by Reid, Stacy
“You do realize if word gets out that you attended the viscount’s ball, it would be seen as if you are giving him the stamp of approval and welcoming him back into the fold.”
She allowed one side of her mouth to lift in a smile. “Perhaps he should never have been cut for wanting to be happy,” she said softly. “If I recall correctly, his wife is the daughter of a most respectable vicar, and she is quite lovely and intelligent. Perhaps the ton should have helped Lord Pottinger celebrate his good fortune instead of rebuking him so severely.”
“Good God, you are entirely serious. Where in Hastings is this blasted ball?”
“Netherfield.”
“You are aware Hastings is miles from where you live?” he asked drily.
“Hmm, Lady Blanchet has a quaint little manor there. I will prevail upon her to spend a couple days. I’m sure Nicolas will enjoy a change of scenery.”
“You are determined to go, then?”
Her stomach flipped at the prospect of seeing Rhys again. “Why, yes, I believe I am.”
Her brother scowled. “Your judgment and conduct are beyond the pale, and you are absolutely ungovernable.”
“You compliment me, brother.”
She laughed at his light growl.
He pushed his fingers through his hair, sighing roughly. “Georgie, are you attending because Mr. Tremayne’s mother is involved? It is madness to be attracted to Mr. Tremayne. I could see… I saw something between you two the night he brought home Nicolas. I do not believe you should respond to this invitation.”
She stood and walked over to him. “I am frightfully drawn to him,” she admitted. “But I will be careful. Now, will you please stop this ceaseless worry about my person. I will always be directed by my desires. I’ve lived far too long ignoring them.”
Her time with Rhys would be too short and precious for her to be hesitant.
…
The last few days had been filled with work for Rhys. He had brokered a deal with the Greeks for guns. It seemed war and tension hovered on the horizon, and they wanted to make ready. He now possessed the deed to an estate in the moors of Scotland. Perhaps he could convince his duchess to visit with him there soon. Remember this is temporary…
It had almost been a week since their night together, and he had devised many ways he could see the duchess in his imaginaton but had discarded them all. It seemed she was just as uncertain about their unorthodox liaison, for he’d received no letter from her, either. The only thing he was certain of was that she was upholding her promise. Lydia had been amazed to receive several invitations for balls for the rest of the season. The hope that had blazed in her eyes had filled him with such gratitude. She had accepted an invitation to a ball from one Lady Nelson, and Lydia was already making herself sick with worry about how she would be received.
He glanced down the table to see how Lydia was faring this morning. Her fingers were flying with speed as she laughed. His sisters chattered away as they ate their breakfast.
Their housekeeper, Mrs. Wiles, entered and went to his mother. “Excuse me, ma’am, this came for you.” She handed his mother the letter and then departed.
His mother quickly opened it. Her loud, dramatic gasp had everyone lifting their gaze to her. With a frown, Rhys set aside the freshly ironed newssheet he’d been pretending to read. “Are you all right, Mother?”
His mother appeared dazed. “She accepted. I cannot credit it. I never thought or even imagined she would.”
“Who accepted, Mamma, and accepted what?” Grace demanded impatiently, no longer concerned with the scone she had been eating.
Even Lydia and Joanna had paused in demolishing their breakfast.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Hardcastle.”
He never knew silence could be loud. “Invitation to what?” he asked, despising the way his heart started to lurch.
“An invitation to Lord and Lady Pottinger’s annual ball in Hastings. I had prevailed upon William to send her an invitation.”
“And she said yes?” his sisters chorused.
“I can hardly believe such an assertion,” Grace said, pushing from her chair and rushing to grab the vellum paper from their mother.
A few seconds later she glanced up. “Oh no, she did accept. A duchess at such a lowly country ball? No one will know how to behave. I won’t know how to behave,” Grace all but wailed, panic lining her features.
