Phillip shrugged. “Just discussing this and that.” He hadn’t told Helena about the possible break in. He obviously didn’t want to worry his wife when it could be nothing at all, especially when she was already anxious about their sick daughter. Rafe could understand that.
Helena smiled and her dark eyes twinkled as she shifted her attention Rafe’s way. “Hmm. This and that.” She looked back at her husband and gave him a mock frown. “That’s not a very polite way to speak about Georgiana though.”
Georgiana. Georgie. Rafe wondered if the duchess would ever permit him to use her name, let alone touch her again. “I was just telling Phillip how much I enjoyed the duchess’s company this evening.”
Helena tilted her head, studying him. “I’m glad. You two would be good for each other, I think.”
Rafe raised his eyebrows whilst Phillip gave a nervous laugh.
“Now, now, Helena,” her husband chided. “Georgie and Markham have only just met. Though if it were up to you, you’d have them married off by Christmas, wouldn’t you?”
“Whatever are you thinking, Phillip? A Yuletide wedding? Perish the thought.” She threw Rafe an arch smile. “Everyone knows a ton bride must wed in the spring.”
Rafe nearly choked on his cognac. Lady Maxwell was clearly not timid about making her opinion known. “Good Lord,” he said at last when his voice had recovered sufficiently. “The duchess and I barely know each other. Besides, I’m not all that certain she reciprocates any interest.”
Helena smiled, clearly amused by his discomfiture. “Of course she does. She just doesn’t want to acknowledge it. And as for not knowing anything about her, I’m sure Phillip and I can remedy that. So ask us anything. Anything at all. All we ask in return is that you keep your newfound knowledge a secret. Georgiana is very dear to us and... well, we just want to see that she is happy.”
What a veritable hornet’s nest of a statement. Rafe was sure he could make the duchess very happy if he could persuade her into his bed. But as for anything else… He simply smiled and inclined his head. “Of course. I definitely know how to keep confidences, Helena.” He took another long sip of cognac, thinking on what he already knew and what he’d like to know about the duchess.
Everything if he were honest with himself. She truly was the most fascinating woman he’d encountered in a long time.
He’d studied her as she’d chatted with Helena and her other friends before he’d swept her off for a waltz. She may have been frosty toward him, but she was clearly amiable with others and well-liked in return. When she smiled—really smiled—and laughed at quips her friends or her brother made, her eyes, indeed her whole lovely face lit up like the brightest of summer’s days. He suddenly realized that he wanted her to smile at him like that.
But she obviously loathed rakehells. And for some unfathomable reason, he suspected she saw her fearsome reputation at cards as a way to keep men like him—interested men—at bay.
And he wanted to know why.
“The duchess’s late husband. Tell me about him and their relationship,” he said at length. Had she been married to a scoundrel who’d failed to give up his wild ways? He’d been away from England too long—he could scarcely recall a single thing that he knew about the former Duke of Darby.
Helena and her husband exchanged a speaking look before Phillip replied. “I don’t know if you remember, but Darby was formerly known as Teddy Dudley, the Marquess of Harrow, when we were at Cambridge. He was a few years below us and, ahem... shall we say, shared a close acquaintanceship with Jonathon Winterbourne, Georgie’s brother.”
“A close acquaintanceship. That’s an interesting choice of words.” Rafe frowned. Although he couldn’t be sure, Sir Jonathon struck him as a man who was attracted to members of his own sex. He hid it well, but Rafe was sure he’d seen a keen light in Jonathon’s eyes when he’d interacted with the young and very pretty Lord Farley in the ballroom, and then later when they’d played cards together.
Christ Almighty. What was Phillip suggesting?
Rafe fought to keep his tone even as the maddest of scenarios took shape in his mind. “Helena, please forgive me for bringing up such a delicate subject, but now that I think on it...” He turned to Phillip. He suddenly had more than an inkling that Georgiana’s former husband hadn’t been a rake at all. “When we were at Cambridge in our final year, wasn’t there a rumor going around that Lord Harrow was partial to the company of other men? And I sense that Jonathon is that way inclined as well.”
