“Who is this buyer?”
“Ah,” said Mr Whitworth, eyeing her uneasily. “That’s another thing. The man who contacted us is an agent, and he won’t reveal the name of his principal.”
So she could be selling to anyone. Georgiana made up her mind. “I wish to consult with my friends on this matter. I will undertake to send my answer to you this afternoon.”
She rose, in a fever to get on with her latest impulsive start.
As if only too keen for her to put the wheels into motion, Mr Whitworth rose too, and rolled forward to take her hand. “Certainly, Miss Hartley. My brother and I will hold ourselves in readiness to act on your behalf as soon as you have communicated your wishes to us.”
With that solemn promise, he bowed low and took his leave.
For some moments Georgiana stood, head bowed, eyes on the patterned rug. Then, resolutely straightening her spine, she crossed the room to the small escritoire. Seating herself before it, she pulled forward a pristine sheet of paper and, after examing the nib carefully, dipped it determinedly into the standish. This wasn’t going to be easy, but there really was no alternative.
GEORGIANA’S missive brought Dominic to Green Street at noon. As her note had contained little beyond a summons, he used the time while Johnson went in search of her to pace the drawing-room, pondering the possibilities. Avoiding the little tables Bella seemed to have a peculiar penchant for strewing about her rooms, Dominic had arrived for the third time by the fireplace when he heard the door open.
Entering as calmly as she could, Georgiana wished for the tenth time that morning that she did not have to face Dominic—Lord Alton!—over this particular matter. The very thought of the Place rubbed a sore spot in her heart, aggravating its already fragile condition. Thoughts of Lord Alton brought even more pain. But she was determined to go through with it. Unconscious of the worried frown that marred her smooth brow, she pressed her hands together to still their trembling, only to find herself forced, by his outstretched hand, to surrender one into his clasp.
“My lord.” Her greeting was little better than a whisper. Pulling herself together with an effort, Georgiana raised her head to look into his eyes, steeling herself for the battle to meet his gaze and remain lucid. To her relief, she found it easier than she had anticipated. He was looking at her with undisguised concern.
“Georgiana, my dear, what’s the matter?”
And suddenly it was easy to tell him.
“I’ve received an offer for the Place. A mystery buyer.” She paused, temporarily distracted by the sudden intentness in his gaze, and promptly lost her thread. Luckily her rehearsed phrases came to her rescue. “I remembered how keen you were to buy the property from Charles. I wondered if you still wished to purchase it.”
Dominic watched as, gently withdrawing her hand from his, Georgiana subsided into one corner of the sofa, lilac skirts softly sighing, and fixed him with her candid hazel gaze. Outwardly he smiled, warmly, comfortingly. Inwardly he wondered where it was that he had left his usual facility for managing such affaires de coeur. He had certainly misplaced it. Ever since Georgiana Hartley had magically appeared in his life, his touch had deserted him. He had told his agent to purchase the Place without revealing his name, purely to spare her any undue embarrassment. Instead, having once again failed to predict her reactions to the events he caused to happen, he had forced her to face the very object he was endeavouring to remove from the relationship.
Capturing her eyes with his, he smiled again. “I’m afraid, my dear, I’ve a confession to make.” He could see from her eyes that she had jumped to the right conclusion, but he confirmed it. “I’m the mystery buyer.”
“Oh.”
Georgiana’s eyes fell. She felt decidedly deflated.
Acutely sensitive where she was concerned, Dominic moved to take her hands in his, and drew her to her feet before him. In his present mood he would not trust himself on the sofa beside her. Standing this close to her, holding her hands so he would not sweep her into his arms, was bad enough, feeling as he did. He looked down on her golden head, bent so he could not see her eyes.
“Georgiana?”
But she would not look up. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on her hands, clasped lightly in his. So, with the patience of one who knew all the moves, Dominic slowly raised her hands, first one, then the other, to his lips. Inevitably, her eyes followed…and were trapped when they met his. He smiled, incapable of entirely hiding his triumph. “Sweetheart, do you know why I want to buy the Place?”
