by Cheryl Bolen
Hickington’s eyes narrowed. “Now see here, Fordham, you can’t keep the lady from seeing an old friend.”
“But the lady is promised to me.”
The viscount’s brow rose, and the look he gave Alex said he would like to drive a fist into his face. He spoke with malice. “Is it not rather early for her to transfer her affections to the brother of her betrothed?”
“You mistake me. And you mistake Lady Georgiana if you think her so devoid of propriety. Can you truly be her friend?”
“Of course I’m her friend! What, pray tell, did you mean by her being promised to you?”
From the corner of his eye, Alex saw Georgiana gracefully halt at the chamber’s doorway as she watched them. “I mean that Lady Georgiana and I had planned to discuss matters pertaining to my brother’s will today.”
Her eyes met Alex’s and sparkled as she strolled into the chamber. “That’s right, Lord Hickington. I’m not yet seeing callers. The duke is here in his connection with the last wishes of his late brother, my fiancé.”
“But did I not see you with Lady Margaret in the Fordham coach going to Grosvenor Square yesterday?”
Was the damn man following her?
“Lady Margaret, lest you forget, is part of the late duke’s family,” she said. “For now, those are the only people I’m comfortable with.”
“The lady wishes to be with those who share her grief,” Alex said, his brows lowering as he eyed the unwelcome intruder.
Hickington turned his attention to Georgiana, and he effected a smile. “I thought, since you’re not wearing mourning, that perhaps—”
“I shouldn’t have to explain to you why I don’t think it proper for me to wear mourning, but I assure you the decision has nothing to do with an absence of grief.”
“Then my concern for you is well founded. As I told you when I last called, I feel that you need a man to look out for you since your brother remains at Alsop.”
Georgiana had not taken a seat. She stood glaring down at her caller. “You are either misinformed or bereft of common sense if you believe I need a man. I am four and twenty years of age, of reasonable intelligence, and perfectly capable of looking out for myself.”
Her persistent suitor cowered. “You are as intelligent as you are beautiful, my lady. Forgive me if my concern for your welfare annoys you.”
Alex, who also had not taken a seat, came to stand beside Georgiana and looked down at Hickington. “Forgive us, old fellow, but we must repair to the library to look at some of my brother’s papers. You’ll excuse us?”
His azure eyes icy, Hickington stood. “Yes, of course.”
Georgiana held out her hand for her caller to kiss. “It’s very kind of you to be so solicitous of my wellbeing, my lord.”
“I beg that you call for me if ever you are in need,” Hickington said.
Why did the man have to hold her hand for so long, Alex wondered—not without rancor.
Once he left, Alex escorted her to the library. It was difficult for him to reconcile the ill-dressed marquess’s daughter he’d met that day at Alsop to the beautifully dressed noblewoman she was today.
She wore a sea foam gown of cambric. Its waist fell just beneath her modest bosom that was covered in a contrasting white embroidered crepe from the waist to her neck, where it terminated in French lace the same shade of white. The effect was perfection.
Their entry into the library met with sheets of rain planing off the windows. “Oh, dear, poor Lord Hickington. Did he come on horseback?”
Alex nodded. “A very fine horse it was.”
“It was wicked of you to tell Lord Hickington I was promised to you,” she chided.
He playfully raised a brow. “So you heard that.”
“I did, indeed.” She sighed. “Though I will own, I was grateful to you for ridding me of that man’s presence.”
Alex stopped in his stride and looked down at her. “I was merely eliminating my competition. Wouldn’t any woman be honored to be courted by a well-looking man of fashion like Lord Hickington? I must ask where he procured his cravat.”
She swatted his arm. “It was hideous, and you know it.”
He gazed at his arm. “There you go, trying to injure me again.”
She turned to observe his face and spoke gently. “Your wound looks better today. I still feel beastly about it.”
Thump. Thump. Lady Hartworth came down the hall. “You haven’t injured his highness again, have you, Georgiana?”
“Grace, not highness,” the daughter corrected, turning to face her mother. “After the scolding you gave me following my last mindless assault, I hope I’m sure to never again injure his grace.” Under her breath, she added, “Even though he provokes me.”
Alex bowed at the dowager and mocked kissed her hand. “You look lovely today, Lady Hartworth.”
“Such a gallant you are, your grace.” Her ladyship preened while availing herself of the duke’s proffered arm. “Are you two going to be cloistering yourselves in the library again?”
“Indeed we are,” Alex said.
Lady Hartworth compressed her lips as she stood at the room’s entrance. “I am not allowed in there.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“My daughter forbids it. She says she doesn’t trust me not to be reading the late duke’s personal papers, that they’re . . . well, personal. I do find it appallingly bad taste to entrust an innocent maiden like Georgiana with reading love letters from one’s mistress.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Mama was caught reading letters from an actress who shall remain unnamed.”
“But we very well know her name is Mrs. Langston,” Lady Hartworth said.
“Mama! You are not to ever repeat that—and I pray that you never, ever reveal anything you read in Mrs. Langston’s letters.”
