Impetuous Innocent

by Stephanie Laurens

  “Here” was Osterley Park, and the entertainment in question was an alfresco luncheon. To Georgiana, standing patiently by her friend’s side, it seemed as if the entire ton was gathered on the manicured lawns sloping gently away from the Palladian mansion to the shrubberies and parkland beyond. “Lady Lyncombe is nodding to us. Over there on the left.”

  Bella turned and bowed politely to the portly matron, who had three gangling girls in tow. “Poor dear. Freckle-faced, the lot of them. She’ll never get them off her hands.”

  Georgiana stifled a giggle. “Surely it can’t be that bad. They might be quite nice young girls.”

  “They can be as nice as they please, but they’ll need something more to recommend them to the eligible gentlemen.” Bella sighed, in keeping with her worldly-wise pose.

  Strolling by her side, Georgiana wondered what it was that recommended her to the gentlemen. Certainly not her looks, for, in her estimation, these were only passing fair. And her fortune was, she suspected, so small as to be negligible. Yet she had received four offers. Despite the fact that she had wished to avoid each one, the very existence of four eligible offers was no small fillip to her confidence.

  Smiling and bowing to acquaintances, they strolled the length of the lawn to where three gaily striped marquees had been erected. One housed the beverages; one protected the food. The third was a withdrawing-room of sorts, where ladies feeling the effects of the sun could rest before rejoining the crush.

  And it certainly was a crush. The broad expanses were filled with swirling muslins and starchy cambrics, parasols and elegantly cut morning coats dotting the colourful scene. It was difficult to see more than ten feet in any direction. Registering this fact, Georgiana turned to Bella to point out the advisability of staying close together. Too late.

  “If you’re looking for Bella, she’s fallen victim to Lady Molesworth.”

  Georgiana looked up into Viscount Alton’s blue eyes. He was smiling, and she noted the set of small lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. Such a handsome face. Entranced, she forgot her role of sister’s companion and smiled warmly back.

  Dominic expertly captured her hand and conveyed it to his lips. He caught his breath when she smiled with such guileless joy. For one instant, he could almost believe…

  A sudden intentness in Lord Alton’s gaze brought Georgiana to her senses. “Oh! Er—where exactly?” She flustered and blushed, and turned away as if looking for Bella, to cover her confusion.

  “No, no. This way.” Dominic’s voice was gentle, softened by an emotion he couldn’t quite define.

  Georgiana looked where he indicated—to the right—and found Bella deep in discussion with Lord Molesworth’s mother—she who had decreed Georgiana could not do other than marry her son.

  Dominic recalled Bella’s mention of the luckless Viscount. His grin grew. “Perhaps,” he said, “as Bella is so absorbed, I could escort you on a ramble by the lake. It’s really much more pleasant than being packed amid all this crowd. Unless you’re famished?” One black brow rose interrogatively.

  “Oh, no,” Georgiana disclaimed. She bit her lip. The prospect of a stroll in less cramped surroundings was very tempting. But could she weather such an excursion with Lord Alton? Were her nerves up to it? She glanced up at him and found him regarding her quizzically, as if trying to read her mind. As she watched, a faintly satirical gleam entered the very blue eyes, and his brows rose slightly, as if in challenge. Puzzled, she put aside her misgivings. “If it wouldn’t be too boring for you.”

  With a laugh, Dominic offered her his arm. When she laid one small hand on his sleeve, he covered it with his other hand. “My dear Miss Hartley—or can I call you Georgiana?” He felt the hand under his quiver. His brows rose again. He looked down into her golden eyes. “Oh, yes. Surely, in the circumstances, I can claim that privilege?”

  Georgiana had no idea how she should answer. But her nerves were already a-tingle, and she didn’t have the capacity to cope with distractions. So she merely inclined her head in assent. “If it pleases you, my lord.”

  Oh, it pleased him. In fact Dominic felt inordinately pleased with that small success. “As I was saying, my dear Georgiana,” he continued, deftly steering her clear of Lord Harrow, another of her present encumbrances, “your company is forever entertaining. Tell me, which of your suitors do you favour?”

  Now what on earth was she to answer to that? Georgiana thought quickly, then assumed a bored air. “Why, in truth, I’d not given the matter much thought, my lord.” She heard a deep chuckle. “It’s all so fatiguing, this marriage game.” Lassitude dripped from her every syllable.