With an effort Georgiana tore her gaze from those fascinating eyes. That blue gaze held untold power over her, giving tantalising glimpses of emotions she did not understand but of which she longed to learn more. But she was returning to Ravello. Forcing a tight smile to her lips, she nodded. “Yes. Bella explained.”
“I sincerely doubt Bella could explain.” He smiled as she turned to him, hope and uncertainty warring in her big eyes. “Oh, I know Bella told you I’ve always wanted the Place, to return Candlewick to completeness. That has, in the past, been something of an obsession with me. Recently that obsession has been eclipsed by a far greater desire. It had, in fact, completely slipped my mind. Until…” Dominic paused, then decided to leave Arthur out of his explanation. “Until I realised you might misconstrue my interest in you for an interest in your property.”
If the matter hadn’t been so intensely important, so vitally crucial to him, he would have been amused by the sheer intensity of her concentration. Her huge hazel eyes glowed with hope, tinged with disbelief. He had expected that and did not let it worry him. He would convince her he loved her if it was the last thing he did in life. Despite his firm intentions, he felt himself drowning in her honey-gold gaze, felt the inevitable effect of her nearness start to test his restraint.
“My love, I want to buy the Place so it can no longer stand as a point of confusion between us.” Dominic dropped a kiss on her knuckles and decided he had better get out of the room with all speed. If he didn’t, she would be in his arms and he had no idea where it would end. “If you agree, send a message to Whitworth and he’ll settle it with my man of business.” He paused, looking deep into the darkened centres of her wide eyes. Smiling, he released one of her hands, carrying the other to his lips in a parting salute. “Once the sale is finalised, I’ll call on you and we can discuss our…mutual interest further.”
His look dared her to deny him, but Georgiana was too dazed to do anything but stare.
With a gentle chuckle, Dominic lifted a finger to her cheek in a fleeting caress, then bowed elegantly and left her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE SHARP CRACK as the wax seal broke beneath Dominic’s long fingers echoed hollowly in the library of Alton House. Outside, Grosvenor Square lay somnolent under a blanket of fog. The weather had turned with a vengeance, and all who could were making hurried preparations to quit the capital before the roads became impassable. Hurriedly scanning his agent’s letter, Dominic put it aside and spread the folded parchment the packet had contained. In the warmth and comfort of his library, in the glow of expensive wax candles, Dominic stared at the title-deed of the Place, which he had longed to hold for so long. It was his. Candlewick was whole once more.
Conscious of a mild elation on that score, Dominic grinned wryly. Far stronger was the relief that now Georgiana could have no more doubts of his love for her, no more excuses to deny his suit.
His eyes narrowed. The recollection that he had on more than one occasion underestimated her ability to misread his intentions surfaced. For some reason, she seemed unable to believe he truly loved her. Incomprehensible though that was, it would be unwise to ignore that particular foible. First his ex-mistress, then the Place—what would the next obstacle in this particular course be?
Unbidden, laughter bubbled up. He had never had the slightest trouble making offers before, although admittedly for less exalted positions. However, to date, his particular concern had always been to ens
ure the women involved never imagined him to be in love with them. He had never had to convince a woman of his love before. And here he was, getting his feet in a tangle at every step, no doubt providing Arthur with untold amusement. All in all, wooing an angel was proving the very devil of a task.
With a self-deprecatory smile, he put the title-deed in the top drawer of his desk, locking it with a small key from his watch chain.
There was only one way forward. His mind refused to entertain the thought of any outcome bar success. He did not doubt he would win her in the end. It was his patience he doubted. Still, at least this time he was forewarned. And if, instead, she fell into his arms without raising any more quibbles, he would be doubly grateful.
Imagining how he would express his gratitude to his beloved, he settled his shoulders more comfortably against the leather and fixed his gaze on the ceiling. A smile of anticipation curved his lips.
Ten minutes later his reverie was interrupted by sounds of altercation in his hall. The library door flew open.
Bella entered. Timms followed close behind, trying to retrieve the bonnet she still wore.
