Georgie was not given to hysterics. She had three large, intimidating brothers, and could hold her own with all of them. However, expecting to find herself alone and walking headlong into a stranger was daunting to begin with. Looking up and finding a bear of a man staring at her with cold grey eyes the colour of slate and a face that was hardly friendly was enough to make her give a shriek of alarm.
She stumbled back, tripped on her own skirts, and fell hard on her backside.
“Ouch!”
The man looked down at her in silence, his expression about as warm and welcoming as the Loch of Wester in February.
Georgie took him in, noting quickly the quality of his dress, his bearing, and the large cabochon ruby glinting on his little finger. A guest. A wealthy and powerful guest. One she’d just made a complete fool of herself in front of.
Still, he was hardly acting the gentleman, staring at her in disdain rather than offering her a hand up.
“If you wouldn’t mind?” she said, her tone irritable as she held out a hand to him.
He quirked a thick dark eyebrow, the sneer at his lips leading her to expect a derisive comment. She was not disappointed.
“Are you certain you can bear it?” he asked, and his deep voice rumbled through her.
“Bear what?” she asked in confusion.
“The touch of my hand, as you damn near broke your neck in your haste to run away.”
“I wasn’t running away, you—you merely startled me, that’s all.”
He snorted, and the contemptuous curl of his lip made her too-ready temper spark to life.
“If you go about lurking in dark corners, I wonder you don’t expect such a reaction,” she retorted. “Perhaps you did it on purpose?”
“You think it my habit to linger in the shadows and frighten maidens? Ah, yes. I see what manner of man you have painted me as. No doubt I eat small children for breakfast?”
“I never said that!” Georgie exclaimed in outrage, wondering why he was so damned touchy. She was the one sprawled on her backside and looking like a fool. Oh, what was the use? She scrambled to her knees and got up without his help, brushing her skirts smooth with sharp, agitated movements. Glaring at the big brute, she lifted her chin and hurried past him towards the shelves reserved for novels. Her heart was still beating too fast, but Georgie did her best to calm herself, making a show of perusing the titles on offer but far too aware she was being watched. His gaze seemed to burn her back through her gown, and she lasted precisely two minutes before she reacted, turning to meet his gaze. Instead of looking guilty for staring, or at least looking away and pretending he hadn’t been doing anything of the sort, the arrogant devil just continued to watch her.
“Was there something you wanted, sir?” she demanded, folding her arms. Goodness, but he was a mountainous size, and she was used to being around hulking Scotsmen. She realised now that what she had believed to be a sneer was a scar that scored deep into his cheek and tugged his lip out of line. He wore a beard, the hair thick and dark, and she wondered if he did it to cover his skin, which was badly pockmarked. He was not a handsome man, but certainly compelling.
His grey eyes never wavered from her face.
“Being alone with me is inadvisable. You ought to leave,” he observed coolly. “Or have you no concept of polite manners?”
Georgie could not help the snort of amusement that escaped her. “Polite manners? This from a man who won’t offer a woman his hand to help her up.”
He shrugged, unimpressed. “I would have offered. I was only ensuring you wouldn’t swoon if your dainty hand touched mine.”
“Nonsense. You were enjoying looking down on me and feeling superior.”
“I wasn’t, but I might now, considering I have never in my life met a more ill-mannered, sharp-tongued harpy.”
Georgie’s mouth fell open in shock. She was used to trading insults with her brothers, but for a man she didn’t know from Adam to speak to her so…!
“You should leave,” he said again, his voice firm. “For I’ll not have you ruined and the blame laid at my feet, if you’re considering trapping a rich husband.”
Georgie closed her mouth with a snap before her jaw hit the floor in outrage.
“Trap you,” she repeated faintly, “into marriage?”
She gave a startled laugh before she could think better of it, and then tried her best to smother the next, and then the urge to laugh was so strong she could not help but give into it. Georgie laughed and laughed, clutching at her sides until tears rolled down her cheeks.
She tried to stop. Truly, she did. Except every time she looked up and saw his expression of disgust and the icy glare in his eyes, it set off another bout and she went off into whoops.
“When you’ve quite finished,” he said, sounding as if he’d happily pick her up and throw her out of the nearest window, given the opportunity.
“I beg your p-pardon, sir,” she stammered, doing her best to smother her laughter, but her voice quavered with amusement.
“Your grace,” he said, growling the words with obvious relish.
Georgie blinked, stunned into silence. The word grace and this man did not belong in the same sentence. Wait. Your grace. Your grace? He was a duke? Little by little, the colour leached from her face. She felt it go, along with any vestige of warmth she’d regained since she’d arrived at Beverwyck. Lud. She’d been in town for five minutes and she’d insulted a duke. Oh, good heavens. Her mother would kill her.
“Do run along,” he said, his grey eyes glinting with a look that suggested she ought to do as he said, or else she would not like the consequences.
Finally intimidated, but refusing to be entirely cowed, Georgie turned back to the shelf, snatched up the nearest title, and stalked past him with her nose in the air.
