“Yes. Yes, I will dance with you again.” She stared down at the delicate sticks of her fan to find one that had not been written upon. “The last waltz is yours, then.”
Rochford let out a breath. “It is,” he agreed, and escorted Miss Knight out to dance.
Georgie watched Rochford and Evie walk out onto the floor and smiled. Evie was in high spirits this evening, though she seemed oblivious to the effect she had on people. Wherever she went, she left people laughing and in a far better mood than when she’d arrived. Even Rochford seemed to unravel under the warmth of that smile. Georgie hugged her arms about herself, pleased to see him enjoying himself. She wondered just how rare that was for him and hoped perhaps this evening would show him the world was not such an unfriendly place if he gave it a chance.
“My dance, I believe, Lady Georgina.”
Georgie turned to find herself face to face with the Comte de Villen. “Oh,” she said, immediately sent into a dither. “Oh, yes, it is. Of course.”
Georgie bit back a smile as she noticed the covetous looks on the faces of women around her, enjoying the moment. Unsurprisingly, the comte danced like a dream and Georgie relaxed, wondering at her good fortune in having danced with two such remarkable men, neither of whom made her feel like a family obligation.
“You have set tongues wagging, my lady,” he remarked, guiding her into an effortless turn.
“Have I?” she asked, daring to meet those extraordinary blue eyes.
“The Duke of Rochford never attends balls, is never seen in society, and he certainly never dances, yet this is the second event at which he has appeared, and he has danced with you at both.”
“He’s dancing with Evie now,” she pointed out, suddenly grateful for that fact.
The comte’s expression darkened. “So he is. He’s looking for a wife.”
“Who says so?” she demanded, startled.
He looked back at her. “I say so. It’s obvious.”
Georgie watched Evie and the duke, watched Evie say something and then laugh, throwing her head back. The duke’s lips twitched, and he smiled too. Something hot and unpleasant that felt horribly like jealousy squirmed in Georgie’s chest. Stop it, she scolded herself. Everyone loved Evie. He was not looking for a wife. Well, he might be, said a little voice in her head. Just because the idea of Georgie being his duchess made him furious, it didn’t mean he wasn’t looking for someone to do the job. Someone gentle and easy-going, who always smiled and never said hateful things to people.
Oh. Oh, no.
Georgie stepped on the comte’s toe.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, mortified.
“My fault,” he said easily, though his expression was tense.
He too was watching Evie and Rochford, Georgie realised. Well, Evie was his friend. No doubt he worried for her. Everyone knew Rochford for his difficult personality and for being an ill-tempered wretch. Though Georgie was certain much of this was not only untrue, but unfair, he hardly did anything to mitigate the situation.
The dance could not end quickly enough, and Georgie was grateful to discover the comte guiding her back towards Evie and Rochford.
“Good evening, your grace.” The comte smiled and bowed to Rochford politely, though there was something unmistakeably cool and brittle in his gaze. Rochford hardly looked any friendlier, glowering at the comte. The atmosphere between them prickled. Evie looked at Georgie in alarm, clearly not having a clue what the problem was.
“Thank you so much for the dance, your grace,” Evie said, smiling as she addressed the duke. “You will be pleased to know my neck has survived without incident.”
Rochford took her hand and kissed her fingers, and Georgie was certain he’d done it with the sole intention of riling the comte. Sadly, it made her stomach squirm too.
“I am relieved to hear it, Miss Knight, though the pleasure was mine. Perhaps you might brave the ordeal again, in that case?”
“I might indeed,” Evie said with a laugh, only to give a little squeal as the comte took her arm and pulled her away.
“My dance, I believe, Miss Knight,” he muttered.
Evie, with little choice in the matter, hurried after him. “No, it isn’t,” she hissed. “Louis! Louis, I’m supposed to be dancing with—”
The rest of the conversation was lost as they disappeared into the crowd.
Georgie looked back at Rochford to discover him watching her. She blushed.
