There was too much emotion and tumult, too much history there. Their marriage could never be the smooth path he desired, but a rocky, winding road that took them to the heights only to plunge them into despair.
After years of tussling with the snarled and decaying legacy his grandfather had left him, he’d finally reached the stage where his life was orderly and calm. He could only guess at the chaos Georgie Black would bring.
Anger flared. She’d asked for him last night. More than that, she’d walked into his arms, willing and wanton, impetuous as ever, never considering the risk she took. She was at least partly responsible for the tumult inside him now.
But his own recklessness—so wild, so uncharacteristic—stung more. The merest press of his lips to hers had sent him spinning out of control.
Who was he fooling? He’d lost volition the instant he’d laid eyes on her. She could do that to him. She had that much power. A very dangerous woman, indeed.
The one consolation in this mess was that he’d wrenched himself back from the abyss. Had he taken her, there would be no question at all that they must wed now. Thank God for the self-control that had returned when he’d needed it most.
When she’d said his name.
With an inward shudder, he tried to shake off the remembered thrill of her lips brushing his ear, whispering to him.
No. No!
It was no use. He couldn’t pretend last night hadn’t happened. His conscience would give him no peace until he did what honor demanded.
He would pay his addresses to Georgie. She would reject him. He would do his duty and that would be an end to it. Then he could get on with the far more comfortable task of choosing a proper wife.
Beckenham started as Lydgate snapped his fingers in his face. “Becks, have you listened to a word I’ve said?”
Clearing his throat, Beckenham snatched up his napkin, pressed it to his lips. “My apologies. I was woolgathering.” He cleared his throat and added awkwardly, “I do appreciate your assistance, Andy.”
Mollified, Lydgate said, “Save your thanks. You won’t feel too grateful when the matchmaking mamas start hunting you down.”
Appalled, Beckenham let his napkin fall. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Lydgate shrugged. “Nothing to be done about it. If you reappear on the scene after such a long absence, there’s bound to be only one conclusion. You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in England, besides Xavier.”
“And you.” Beckenham eyed Lydgate. “I hear the young ladies and their mamas find you most maddeningly elusive.”
Lydgate sobered. “It takes some doing, staying one step ahead of the dear creatures. Lord, I could tell you some stories that would curl your hair.”
Beckenham cocked his head in inquiry.
“Entrapment, my dear fellow,” said Lydgate darkly. “The most ingenious methods. There was one incident a few years ago.…” Lydgate paled, clearly aghast at the mere thought. “But Rosamund came to my rescue. Dear girl, Rosamund.”
“You’d do better to confine your attentions to professionals,” observed Beckenham.
Lydgate’s blue eyes danced. “But where’s the fun in that? Paying a woman for her favors don’t interest me.”
“You like the chase,” said Beckenham. Which he, most certainly, did not.
In the months after Georgie had given him his congé, he’d gained himself quite a reputation with the ladies of the Ton. What had driven him, he knew not. But by the time he’d realized his existence was fast careering out of his control, he’d developed and honed his skills in the boudoir to a fine point. His emotions remained curiously detached from these adventures, however, and he finally realized it was dishonest to promise with his body what his heart could not hope to match.
Wiser now by far, he preferred his relationships with women to be clear-cut and uncomplicated. Any mistress of his was compensated handsomely for her company. It was a business transaction, nothing more.
Lydgate’s love life resembled a skein of wool after a cat had played with it: tangled beyond hope of unraveling.
“I do indeed.” A reminiscent smile played over Lydgate’s mouth.
Beckenham suppressed a groan. The threat of a London season was certainly an incentive to pay his addresses to one lady or another before the end of the year.
The betrothal itself had been the simplest and most straightforward aspect of the entire business with Georgie. Beckenham had known Georgie’s family all his life. She stood to inherit her father’s property, a very desirable collection of acres with a handsome manor house that had once been part of Winford, Beckenham’s estate.