Helena laughed. “You don’t need to beat around the bush on my account, my dear Rafe. Are you asking if Jonathon and Teddy formed an attachment?”
Rafe raised his eyebrows, more than a little surprised at Helena’s directness. “Yes. I am.”
Phillip cleared his throat. “They hid it remarkably well. But yes. You’ve come to the right conclusion. Teddy and Jonathon Winterbourne were—shall we say for the sake of propriety?—involved in a relationship. And not just at Cambridge. Afterwards as well.”
Bloody hell. Was Phillip implying that the Duke of Darby and Georgie’s brother were lovers throughout the duchess’s marriage? Rafe’s mind reeled with the implications of such a revelation. He ran a hand down his face, then shook his head, struggling to take the astounding news on board. “I don’t understand. Why on earth did the young Lord Harrow marry Georgie? I mean, nothing surprises me much anymore, but...” He set his cognac down on a side table. “Are you seriously telling me that the duke and Georgiana Winterbourne’s marriage was one of convenience only?”
Phillip nodded, his expression deadly serious. “Yes.”
Why in God’s name would she—or any woman—agree to such an arrangement? Rafe stood then paced toward the fireplace. Bracing his arms against the mantel, he stared down into the leaping flames. Poor Georgiana. Only living half a life for the last decade. Just like me...
He turned back to his friends, frowning. “I’m mystified as to why you would openly share such personal information about Her Grace with me.”
Helena glanced at her husband before her solemn gaze returned to meet his. “Because we trust you, and given your background and experience in diplomatic affairs, we suspect you would be more understanding of Georgie’s situation than others. That you wouldn’t judge her for choosing to lead a different type of life.” Her wide mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Besides that, Phillip and I rather thought you might be looking to settle down now you have returned to England. And you may correct me if I’m wrong, but I strongly suspect the usual pretty young things flooding the marriage mart at Almack’s wouldn’t be your cup of tea.”
Rafe gave her a wry smile. “You are not wrong at all.”
Silly, eighteen-year-old virgins were of no interest to him whatsoever. Of course, the life he’d led up until this point had made it impossible to cultivate any kind of lasting relationship with any woman. Brief, uncomplicated liaisons with courtesans or widows had been de rigueur for him. Then there had been the affairs with wives of certain individuals of interest. Those entanglements Rafe didn’t want to think about. At all.
But he’d never truly fallen in love. That was a luxury he’d never been able to indulge in. Until now. Perhaps...
When he’d first spied the Duchess of Darby this evening he’d seen her as nothing more than another conquest. Another beautiful woman to take to his bed for a short while before moving on. But what if he could have something more with her? He was right in his earlier summation—Georgiana had many facets. And secrets. The more he learned about her, the more determined he was to work her out. To know her.
But love her?
He was getting ahead of himself thinking about love. He wasn’t the type to be completely besotted at the bat of a pretty eyelash. And he suspected the duchess would rather walk across broken glass than see him again.
He returned to his seat and downed the last of his cognac. “I have one last question before I go.”
Phillip inclined his head. “
Ask away.”
“I don’t suppose you know—or that you’d tell me—why Georgiana agreed to wed Teddy, knowing that he was committed to her brother and not her?”
Helena met his gaze directly. “I think it would be best if Georgie shared that information with you. But don’t think for a minute that she wasn’t content with the arrangement. Teddy and Georgie... they cared deeply for each other. They were the best of friends.”
Rafe nodded. Friendship was all well and good, but to turn away from love—physical love—there had to be a very good reason for the young Georgiana Winterbourne to have made such a significant decision. Someone had hurt her. A rake. And he’d hurt her deeply. Rafe would stake his life on it. And for some reason he didn’t want to examine too closely, he felt compelled to discover more about her past. “Whoever it was that broke her heart, I will find out,” he stated with soft, deadly assurance.