The mother looked like she’d found a shiny guinea. “You said her name!”
Georgiana gave a resigned shrug.
“I believe my brother entrusted his papers into your daughter’s care because he could depend upon her discretion,” Alex said. “He was a most private person.”
“Then I won’t tell anyone about that bit o’ muslin’s shockingly bold letters to the late duke.”
“Those letters, I believe, were written before my brother had the good sense to ask for Lady Georgiana’s hand. Thereafter, he was besotted over no one save your beautiful daughter.”
Her ladyship’s eyes widened. “I forgot to note the date on the letters. May I look just once again?” Her gaze lifted to Georgiana.
“No.”
“You see, your grace, how she treats me.”
“She’s an exceedingly caring daughter, and well you know it.”
“I will concede that to her.”
“Now Mama, why do you not return to your chamber and finish writing your letters?”
“Allow me to walk you there,” Alex said.
“I shan’t send a chaperon to the library,” the dowager announced, peering up at the duke with laughing eyes. “I hope you can manage to compromise my daughter.”
“Mama!” Georgiana shrieked.
“But, dearest, I wouldn’t say that to anyone except Hamford.”
“Fordham,” Georgiana corrected, then turned to him. “Pray, your grace, do not listen to my mother. I am mortified.”
“If it were in my nature to compromise a lady,” he said to the mother, “I can think of no worthier candidate than your daughter.”
“Fordham!”Georgiana gave him a scornful look.
Once they got her mother settled, they moved to the library and closed the door, Georgiana was all eagerness. “Have you seen Mrs. Langston?”
“Many times. The first time was when I was eighteen. She was Hamlet’s Ophelia.” He enjoyed teasing Georgiana.
“That is not what I meant. Have you spoken to her?”
“Oh, most certainly. I asked her if she killed her former lover. She denied it, of course.”
Ge
orgiana’s eyes narrowed. “You jest.”
He met her gaze and was powerless not to smile. “I went to see the lady yesterday afternoon.”
When no further comments were communicated, she asked, “You went to her house?”
“Yes.”
“And you went by yourself?”
“Oh, yes. Much more intimate, more conducive to a free exchange, do you not think?”
“It depends. Did she mention your strong resemblance to Freddie?”
“Oh, yes. Only she said I was . . . now let me see, did she say I was more manly or more muscular? It doesn’t signify.” He loved dragging this out, loved trying to see if he could make her jealous.
“And what chamber did you meet her in?”
“It wasn’t her bedchamber, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
She put hands to hips and gave him a shocked expression. “I thought no such thing.”
“The woman could not have looked more respectable. If I hadn’t known better, I would never have thought she could be any man’s mistress.”
“Did you find her . . . pretty?”
“Almost as pretty as I thought her when I was eighteen.” Which was not quite the truth—though her demeanor made her prettier than he had first thought upon seeing her yesterday.
“Well, then, did you learn if she had come to loathe Freddie after her dismissed her?”
The time for jesting was over. “She’s still in love with him. Have you read her letters to Freddie yet?”
“No. I had to school myself not to allow myself to read them before I’ve sorted all the correspondence and organized them by dates—which I have not yet finished doing.”
He smirked. “So you’re saving the juicy letters for a reward?”
She hung her head. “I confess I am.”
He chuckled. “By the way, while you’re shuffling through these papers, I should like the receipt for the Rafael. Since I’m eliminating so many suspects, I can’t leave any stone unturned. It’s not likely some deranged art lover would kill to obtain the Rafael, but I ought to give a go at looking into it.”
“If you’re interested in who handled the sale, I can tell you it was Mr. Christie on King Street.”
“That’s what I needed.”
“I should like to return to the discussion of a certain actress. What makes you think she still considered herself in love with Freddie? Has she not a new protector?”
“She has, but on the night she learned of Freddie’s death, she was unable to perform. She said yesterday was the first day she could mention his name without launching into tears.” Would such knowledge make Georgiana feel guilty? She certainly hadn’t loved Freddie that fiercely. Had she? Was she that good at disguising her emotions? He watched her for a reaction.
Her lengthy lashes lowered, and she swallowed. Then, with a defiant shrug, she met his gaze head on. “Many a scorned woman is responsible for killing a man she loved. There’s that if-I-can’t-have-him-no-one-will mentality.”
“She’s not like that.”
There was fire in Georgiana’s coffee-colored eyes when she spoke. “And you could tell this after a single meeting?”
“As well as I could dismiss my cousin and other suspects.”
“Then, your grace, it must come back to you. You had the most to gain from Freddie’s death.” He’d never seen her angrier.
For one lightning bolt second he wanted to force a searing kiss upon her and coax her into admitting she did not suspect him, but his anger won out. “If that’s the way you feel, I have no more to say.” He turned his back on her and stormed from the chamber.
* * *
When the duke strode from the library, she had started after him, but in his rage, he did not hear her footsteps, and she was too proud to call out. Long after he was gone she still trembled. How she wished she could take back her insensitive words. She hadn’t even meant them.