  Laughing, he countered, “Very neat, my dear. But don’t let any of the grandes dames hear you espousing such controversial standards. You’ll be driven forth, cast out from the bosom of the ton.”

  Georgiana smiled, dropping her pose. “In all honesty, I’m not sure I’m suited to this life.”

  To mock her words would be the easy way out. Instead Dominic answered seriously. “My dear, it’s such as you who keep the ton alive.”

  Her eyes flew to his face.

  Reading the question in the golden-lit depths, he explained, “If we did not have people with different ideas, people brought up to different ideas, such as yourself, join us now and then, to refresh our tired fashions, then the ton would be an excessively boring and stale society. Instead, if you look about you carefully, you’ll see the ton encompasses a wide spectrum of tastes and types.” He smiled down at her. “Don’t worry. You’ll fit in. You’ll eventually find your place, that niche that has your name engraved on it.”

  Shyly Georgiana returned his smile.

  They strolled on in companionable silence, around the shrubberies and on to the shore of the lake. A cool breeze lifted off the expanse of grey-green water, flicking little wavelets across the surface. Beeches lined an avenue that followed the bank, golden leaves a carpet beneath the still canopied crowns. There were other guests enjoying the peace, but none intruded on their privacy.

  While enjoying the early autumn colours, Georgiana pondered the cause of his earlier satirical look. As she noted the giggling and sighing of more than one damsel they passed, it suddenly occurred to her that Lord Alton might have thought she was questioning the propriety of walking alone with him. Inwardly, she sighed. If only that were her trouble. But she was abysmally aware she was in no danger of receiving any amorous attentions from Bella’s brother. Rather, she was more afraid of boring him witless. She cast about in her mind for a suitable topic of conversation.

  Far from being bored, Dominic was revelling in the unusual pleasure of strolling in relative peace in a glorious setting with a beautiful woman who was blessedly silent. The only itch to his contentment was the realisation of how deeply contented he in fact was. That, and the strength of his desire to preserve the moment at whatever cost. That unnerved him.

  “Do you spend much time with the Prince Regent? What’s he like?”

  Georgiana’s questions broke his train of thought. Dominic paused, considering, before he answered. “My family have for the past few generations been close to the throne.” He smiled down at her. “In the present case, the Regent.”

  “But…” Georgie hesitated. She had taken in enough of the discussion between Lord Alton and Arthur over Bella’s dinner-table to realise the Viscount was more deeply involved in politicking than one might suppose from his pose of arrogantly bored aristocrat. Carefully choosing her words, she ventured, “You discuss politics with His Highness, don’t you? Not just…well, social matters.”

  Inwardly cursing Arthur for his lapse from their normal secretiveness, Dominic attempted to turn her far too perceptive query aside. He laughed lightly. “I assure you, my dear, that—er—social matters are generally dominant with the Regent.”

  The teasing look he sent her along with his words should have had her blushing. Instead, he saw her beautiful eyes narrow slightly, and knew his diversion had failed. Damn
it! She was younger than Bella. She should accept his word without question. And since when did young ladies institute probing inquisitions into a man’s politics? She deserved a set-down. Instead, Dominic heard himself say, “However, you’re quite right. I do act as a sort of…conduit—a channel of communication, if you like—between certain factions of the Parliament and the Regent.” He paused to help her step over a large tree root distorting the even surface of the path. Settling her hand once more in the crook of his arm, he continued, “Despite appearances, Prinny is not entirely insensitive to the problems of the realm. And, while he has limited powers as far as actual law-making goes, his influence can go a long way to seeing changes made where they are desperately needed.”

  “And you explain these things to him?”

  Dominic laughed. “Oh, no! I merely act as a form of Greek messenger.”

  Georgiana looked her question. Smiling, he explained. “My task is merely to bring up the subject, to introduce the problem, whatever it might be, to His Highness’s notice.” He grinned. “That’s why I’m back from Brighton with leisure to enjoy your company.”

  Georgiana frowned, puzzling this out. “He didn’t like your last problem?”

  Her companion’s gaze had shifted to the distance, but he was still smiling.