Joanna’s eyes widened in alarm. “The prospect of an introduction to a duchess fills me with panic. I do not believe we are ready to meet a lady of such stature. I am still learning how to take tea with decorum according to our tutor.”
Lydia’s fingers leaped to life. “I believe this is the opportunity our brother has been working for.”
“This is all our mother’s interference,” Rhys interjected wryly.
Lydia’s chin lifted. “I’m certain this is because of you. We will all attend, and I promise we will not shame you, Rhys.”
A fist closed over his heart. He stood and moved around to the table where Lydia sat. “There is nothing you could do in this world that would shame me. The duchess is…she will be a pleasant surprise.”
Everyone exploded into speech after that pronouncement. His mother still appeared poleaxed, and Rhys smiled. Breakfast was then finished at an alarming rate, and he was herded into the drawing room with a command to stay. He woofed his obedience, and the girls laughed. For the next two hours, they drowned him with questions about the duchess, and he had to patiently sit in the room as they demanded their lady maids drag dress upon dress from their armoires for his inspection, since he’d been mixing with the ton at high-society events. His assertion that he’d attended only two balls was soundly ignored. At some point, ribbons somehow ended up around his neck, but all he felt was a deep satisfaction that they were happy. Even Joanna couldn’t hide her excitement. Then there was that thrill in his heart at the thought of seeing Georgiana again. Why had she accepted? Such an event was far below her notice.
He let out his breath again and scrubbed his hand down his face, wishing the memories of her smile and passion didn’t haunt him so much. What was it about her? The loneliness in her eyes fled when she was with him, and he felt a sense of peace and happiness from simply being in her presence. He froze as that awareness shot through him.
“Will you attend, Rhys?” his mother asked softly, shifting on the sofa so that she could scrutinize his every expression.
“Perhaps.”
His mother sighed. “You haven’t been to our local ball now in years, though we have had a house in Hastings some five years now. I believe it would be better for you to be there when the girls meet Her Grace—that is, if we are granted the privilege to meet her.”
Though her voice was mild, his mother’s eyes glowed with an excitement he’d not anticipated. It had never occurred to him that she missed her life amongst the aristocracy. “I’ll be there,” he said softly, now wondering if his mother needed to be encompassed in his plans.
“Have you informed the duchess that you are the nephew of Viscount Westcott?”
“I never saw the need.”
Her lips pinched. “I will find a way to delicately insert it in any conversation we have.”
“That is not necessary.”
“We are not a family without connections, and it must be known.” Then she launched from the sofa to help Grace decide between peach or green ribbons. Why were they even wearing ribbons?
Free to wander, his thoughts perplexingly turned to Georgiana and not to business. He stood and walked over to the windows overlooking the small back garden of their townhouse. What would he feel upon seeing the duchess again? He thought of her soft skin, how it would feel beneath his palms, under his body, how she would taste. Would he still want her with the same intensity, since he’d already feasted on all she had to offer?
He frowned, realizing he’d never had a lover whom he had made love to so many times. There had only been a few women he had
tupped more than once, and even now trying to snatch memories of those times was an exercise in futility. Rhys had enjoyed at intervals having a woman beneath him whenever the need to slake the lust rose inside him. Those women had understood he had nothing to give, wanted nothing more, and were only interested in the pleasures he could give them or his money. He’d never had the time or inclination before to pause…to savor and to learn a woman’s likes, her dislikes, her pain, and joy. Yet the need was a living entity, a relentless ache to spend more time with the duchess. And not just with her sheathed on his cock.
A singularly foolish desire, for where would it lead? Rhys did not believe in investing his energy and time on a subject that would not yield positive results. The duchess was such a unique complication. He wanted her, quite fiercely, but the futility of wanting a woman like her was evident, yet the reward of loving a woman like her, even if for a few months, was inescapable. And as simply as that, he craved to touch, and take, and taste. Never had he encountered such a chaotic hunger for a woman. If it had simply been for her body, he could have moved past the need. But there was a curiosity in his soul to know what had placed the cool guardedness in her beautiful eyes. Why was her smile barely there, instead of wide and glorious? Rhys frowned. He was turning into a damn poet.