Rochford let out an uneven breath as he heard the library door close. He raked a hand through his thick hair and glowered at the bookshelf in front of him as if it had personally offended him.
Damn her.
He had not expected to feel at home here, in this place of happy families and friends and warm welcomes. Bedwin and his duchess had always acted kindly towards him, no doubt hoping he’d be of use to them at some point, or perhaps in gratitude for saving their son’s neck. To discover that even here they viewed him as a monster, however, was hard to bear. He’d assumed Blackwood’s parents would have warned all their guests of his presence, no doubt apologising and asking them to endure his company as best they could. Well, the warning had not gone far enough for that young beauty.
When she had hurried around the corner, almost throwing herself into his arms, for a moment his breath had caught. It had barely lasted a second, yet he could recall every damned detail. She was glorious. She was extraordinarily tall for a woman, and her skin was impossibly pale, like alabaster. Her dark curly hair had tickled his cheek and the delicious scent of vanilla had invaded his senses. Her long, thick eyelashes swept down over eyes the colour of whisky, and her body… God. Statuesque was hardly an adequate description. Desire uncoiled deep in his gut as he remembered the lush curves of her hips and full breasts. Abruptly, he made himself remember the look in her eyes as she’d seen his face, the shock and revulsion.
Remember that, you damned fool.
A woman like that might marry him for his title, or his money, but she’d need a bloody strong stomach to endure it.
Chapter 2
August,
For the love of God, leave your witless female relations to cause havoc by themselves if they must. They don’t want you interfering and tying yourself in knots over their dreadful scrapes. Keeping them out of trouble will only give you a nervous collapse. It’s your darling mama’s responsibility to keep them in line and, bearing in mind she’s the worst of the lot, you ought to do yourself a favour and wash your hands of them. They’ll all be happier, and you’ll likely live longer.
Come and stay with me for a bit. I want to show off my wife. If you’ve a l
ick of sense, you’ll find one for yourself and settle down. I highly recommend it.
―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Lawrence Grenville, The Marquess of Bainbridge to The Right Hon’ble August Lane Fox.
7th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.
Evie laughed as she looked down at the note, slipped under her door.
Evie, you little twit. I would never lie to you. Surely you know that.
Meet me in the library at midnight tonight with the monstrous dress. For God’s sake, make sure no one sees you.
Really, Louis César was foolish if he thought he could make her believe she was a great beauty. She had enough examples of feminine perfection among her friends and family to know what men considered beautiful. Even gorgeous Georgie did not meet the ton’s exacting requirements, simply because she was too tall, whereas Evie was too short, and plain, and plump.
Evie had to admit she had improved a great deal over the past months, but she had a weakness for sweet things, and she did not have the stature to carry off the extra pounds that seemed to accumulate with startling ease. The fact had never much bothered her before, though. She had always been at ease in her own skin. Until recently. Though Evie made light of it, the words of the sought-after modiste, Madame Blanchet’s, about her weight had undermined her confidence and made her unhappy. So much so that she’d even taken the wretched woman’s advice and begun following the lowering diet she had recommended. According to Madame, if she stuck to it, the weight would fall off her in no time. What she didn’t say was that the diet would make feel Evie wretched and light-headed, but she had lost eight pounds so far, so perhaps it was worth it. She wondered if Louis César would notice the change in her.
It had been months since she’d seen him, and then only once or twice during the summer, and she worried he was avoiding her. They corresponded regularly, at least twice a week, but she had noticed his letters changing. They were always amusing and full of news and gossip, but he did not confide in her as much as he once had, and that troubled her. He had no close friends that she knew of and, since his brother had married, he spent more time alone than was good for him. It had been a tremendous relief to her when he had finally given in and accepted the duchess’s invitation to come for Christmas, for Evie could not bear the thought of him spending the festive season all by himself. Well, whatever the problem was, she would discover it over the coming weeks. Somehow, she had to find what made poor, dear Louis so unhappy, and fix it.
“Evie!” Georgie squealed with delight at the sight of her friend and ran down the last few steps to haul her into an embrace
“Georgie!” Evie’s muffled voice exclaimed from Georgie’s generous bosom. “Can’t breathe!”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Georgie let her go, and returned a sheepish grin.
Evie laughed, a little breathless, and then hugged Georgie again. “It’s lovely to see you. My, but you look well, so….”
“Big?” Georgie suggested sourly. She ought to be used to towering over all the other delicate young ladies by now, but though she loved all her friends dearly, they made her feel like an Amazon. They were all so petite and ladylike, and she… wasn’t.
“I was going to say beautiful,” Evie scolded, and then gave a wistful sigh. “And I’d happily steal a couple of extra inches from you, so don’t go lamenting them on my account.”
“You, my lovely Evie, are small and perfectly formed,” Georgie said firmly. Evie might not have been a classical beauty, but her goodness shone from her, and she had the most startling green eyes, thickly lashed and so expressive. Evie gave her usual snort of amusement, her response to any kind of compliment about her appearance, and Georgie shook her head. “You are, you know. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
Evie shrugged and took her arm. “Yes, but would I be lucky to have them? That’s the trouble. Oh, Georgie, I know it’s dreadful of me to say so, but it’s so hard to find anyone of interest. It’s not like I’m short of offers, but I know most of them are in love with my enormous dowry, not with me. They just seem so false, and you know I cannot abide people who say one thing and mean another.”