“Did you enjoy your dance with the handsome Comte de Villen, then?” he asked, studying her. “Was he as charming as you hoped?”
“I enjoyed it very much, and yes, he is very charming,” Georgie replied, perplexed by the obvious animosity between the comte and Rochford. Perhaps they were just too different to get along, though she knew Rochford’s opinion of the comte already.
“Hmmm,” he replied. A comment which she did not know how to interpret.
“You looked to be enjoying dancing with Miss Knight,” she said, wishing she hadn’t sounded quite so prickly.
Rochford studied her, his expression unreadable. “I did. She is a very kind-hearted young lady and takes no one at face value. A refreshing change among this crowd.”
“Yes,” Georgie replied, unhappily realising she was suffering another unpleasant attack of envy. It made her feel quite revolted with herself, especially as every word was true. “Yes, she is a darling creature.”
Rather to her surprise, he offered her his arm. Georgie hesitated and then took it, and they strolled about the ballroom with Georgie stopping here and there to speak to friends. She smiled as she saw a face she was especially happy to see.
“Matilda!” she exclaimed, releasing Rochford to run and embrace one of her mother’s dearest friends.
“Georgie, darling. How beautiful you look this evening. Are you having fun?”
Georgie dared a glance at Rochford before replying. “I am,” she said, smiling at Matilda.
“Lucian, look who I found.” Matilda tugged at her husband’s arm, and Montagu turned.
He was still an exceptionally handsome man and, though Georgie knew his reserved demeanour had seen many accuse him of being cold and high in the instep, that was certainly not true for the people he cared about. His cool silver eyes lit with warmth as he saw her. “Georgie. How good to see you. It’s been too long.” His gaze strayed then to Rochford, a calculating glint in his eyes as he glanced between them. “Rochford. This is a surprise.”
“Not too dreadful a surprise, I hope,” Rochford returned dryly.
Montagu’s eyes lit with amusement. “Not too dreadful,” he agreed.
“Have you danced with Philip yet?” Matilda asked her.
Georgie laughed. “No. I’ve not seen him yet, though Jules tells me you ordered him and Tommy to dance with all the wallflowers, so I suppose he’ll get to me.”
“I did not mean that you were a wallflower,” Matilda said with a tut. “You ought to be fighting the invitations off with a stick. Still, it seems you have an… agreeable partner,” she added after a moment’s hesitation, giving Rochford an assessing gaze and glancing at her husband to gauge his reaction.
Montagu was watching Matilda, though, a soft look in his eyes. “You find the most interesting creatures hiding among the wallflowers. If those boys have a lick of sense, it’s the first place they’ll go.”
Matilda laughed, taking her husband’s arm. “Well, it worked out nicely for me, I’ll admit.”
“Are you in town long?” Montagu asked Rochford.
Georgie found her attention was far too riveted on the answer, though she was returning to Scotland after Christmas, so she supposed it did not much matter what the duke’s plans were.
“I return to Mulcaster on the twenty-seventh,” Rochford replied.
Montagu nodded. “If you have time before then, look me up. We’ll go to my club.”
Rochford looked taken aback by the invitation, but nodded. “Thank you.”
The orche
stra struck up for the next dance, and Matilda looked at her husband expectantly.
“I find… I am not in the mood to dance,” Montagu murmured, but offered his arm to her.
To Georgie’s surprise, Matilda blushed. “Me either,” she said, taking his arm.
“If you will excuse us,” Montagu said, and guided his wife out of the ballroom.
Georgie smothered a chuckle.
“What?” Rochford asked.
She turned back to him and shook her head. “Don’t tell me you never read their story? I thought the entire world had.” He still looked blank. Georgie rolled her eyes. “The one Aunt Prue wrote about them. The Eagle and the Lamb? They had an interesting encounter at this very ball some years ago. Not that she detailed everything that happened, far too scandalous.”
Rochford shook his head. “Of course. I had forgotten the duchess was a celebrated novelist. She writes romance, I collect,” he said, looking vaguely nauseated.