Yes…I’ll have an affair with you.
And he wanted it, too. More than his next business deal, and more than the secrets that had been offered concerning members of parliament. Christ, he was losing his senses, and damn if he wanted to reclaim them.
Chapter Twelve
Three days later, Rhys, his sisters, and his mother were standing together within the large, elegant, and overcrowded ballroom of Lord Pottinger. It seemed as if the entire respectable population of Hastings had tried to cram themselves into the public spaces of the man’s country home. The wealthiest titled landowner close to the village where they had their country home was Lord Pottinger. Somehow his wife had befriended Rhys’s mother and sister, and they had been invited to the annual ball for the last several years.
They had arrived promptly at seven, along with the rest of Hastings. An hour later it appeared as if the throng was uncertain what to do with itself. Rhys was amused. No one seemed interested in dancing or playing cards. They waited with bated breath for their most important guest to arrive.
“Do you believe she has changed her mind?” Joanna asked, fanning herself.
“That would be most ungracious of the duchess. I do not believe it to be so,” his mother rebutted, craning her neck to view the entrance. An elbow poked into his side, and he glanced down at Lydia.
“You seem tense, brother. Could it be you are anticipating the duchess’s presence, as well?”
He gave her what he hoped was a black scowl, and she giggled. She looked so beautiful and expectant tonight, Rhys was glad the shadows that normally haunted her eyes were missing. He lightly chucked her under her chin, and it was her turn to scowl.
“I’m no longer sixteen, you know.”
“Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Hardcastle,” Lord Pottinger announced, pride evident in his tone.
Silence dropped over the ballroom as the guests seemed to hold a collective breath. Georgina strolled into view, her smile cool and reserved. His sisters were bound to be disappointed, for she was not dripping in diamonds and rubies as they had hoped, but she was dressed in the heights of fashion. She wore a fashionable dress of vibrant yellow silk, which accentuated her slight but curvy figure. Her hair was piled high atop her head in intricate curls, and a single strand of pearls encircled her throat.
She was lovely…and his heart stumbled in his chest.
Her gaze scanned the room, and pleasure lit her eyes when she saw him. There was a bit of relief there, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. Pottinger led her across the room, beaming, and introducing her to their society. People eagerly dipped into elegant curtseys and paid her lavish compliments, some of which had Rhys’s brow arching at the ridiculous nature of it.
His sisters were jittery beside him, and even his mother seemed to be on edge. Finally, the duchess was escorted their way.
“Mr. Tremayne,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “I am delighted to see you.” Her eyes glowed with mystery and remembered passion.
Lord Pottinger stumbled and caught himself quickly. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the duchess to greet Rhys with such familiarity. He slid her a considering glance. “You are familiar with Mr. Tremayne.”
“Oh yes, we’ve had several occasions upon which to converse.”
His sisters grinned in scandalized delight, while his mother and their host threw them speculative glances.
“Your Grace, Duchess of Hardcastle, may I present Mrs. Doretha Tremayne, Miss Lydia Tremayne, Miss Joanna Tremayne, and Miss Grace Tremayne to you. Ladies, Her Grace, the Duchess of Hardcastle.”
His sisters and mother dropped into elegant curtsies.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Georgiana said with a warm smile.
She spent a few minutes with them before the viscount whisked her off to meet other notable locals.
“Oh, she is so beautiful, and elegant, and charming!” Joanna gasped, laughing.
“She spent the longest with you. Do you see all the glances of envy we are receiving?” Grace asked.
“She could not stop looking at you, Rhys,” Lydia signed.
“I agree,” Grace said. “I do not believe you told us all that happened when you went to that ball, brother.”
Before he could retort, a few young bucks approached the girls, asking for dances. They eagerly consented, and he found himself alone with his mother.
