The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2

by Amy Rose Bennett

  “I’m sure that’s my fault,” he murmured. “I’m interfering with your rest.”

  “Yes... Well...” Georgie broke away from his gaze, scrabbling for a vaguely suitable response that she could safely articulate in public. They were ambling their way southward down Bond Street and even though it was early in the day, there was a steady flow of pedestrian traffic along the pavement, including a fair few familiar faces with decidedly inquisitive expressions directed their way.

  Georgie chose to ignore them. “Where are we headed, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jonathon had wandered off and she could barely see his top hat above the bobbing bonnets and hats of the other pedestrians up ahead. He was no doubt making his way toward his favorite snuff shop or Hoby’s in St. James’s Street to pick up the pair of Hessians he’d ordered last week.

  Rafe smiled. “Nowhere in particular, but...” He suddenly paused outside a gleaming shop window. Georgie gasped when she read the sign: Stedman and Vardon, Goldsmiths and Jewelers.

  “I would very much value your opinion on a few items of jewelry I have had my eye on. Pieces that are purely for investment purposes,” he continued, his voice low and warm and his gray eyes shining with an emotion Georgie dare not put a name to. “Do you see anything you like?”

  Georgie swallowed. Somehow she tore her gaze from Rafe’s and peered in the window. “Everything on display is beautiful. Are you after anything in particular? There’s quite a lovely golden fob watch up the back. And that gold and onyx signet ring to its right is very eye-catching as well.”

  Georgie glanced at Rafe’s reflection and noticed he was smiling at her rather than looking in the window. “I’m not looking to purchase anything for myself, Duchess,” he said softly.

  “Oh...” Teddy had given her many pieces of jewelry during their marriage—some of them were family heirlooms and many were unique pieces he’d had his favorite jeweler, Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, create for her. But never in her life had she been asked to choose a piece of jewelry based on her own taste. Because surely that was what Rafe was doing.

  Georgie blinked away tears as warmth flooded her heart. “I rather like the look of the sapphire and diamond earrings over there.” Set in silver and edged by a row of delicate white diamonds, the teardrop shaped sapphires were an unusual yet beautiful shade of pale blue.

  “You have excellent taste, Your Grace,” Rafe murmured. “But what of the matching brooch, ring, bracelet and necklace? Don’t you think they make a remarkable parure?”

  “Yes...” Georgie had to silently concede the whole ensemble was truly exquisite. “But a set such as this would be worth a king’s ransom. It is too extravagant for words.” She placed her free hand to her throat, determined to still her wildly beating pulse, not sure if she was terrified or thrilled by the implications of Rafe’s actions. We’ve only been lovers for a week. Why is he doing this? Sending roses is one thing but this—buying me jewelry—is too much, too soon. Isn’t it?

  “There’s nothing wrong with being extravagant on occasion.” Rafe ran his leather-clad thumb over the sliver of bare skin between her glove and the woolen sleeve of her spencer, making her breath catch. “However, we have only just begun to browse. Would you like to step inside and view something else? I believe there is an exceptional strand of pale pink pearls, and an exotic black pearl from the South Pacific, at least the size of a quail’s egg. And then we could always stroll by Phillips. I hear they have a superb gold necklace featuring the rarest of rubies; I’ve been told the stones are from Burma and are a most extraordinary hue—pigeon blood red.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Perhaps we could pass by my favorite milliner’s shop first, just a little farther along on the corner of Grafton Street. Mrs. Millburn has the most delightful velvet and satin covered poke bonnets in the window. I’ve been meaning to purchase one to match my new carriage dress.”

  Laughter danced in Rafe’s eyes. “As you wish. Wherever you lead, I will follow.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Georgie turned and then froze, riveted to the spot. Her lungs seized up as if she’d been slammed into by one of the hackney cabs rolling by. Clutching at Rafe’s sleeve, she dipped her head to hide her face, and willed herself not to throw up or pass out or both.

  “Georgie?” Rafe’s voice was at her ear, his tone urgent as he gripped her about the shoulders to keep her upright. “Christ. What’s wrong?”