Montford had settled it with Sir Donald that these acres would one day be rejoined to the Winford estate through his marriage to Sir Donald’s elder daughter. Beckenham couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known he would marry the foxy-haired girl from Cloverleigh.
He hadn’t taken much notice of Georgie, growing up, besides judging that she was a bruising rider, as fearless and skilled on horseback as any boy her age. In fact, it wasn’t until she let down her skirts, put up that glorious hair, and took the Ton by storm in her first season that he truly saw her for the beauty she’d become.
He broke off. Damn it to hell, why did his thoughts continually return to her? He ought to focus on what Lydgate was saying.
“House parties. Let me think. We need an itinerary.” Lydgate produced a notebook and pencil and made several jottings, a small furrow between his sleek eyebrows. “We’ll begin with the Malbys in Norfolk and work our way down England from there.”
Ah, hell, thought Beckenham. I’m in for it now.
Chapter Five
Dear Lizzie,
I hope my letter finds you well and that you are not being driven to distraction by poor Dartry. He is a sweet man and will make a kind and generous husband, but oh, Lizzie! I wish you might love him. Truly, it is the most delightful and painful state.…
I cannot believe G has prevailed upon Mama to send me back to the Bath school next term, until it is time for the Season. She was scandalized that I went to a certain party last night and rung such a peal over me! But I cannot regret it, for dearest Lizzie, He was there. He has followed me here from Bath, just as he promised …
The hour was not late enough for the promenade along the Brighton shore to have become a crush. Grateful that so few of her acquaintances were up and about, Georgie inhaled deeply of the wild, salted air. She needed to scour her soul after the passion and humiliation of last night.
So much bittersweet yearning in that kiss. He must have felt her need for him, her desperate craving. How could he not? She’d begged him not to go, after all.
Shame flooded her. If only she’d thought before she spoke, her pride might not be as tattered as her youthful dreams.
A few paces behind her, Georgie’s maid heaved a dramatic sigh. Smith did not approve of Brighton, nor of walks along the seafront.
Georgie adored physical exercise, needed it as an outlet for an overabundance of restless energy. Violet was still abed after her outing last night, but if Georgie had to stay cooped up in their rooms with her ailing stepmother one second longer, she’d thought she’d explode.
“I’ve a pebble in my slippers,” grumbled the maid. “And this breeze quite destroys our coiffure, Miss G.”
By “our coiffure,” Smith meant Georgie’s coiffure, of course. The maid’s hair was plainly dressed, scraped mercilessly back from her forehead and tucked beneath a lacy cap. Not even a tempest would dislodge a single iron gray strand. But Smith was as proprietary about the body she dressed as a little girl with her favorite doll. Or an artist with his masterpiece, perhaps.
If not for the fact that Smith truly was an artist, Georgie wouldn’t have put up with her admonishments nor her complaints on these walks. But Smith had attended Georgie since her come-out, and sartorial magnificence such as the plain-spoken dresser could produce was worth any amount of grumbling. Besides, Georgie was sincer
ely attached to her dour woman and delighted in teasing her.
Georgie lifted her chin to gaze out over the pebbled beach below. “Oh, look. Someone is taking one of the bathing machines. I might try that one day.”
That successfully diverted Smith from her own troubles. She glowered down at the shore, where several carriages lined up, ready to drive patrons into the sea for a spot of private bathing.
“Not while there is breath in my body, you won’t, Miss G,” she said. “Those ladies have no shame.”
“But it is all perfectly innocent,” said Georgie. “They are fully gowned, and besides, no one can see.”
“No one but the gentlemen who rent telescopes for the purpose of looking,” said Smith darkly. “And when they are wet, those garments outline every curve and cranny. Mark my words, Miss G—”
Georgie laughed. “Calm yourself, Smith. I was jesting, of course.” She didn’t tell her maid she thought being dipped in the ocean fully dressed must be the tamest sport possible, besides making one appear rather ridiculous.