Georgie nodded, understanding the problem all too well. “It’s impossible to get to know any man when you cannot spend any proper time with them. At the parties they are all on their best behaviour and perfectly charming. What are they like when they wake up with a head cold and find the cat’s been sick in their slippers, though? That’s the real test.”
Evie spluttered with amusement, her eyes glittering. “Oh, we should arrange something of the sort, like those fairy tales where the hero has to complete five tasks to win the princess’s hand in marriage.”
“Oh, yes. What else should we ask of them?” Georgie asked, enjoying herself thoroughly now she was with her friend again.
“Umm. Oh, I know. How they react if a beautiful woman goes past and gives them a come-hither look.”
“Oh, yes, because if they go hither, they are definitely out,” Georgie said, nodding.
“Exactly.” Evie grinned.
Georgie looked up to see the duchess gesturing to her from the other side of the hall. “Come along. Everyone is waiting in the drawing room. We’re dreadfully late.”
They hurried to where everyone waited, drinks in hand, smiling and greeting each other with familiar warmth. Georgie saw the glowering duke she had run into so disastrously earlier. He was standing silently, somehow apart from everyone, even though he stood with Jules, the Marquess of Blackstone. Jules lifted his hand to wave at her and Georgie smiled at him, refusing to catch the duke’s eyes, and then her breath caught, and she almost stumbled as another man appeared in the door.
“Mercy,” she whispered, stopping in her tracks, unable to do anything less than gape in astonishment. Whoever he was, he was utterly gorgeous. Tall and lithe with broad shoulders and thick dark hair, his blue eyes were the colour of an exotic sea. He was effortlessly stylish, his evening clothes moulded to his impressive physique and showing long, long legs. Turning towards them, his sensuous mouth tilted up at the corners and his blue eyes sparkled with warmth.
“Louis!” Evie exclaimed in a whisper, making as if she would run across the room to him.
Shocked, Georgie held on to her, giving her a warning glance. Evie coloured, but gave a small nod, and they moved sedately towards him. The man’s gaze followed Evie as she came closer, full of amusement.
“Bonne soirée, ma petite,” he said to Evie, the words spoken quietly enough that only she and Georgie could hear the far too familiar greeting.
Georgie shivered as the sound of his deep voice swept over her. Good heavens, the Comte de Villen was everything everyone had said about him.
His azure gaze swept over Evie, and a slight frown creased his brow. “Are you well, Miss Knight?”
“Of course,” Evie said, beaming at him. “All the better for seeing you, you dreadful man. Where have you been? It’s been months.”
Before the comte could answer, the butler appeared and announced that dinner was ready. Evie sighed in frustration, narrowing her eyes at the comte.
“Don’t think you’ve escaped,” she warned him. “I want to know everything you’ve been up to.”
The man’s lips twitched, but he replied with apparent sincerity. “Oui, Mademoiselle. I know you do.”
“Oh, Lou—Monsieur Le Comte, please allow me to introduce my dear friend, Lady Georgina Anderson. Georgie, this is Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen.”
“Enchantée,” he said, bowing over her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
Georgie blushed and curtsied, quite unable to withstand his proximity, those blue eyes and that devastating French accent all at once. She could not think of a single intelligent thing to say, so for once she was sensible and kept her mouth shut.
“You here again, Georgie?”
George turned at the familiar voice and grinned at Jules. “Good evening, Jules, and yes, like the proverbial ba
d penny, I’ve turned up again.”
“Good show. It’s been too dashed quiet here of late, since my two dreadful sisters have married and left home. We need someone to cause a bit of chaos, liven things up a bit.”
Georgie glared at him, wishing she could kick the devil for speaking so. Embarrassed, she shot a nervous smile at the comte. “He’s only funning, monsieur. The marquess has a remarkably peculiar sense of humour,” she assured him, before the man thought she was an ill-mannered hoyden.
“No, I don’t. You always liven things up by doing something dreadful, you know you do,” Jules protested.
“Be quiet,” she gritted out through her teeth, before turning back to the comte, and Evie, who was struggling not to laugh, well aware of Georgie’s mortification.
“May I have the honour, Miss Knight?” the comte asked Evie, offering his arm to take her into dinner.
“You may,” Evie replied, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled up at him.
“Well then, looks like you’re stuck with me, George, old girl,” Jules said, smirking at her. He stuck his elbow out at her and Georgie sighed, taking it as there were no better options.
“I’d forgotten how annoying you were,” she grumbled as Jules led her through to the dining room.
“Funny, that’s what my sisters say whenever they come back to visit,” he remarked, winking at her.
Georgie rolled her eyes and then noticed ahead of them that the ill-mannered duke she’d encountered was escorting Aunt Prue.
The Mistletoe Dare (Daring Daughters Book 8) Page 2