  “Not in the least. I’m presently in disgrace, although, of course, that’s not general knowledge.”

  It seemed to Georgiana that there was quite a deal about the fascinating Viscount that was not general knowledge. But before she could frame any further questions, they emerged from the beech walk and were joined by a gaggle of young ladies and their escorts. Viscount Molesworth was there; so too was Lord Ellsmere. Georgiana caught a look of surprise on Lord Ellsmere’s handsome face, followed swiftly by an expression she could only interpret as consideration. However, he said nothing to her, beyond a polite greeting, and fell into step on the other side of Lord Alton, engaging the Viscount in a low-voiced conversation which seemed to have a distinctly pugilistic flavour. In a laughing, chattering group, they made their way back to the marquees. Bella met them there. To Georgiana’s disappointment, she got no further chance to converse alone with Lord Alton.

  TWO NIGHTS LATER, a masked ball was to be held at Hattringham House. Bella was thrilled. “It’s quite fun, really. Most people know who you are, of course, but the masks allow everyone to pretend they don’t.”

  It was the afternoon of the big event, and Bella was lolling on Georgiana’s bed.

  Georgiana was frowningly considering her wardrobe. The one evening dress she had yet to wear was the topaz silk. For some reason, she had resisted temptation, saving it for some undefined purpose. She rather thought the time for wearing it had come. Why she should feel so she had no idea. She simply did. She drew it forth and held it to her.

  “Oooh, yes!” said Bella. “I’d forgotten about that one. It’s perfect.”

  “You don’t think it’s a little too…?” Georgiana gestured vaguely.

  “Heavens, no! A ‘little too…’ is exactly what one wants for a masked ball.”

  “Do you have a mask I can borrow?”

  “Heaps! They’re in a drawer in my room.” Bella sat up and jumped off the bed. “Come, let’s go and look. Bring the dress.”

  Five minutes later they had found the mask. A bronzed affair with elaborate upswept wings, it fitted snugly across Georgiana’s upper face from forehead to upper cheeks. Her hazel eyes glittered from the darkened depths of the slanted eye holes. There was no debate on the matter; it was perfect.

  When they descended the stairs that evening to twirl joyfully about Arthur in the hall, his face told them they were both visions of delight. “You won’t be able to move for all the beaux at your feet,” he said, taking one hand of each fair maid and gallantly bestowing a kiss on them both.

  As he escorted his two charges to their carriage, Arthur smiled in fond anticipation. He was accompanying them ostensibly because the Hattringham House ball was one of the major events of the Season. In reality, he cared little for the social swim but intended to keep a watchful eye on his youthful wife. Bella too often forgot that what she intended as innocent play might be reciprocated by actions far from innocent. As he rarely had time to devote solely to his wife, Arthur was looking forward to enjoying the evening. He knew Dominic would be there and was quite sure he could leave his brother-in-law to look after Georgiana. In fact, he thought, as his gaze rested on the alluring figure clad in topaz silk seated opposite, he doubted his brother-in-law, in his present state, would have eyes for anyone else.

  Georgiana travelled the miles to Hattringham House in an unusual state of nervous anticipation. Nervous anticipation of itself was no surprise—she was accustomed to feeling it grow every time she appraoched the moment she would meet Bella’s brother. But tonight the tension was heightened. It was the fault of the dress. If she had known how it would affect her, she would never have worn it. Far from decreasing her anxiety, the realisation tightened the knots in her stomach. Inwardly quivering with trepidation, she accepted Arthur’s hand to descend from the carriage to the torchlit steps of Hattringham House. With assumed calm, she glided beside Bella as they made their way through the hall and into the ballroom beyond.

  There was no footman to announce anyone, of course. The guests merely entered and joined the shifting throng. Already the rooms were crowded. Glittering jewels winked under the chandeliers. Gay silks and satins swirled, fans fluttered in flirtation, curls bobbed teasingly about artful faces. A hubbub of conversation rose to swamp them; warm air redolent with a heady mix of perfumes and flower scents wrapped them about.

  “Phew! What a crush!” exclaimed Bella. “And it’s not even ten.”

  A tall, dark-haired gentleman materialised at Georgiana’s side. He bowed elegantly over her hand. “Could I beg the favour of this dance, fair maid?”

