Rogue Grooms

by Amanda McCabe

  But all he had thought when he saw her was how lovely she was, how vibrant, how confident, how alive.

  After years of the dust, death, and boredom of war, followed by the strain of his family’s situation, that vivid life had been intoxicating. He had been drawn to her, as to a roaring fire on a bitterly cold winter night. He had wanted to stay longer in her presence, to throw aside the polite platitudes they were actually voicing and ask her how she came to be an artist. Did she enjoy living in Italy; did she love her husbands? What did she like to eat for breakfast?

  Would she let him sit near her and kiss her, just once?

  Alex laughed bitterly at himself. She, no doubt, would find him a very dull fellow. A military man, crusty and cynical, with no deep knowledge of art, could not possibly interest a woman such as her.

  If he were to make her such an offer, the use of her money for the use of his title, she would no doubt treat it with the contempt it deserved, and laugh him from the room.

  But ...

  But if she were his wife, he could make love to her. Maybe even more than once.

  “Alex, you old idiot,” he remonstrated aloud. “You have spent far too many years in the Spanish sun. Your brain is baked for even thinking such thoughts of a woman you met only two hours ago!”

  And he had gone his own way for too long. He could not rely on a woman to solve his difficulties now.

  A soft knock sounded at his door. Alex, so caught up in visions of Georgina Beaumont, thought for one insane instant that perhaps it was she at the door. Then reality returned, and he sank back into his chair.

  No doubt it was some other creditor of Damian’s, come to collect his due.

  “Enter,” he called out, suddenly weary beyond belief.

  Yet it was not creditors. It was Hildebrand and Freddie, looking equal parts wary and shamefaced.

  “I thought you two were going home to change for the ball,” he told them. “What brings you back to my humble abode?”

  At his easy tone, they broke into smiles, coming into the room to seat themselves and help themselves to the brandy.

  “We came to apologize,” said Freddie.

  “Apologize?”

  “For our—misconceptions of your intentions toward Mrs. Beaumont,” Hildebrand said. “We truly didn’t mean to offend, Wayland. Just want to be of assistance, looking about for suitable heiresses and such.”

  “What we really want,” Freddie added, “is to find three heiresses, one for each of us.”

  “But a man is lucky to find one such in a Season,” sighed Hildebrand. “So when we find her, we shall concede her to you.”

  “Very kind of you.” Alex laughed. Now he remembered why he was still friends with these two after all these years, despite their silliness—they could always make him laugh.

  “Yes. But we can see now that you are absolutely right about Mrs. Beaumont.”

  “Am I? How so?” Alex said, still laughing.

  “She would be most unsuitable. Despite all her money, she is so dashed independent,” answered Freddie. “Living alone in Italy and all. They say she even works with male models there!”

  “Does she indeed?” said Alex, growing more interested by the moment.

  “She is going to race her curricle against Lord Pynchon next week,” Freddie said. “The betting book at White’s is full of nothing else.”

  “What are the odds now?” asked Hildebrand.

  “Three to one, in her favor.”

  “Hmm. There, you see, Wayland?” Hildebrand said. “She would not be a good duchess at all.”

  “She probably would not have him at all,” commented Freddie. “She has often said she intends never to marry again. If he did make her an offer, she would no doubt turn him down flat.”

  Hildebrand nodded sagely. “No doubt you are right, Freddie.”

  Alex looked at them in astonishment. “Are you suggesting that if I made an offer to Mrs. Beaumont—which I have no intention of doing!—she would not see the advantages of it? That she would turn me down flat?”

  Hildebrand and Freddie looked at each other. “Yes,” they chorused.

  “Hmph,” said Alex.

  Hildebrand shook his head. “But then, you are a handsome fellow. The ladies giggle over you wherever we go. Even Miss Pym has dropped poor Freddie quite flat since you appeared and danced with her at the Merritt rout.”

  “Here, now...” Freddie began, only to fall back silent at a glance from Hildebrand.

  “Mrs. Beaumont seemed rather taken by you,” Hildebrand continued. “She did not even laugh at my jokes! Perhaps she would be tempted by your own self, even if she has no desire to be a duchess. What do you think, Freddie?”