Helena paled. “Rafe. It was a long time ago. She doesn’t need a champion. She needs—”
“Someone to care for her?” Rafe smiled. “I can but try my friends. I must say though, after tonight, I’m certainly not in the duchess’s good graces.”
Helena’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Send her flowers in the morning. Pink roses are her favorite. I will send a footman to your townhouse with the direction to the best florist in London.” Her smile took on a sly tilt. “And Georgie’s address. I’m sure she will give you a second chance.”
Rafe inclined his head then stood to take his leave. “Thank you. Now, I really should bid you both adieu. It is half past one and well past everyone’s bedtime I should think.”
Phillip saw him out.
Shrugging on his greatcoat again, Rafe waited until the night footman had retreated to a discreet distance before speaking to his friend. “When you send for a Runner, ask for John Townsend and mention my name. He will take the matter seriously.”
Phillip’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know John Townsend? Doesn’t he arrange protection for the King, Prince Regent and his family?”
Rafe kept his expression neutral. “Amongst other things.” He didn’t mention that Townsend had recently sought him out to act as a consultant on matters of royal security. It seemed he was only semi-retired at the moment. He patted Phillip on the shoulder. “Now go, man. Your wife and a warm bed awaits you. I shall see you much later.”
As the door closed behind him and Rafe strode out into the cold, wet night again, he wondered if he would ever be fortunate enough to have Georgiana in his bed. Helena had not so subtly intimated that he could even be the one to make her happy.
Only time would tell if he and Georgiana were suited—and if either one of them would be willing to take a chance and fall in love. But sending the Ice Duchess roses seemed like a good place to start.
Roses. He’d sent her dark pink roses—too many to count. The bouquet was so large the footman had struggled to bring it into the morning room of Dudley House.
Georgie sat in her favorite shepherdess chair before the fire, staring open-mouthed at the ridiculously large arrangement on the cherrywood sideboard for at least a minute before she crossed the room and reached for the parchment envelope with trembling fingers. What on earth was Lord Markham thinking by sending her such a gift? To say the man was wildly extravagant was an understatement.
He’s attempting to seduce you, Georgiana, you dolt. It’s nothing more than a rake’s ploy to charm his way into your bed. She swallowed past her still scratchy throat, took a deep breath then pulled out his brief, hand-written note.
Dear Duchess,
I assure you, these roses have not been sent with the intention to appease. They are for your pleasure alone.
Markham
Humph. She’d been right. He was a cock-sure devil. There was no mistaking Markham’s not so veiled reference to their kiss and the attendant physical pleasure associated with it. She should cast his offering onto the cobbles outside and throw his more than forward card into the fire.
“Hey ho, sis,” Jonathon called as he strolled into the room, looking particularly stylish in his latest purchase from Savile Row. When his gaze fell on the roses, he raised an eyebrow then grinned. “Well, what do we have here? Flowers from a not-so-secret admirer, if I’m not mistaken.”
Georgie tucked Markham’s note into the sleeve of her lavender-hued morning gown before tugging her pale gray cashmere shawl about her shoulders. Although she still felt unwell, she’d made the effort to rise and get dressed so she wouldn’t worry Jonathon. “Yes, they’re from Markham,” she confirmed. “But judging by the color of the roses, I imagine Helena’s had a hand in this as well.” Georgie didn’t know whether to smile or scowl at her friend’s blatant meddling.
“They are quite impressive, you must give Markham that.” Jonathon stroked one of the soft petals before he turned back to her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you all right, Georgie-bean? You sound a trifle croaky today.”
Georgie cleared her throat. “I think I’ve caught a bit of a chill.” She forced a bright smile. “Nothing to worry about, I assure you. A few days rest, plenty of tea, and I shall be quite fine.” She ran her gaze over her brother’s walking apparel—a pale gray tailcoat and powder blue and silver-striped waistcoat were paired with ivory breeches tucked neatly into shiny Hussar boots. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you for our usual stroll in the Park though.”
Jonathon took a few steps closer and felt her forehead. “Hmm. You are a little warm. Perhaps I should send for the physician.”
