Why Earls Fall in Love

by Manda Collins

  When Georgina didn’t answer, Lady Russell continued. “I want you to have these sapphires. I want you to wear them to the theater tonight. I want them to remind you that there are those like me, like Clara, like Con, who care about you. No matter what happened in the past.”

  Reluctantly, Georgie reached out a hand and touched one of the glinting gems. It was far warmer than she’d have imagined. Could she wear these jewels knowing they were a reminder of Lady Russell’s most awful memory? Even if she insisted?

  “Yes,” the older woman said, as if reading Georgie’s thoughts. “You can. Because they remind me not only of sad times, but also of those wonderful months before my boy was taken from me. Remember that there are good times as well as bad.”

  With a shaking hand, Georgie took the necklace from Lady Russell, and hoped that what the other woman said was true. She was in desperate need of some good times.

  Seven

  As he put the finishing touches on his cravat—the mathematical, which he’d mastered at Oxford and never seen much need to improve upon—Con was very aware of the fact that just on the other end of the hall, Georgina was dressing for tonight’s excursion to the theater. For a brief moment he allowed himself to wonder just what that curvaceous figure looked like before it was hidden away beneath another hideous gown.

  As an artist, he had always been aware of the way the right color or cut of gown could either enhance or detract from a lady’s looks. Since Georgie’s gowns he’d seen thus far had done nothing to improve upon the dazzling looks she’d been born with, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time imagining what she’d look like in a truly well-cut gown from Madame Celeste in a color that would bring out the blue of her eyes. Naturally, he’d spent just as much time mentally removing said gown to reveal the undergarments his imagination had also supplied.

  These were just the foolish thoughts of his libido, however. His mind also spent time lingering on Georgina’s personality. Her kindness to Lady Russell, for instance. The sensible way she’d taken charge of the younger cousins on their trip to the ruins. Her sincere interest in his cousin Ernestine’s interminable horse-and-hounds stories.

  Mrs. Georgina Mowbray was a genuinely good person. The sort that Con had not often found himself lusting after. It was a novel enough experience that he found her quick wit and kind heart just as alluring as her pretty face.

  Con checked the clock and realized he’d spent far too long ruminating. Allowing his valet to help him squeeze into his evening coat, Con gave one last tug on his cravat and stepped hurriedly into the hallway.

  Only to run smack into the object of his not-so-pure thoughts.

  “Oof.” It was a sound so counter to the lady before him that Con almost wondered if he’d been the one to say it. Instinctively, he grabbed onto her arms, which were bare except for a thin wrap which did little to dampen the feeling of the flesh beneath.

  “I am so very sorry, my lord,” Georgina said, steadying herself in his arms by flattening her hands against his chest. Then, perhaps realizing what she’d done, she pulled her hands back as if he were made of flames. “Dear me,” she said a little dizzily. “Forgive me. I can only blame—”

  Before she could utter any more inanities, he gave in to the desire that seemed to have conjured her in the air before him. Stopping her words, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

  Because she’d been in mid-sentence, her mouth was slightly open. Taking advantage of the fact, Con deepened the kiss, teasing her mouth with his questing tongue. Though a small noise in the back of her throat indicated Georgina’s surprise, she was quick to respond, answering Con’s stroke into her softness with her own tongue against his. Surprised, but pleased, he allowed his hands to slide over her back and pulled her closer against him, reveling in the press of her breasts against his chest, her stomach against his stirring arousal. Her hands slipped around his neck as they explored one another.

  It was only the sound of a door slamming downstairs that reminded them they were in the hallway where anyone might come upon them.

  Reluctantly, Con pulled away leaving both of them gasping for air. He watched her, unable to speak, as Georgina pressed a hand against her mouth. Her cheeks were pink with arousal and he was intrigued to note that the blush spread down over her chest. Vowing to explore that later, he said in a low voice, “I would beg your pardon for that, but I suspect you wanted it just as much as I did. Am I right, Georgina?”