  “Help me inside... please,” she whispered, her voice a ragged thread of sound. “I need to sit down.”

  Without a word, Rafe helped her into the cool and dimly lit interior of the jewelers and guided her to a satin-lined chair beside one of the counters. Bending her head, she wrapped her arm about her waist and closed her eyes, trying to control her roiling nausea and the frantic pace of her shallow breathing. All the while, Rafe held her other hand, offering silent support and comfort.

  When her panic at last began to ebb away, she opened her eyes to find Rafe kneeling beside her, his eyes shadowed with concern. “Would you like some water?” he asked gently. “I’m afraid the staff at Stedman and Vardon don’t have anything stronger at hand.”

  She nodded and gratefully accepted a glass from a nearby employee. “I’m so sorry I’ve caused such a fuss,” she murmured after the man had retreated a discreet distance.

  Rafe frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for, Georgiana. However, I want to know what happened.”

  “I—” Georgie swallowed past her tight throat trying to think of something, anything to say that would sound plausible. Anything but the truth. She attempted to take a sip of water, but was mortified to see that her hand trembled when she raised the glass.

  “You saw someone across the street. In front of the tobacconist’s shop.” The gentle tone of Rafe’s voice belied the hard look of determination in his eyes. “Who was it? You must tell me.”

  Georgie drew a shuddering breath and somehow forced her lips and tongue to produce the name of the man she would always dread and despise in equal measure. “It was Lord Craven.”

  Rafe cursed inwardly as hot, hard anger spiked his gut. He’d suspected it was Craven that Georgie had spied rather than Riddle—Cowan and one of his other men had been shadowing the duchess, Winterbourne and himself since they’d struck out from Dudley House. If Riddle had been following, his men would have spotted him and intervened much earlier. And he doubted Georgie would have reacted so violently if she’d merely caught sight of the man who’d bumped into her outside Latimer House. She still didn’t know about the incident at the Swan Inn.

  He watched Georgie as she sipped her water. Her face was deathly pale and her hand still shook. The passing of a decade clearly hadn’t reduced her emotional scars. He suspected they ran as deep as some of his own.

  His desire to reduce Craven to a bloody pulp was stronger than ever.

  “Rafe, you’re hurting my hand.”

  Rafe immediately loosened his grip. “My apologies, Duchess.” Ignoring the presence of the curious Stedman and Vardon employees, Rafe pushed a curl back from Georgie’s ashen cheek. “Even though Dudley House is not too far away, I think it would be best if we hailed a hackney cab, don’t you?”

  Georgie nodded and offered a weak smile. “Yes. I suspect you may be right.” Her expression changed, her forehead creasing into a slight frown. “But what of Jonathon? I don’t wish to worry him.”

  Bugger Jonathon. Rafe bit back what he really wanted to say and instead replied, “I am sure your brother will work out we have returned to Dudley House before too long. And we can always send one of your footmen to find him.” Or one of my men.

  Georgie acquiesced and within the space of ten minutes, Rafe was escorting her into the drawing room of Dudley House. Despite his grim mood, he smiled when he saw the arrangement of pale pink roses he’d sent this morning taking pride of place on the mahogany table near the window. He fervently hoped Georgie would accept the other gift he’d planned when the right moment came. Unfortunately that w
asn’t going to be today, no thanks to bloody Craven.

  After Georgie had taken a seat before the fire, Rafe poured them both a rather sizeable brandy.

  “Brandy? At this hour?” Georgie’s nose wrinkled with displeasure. “I’d much prefer tea.”

  Rafe smiled as she took the glass from him anyway. It was reassuring to see her spirit returning. “You’ve had a rather large shock and I’d prefer to see some color restored to your cheeks before we order tea.”

  Georgie scowled at him, but he knew it was only a half-hearted attempt at indignation. “You are so—”

  “Attentive?” Rafe suggested with a smile as he took the bergère armchair beside hers.

  She laughed a little. “I was going to say domineering, but for once I will concede that yes, you are without a doubt attentive,” the expression in her blue eyes softened imperceptibly as she regarded him, “and understanding.”

