by Anne Gracie
“Oh, no, no, no. Just a little game we ladies were playing,” Mrs. Threadgood said hastily. “And getting some fresh air, just like you. Er, you didn’t see a gentleman come in here, did you?”
“Yes, though I didn’t catch his face. He was tall, but was only here for a moment. He went out that door.” Peering intently at the floor around their feet, she gestured vaguely toward a side entrance.
One of the ladies tried the side door. “It’s locked,” she said with a suspicious glance at George.
George shrugged indifferently. “Mmm, is it? Must have latched it behind him.” She continued scrutinizing the floor around their skirts.
The ladies followed her gaze. “What are you looking at?”
“Oh, nothing. I just thought—oh, yes, there it is! Don’t move, you’ll frighten it.”
“Frighten what?” Mrs. Threadgood glanced nervously around.
“The rat. I’m trying to catch it—” Whatever else she meant to say was drowned by shrieks and squeals of horror as the ladies shoved each other through the door in their panic to escape. “It’s for my dog,” she called after them. “He loves rats.”
The door slammed behind them.
“Such a peculiar gel,” one of the ladies exclaimed. “Chasing rats! At a ball!”
George couldn’t help it, she gurgled with laughter. It was joined by a deep chuckle from the duke. “You realize it will be all over the ton by morning that you hunt rats in your ball gown. The lady ratcatcher.”
She shrugged.
“Don’t you care what people think of you?”
“Not much. Not people like them, anyway.” Or people like him, for that matter. Only insofar as it affected her family.
There was a short silence, then he said, “Well, that’s my headache gone. Who’s yours?”
George had no intention of explaining. “Don’t you mean how’s yours?”
He snorted. “No one with a grain of sense would bring a headache into this humid atmosphere—not to mention the frightful stink coming from over there.” He gestured toward her bucket. “You’re hiding, lurking amid the ferns and palms—”
“I’m not hiding!” She actually was lurking, but she wouldn’t admit it.
“Ah, then I am interrupting a romantic rendezvous.”
“Nothing of the sort. I only came here—” She broke off as the conservatory door opened again.
“Lady Georgiana, Lady Georgiana Rutherford, are you in there?” It was Lord Towsett—finally. George shrank back into the shadows. Curse it, it was all going wrong. She did not want an audience for her encounter with Lord Towsett.
“Your noble swain arrives,” the duke murmured.
“He’s not my swain!” she hissed back. More of a swine, really.
“I’m told there’s a vicious rat in here,” Lord Towsett called. “Are you there, Lady Georgiana? Don’t worry, I will save you.”
George groaned.
The duke moved forward. “No women in here, Towsett. No rats, either.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” George murmured in a voice only the duke could hear.
“Eh? What? Who’s that?” Lord Towsett called, peering into the gloom.
The duke stepped into a better light. “Everingham. And as I said, there are no females here, for which I thank providence. Now push off before you attract the ladies’ attention, there’s a good fellow. I’m trying to grab a few moments to myself, away from the hurly-burly.”
Lord Towsett held the lantern higher. “You sure there’s no one else here, Everingham? Mrs. Threadgood told me Lady Georgiana was in here, with a rat.”
She was, George thought. With two rats.
“Lady Georgiana with a rat?” the duke repeated incredulously. He shook his head. “Mrs. Threadgood has clearly drunk too much champagne. There’s only me here. And now you.”
There was a short silence. “Have you seen Lady Georgiana Rutherford at all? I’ve been trying to catch a word with her all evening.”
The duke snorted. “Dammit, Towsett, do you imagine I, of all people, would be keeping tabs on a Rutherford female?”
“No, no, no, of course not. Though Lady Georgiana isn’t like—no. Well, then, I’ll be off. Evening, Everingham.” He left, shutting the door carefully behind him.
The duke turned back to George. “Your ardent suitor, I collect.”
She didn’t answer.
“Heard you’ve refused him several times.”
Again she said nothing. It was none of his business.
“Surprises me that you feel you have to hide from him. Thought you had more backbone than that. He’s not exactly fearsome, Towsett. Persistent, but not a brute.”
“I wasn’t hiding! I’m not the least bit frightened of Lord Towsett,” she flashed. “If you must know, I came here because—” She broke off. It was none of his business.
“Because?” He prompted, but she said nothing.
“No need to be embarrassed, Lady Georgiana,” he almost purred. “I’m all ears.”
She gritted her teeth. He was enjoying this. “If you must know, I’d promised my aunt I wouldn’t make a scene. Anyway, I wasn’t the only one who was hiding.”
“Would you rather they spied the two of us together?” Even though it was dark, she knew he’d arched that eyebrow of his in that annoying manner he had.
“We weren’t ‘together’!” she said indignantly. It was his fault those wretched women had come in. She knew what they’d think, what they’d say.
“Truth doesn’t matter to gossips like La Threadgood. Appearance is all they care about.” And now she could feel his shrug, even though he was several feet away from her.
