
“Yes, yes. You were right, I suppose. Perhaps I was giving women—my prospective bride, in particular—too much credit. I was hoping they had more sense than silly girls like you.”
She let out a gasp of outrage but it was followed by a tinkling laugh that spoke of warm sunny days and a happy home filled with laughing children and music and dancing and—
Bloody hell, who was the silly girl now?
Not only were his thoughts fanciful and ridiculous, but he was being selfish. She’d asked about his concerns and he hadn’t thought to give her the same consideration. Perhaps these idiotic rumors about the two of them were distressing to her.
A Duke’s Distraction: Devilish Lords Page 10