Nor did she mention the many times she’d escaped her room at Cloverleigh on a hot July night for a bare-skinned bathe in the lake. Some things were best kept to oneself.
A nude bathe in the ocean, now … That might be interesting. But even she wasn’t reckless enough to try it. Not in Brighton, where one could never be assured one was quite alone.
“I beg you won’t relay your opinion to my stepmama,” she said, a slight smile curving her lips. “I heard the doctor prescribe a course of sea bathing for her only yesterday.”
“Hmph!” said Smith. She had no great opinion of Lady Black. Not that she’d ever say so, but Georgie knew her well. “Does that mean we’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future?”
“No, it does not,” said Georgie. Every tall, dark-haired gentleman she saw made her heart give a hard thump until she made sure it wasn’t Beckenham. The sooner he left Brighton, the better. “If my stepmother wishes to remain in Brighton for the summer, she may do so. Miss Violet and I will leave for Lady Arden’s as planned.”
She’d like nothing more than to remove Violet from the sphere of the Makepeaces and their ilk immediately but that was impossible. She meant to remain vigilant, for she wasn’t entirely satisfied with Violet’s innocent denial of kissing. Something was putting a glow in those pretty cheeks. Or someone. Please God it wasn’t Pearce.
She knew better than to believe Pearce would let bygones be bygones. If he was back in England at all, he would seek revenge. If he’d decided to wreak that revenge through Violet, Georgie would shoot him through the heart.
She returned to their lodgings invigorated, if not sanguine.
Having allowed Smith to tidy her windblown appearance, Georgie walked into the parlor to find her stepmother sitting upright in a straight-backed chair. Lady Black’s avid, curious gaze was trained on a tall, dark-haired gentleman who stood at the window, his hands clasped loosely at his back.
Georgie halted on the threshold, her mouth ajar.
Today, the Earl of Beckenham was dressed in buff trousers and a dark blue swallow-tailed coat. The rig was practically a uniform for the well-tailored gentlemen of the Ton, yet there was no mistaking the identity of the man inside those garments.
Georgie threw a look of inquiry at her stepmother, who made a face and gave a faint shrug of her shoulders. How long had Beckenham been here before Georgie arrived? What on earth could he have found to talk about with Lady Black?
Georgie forced herself to recover her poise, pitching her voice low. “Lord Beckenham. To what do we owe this honor?”
He turned. His dark gaze took her in slowly, from her chip straw hat to her kid half boots. Disapproval, perhaps even censure, radiated from his grim features.
Georgie resisted the urge to put a hand up to her hair. Such a self-conscious gesture would place her at a disadvantage from the start. Besides, she knew she looked as perfect as Smith could make her. Her gown was white muslin made up high at the throat and trimmed with pale green ribbons below the bosom and at the narrow flounce. Expensive, perhaps, but as modest as anyone could have wished.
Beckenham’s presence here today must mean he had penetrated her disguise last night. But why hadn’t he said something?
Was it her mistake or did his bow seem to contain a hint of irony? She curtsied with the proper deference, batting away her fear. She refused to betray her inner turmoil by a flicker of an eyelid. His face remained impassive as granite, but then perhaps he wasn’t experiencing turmoil at all.
Beckenham glanced at Lady Black, who still regarded him with the expression of a dog who is unsure whether it will be given a bone or a boot in the ribs. Despite her bumptious ways, Lady Black had always been wary of Beckenham, whose demeanor made it clear he did not suffer fools gladly.
Georgie’s stepmother rushed into speech. “I was just saying to Lord Beckenham how honored we are to receive him today. Are we not, Georgiana?”
“Indeed,” said Georgie, lifting her brows. If he wanted to be rid of her interfering relation, he would have to do it. She was rarely thankful for her stepmother’s presence, but on this occasion, she had no wish for privacy.