  Even though a hard knot of anger still tightened his gut, Rafe felt his heart swell at the compliment. “I would do anything for you, you know that, don’t you, Georgiana?”

  A blush crept over her cheeks. “I... I know you care for me,” she whispered.

  “If I could ease your pain...” Rafe barely resisted the urge to pull Georgie into his arms. The words he longed to say to her were on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them back. Even though he risked upsetting Georgie all over again, he had to find out more about Craven. “I know it is probably none of my business, but to see you so affected by the mere sight of that man, I can’t help but wonder what happened—”

  Rafe clamped his jaw shut at the moment Georgie’s gaze slipped from his. When he saw how tightly her slender fingers gripped her brandy glass and the arm of her chair, he inwardly cursed himself.

  He took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t pry.”

  Georgie shook her head and to his relief, met his gaze again. “No. It’s all right. You aren’t prying. It’s completely understandable that you would have questions about him. About what happened. As you know, I’ve always found it difficult to talk about. Indeed, most of the time I try very hard to forget the whole sorry, sordid mess. But, I trust you, Rafe.”

  “It must be very hard moving in the same circles, knowing that you may encounter him from time to time.”

  Georgie gave him a small, sad smile. “That’s what Teddy was adept at—helping me to avoid him. He had a very tight-knit group of friends and Craven was never on the guest list at any of the London functions we attended. Jonathon used to joke that Teddy was my self-appointed champion. I don’t know how well you recall him, but he had a rapier-sharp wit, and a formidable glare. It was an unspoken rule that if you were given the cut direct by Teddy, it was tantamount to being socially ruined for all eternity. I suspect Craven probably avoided the functions we attended for that reason alone. And both Teddy and Jonathon didn’t mind if I hid myself away in the country at Harrow Hall whenever I felt like it. So you see, accidental encounters with Craven have been quite rare.”

  Rafe sipped his drink, weighing up all that she had said or rather, left unsaid. “Yet there was a time, before your marriage to Darby, that you and Craven crossed paths.”

  “Yes...” Georgie took a hasty sip of her own brandy, perhaps to bolster her courage before continuing with her story. “Yes. I met Lord Craven—Oliver—when I was eighteen during my debut Season. Jonathon had gone up to Cambridge the year before to commence his bachelorship of arts. That’s when he met Teddy of course—he was actually two years ahead of Jonathon, and almost finished with his studies. But I digress.” Georgie sighed and plucked at her skirts with restive fingers. “I don’t know if you have heard any of our family history from Jonathon, or Phillip and Helena—”

  “Nothing at all.” He wanted to reassure her that he hadn’t been delving into the private details of her life. “As I mentioned last week, they only shared the barest of details about your marriage and your... involvement with Lord Craven.”

  Georgie nodded and sighed again. “Well, perhaps I should start at the beginning. Sadly, Jonathon and I never knew our mother; she passed away soon after our entry into this world. And our father, Sir Edmund Winterbourne, never remarried.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Georgie inclined her head. “Thank you. As tragic as that sounds however, we really wanted for nothing as children. Father had a very lucrative ship building business in Plymouth, and we had a lovely home by the seaside, Periwinkle House. My father’s older sister, Louisa took care of us along with a nurse and governess.”

  She swirled her brandy about in her glass and stared into the fire, her gaze unfocused as she appeared to sort through her memories. “My father was an older man—fifty when he wed my mother—so by the time Jonathon and I were fifteen, he was beginning to suffer from the ill health that comes with advancing age,” she said at length. “Not long after our sixteenth birthday, he passed away and we were left solely in the care of our elderly Aunt Louisa.”

  Georgie threw him another sad smile. “Our aunt meant well, but her memory was beginning to fade a little and she would tire very easily by the time I made my London debut.”

  Rafe raised an eyebrow. “I imagine she wasn’t the most vigilante of chaperones then.”