Georgie caught his hand and pressed it between her own. “It’s nothing, truly. I’ve just been sitting by the fire too long. Now go, before it begins raining again.” She arched an eyebrow. “Besides, you don’t want to keep Lord Farley waiting, do you?”
Jonathon chuckled. “Am I that predictable?”
Georgie smiled back. “Yes. But we are twins. I always know what you are thinking.”
“Which is why I’m convinced that you’re probably still planning to decamp to Harrow Hall on the pretext of needing the country air to recover from your case of the sniffles.” Jonathon raised an admonitory finger when Georgie began to protest. “Now don’t try to deny it. I know you desperately want to avoid Markham. Especially now he’s obviously paying court.”
Georgie scowled. “He knows very well I don’t want him to. He’s more persistent than a fox in a hen house. Lord knows what the gossipmongers are saying this morning about us.”
Jonathon smiled as he pulled on a pair of gray kid gloves. “Trust me, there’s barely a mention of your exploits from last night in The Times, or the scandal sheets being passed about on the streets this morning.”
Georgie groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t want to know.”
“There, there, Georgie-bean. I understand if you need to go to ground for a few days until someone else becomes the favorite topic for the latest on-dit.” Jonathon patted her shoulder. “Just promise me again you won’t up and leave.”
Georgie dropped her hands before clasping them behind her back. “All right,” she said on a resigned sigh. “I promise.”
Jonathon’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Now promise again but uncross your fingers. Don’t think for a moment that I can’t tell what you’re doing.”
Georgie only just resisted the childish impulse to poke out her tongue before she held up her hands so he could see her fingers. “I promise to stay here in London. Happy now?”
Her brother smiled. “Yes. Now why don’t you take a seat by the fire again and I’ll order some tea for you before—Yes, Reed?”
Their butler hovered near the open door. “Excuse me, sir. Your Grace. Lady Maxwell has called to see the duchess.” Reed turned in Georgie’s direction. “I encouraged her ladyship to leave her card, ma’am, but I’m afraid she’s most insistent on seeing you.”
Georgie sighed. There was no putting off Helena—she could be like a force of nature. Besides, there really was no point in delayi
ng the inevitable examination of each and every detail related to the ball… especially Georgie’s encounter with Markham. “Show Lady Maxwell in, Reed. I shall receive her here. We shall take nuncheon as well.”
Reed bowed. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Jonathon began to take his leave also. “As much as I would like to stay and join in your tête-à-tête with Helena, I will bid you adieu as Lord Farley awaits.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t be too harsh on her for her attempts at match-making. She cares for you like a sister, you know.”
Georgie gave a wry smile. “I know.”
Within a matter of minutes, Helena was ensconced in the matching shepherdess chair positioned directly opposite Georgie’s. Smartly dressed in a walking ensemble of claret wool trimmed with black, military-style frogging, and a beaded black reticule on her arm, she was the epitome of elegance. Georgie, on the other hand, dressed as she was in one of the gowns she’d worn during half-mourning with only her shawl, a crumpled kerchief and a red nose as accessories, felt quite the frump. However, she had little time to dwell on her wardrobe’s shortcomings.
“So tell me what you think of Lord Markham,” Helena began without preamble, her dark brown eyes dancing with mischief. “Isn’t he one of the handsomest men you have ever seen? And obviously taken with you.” She waved her hand toward the roses. “I’ve never seen such beautiful blooms.”
Georgie stifled the urge to groan. It seemed her interrogation was to begin even before the tea arrived. But she wasn’t going to be the only one subjected to an examination. Helena had a bit of explaining to do. She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that it was Lord Markham who sent them?”
Helena only flushed a little as she continued to meet her gaze. “Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? I mean, he did play cards with you twice. And waltz. Why, the man couldn’t take his eyes off you. It’s even in The Times.”
Georgie curled her fingers into the ivory brocade covering the arms of her chair. “Hmph. It must be true if it’s in The Times then.” She glanced over to the flowers before settling her gaze on Helena again. “Strange how he knew pink roses are my favorite.”
The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 Page 5