“You should ask Her Grace to dance,” his mother urged.
“No.”
“Rhys, you are—”
“Miss Doretha Drummond?”
His mother whirled around. “Marcus! Forgive me, I mean Lord Gaskill, what a pleasant surprise.”
His mother blushed, and Rhys coolly observed the man who had managed to wreak such an astonishing reaction. His mother was fifty years of age and was acting like a young debutante.
Lord Gaskill seemed equally entranced. “How are you? It has been so many years.”
“May I introduce my son, Rhys Tremayne? Rhys, this is…the earl is an old acquaintance of mine, Lord Gaskill.”
Rhys inclined his head politely.
The earl stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Mr. Rhys Tremayne?”
“Yes,” he drawled with an icy smile. So, the Lord Gaskill had somehow heard of him.
“Your son?”
“Yes. I have four children,” his mother said proudly. “They are all here.”
Regret gleamed in the man’s eyes as he stared down at Rhys’s mother with longing. Was this the man she would have married before her father sold her to a merchant instead? Christ. His mother would have been a countess.
“May I have this dance, Dotty?”
She flushed at his familiarity but nodded in evident pleasure. With an almost startled glance in Rhys’s direction, she marched onto the dance floor with the earl. His mother glowed, and Rhys filed away the information that he would need to investigate Lord Gaskill thoroughly.
Moving through the tightly packed room, he made his way to the small balcony and propped his shoulders on a column. His gaze unerringly found the duchess. Though she smiled and nodded, there were lines of strain around her full, sensuous mouth. As if she felt his stare, her regard turned his way. He inclined his head slightly, and those lips curved into a wide, inviting smile.
Soon…
…
Rhys’s family was charming and lovely. Georgiana had spent more time chatting with Lydia since it was her she needed to introduce to polite society. Georgiana had been careful in how she enunciated her words and had faced Lydia while they conversed, so she could get an accurate reading of her lips. With her beauty and cheerful disposition, Lydia would have no trouble attracting suitors. Georgiana would have to work to ensure they wer
e the right kinds and not fortune hunters or libertines who would think to make her their mistress. Though Lydia’s clear gray eyes gazed at Georgiana with a worldliness far beyond her years, she was a soft and rare beauty that would remain ageless. Her halting speech and the way she sometimes stared at someone’s mouth would be considered impolite to many, but a true gentleman would not be deterred.
A quadrille was playing, and all of Rhys’s sisters had been claimed for dances. They were all elegant in mind and temperament, with the graces of ladies.
Almost two hours after she had entered the ball, Georgiana found herself standing with Rhys alone atop a gallery overlooking the dancing throng. “We are finally alone.”
“If I’d known this was a source of displeasure, I would have whisked you away over an hour ago.”
She laughed. “Your family is charming, Rhys.”
“Ah, despite our dubious connections?”
It was a clear taunt.
“Your mother informed me she is the daughter of the late Viscount Westcott. So not all your connections are an unsavory, disreputable lot as I’ve been warned. The current viscount is friends with Simon. I’ve had the opportunity to socialize with your uncle, Lord Westcott, and his manners are pleasant.”
Rhys’s eyes hooded, and he stared at her for an infinite amount of time. “Would you accompany me on a walk along the seaside? It is only a few minutes from the viscount’s manor. If you listen, you can hear the crash of the sea.”
A thrill skittered through her, terrifying and exhilarating. She realized with a flash of amused bafflement he was stripping her of her long-held decorum with one enticement after the other. “I would like that.”
They went outside, and Georgiana silently cursed her impulsiveness, for more than one keen pair of eyes had noted their departure. I’m in the country, so there should be no rumors of this in town, she told herself, but she knew it was wishful thinking.
Pushing aside her disquiet, they strolled through the gardens and away from the merriment of the ball. Georgiana took a huge breath of fresh summer air into her lungs.