  “You would be correct.” Georgie set her brandy aside. “Father had been well connected enough that Aunt Louisa was able to procure vouchers for Almack’s and from there, we were invited to any number of balls, assemblies and soirées. Jonathon and I had each been bequeathed a substantial trust fund so my aunt was able to rent a respectable townhouse in Brook Street. I was so thrilled, you have no idea.” Another heartbreaking smile lit her face. “I had a beautiful new wardrobe and like every other young woman making a come-out, I had the highest of hopes of meeting my husband-to-be. A man I could love and who would love me in return. Someone to have a family with.” She folded her hands in her lap and shook her head. “I was such a fool to believe that Oliver Cantwell, the Earl of Craven, was that man.”

  Anger slashed through Rafe’s heart at the thought of a sweet, innocent eighteen-year-old Georgie making her debut without adequate chaperonage. Bloody Winterbourne should have known better. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What happened, Georgiana?” he asked gently.

  Her blue eyes were unusually bright. Her smile too brittle. “I fell hopelessly in love with Lord Craven the moment I saw him at Almack’s. He was young—only twenty—handsome and dashing. He made me laugh. Aunt Louisa fell for his charms as well. He courted me by the book. At first.”

  She bent her head for a moment as if regrouping. “I was so, so certain that Oliver truly loved me. His tongue dripped with honeyed words and beguiling promises. Promises I was all too ready to believe.”

  “He promised you marriage?” It was more of a statement than a question as Rafe already knew the answer.

  “Yes. And so I...” Georgie’s nervous swallow was audible and a blush stained her cheeks. “We became lovers. For a month, regardless of the function—be it a ball, a trip to the theatre, a garden party, a musicale—we found a way to be together. Aunt Louisa did not suspect a thing. But after a while...” Georgie took a deep breath clearly mustering her resolve to continue, “after a while, when Oliver had not approached my aunt to seek her permission for us to wed, when he continually evaded my questions about when we would formally announce our betrothal, I naturally began to suspect that I was being played for a fool.”

  “At some point I imagine you confronted him about your suspicions.”

  “Yes. And he hastily convinced me that we needed to elope to Scotland because his family—namely his mother, and his uncle who was his guardian—would never agree to our match. You see, he had not yet reached his majority and needed permission to wed. Accomplished liar that he was, he also made me believe that at a young age, he’d been forced into a betrothal with the daughter of another ton family, hence the added need for subterfuge. Of course, he never told me the girl’s name.” Her mouth twist
ed into a cynical smile. “But I was as gullible as a babe, willing to accept anything he told me if it meant I could preserve my dignity and be saved from ruin.”

  “But something went wrong.”

  Georgie pressed her lips together and nodded. Before his eyes, the color leached from her face and he noticed that she was clasping her hands so tightly, her knuckles had turned stark white. When she spoke, her voice trembled as if she were close to tears. “Forgive me, I cannot speak about what happened next... Suffice it to say, Lord Craven and I did not elope.”

  Rafe frowned, torn between his driving need to know everything about Georgie and concern that he was hurting her. “Georgiana, I understand completely that it can be too painful to speak about certain things.”

  She nodded and dashed a tear from her cheek. “Once I knew the truth of the matter, that I’d been well and truly duped and betrayed, I was so desperate, I traveled to Cambridge to seek out Jonathon.”

  “On your own? That is a long way for a young woman to travel by herself.”

  Georgie shrugged. “I had little choice. Aunt Louisa was unwell. And my business was most urgent.”

  “You were with child,” Rafe whispered as the truth slammed into him. God, my poor, sweet Georgiana.

  “Yes.” She wiped away another spilled tear. “Jonathon had no idea what I had been up to. Not only was he about to commence his end of term examinations, he was head-over-heels in love with Teddy. To say Jonathon was surprised when I arrived on the doorstep of his lodgings would be an understatement indeed.”

  “You told him everything?”

  Georgie bit her lip as if hesitant to continue. “Almost everything,” she clarified. Her voice was low, little more than a whisper. With an abruptness that surprised him, she stood and paced over to the fireplace. There was tension in every line of her body—her ramrod straight spine, her shoulders—yet her every movement was agitated. Christ, she was wringing her hands.

  Guilt sliced through Rafe again at the thought he was making her relive so many painful memories. “You don’t have to say any more—”