“Dominic! Thank God you’re here! You’ll have to do something. I never imagined she’d do anything so rash!” Succeeding in tugging her bonnet strings free, she paused only to hand her headgear to Timms before impetuously throwing herself at her brother, who had risen and come forward to meet her. Her small hands grasped his arms. “You must go after her!”
“Yes, of course,” Dominic replied, gently detaching her before turning her towards the chaise. “And I undoubtedly shall, as soon as you have calmed sufficiently to tell me where and why.”
His calm, deliberate tones had the desired effect. Bella plumped down on the chaise with relief, her bearing losing the frenetic tenseness of a moment before.
“It’s just so unexpected. I had no inkling she might do such a thing.”
Dominic forced himself to take the seat facing his sister, reminding himself that any attempt to drag stories out of Bella faster than she was prepared to tell them inevitably took longer than allowing her to proceed at her own pace. Relieved to see her colour improving, and assuming from her words that Georgiana was not in any mortal danger, he contented himself with a bland, “What’s happened?”
“I didn’t know anything about it until I came downstairs half an hour ago. We were at the Ranleighs’ last night—such a crowd! The rooms were so stuffy, I was quite worn out, so I slept late.” Bella opened her reticule, hunting through its contents. “I found this on the breakfast-table.”
Dominic took the single sheet of delicately tinted paper and smoothed it out. As he scanned its contents, his jaw hardened. Undoubtedly, it was past time someone took Georgiana Hartley in hand. The note blithely informed Bella that its writer had decided to ask the tenants of her father’s London property whether they had any idea where his missing pictures might be. As she had ascertained that the house was located in Jermyn Street, she did not imagine she would be away long.
“She told me that when she wrote to Mr Whitworth to instruct him to sell the Place she remembered to ask about the London house. Johnson says she received a letter this morning.”
“Jermyn Street!” Dominic stood and paced the room, incapable of remaining still. The words, Doesn’t she know better? rang in his brain, but he didn’t utter them—he knew the answer. There were times when Georgiana Hartley was too much the impulsive innocent for her own good. Over the past ten or more years, Jermyn Street had become the popular address for the well-heeled bachelors of the ton, which number included a disproportionate percentage of the most dangerous rakes and roués in England. His gaze returned to Bella’s anxious face. “Do you have any idea of the number?”
Bella blushed. Under cover of fossicking in her reticule once more, she explained, “In the circumstances, I thought I should see if I could find the letter from the Whitworths. It was on her dresser.” She looked up to hand the plain white envelope to her brother.
Dominic received it with undisguised relief and a fleeting smile for Bella’s notions of propriety. “Good girl.” Then he was reading the fine legal script. “Seventeen. Who lives at 17 Jermyn Street?”
Bella shook her head, her gaze on her brother’s face. He was clearly going through his acquaintance. Then she saw his expression drain.
“Good God!”
Bella paled. “Who is it?”
“Harry Edgcombe.”
“Oh, dear.” Bella’s wide blue gaze had not left her brother’s face. Recognising from uncomfortable experience the emotions flaring in his eyes, she suddenly wondered whether she would have done better by Georgiana to have tried to find Arthur, instead of flying to Dominic.
Abruptly Dominic headed for the door. “Wait here until I get back.”
Seriously alarmed now, Bella half rose. “Don’t you think I should come, too?”
Dominic paused, hand on the door-handle. “It would be best if this was done with as little fuss as possible. I’ll bring her back here.”
And with that grim promise he was gone, leaving Bella with nothing to do but sink back on the chaise, wondering if Georgiana was strong enough to weather both Harry Edgcombe’s advances and Dominic’s temper.
DOMINIC DIDN’T bother with his carriage. As the hackney he’d hired pulled up outside 17 Jermyn Street, he reflected that the anonymity of the hack was an added advantage, distinctly preferable to his carriage with his liveried coachman. Instructing the driver to wait for him, he ascended the three steps to the polished oak door and beat a resounding tattoo. Heaven help Harry if he’d gone too far.