Georgie sighed. “Yes, Rochford, romance. Have you never read one?”
He shook his head, watching her. “Ought I?”
She gave an indelicate snort. “I never knew a man who ought to more,” she said, and then hesitated, wondering how he would react to her teasing. To her delight, his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Is that so? And what would I learn, were I to read one?”
Georgie took his arm again, trying not to let the play of heavy muscle beneath her fingertips distract her. “Perhaps that we all deserve a happy ending.”
“Even the villains?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.
“That depends on the villain,” she said, staring up at him. “Not if he is truly wicked, but if there is goodness in him, if perhaps his actions were driven by circumstance, then yes, even the villain. In fact, those stories are often the best of all.”
Rochford shook his head at her. “You’ve a soft heart. I keep warning you, you must guard it more carefully.”
“Why?” she asked, laughing, though her laughter caught in her throat as she saw the look in his eyes.
“Because some villain might try to steal it from you,” he said, his voice low.
Georgie stared at him, entranced by the softness of his expression, so at odds with his fierce appearance.
“You’re no villain,” she said.
He smiled. “Perhaps not, but my intentions might be the same.”
“Rochford?” she said, feeling panic fluttering in her chest as something far hotter and more demanding flared to life inside her.
“Would you care to go for a ride tomorrow, Lady Georgina?”
What was happening? Georgie gave herself a mental shake, trying to force her wits out of the stupor they’d fallen into. He was asking her to go for a ride with him, like… like he might if he were courting her. Oh. Oh, Lord. Danger! Run! shrieked the sensible voice in her head. Yes, yes, yes! squealed another which heeded nothing but pleasure. Georgie swallowed, too unnerved to reply.
“Is it such a revolting prospect?” he asked after a long moment, during which she only starred at him like a brainless twit. His voice held an edge to it, which she did not underestimate. She did not wish to hurt him, to reject him, but she did not wish to be hurt either.
“W-What happened to staying away from each other?” she managed breathlessly.
He shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. “We’re neither of us up to that challenge, it seems, and besides which, I have changed my mind. I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things. About you.”
“Oh,” Georgie said faintly.
“It’s only a ride about the park,” he said, his deep voice resonating through her, inviting her to give in. “No strings attached.”
Ha! That’s what you think, she retorted inwardly. If she spent too much time with him, she might find herself tangled up in a Gordian knot that she could not undo.
“With a chaperone?” she said in a rush, because if she took the correct chaperone, there would be far less danger.
“Naturally,” he replied at once.
Georgie knew there was no choice, for she could not bear for him to feel rejected. She was too aware that he let no one close and that this was something rare and extraordinary. It was not in her to be cruel, especially to him, and so there was no other answer she could give. “Very well, Rochford. I will ride with you tomorrow.”
Evie kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up on the settee, balancing a plate of food on her knee and holding a glass of wine in one hand. It was her third glass, which was very bad of her when she ought to stick to lemonade, but she was thirsty, and the server had been close at hand. She gave a little sigh of relief and sipped at the cold white wine with pleasure, her muscles relaxing as the alcohol entered her blood. The glow of an oil lamp plus the flickering firelight warmed the room, the flames leaping back to life since she’d stirred the coals and got it blazing again. It had been a long night. Not that it was quite over. People were still dancing and making merry, but Evie had danced until her feet hurt and she was worn out. It had been a marvellous evening, though, and she had enjoyed it very much, except… she was vexed and puzzled over Louis’ odd behaviour. What the devil had got into him tonight? Sighing, she considered the plate of food before her and picked up a delicate mushroom tart. She was about to devour it when the door opened, and she stiffened in alarm.
This was one of the family’s small, private parlours, well away from the ballroom. She’d thought she could hide here safely enough.
“Oh,” she said with relief as Louis appeared in the doorway. “It’s only you. What a relief.”