  Her eyes wide, pupils dilated, she nodded. “Yes,” she said, moving the hand that had been at her lips to rest on her chest. “Yes, I did.”

  Though her response made Con long to toss her over his shoulder and disappear with her into his bedchamber for a few weeks, he merely nodded.

  “We have an engagement, I believe,” he said, offering her his arm. “Shall we go down? I believe Clara dislikes being late for anything. Let alone the theater.”

  Bemused, she took it. And as she did so, Con noticed that though she was wearing a gown he’d seen before in London at some function or other—not quite as ugly as her other frocks—the circlet of sapphires was something he’d not seen her wear before.

  “You are looking quite well, tonight, Mrs. Mowbray,” he said, putting his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “The sapphires are lovely with your eyes.”

  Self-consciously, she lifted a hand to the necklace, as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh, yes. Lady Russell gave them to me to wear tonight.”

  He was unaware of his aunt even allowing her companions to wear her jewels before. But Lady Russell had been known to do stranger things, he reminded himself. “That was kind of her,” he said. “I know she holds you in some affection. She rarely let’s people see them, much less wear them. Did she tell you how she received them?”

  “I believe she said that your uncle gave them to her upon the birth of their son,” Georgina said, as she walked ahead of Con down the narrow staircase leading to the ground floor.

  “That’s right.” Con was surprised that his aunt had told her about her son. But it proved just how close they’d become. “There’s a portrait of the three of them in the Russell family seat. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her wear them. After the baby died, she told me she came to hate them. I think she would have let them pass into the Russell family after Uncle died and the title was inherited by a distant cousin, but the heir wouldn’t hear of it. He said that she should have them as a reminder.”

  “Oh, dear.” Georgina’s hand lifted again to touch the stones. “So much sadness surrounding this beautiful piece of jewelry. I did not know about the portrait. I should, on the one hand, like to see what he looked like. The child, I mean. It is such a shame for little ones to be forgotten. But on the other hand, I do not know if I could bear to see her happiness knowing that it would so soon be snatched away from her by fate.”

  “Not fate,” Con said, unable to stop himself from speaking the words aloud. “Fate didn’t take her child away, my uncle did.”

  Georgie stopped, turning on the step to look at him. “I thought he died of some illness or a fever or the like.”

  Stepping down to the floor beneath them, Con turned and reached up to hand her down. “I’m afraid not,” he said gently. “And now is not the right place to tell the tale,” he continued as they were joined by Clara, her husband, John, Lydia and her escort, Mr. Demouy. “Suffice it to say it’s not a pretty tale.”

  “What’s not, Con?” Lydia asked, her inquisitive eyes darting from her cousin to Georgina and back.

  “None of your affair, Lydia,” her mother said pointedly. With an apologetic glance at Con, she turned to inspect Georgina.”My dear, you are looking splendid this evening. Isn’t she, John?”

  But before her father could respond, Lydia spoke up again, “You are looking rather well, Mrs. Mowbray. Though I daresay it’s the sapphires that are the real stunners. They do go well with your eyes.” A silent communication passed between Clara and Lydia, Con saw. He did not
envy his cousin the London season that Lydia had yet to enjoy. It was difficult enough being her cousin. He couldn’t imagine what parenting the chit would be like.

  “Very nice, very nice,” John said in his friendly way, completely unaware of the undercurrents in the conversation.

  “I think the lady looks much better than the sapphires,” Mr. Demouy said with a glance that lingered for far too long on Georgina’s bosom.

  Con might have said something if Lydia hadn’t stepped in before him. “I had no idea you were so interested in jewelry, Mr. Demouy,” the girl said with a speaking look. “Perhaps you wish to escort Mrs. Mowbray to the carriage so that you might get a closer look at her … sapphires?”

  Choking on a laugh, Con watched as the younger man blushed all the way up to his eyebrows. “Not a chance, Lydia,” he told his cousin. “Mrs. Mowbray has agreed to be my guest this evening. Mr. Demouy will have to stay with the lady he came in with, so to speak.”