She meant only to emphasize that his inquiries were getting nowhere, that he was too trusting. He needed to develop an impermeable callousness. But now, it seemed, his callousness was only toward her.
For the next several days, he absented himself for Hartworth House. Nothing could have better succeeded in making her crave his companionship. She’d not known how much she had looked forward to his visits until they ceased. Each day she and Angelique would contrive to dress her person and her hair beautifully in the hopes that Fordham would come. Each time she heard a horse or a carriage in the square, she’d run to the window, only to walk away disappointed.
He was not coming back.
She devised a thousand scenarios in which she lured him to return, but when it came to implementing them, she could not. Perhaps it was better this way. The reigning Duke of Fordham had a most unsettling influence on her. He brought out a wantonness she had not known she possessed.
Nor did she want to possess such a deviant trait!
The monotony of her days would have been unbearable were it not for Mrs. Langston’s heartbreakingly lovely letters to Freddie. Georgiana had finally sorted through and organized all of Freddie’s papers, and she began by reading those written by Freddie’s former mistress.
Even after reading just the first letter, Georgiana was inclined to agree with Fordham’s assessment of the actress’s innocence. These were not obligatory letters written by a courtesan to the man who provided handsomely for her. These were written with a love so overwhelming, reading them brought tears to Georgiana’s eyes.
When you are at Gosingham, it’s as if my whole existence is snuffed. I am only alive when I’m with you, my darling Freddie. I cannot conceive how you can be so happy in the country whilst I am in London for I can never be happy when we are separated.
I would give up the stage, my house, my last semblance of pride to be able to spend every day with you, every night in your arms.
Whether Georgiana’s tears were for poor Mrs. Langston’s misery or for her own guilt that she’d never loved Freddie so passionately, she could not say.
Most of the letters appeared to have been written during Freddie’s frequent trips to Gosingham and revealed a woman tormented with love. A few were obviously written to him in London, begging him not to go away.
You are too cruel to me. Just last week you returned from a whole month at Gosingham, and now you propose to return! I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights you have shared my bed in the last two months. You really are too unfeeling toward me. I cannot bear it. Please, I beg you, stay longer.
In another letter she wrote No man has ever been loved with the potency with which I love you. I shall go to my grave loving you.
For the most part, there was nothing offensive to a maiden in the letters. The closest Georgiana came to blushing was when Mrs. Langston alluded to a night in which she and Freddie had made love multiple times. I wish I knew what magical ingredient was responsible for your ardor last night, my dearest love, for I would ensure you received large doses of it every day. No night has ever given me greater pleasure. Even as I write this, I wish you were lying beside me, I wish I could feel you inside me.
When Georgiana read this, she felt a tingling low in her torso. And she thought about Fordham. Why was it he and only he had ever affected her in that profoundly physical way?
She came to the last of Mrs. Langston’s letters with a deep disappointment. She had looked forward to reading them since the day she’d received the first bundle, and now she would no longer have that eager anticipation.
Also, it felt almost like saying good-bye to a friend, for—like Fordham—Georgiana had come to admire Mrs. Langston and her constancy toward Freddie. The actress’s last letter was vastly different from the others:
Had you torn out my heart and tossed it on the racecourse at Newmarket to be trampled, I could not experience a greater pain that what you have dealt me. The loss of your affections is worse than death. And worse than the loss of your affections is the humiliation I feel. You’ve seen fit to hand
me over to Sir Arthur as if I’m a common whore at Covent Garden.
A woman this angry is a woman who could commit murder.
I must tell Fordham.
Chapter 14
Only with the greatest restraint was Georgiana able to stop herself from racing to Fordham House to apprise his grace of her newest suspicion. Given that it was already night, it wasn’t likely he’d even be there. But that wasn’t the reason that had kept her away. She was cognizant of just how acutely she wished to see him, and such knowledge made her ashamed. She had never been so eager to see the man with whom she had pledged to spend her life.
It did not feel right to so thoroughly crave being with the brother of her betrothed. None of these physical reactions the new duke elicited in her felt right. Since he’d stolen that kiss she ought not to want to see him ever again, but she seemed powerless to deprive herself of his company.
Even if he were home, she would not go there. He would believe she had come because she couldn’t bear not seeing him. The man was far too convinced of his charms. It was well known that he captured female hearts with the same regularity other men acquired snuff boxes.
She went to the writing table and wrote a short missive to him.
Your Grace,
Whilst reading your brother’s correspondence I have come across a letter which I believe could establish a motive for wishing to kill Freddie. Should you wish to see it, you might come by Hartworth House.
Lady G.
Before she had sealed the letter, she had considered apologizing to him for her accusations, but she decided against it. If he came, she would tell him to his face. With sincerity. But not now. She did not want to divert his attention from the true purpose of her letter.
She only hoped she did not sound pitiable.
* * *
It was his first letter from her. Alex thought he would have been able to attribute the penmanship to her from among a hundred offerings for it conveyed her persona. The letters lacked the flourishes and frills of other females’ efforts—just like her. Simple, yet unmistakably feminine.