“It is a fine day,” said Beckenham. He glanced out the window, as if to ascertain whether conditions had changed since last he’d looked.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” Lady Black gushed when Georgie merely curled her lip at the inanity. “We have been most fortunate in the weather. I was just saying to my girls—was I not, Georgie?—that the climate here in Brighton is so salubrious, I might be tempted to take my dear Dr. Wilson’s advice and try the sea-bathing cure.”
Georgie could almost hear Beckenham’s mental dismissal of such remedies as “quackery.”
Reading disapproval on Beckenham’s stern features, Georgie interposed. “Indeed, my lady, I might well be persuaded to join you.”
The crease between Beckenham’s brows deepened. Gracious, he was so predictable. If they were still betrothed, he would caution her against putting her body on public display.
Some devil prompted her to add, “Though I daresay it won’t be as stimulating as bathing in the lake at Winford.”
She had mentioned to him once that she and her cousins used to take moonlit swims in the lake on his estate in the hotter months. Why she sought to remind him of it now, she wasn’t entirely certain.
Actually, she knew very well why. She was not only hurt but piqued at his rejection of her last night. It was easier to deal with the pique than the pain.
Beckenham’s reaction was all she might have hoped. To anyone else, he appeared politely interested, but she knew the signs he held his anger and disgust on a tight rein.
His lips were stiff as he said, “Dutiful of you to accompany your stepmother. But might I suggest another form of exercise? I’d thought to take you for a drive.”
Lady Black exclaimed at his kindness and condescension but Georgie barely heard him for the roar in her ears.
He thought he could waltz back into her life after a six-year absence and demand she go driving with him? As if nothing had happened!
She inclined her head. “Thank you, but I have a previous engagement.”
“What previous engagement?” said Lady Black. “I’m sure it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Dark eyes glittered dangerously down at her. She felt the force of his anger, making his physical presence seem larger and more threatening. But she’d never been one to back down from a fight, nor did she bend to bullies. His attitude made her even less inclined to go anywhere with him.
“You look as if you wish to read me a lecture, Lord Beckenham,” she said, ignoring her stepmother’s betraying remark. “I don’t take kindly to lectures, or have you forgotten?”
“You are mistaken,” he bit out. “What right have I to ring a peal over you?”
“An interesting question.” One that she’d flung at him more than once during their engagement.
Honesty compelled her to a
dmit he’d had reason and right on his side more than once during that time. If his severity had been tempered by any open expression of regard, perhaps she might have borne it better.
Then again, she’d been an ungovernable chit. Perhaps no approach would have mollified her.
Perversely, curiosity raised its head. Why had he come here today if he didn’t mean to chastise her? He must have a compelling reason to break the habit of the past six years and seek her out. What did he want to say to her now that he couldn’t very well have said last night?
Suddenly, she had to know. He knew she was the lady in the mask. Of course he did. Why else would he be here?
She wasn’t sure she wished to provide a spectacle for their peers by driving about Brighton with him, but if he wasn’t concerned by this, she supposed she needn’t be.
With the abruptness for which Lady Arden had always chastised her, she said, “Oh, very well, then. I shall change and be with you directly.”
She made as if to leave, but he held up one hand to stay her. “What you are wearing is perfectly adequate.”
“But I have already appeared in public in this gown today,” she objected, making her eyes wide and innocent. “I should disappoint all of those dowagers who shake their heads over my extravagance if I went out in it again.”
She couldn’t blame him for his impatience. He’d likely murder Lady Black if he was forced to endure her company for another hour. He knew Georgie’s habits too well.
“I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said. And he actually took out his watch as if to time her. “Then I’ll come to fetch you.”
“How shocking,” Georgie mocked, but her pulse had kicked a little when he spoke to her so. Curse her penchant for domineering men!
“Don’t test me,” he said. “You, of all people, know I never make idle threats.”
She flexed her brows. “And you, of all people, must know that I always treat a threat as a challenge.”
The slightest hint of a smile played about his mouth and made tiny creases at the corners of his eyes. “It is fortunate then, that either way, I shall be the winner.”
The Greatest Lover Ever Page 6