  Freddie, still stung by the reminder of the defection of Miss Pym, said, “I still say she would have none of him.”

  “Well, I say she would!” cried Hildebrand. “I wager you fifty pounds they will be betrothed by the end of the Season.”

  “Done!” answered Freddie.

  They looked expectantly to Alex, who raised his hands in mock surrender. “Do not look at me! I want nothing to do with any of your ridiculous wagers. Besides, I have only just met Mrs. Beaumont; the two of you are being extremely presumptuous.”

  Hildebrand smiled smugly. “We shall see, Wayland.”

  Chapter Four

  “Lord Wayland is very handsome, is he not?”

  Georgina looked up from brushing her hair at her dressing table over to where Elizabeth was sprawled across Georgina’s chaise. Elizabeth was already dressed for the evening, in a lovely pale blue silk, but she was eating a box of sweets, and the sugary, sticky smears threatened her lace-trimmed bodice.

  Lady Kate was fast asleep on the bed, utterly exhausted after all her adventures.

  “Lizzie,” said Georgina, “were those four cakes at tea not enough for you?”

  “I know, I know! I could scarce lace myself into this gown as it is, but I cannot quite forgo eating sweets. The babe must be a girl. My old nanny always said women bearing sons craved salty foods, daughters sweets. But you are quite avoiding my question.”

  “Oh? Which question is that?”

  “The question of whether you prefer lobster patties or goose liver paté, of course,” Elizabeth scoffed. “It is the question of whether or not you consider Lord Wayland the handsomest man we have come across so far this Season! Excepting my darling Nick, of course.”

  Georgina drew the mass of her curly hair up off her neck and turned her head this way and that, studying the effect in the mirror. She was hesitating, and that was not at all like her. Usually she and Elizabeth chattered endlessly about anything and everything, from difficulties with their art and their careers to their romances (until Elizabeth married, that is!). Now, though, she did not want to talk about Lord Wayland; she only wanted to think about him for a while.

  Why should that be?

  She dropped her hair, and smiled at Elizabeth’s reflection in the mirror. “I did not notice,” she said indifferently.

  “You! Not notice a gentleman’s handsomeness, or lack thereof?” Elizabeth cried around a mouthful of sweet. “Ha! You are an artist, Georgie. It would be positively unprofessional of you not to notice.”

  Georgina smiled wryly. “You know me too well, Lizzie. Yes, Lord Wayland is quite handsome. By far the handsomest man we have met this year. Much more handsome than that Lord Percy, who every young miss has been sighing over.”

  “Hm, quite. Lord Percy is a young puppy, who lacks distinction. Unlike Lord Wayland. And those blue eyes...” Elizabeth sighed.

  “Lizzie! You are a married woman.”

  “So I am,” Elizabeth said unrepentantly. “And a very happy and faithful one, too, as unfashionable as that is. But you are not married, Georgie.”

  “No, and I intend to remain in that blissful state.”

  “Hm. Suit yourself.” Elizabeth shrugged. “No one ever said you had to marry Lord Wayland. Just—be friends with him.”

  Ge
orgina laughed. “Lizzie! You utter rogue!”

  “I? A rogue? Oh, no, dear. I fear you claimed that title long ago. Lady Rogue!”

  “Lady Rogue?” Georgina rather liked that. She preened a bit in the mirror, pursing her lips and batting her lashes. She and Elizabeth giggled. “Well, this rogue would like to be alone now, so she can bathe and change for the evening.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth stood up, and crossed the room to kiss Georgina’s cheek before leaving, still in firm possession of the box of sweets. “You will want to look beautiful for Lord Wayland!”

  Georgina shook her head at her friend’s retreating figure, then turned her attention back to the mirror, reaching for her enameled powder pot. She had never considered herself beautiful, or even pretty. Her slanting green eyes were too widely spaced; there was a sprinkle of freckles across her too-small nose. And her hair, the despair of her youth, had never been any color but red. So unfashionable.

  Yet she knew, without vanity, that many considered her beautiful. She had a hard-won air of confidence in herself, a fearless carriage that gave off such false impressions of height and loveliness. She liked that; it increased her fame and furthered her career. Yet she did not think herself beautiful at all.