“They were after you, not me.”
“Is it my fault that females chase me?” There was smugness beneath the disdain. The arrogance of the man was something to behold. “Wherever I go, they pop up, like fleas on a dog. It’s always been annoying, but since your sister jilted me—”
“Rose did not jilt you! It was . . . there were circumstances beyond her control. And she’s my aunt, not my sister.”
He dismissed Rose with a careless wave. “You have too many aunts to keep track of. Since I failed to get married, then, it’s become incessant. They call, they write, they try to bribe my servants. One even tried to climb through my window one night. The married ones are irritating enough, but the unmarried ones—what do you imagine those three females wanted just now?”
She shrugged, then realized it was pointless in the dark. “No idea.”
“To be compromised. One virgin angling for the appearance of seduction—or at least to be compromised—and two married witnesses.” He added thoughtfully, “It might be different if they were all married.”
George was disgusted. “Well, I don’t want to be compromised, and I have no interest in marrying you, so I’ll thank you to take yourself off—discreetly!—before anyone else comes in.”
He didn’t move. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
“What do you mean?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Is this about what I said at the opera the other night?”
He snorted. “Hardly. But I did come to this ball specifically to talk to you. So when I saw you enter the conservatory, I followed you.”
“Why?” She backed away. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“It’s about your horse.”
“My horse?” It was the last thing she’d imagined.
“The black stallion. What’s your price?”
She stared at him a moment. “He doesn’t have a price.”
“Well, think of one,” he said impatiently. “I wish to buy him.”
“Well, you can’t. Didn’t you get my note? He’s not for sale.”
“Nonsense.” He named a price that made her blink.
The very assurance of
him, the arrogant way he just assumed that her horse was his for the taking, that all he had to do was name a price infuriated her. “You’re as bad as Lord Towsett.”
“I am nothing like Lord Towsett.” His indignation was balm to her ears.
“Yes, you are—you’re exactly the same. Each of you is so puffed up in your own consequence that you can’t possibly conceive of anyone refusing you anything. I’m fed up with men who can’t take no for an answer. So listen here, duke—I don’t care if you offer me a million trillion pounds, Sultan is not for sale. He’s mine and he’s staying mine. Now go away.”
There was a short silence.
“I said, go away.”
“I’ll leave,” he said eventually, “but this conversation is not over.”
“Oh, yes, it is.”
George heard the crunch of gravel under his feet as he made his way to the door. He opened it and paused, a stark silhouette against the bright party lights outside. “I always get what I want in the end.”
“Worse than Lord Towsett,” George called after him, but the door had already closed.
Chapter Six
She attracted him more than he liked.
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Hart slammed the conservatory door behind him. Worse than Lord Towsett indeed!
The whole point of coming to this ball had been to discuss—in a civilized manner—the sale of her horse. Instead he’d had to put up with impertinent queries, blatant invitations and suggestive remarks—and that was before he’d even spoken to Lady Georgiana.
He’d noticed her surreptitious entry of the conservatory and been simultaneously annoyed and intrigued. It was no business of his with whom she chose to have assignations—but it irritated him that she’d turned out to be yet another light-skirt. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did.
He’d waited a few moments and when nobody seemed to have followed her in, he did. If her lover was already there, serve them right for being indiscreet.
Instead he’d found her alone, hiding in a dark corner of the conservatory, and that had surprised him. She hadn’t struck him as either shy or timid.
And then he’d realized that she was hiding from Lord Towsett, avoiding yet another proposal from the self-important little tick, because she’d promised her aunt that she wouldn’t make a scene—and that he could believe.
Breathing in the fresh, cool air of the night, so welcome after the humid mustiness of the conservatory, he glanced up and saw Towsett leaning on the balustrade of the balcony that led from the ballroom to the garden and the conservatory. He was sipping champagne, and glancing back and forth between the ballroom and the garden. Towsett noticed Hart, raised his glass in greeting, then returned to his surveillance.
Each of you is so puffed up in your own consequence that you can’t possibly conceive of anyone refusing you anything. I’m fed up with men who can’t take no for an answer.
The sight of Lord Towsett standing so smug and self-assured, drinking champagne while Lady Georgiana lurked in a fern-filled conservatory instead of dancing with her friends, kicked Hart’s mood from irritation into anger. He marched across the garden and mounted the steps to the balcony.
Towsett greeted him with a broad smile. “Ah, Everingham, old man, don’t suppose you’ve seen that little filly of mine. She’s provin’ demmed elusive this evenin’.” The cheery man-to-man greeting darkened Hart’s mood further.
“A word with you, Towsett.” Without waiting for a reply, he seized Towsett’s elbow in a hard grip and steered him through the ballroom, ignoring the various greetings and salutations as he passed.