  Behind the dark mask, Georgiana descried the features of Lord Ellsmere. “I would be honoured, my lord,” she replied, rising from her curtsy.

  “Now how do you know if I’m a lord or not?” her partner asked as he whirled them on to the floor.

  “Given that at least half the gentlemen present must be titled, it seemed a reasonable assumption,” Georgiana glibly explained. “And besides, even if wrong, the mistake could only flatter, whereas, if it were the other way about, I could be stepping on toes.”

  His lordship laughed. “You never step on my toes, my dear.”

  Abruptly Georgiana wondered whether he had accepted her dismissal of his suit or was, in reality, merely waiting in the expectation that she would change her mind. Held easily within his arm, she was loweringly conscious that she felt nothing—no ripple of excitement, no increase in her heartbeat to betray her emotions. His nearness touched her not at all.

  The dance ended and they whirled to a halt. Immediately they were mobbed by a crowd of gentlemen, all wishful of securing a dance with the exciting newcomer. Not everyone recognised her; of that Georgiana was certain. But before she could make sense of all their requests and determine whom it was safe for her to accept, a deep voice spoke from just beside her.

  “My claim is first, I think.”

  Georgiana glanced up, her breath trapped, as usual, somewhere between her lungs and her throat. Her eyes took in the tall, broad-shouldered form at her side, exquisitely garbed, dark hair falling in waves about a dark mask. Blue, blue eyes watched her from the depths of the mask. Even if his eyes and voice hadn’t informed her clearly who he was, her senses were screaming it.

  “Of course, my lord,” she said, drawing again on her inner strength, the only way she could weather the storm of emotions his nearness always unleashed within her. She placed her hand on his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her on to the floor, entirely forgetting the rest of her court.

  “Well!” expostulated Viscount Molesworth, left standing by Lord Ellsmere. “If that don’t beat the Dutch!” He glared at the broad shoulders of the gentleman whose arms now held t
he lady in topaz silk. His glare turned to a petulant frown. “Who is he, anyway?”

  Lord Ellsmere was watching the couple on the dance-floor, a slight smile on his face. He looked down at the Viscount. “Don’t you know?”

  Lord Molesworth puffed indignantly. “Wouldn’t ask if I did. Stands to reason.”

  Julian Ellsmere continued to watch the dancers, then, shaking his head in wonderment, left Lord Molesworth without his answer.

  Georgiana was struggling to subdue her senses, running riot as usual. As they reached the end of their first circuit, she felt almost in control again. If Lord Ellsmere left her cold, Lord Alton did exactly the opposite. She felt flushed—all over. And the peculiar sensation of weakness she had suffered during their more recent meetings seemed tonight to be intensified. Perhaps it was because he was holding her rather more closely than was the norm. Still, at least her brain seemed to be functioning again.

  If she had been more experienced, Georgiana might have wondered at her partner’s silence. But, engrossed in her inner struggle, she did not question what it was that kept Lord Alton speechless for the better part of the waltz. Dominic was, in fact, dealing with a revelation of his own. When he had seen Georgiana enter the ballroom at Bella’s side her beauty had stunned him to immobility. In his eyes, she was the most ravishing female in the room. A goddess, all gold and bronze. A golden angel, from the topmost gold curl to the tip of her tiny gold slippers. A prize beyond price. He had watched as she circled the floor in Julian’s arms, dazedly waiting until he could approach her. He no longer questioned the effect she had on him; it was now too marked to ignore. But, as he had deftly extricated her from her other admirers, for the first time his full attention had been focused on her. What he saw had effectively knocked him back on his heels. He was far too experienced not to recognise the signs. In all their previous meetings, his mind had been fully occupied in analysing his responses to her, not her responses to him. Now, all his well honed expertise on alert, he let his senses feel for her, and convey back to him her state. Every little move she made was now registered—every indrawn breath, every flicker of an eyelid. The information came in and was automatically assessed, allowing him to respond to her smoothly, easily, encouraging her, heightening her awareness of him, learning her reactions to his attentions. His instinctive conclusions hammered at his conscious mind. When had it happened? In truth, he didn’t care. All that now concerned him was how to capture what was there, how to foster and nurture her feelings, to make them grow to what he desired them to be. And all his experience told him that wouldn’t be difficult.