  She wondered if Lord Wayland thought her so.

  For she certainly thought him beautiful. Those sun-touched brown curls and brilliant blue eyes would be such a joy to paint.

  He was kind, as well. No other man, with the exception of Elizabeth’s Nicholas, would have jumped into a muddy river after Lady Kate like that. And afterward, when other men would have railed about ruined pantaloons and the undoing of neck cloths, he had laughed. He had treated it all as a lark, as one of those silly, strange adventures that could beset one in the course of life.

  “What a very unusual man,” Georgina murmured. She fiddled with a scent bottle, lifting and dropping the jeweled stopper aimlessly as she thought about this man and their most strange meeting.

  She wondered if he would like to have his portrait painted. In thanks for saving Lady Kate, of course.

  Her musings were interrupted by the arrival of Daisy, Elizabeth’s lady’s maid, and two footmen bearing the bath.

  “Oh! Now, just look at you, Mrs. B.,” Daisy cried. “You’ve not even begun to get ready, and the carriage is ordered for nine.”

  “I am sorry, Daisy. I was woolgathering.”

  “I see that. Well, you just get in your bath, and I’ll see about getting your gown pressed and ready.” Daisy threw open the vast wardrobe and rifled through the myriad of colorful silks, satins, and muslins hanging there. “Which gown would you like to wear?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Daisy. Something very dashing, I think!”

  “Well, I think we won’t have any problem finding something like that, Mrs. B.!”

  It was a much-sobered Alex that presented himself on the Hollingsworth doorstep at half-past eight, immaculately attired for the evening. He bore a bouquet of roses for Lady Elizabeth, and a very large mass of very expensive orchids for Mrs. Beaumont.

  He looked down now at the large purple blooms guiltily. They could be nothing but an apology, albeit a feeble one, for even thinking of—whatever it was he had been thinking of.

  He almost turned and left, sure his guilt must show on his face for all to see, when he was forestalled by the butler answering his knock.

  Lady Elizabeth was waiting for him in the drawing room, seated beside the fire. Alex had the fleeting, distracting thought that those flames were the exact color of Mrs. Beaumont’s hair.

  Elizabeth coughed delicately to catch his attention, and said, “Good evening, Lord Wayland.”

  Alex bowed quickly. “Good evening, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “Are those lovely flowers for us?”

  “Indeed they are.” He handed her the pink roses. “I know it is more the usual thing to send posies after a ball, but I wanted to thank you and Mrs. Beaumont for your kind hospitality this afternoon.”

  “You wish to thank us?” a voice cried behind him. “We should be the ones thanking you, Lord Wayland!”

  Alex turned, and saw Georgina just entering the drawing room, fastening an emerald bracelet over one gloved wrist. He had read about one’s breath “catching” in one’s throat, but he had never experienced it before. Now he found that it was exactly as described; his breath lodged halfway up his throat and refused to pass any farther.

  His impressions of that afternoon had been entirely correct, and not his imagination at all. Georgina Beaumont was a stunning woman. She wore a gown of brilliant green satin, draped low across her shoulders and, he couldn’t help but notice, across her magnificent bosom. The gown was embroidered with gold thread on the bodice and along the hem; tiny emeralds winked amid the embroidery.

  More emeralds swung at her ears, and her hair was drawn up and crowned with an emerald and topaz tiara of an unusual, spiked design—Russian, no doubt.

  That tiara would probably keep Fair Oak going for a year.

  Yet Alex did not see the splendor of her jewels. He saw only that she was lovely, that her smile was warm and wide and sincere as she greeted him. Unlike the silly simpers and smirks that had greeted him since he arrived in Town.

  Her smile did not say, “Oh, grand, here is a duke.” It said only that she was happy to see him.

  He hoped.

  “We should be thanking you,” she continued as she advanced into the room and paused at his side. “Not one man in a hundred would have done as you did. You saved Lady Kate’s life.”

  Alex’s breath released then, and he was able to reply. “It was entirely my pleasure, ma’am. I have been quite a useless fribble since I returned to England; I was glad to have a mission again. I trust that, er, Lady Kate has suffered no ill effects from her swim?”