Towsett trotted along beside him, trying to wriggle out of Hart’s grip, while at the same time trying to hide that he was being unceremoniously marched from the room. “I say, Everingham—what the devil— Ouch! You’re hurting me. What the—? Where are you taking—? Ow!”
Hart took no notice. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing; all he knew was that he was furiously angry. He marched the man through a series of hallways and anterooms until he found an empty room. He thrust Towsett from his grasp.
The man staggered back and tried to smooth his rumpled coat. “You’re being very mysterious, Everingham,” he joked in the way that a man did when he was nervous and didn’t want to appear so. “Not planning to murder me, are you—ha ha.”
“Not tonight.”
Towsett took a step back. “Now look here—”
“You’re leaving the ball,” Hart told him. “Immediately.”
“But I haven’t—”
Hart cut him off. “You will take leave of your hostess, explaining you have a headache.”
“But I don’t—”
Hart took a step toward him. “You will not talk to another soul. You will go straight home.”
“Now look here, Everingham, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t have any intention of—oof!” Hart shoved him back against the wall.
“I’m not finished. You will go straight home and you will write a letter.”
“A letter?”
“To Lady Georgiana Rutherford, in which you will apologize for pestering her—”
“Pestering? I have never pest—”
Hart seized him by the shirtfront and banged him against the wall, holding him just above the point where his feet could touch the floor. In a soft, savage voice he said, “In this letter you will apologize for pestering the lady. You will also withdraw your suit—unconditionally and forever. Do you understand me?”
Towsett scrabbled to escape his grip. “But Lady George—”
“Is not interested.”
“I love her.”
“Tough!” Hart banged him against the wall, harder. “For God’s sake, Towsett, how many times have you proposed to the girl?”
“Three.”
“And how many times has she refused you?” He’d wager she made it perfectly clear too. He’d only met her a handful of times, but she struck him as a girl who spoke her mind.
Towsett looked away sulkily. “Women say no when they really mean yes, everyone knows that.”
“Not everyone! Three refusals definitely means no!” Hart shook him hard. “Do. You. Understand?”
“All right, all right, there’s no need to be brutal,” Towsett muttered, trying to wriggle free.
When Hart thought of the way the girl had hidden herself in the conservatory, just to escape the attentions of this self-important little weed, he wanted to strangle the man. “Go home and write that letter. And if you bother Lady Georgiana again, you’ll have me to deal with, do you understand?” He gave the man a last shake and released him.
Towsett straightened his clothing and gave Hart an aggrieved look. “I suppose you want her for yourself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely know the girl.”
“Then I don’t understand why you would—”
Hart took a menacing step forward. “Go home, Towsett. Now.”
Towsett scuttled away.
* * *
* * *
“Well, how did it go last night?” Rose drew her horse up level with George’s. It was not long after dawn, and Hyde Park was deserted, except for Lily and Rose and their husbands and Kirk, the groom employed to attend them. It was a regular Rutherford family ritual, to ride out together first thing in the morning, and then eat breakfast at Ashendon House, regardless of who was married now and where they lived.
This morning the men rode in one group, while Lily and Rose rode either side of George, catching up on the gossip. “Did you finally get through to the pushy little squirt?”
“I didn’t get the chance,” George said. “But—”
“I saw him arrive,” Lily interjected, “and he made a beeline, straight for George—who promptly dived into the ladies’ withdrawing room.”
“Oh dear.” Rose tried not to laugh. “Were you stuck there for long?”
George pulled a face. “Long enough to pin up six hems.”
Rose laughed. “And did all six have to be repinned?”
“What do you think? I’ve never been any good at that stuff.”
“So what happened with Lord Towsett?” Rose asked. “I thought the plan was to get him alone and have it out with him once and for all.”
“It was. I slipped into the conservatory, and I had a bucket of Lord Peplowe’s stinkiest fertilizer all ready to tip—accidentally of course—all over Lord Towsett.” The others laughed.
“But—I can feel there’s a but coming,” Lily said.
“Yes. I know he saw me—he was up on the balcony, keeping a lookout for me, and I saw him give a start, then hurry toward the steps.”
“But he didn’t come?” Rose prompted.
“Oh, he came, but he wasn’t the only one.” George slipped a sideways glance at Rose. “The duke got there first.”
“Which duke—?” Rose broke off and turned her head sharply. “No! You don’t mean Everingham, do you?”
“The very one.”
“Good heavens. He practically never attends balls. And he followed you into the conservatory? What on earth did he want?”
“To buy Sultan.”
Lily gasped. “You’re selling Sultan?”
“No, of course not, and I’d already told him so—but his grace the duke of arrogance thinks he can have anything he wants. I told him again that I wasn’t selling. I said he could offer me a million trillion pounds and it would make no difference.”
Rose chuckled. “He won’t like that.”
“He didn’t,” George said with satisfaction. “He stormed off in a huff.”
“But what happened with Lord Towsett?” Lily persisted. “I thought getting him alone and giving him a piece of your mind was the plan.”