  “I’m rather beginning to feel like the prize cow at a country fair,” Georgina muttered, earning her a grin from Clara and a stifled laugh from Con.

  “Not a cow, my dear,” Con said, leading her out the door and toward the waiting carriage, “but definitely a prize.”

  * * *

  Georgie felt rather like the cousin come up to town from the country as they entered the crowded lobby of the Theater Royale.

  She’d seen a few plays in London with Isabella and Perdita, but she never lost her enthusiasm for attending performances. There was something about the thrill of seeing live performers recite words on the stage that gave her chills. And for all that it was no longer quite so fashionable as it once was, Bath theater was still quite good.

  Added to her excitement regarding the play was the sensation of walking into the theater on Con’s arm. Again and again her mind returned to the kiss they’d shared earlier that evening. Her hand resting on his strong arm could not help but appreciate the heat of his body through the clothing that separated them. Each flex of the muscles beneath her hand reminded her of how strong his arms had felt as they’d clasped her against him.

  For Con’s sake, she was grateful for Lady Russell’s decision to gift the sapphires to her this evening. She might not be dressed as fashionably as the other ladies in attendance, but she knew without doubt that the sapphires circling her throat were as fine a set of gems as could be found in England.

  Perhaps taking note of her awe, Con pointed out the architectural highlights of the theater as they moved through the throng and up the stairs to Lady Russell’s box. Because the lady lived in Bath year round she kept a permanent box which she allowed friends and relations to use as they needed it. And to Georgie’s delight, it gave her a perfect view of the stage, as well as the surrounding boxes.

  “I think Mrs. Mowbray and I will take the seats in the front of the box,” Con said. “She is, after all, our guest.”

  “I don’t see how,” Lydia said with a pout. “She’s Aunt Russell’s companion. Not a friend come to visit.” Then, as if realizing she’d been so uncharitable aloud, she added, “Though of course we are grateful to have her with us.”

  Clara, who had taken a seat in the second row, frowned at her daughter. “You forget, however, that we have all been to the theater in Bath before, while Mrs. Mowbray has not.” Turning to Georgie, she continued, “I do hope you will excuse my daughter. She is in the habit of speaking her mind. A habit I fear will get her into trouble one of these days.”

  Ignoring the byplay between the mother and daughter, Con led Georgina into the front row. “Come and have a seat, Mrs. Mowbray, so that we can survey the room.”

  “Perhaps Lydia is correct,” she said, hesitating before the chair. “I am hardly an honored guest. And I’m sure I shall be able to see quite as well from some other, less prominent seat. Really, my lord.”

  In an undertone, Con said, “But you can see everyone in Bath from here as well, which makes this the perfect place from which to search for your husband’s look-alike.”

  When put that way, Georgie saw the wisdom of his suggestion, though she knew there would be a price to pay later in the form of unkind words from Lydia. Even so, that was likely to happen whether she took the seat or not. “I suppose you are correct,” she said, reluctantly taking her seat.

  “Of course I am,” he said, settling in beside her. “He watched you from the garden, he followed you to the ruins, and who knows where else. I think he’ll be unable to resist this opportunity to watch you from the relative safety of a crowd.”

  “I still don’t understand what the man’s aim is,” Georgie said with a sigh. “He’s frightened me. Made me believe I was seeing things. But that’s hardly worth the time and effort it would take to frighten me properly.” Though she supposed she’d been frightened properly enough on the other two occasions she’d seen him too.

  “We’ll find out when we catch him,” Con said fiercely, and Georgie was grateful that he was on her side. She sensed that once roused, Con’s protective instincts were strong, and that for whatever reason he considered her his to protect. Again she remembered the kiss. He had been focused on her then. She wondered what all that focus would feel like given more time and a bit of privacy.

  She shivered at the thought.