  “Indeed not. I am happy to say that she is quite recovered.”

  As if summoned by the sound of her name, Lady Kate came bounding through the drawing room door. She took one glance at Alex, and dashed to his side, dancing up on her hind legs in order to plant her front paws on his immaculate breeches. She grinned in doggie delight.

  “Oh, no!” Georgina cried. “Lady Kate, do get down from there!”

  “I thought you had shut her in your room for the night, Georgie,” said Elizabeth.

  “I did, but she must have escaped. She does so hate to be excluded from any excitement. Come away, Lady Kate!”

  “It’s quite all right, Mrs. Beaumont.” Alex leaned down to pat Lady Kate on the head and rub her silky ears. “I like animals very much. When I was a lad, I had a dog much like this one, but it was black.”

  Georgina watched as Lady Kate’s stubby tail quivered in ecstasy. Such an effect this man had on females, both of the human and the canine persuasion! “Most of her type of terrier are black, I believe,” she answered distractedly.

  “However did you come across a white one, then, Mrs. Beaumont?”

  “She saved Lady Kate from certain doom!” Elizabeth cried.

  “Indeed?” Alex looked up at Georgina. “I should love to hear the tale of the rescue—the first rescue—of this admirable lady.”

  Georgina laughed. “It is not a very engrossing tale! Elizabeth, Nicholas, and I were on holiday in Scotland last autumn, when we came across a farmer about to drown a poor pup, because she was white.”

  “A horrid man!” said Elizabeth. “He said the ‘wee beastie’ was of no use, because she was too bright to be hidden from the game she was meant to be hunting.”

  “Yes,” said Georgina. “She looked at me so imploringly. I could not leave her to her fate, so I bought her from the farmer for a shilling.”

  “A well-spent shilling, I would say,” said Alex.

  “I think so. Though you might not think her quite so ‘admirable,’ if you were to look down now and see her eating your flowers!”

  Alex looked, and saw that Lady Kate was indeed munching on an orchid. He laughed, and held the bedraggled bouquet out to Georgina.
“Actually, they are your flowers! In thanks for such a grand tea this afternoon.”

  She accepted the flowers with a smile, and buried her nose in their exotic perfume. “They are beautiful. Thank you, Lord Wayland.”

  Elizabeth watched them, a suspiciously smug smile on her face. “Well, then,” she said. “Shall we have some sherry before we depart? Or perhaps some tea? We do want to hear of your time in Spain, Lord Wayland. Both my husband and my brother were there, you know...”

  Chapter Five

  Lady Beaton’s ball was indeed a “dreadful crush,” just as predicted. The line of carriages went around Grosvenor Square, and the receiving line of those guests that had already arrived went through the front doors and down the marble steps.

  Georgina did not mind the delay, though. It only meant that she had more time to sit in the warm darkness of the carriage with Lord Wayland, without the distractions of a crowded ballroom.

  As Elizabeth had whispered in her ear while they gathered their cloaks, he even liked small dogs and brought flowers before a ball.

  Lud, was the man perfect?

  So Georgina set herself now to find a fault with him, as she studied him where he sat across from her. His nose was a tad crooked, as if it had once been broken. His cheekbones were rather sharp, and the lines about his eyes were too deep for his youngish age, as if he had been squinting into the Spanish sun too long. He did not possess the smooth olive beauty of so many of her Italian friends. Or the golden perfection of her first husband, Jack.

  No, Alex possessed something much more interesting than mere bland beauty. His features spoke of intelligence and experience, of pride.

  And there was certainly nothing wrong at all with his figure. His shoulders required absolutely no padding, and his breeches fit his long legs like ...

  Georgina turned away, fanning herself. Very well, then, so there were no faults there. She looked back to him, turning her study to his attire. His cravat was simply tied, with a stickpin of a tiny, insignificant diamond in its snowy folds. His waistcoat was of plain ivory satin. Not very stylish, compared with the pinks of the ton. But Georgina, who loved flamboyant fashions for herself, rather disliked it in men. And, having a wide friendship with artistic sorts of people, she had seen some flamboyance!