He sighed. “You devastate me, ma petite. Only you could set me down and shatter my confidence with so few words.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said crossly. “I only meant I was glad it wasn’t someone come to cause me trouble.”
“Like I said,” Louis muttered dryly, closing the door behind him.
He stayed where he was, leaning against the door, watching her.
“How did you know I’d be here?” she asked, regarding him warily. He was in an odd mood tonight. Was he foxed?
“I looked everywhere else.”
“Oh.”
“I believe Mr Hadley-Smythe is searching too, hoping you’ll grant him the last dance.”
“Is he?” Evie said, brightening. She had liked the young man very much, for he was rather sweet. He’d also seemed very taken with her, which was flattering.
“Ah, this pleases you,” he said, and she frowned, unnerved by his tone. How could she know this man so very well for so long and yet suddenly not understand him at all? “He’s not the only one, you know. I was right about that gown, was I not? You’ll have besotted suitors queuing up to call on you in the coming days.”
“You were right about the gown, but there’s no need to exaggerate. Besides, I’ve always had suitors,” she retorted, a little stung. “It’s just they’ve always been lured by my enormous dowry before, not my….”
She paused, deciding she’d best not be indelicate and refer to the amount of cleavage on display, even with Louis.
He snorted, amused. “Well, I can assure you they’re now lured by all the other delicious temptations you have previously hidden so well.”
Evie frowned but put the tart in her mouth and chewed rather than comment.
“I see you’re still cross with me.”
He pushed off the wall, moving about the room, inspecting the pictures, and picking up a small china shepherdess to study it. She watched him set it down and move to a large bookcase, selecting a title and running an elegant finger along the spine. For some reason, she shivered.
Evie sighed. “No. I can never stay cross with you, you know that. Only you did vex me rather. You’ve been acting very strangely tonight.”
His eyes glinted at her from the darkened corner of the room. “Have I?”
“You know you have,” she said impatiently. “Oh, do stop prowling about and come and sit down.” She patted the space
beside her on the settee.
He didn’t move for a long moment and then crossed the room to her. Evie shifted, meaning to put her feet on the floor again to make room for him, but he took them in his hands, setting them in his lap.
“Louis,” she began, startled, meaning to pull away, except his long, strong fingers began to massage her sore feet. “Oh,” she gave a blissful sigh, relaxing and stretching her legs out to let him continue.
Evie closed her eyes, biting back a moan as he kneaded and caressed her aching feet through her stockings.
“Oh, Louis, that feels so good. Divine,” she murmured. His warm, clever hands stilled for a moment before continuing once more.
“You ought not be here, Evie, alone with me.”
“Don’t start that again,” she said, smothering a yawn. “No one knows we’re here. Besides, you found me this time.”
“So I did.”
Evie stretched, feeling like a cat in the sun. She reached one arm up behind her and laid her head back, the plate balanced on her thighs. Though she wanted to eat the delicacies she’d selected, she was too sleepy and content to move a muscle. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she relaxed into the cushions.
“You look like a pampered goddess, waiting for someone to feed you,” Louis observed, his voice soft.
Evie chuckled, but didn’t open her eyes.
“It seems I must oblige then.”
She murmured a complaint as he set her feet down on the cushions, moving to kneel beside her. Evie forced her eyes to open before sleep overcame her to see Louis holding a small pastry to her lips.
“An offering from a lowly supplicant,” he said, his eyes bright blue, even in the dim light. The scent of him reached her, shaving soap and clean linen, some expensive cologne that teased at her senses, and the warmth of brandy on his breath. He had been drinking.
“You’re foxed,” she observed sleepily.
“I think perhaps you are too,” he remarked.
“Not really. Only a little tipsy, but you are a lot foxed.” She opened her mouth to take the morsel he held out.
“Enough, and not nearly enough,” he said cryptically, placing the pasty between her lips. His fingers brushed her mouth, and she saw his gaze fix there, watching her.
The Mistletoe Dare (Daring Daughters Book 8) Page 14