  “It is rather chilly in here, isn’t it?” Con said beside her, oblivious to her train of thought, though the brief caress he stole under the pretense of tucking her shawl around her shoulders indicated he was perhaps not as oblivious as he seemed. “Once the masses shuffle in the temperature will warm up a bit.”

  Thanking him, Georgie scanned the sea of faces laughing and talking in the other boxes while they waited for the play to begin. Seeing the direction of her gaze, Con began to point out various of the more notorious members of the ton. “Just across the way we have the Duke of Winterson’s box. You’ll remember that a couple of years ago he married the daughter of the famous Egyptologist Lord Hurston. They are here with Lord Hurston who is taking the waters for his health. And also in their box are the Earl of Gresham and his wife, as well as Viscount Deveril and his wife. Gresham’s wife, Lady Madeline, is a novelist and Deveril’s lady is a celebrated pianist and composer. The three wives are all cousins and are friendly with each other so they tend to come to events together.”

  “I had heard about them,” Georgie said, taking the opera glasses from Con so that she could spy across the theater. “The duchess is involved in the Ladies’ Charitable Society with Perdita and Isabella and me. She seems quite sensible. And I’ve read Lady Gresham’s first novel. It was quite good.”

  “We could go speak to them during the interval if you like,” Con said. “Lady Deveril has done quite a bit for veterans returning from the wars. I would have been surprised if you hadn’t heard of her, considering what an uproar her own condition caused just after she married Deveril. It was quite the scandal.”

  Georgie’s eyes widened. “Of course! She’s the countess who suffered an amputation. I recognize her now.” She gazed thoughtfully at the party in the opposite box. “I think I should like to meet them. Thank you for suggesting it. Though I have no idea what they’ll make of me.”

  Con tilted his head in puzzlement. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You’re hardly an antidote. And you enjoy friendship with two duchesses. I think that makes you rather special.” His eyes darkened for a flash. “Among other things.”

  Feeling a blush rising, she forged ahead. “I am hardly the sort that they must usually mix with. Though you are right, I suppose, that the friendship I have with Isabella and Perdita must count for something. Though I’ll admit I’d never considered trading on it to gain introductions to other people in the beau monde. For the most part, I’m afraid I find society a bit insufferable.”

  “You are rather hard on my peers,” Con said with a grin. “Not that I don’t agree with you for the most part, but even so.”

  “I should probably hold my tongue,” Georgie said with a grimace. “I am har
dly in a position to criticize given my own position outside polite society.”

  Con took her gloved hand in his and covered it with his. “Do not speak about yourself that way,” he said softly. “You are far more deserving of praise than these people. To me, anyway.” Georgie thought back to that kiss again and her stomach flipped. But Con must have remembered that they were in a very public place, so he turned his head to focus on the other theatergoers again.

  “Hmm, who else might we see and discuss,” he said. Then turning to the right of the Winterson party, he paused. “Aha! There we have it…”

  He continued amusing Georgie with anecdotes and bons mots regarding the rest of the assembled crowd in attendance until the play began. Then Georgie’s attention was firmly riveted to the stage where the sharp-tongued Beatrice and the romance-resistant Benedick crossed verbal swords. She had no difficulty imagining herself in Beatrice’s place, pronouncing that she had rather hear her dog bark at a crow than hear a man say he loved her.

  By the time the first interval arrived, Georgie was thoroughly energized from what she’d just seen on stage. It was a strange aftereffect of entertainments like this that they always made her want to go out and take the stage herself. It was a ridiculous notion of course, but one that held a certain appeal to her even so.

  “What must it be like to have such a talent for bringing someone else’s words and characters to life?” she said to Con, who was waiting beside her for the rest of their party to make their decisions about whether to leave the box for refreshments or to remain there until the break ended.

  “Exciting, I should think,” was his response. “When I was much younger, Aunt and Uncle liked to throw parties where the guests performed various Shakespeare plays. I got to play Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream once, and it was dashed fun.”