The door was opened by a very correct gentleman’s gentleman. Recognising the Viscount, he smiled politely. “I’m afraid his lordship is currently engaged, m’lord.”
“I know that. I’m here to disengage him.”
And with that the astonished retainer was set firmly aside. Dominic closed the door behind him. His gaze swept the hallway and found Cruickshank, seated in a stiff-backed chair in the shadows. Surprised, she came to her feet.
“Where’s your mistress?”
Trained to respond to the voice of authority, Cruickshank immediately bobbed a curtsy. “In the drawing-room, m’lord.” With a nod, she indicated the door opposite her chair.
Stripping off his gloves and handing them, together with his cane, to Lord Edgcombe’s bemused valet, Dominic said, “I suggest you return to Winsmere House. I will be taking your mistress to meet Lady Winsmere. I would imagine they’ll return home in a few hours. Should Lord Winsmere enquire, you may inform him they’re in my charge.”
Bright blue eyes met faded blue. Cruickshank hesitated, then bobbed again in acquiescence. “Very good, m’lord.”
With Lord Edgcombe’s valet distracted by Cruickshank’s departure, Dominic strolled forward and, after a fractional hesitation, opened the drawing-room door.
The sight which met his eyes would have made him laugh if he hadn’t been so angry. Georgiana was seated in a chair by the hearth and had clearly been listening with her customary intentness to one of Harry’s tales. He was leaning against the mantelpiece, negligently attired in a green smoking jacket, his pose calculated to impress the viewer with his particular brand of assured arrogance. Despite himself, Dominic’s lips twitched. The door shut behind him with a sharp click. Both fair heads turned his way.
While most of his attention was centred on Georgiana, Dominic did not miss the relief which showed fleetingly in Harry’s eyes. Relieved in turn of its most urgent worry, his mind went on to register the expression in Georgiana’s hazel gaze. Total innocence. Then, as he watched, she blushed deliciously and, flustered, looked away.
Inwardly, Dominic smiled. He did not make the mistake of imagining her sudden consciousness was due to delayed guilt on being discovered in such a compromising situation. Oh, no—he was the cause of Georgiana’s blushes, not Harry. Which fact compensated at least in part for his agony of the past ten minutes.
An interested spect
ator to Georgiana’s reaction, Harry pushed away from the mantelpiece, a smile of real mirth lighting his face. “Ah, Dominic. I wondered how long you’d be.”
Acknowledging this greeting, and the information it contained, by shaking Harry’s offered hand, Dominic turned to find Georgiana rising to her feet.
“I had no idea… I wasn’t expecting…”
“Me to arrive so soon?” suggested Dominic. He advanced upon his love, capturing one delicate hand and raising it to his lips. “I finished my business rather earlier than I had hoped. I take it you’ve finished yours?”
Georgiana was completely bemused. The last person she had thought to meet this afternoon was Lord Alton. And none of his words, nor Lord Edgcombe’s, seemed to make any sense. Entirely at sea, she simply stared into his lordship’s blue eyes, traitorously hoping he would take charge.
“No sign of these paintings, I’m afraid,” put in Lord Edgcombe, shaking his head. He added in explanation to Dominic, “Moscombe has been with me since I moved here, and he insists the place was completely empty. Even the attics.”
Dominic nodded, and tucked Georgiana’s hand into its accustomed place in the crook of his arm. “It was a long shot. Still,” he added, blue eyes intent on Harry, “no harm done.”
Harry’s eyes widened in mock alarm. “None in the least, I assure you.” Then a gleam of wicked amusement lit his grey eyes. “Mind you, it did occur to me that Miss Hartley might like to view my art collection.”
Dominic’s black brows rose. “Your etchings, perhaps?”
Harry grinned. “Just so.”
“Etchings?” queried Georgiana.
“Never mind!” said Dominic in the voice of a man goaded. He gazed down into wide hazel eyes and wished they were in his drawing-room rather than Harry’s. “Come,” he added in gentler tones. “I’ll return you to Bella.”
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