What an idiotic fool he was.
She’d been with Chase for too long to turn her back on the man, and there was something powerful in her commitment to the owner of The Fallen Angel. Something made even more remarkable by the fact that it was not tied to the physical.
Memory came, dark and unbidden. Georgiana leaned back on the desk, her golden hair floating down behind her to brush the hard oak. Her breasts high for him. Her thighs parted. Her gaze on him.
She’d given herself over to him, physically, yes—to his kiss and touch—but more than that, she’d given herself to him in a myriad of other ways. She’d entrusted him with her pleasure, with her secrets.
Most of her secrets.
Except it was not hers, the one for which he asked. Chase’s identity had nothing to do with her. And yet she remained beholden to the man, refusing to give up the only thing that could protect Duncan.
There was a nobility in her actions—a loyalty that he could not help but respect even as he hated it. Even as he envied it.
Even as he wanted it for himself.
Just as he wanted her.
Just as he loved her.
He looked up, mere yards from his offices, only to discover a pretty chestnut tied to a hitching post outside the entrance to the building. It was a familiar horse, but either because of the day or his frustration, he could not place it. He climbed the stone steps and let himself inside, nearly walking past the building’s receiving room before realizing that there was a woman seated inside, reading the latest issue of The Scandal Sheet.
A young woman.
A very young woman.
He removed his hat and cleared his throat. “Miss Pearson.”
Caroline put the paper down immediately and stood. “Mr. West.”
He raised his brows in her direction. “May I help you?”
She smiled, and he marveled at the way the expression turned her into a younger version of her mother. “I came to see you.”
“So I gathered.” He supposed he should send a note to Georgiana, apprising her of her daughter’s location, but instead he said, “I happen to be free for the next quarter of an hour. May I interest you in tea?”
“You have tea here?”
His lips twitched. “You seem surprised.”
“I am. Tea seems so . . .” She paused. “. . . civilized.”
“We even serve it in cups.”
She seemed to consider that. “All right, then. Yes.”
He led her into his office, indicating to Baker that they required food. “And speaking of civilized,” he added as he waved the girl into a chair, “where is your chaperone?”
Caroline smiled. “I lost her.”
He allowed his surprise to show. “You lost her.”
She nodded. “We went for a ride. She did not keep up.”
“Is it possible that she was not certain where you were going?”
The smile was back. “Anything is possible.”
“And you simply turn up here?”
Caroline lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “We established that I read your newspapers; the address is right on the page.” She paused, then added, “And I am not here to visit. I am here for business.”
He tried not to smile. “I see.”
Her brow furrowed in an expression that he’d seen a dozen times on her mother. “You think I jest.”
“I apologize.”
He was saved from saying more by the arrival of tea, along with scones and clotted cream and a pile of cakes that surprised even Duncan. But perhaps the most rewarding part of the tea service was the way that Caroline came to the edge of her seat, considering the sweets with wide eyes befitting her age. She was unsettlingly beyond her years most of the time—a younger, more forthright version of her mother—but right now, the nine-year-old wanted cake.
And that was something that Duncan could manage. “Help yourself,” he said as Baker set a pile of letters on the desk and took his leave.
Caroline immediately went for a fondant-covered oval at the top of the pile and had it halfway to her mouth when she froze, looked at him, and said, “I am supposed to pour.”
He waved her on. “I don’t need tea.”
She did not care for that answer. “No. I’m supposed to pour.”
With great control, she set her cake on a plate and stood to lift the heavy teapot, pouring steaming liquid into one of the cups. When it was full, she said, “Milk? Sugar?”
He shook his head. “As it is.” It was bad enough he was going to have to force down a cup of the stuff, but the girl seemed so proud of herself as she offered him the teacup, rattling in its saucer, that he did as any decent man would do, and drank the damn tea.
“Cake?” she asked, and he heard the yearning in her young voice.
“No, thank you. Please, sit.”
She did. He did not miss the fact that she did not pour a cup for herself. “You don’t want tea?”
Her mouth was full of sweets, so she shook her head, swallowing before saying, “I don’t like it.”
“You asked for it.”
That shoulder lifted again. “You offered. It would have been rude to say no. That, and I hoped there would be cake.”
It was precisely the kind of thing Georgiana would say. Mother and daughter might not have spent the lion’s share of the years together, but there was no question that they were connected—clever, quick-witted, and with a smile that would win over an army.
She would no doubt be exceedingly dangerous when she came of age.
“What can I do for you, Miss Pearson?”
“I came to ask you to stop helping to get my mother married.”
It appeared she was exceedingly dangerous now.
He resisted the urge to lean forward. “What makes you think I am doing that?”
“The columns,” she said pointedly. “Today’s was the best yet.”
Of course it was. It was the one he’d written after the night in his swimming pool, when he’d hated and adored her all at once.
“It made her seem positively respectable,” Caroline added.
He blinked. “She is respectable.” He ignored the fact that he’d made love to the woman in question not an hour earlier.
She met his eyes, all seriousness. “You are aware that I am a bastard, are you not?”
Good Lord. The child was as brazen as her mother. She shouldn’t even know the damn word.
But she reminded him too much of another girl, another time.
The same word, whispered as he walked past with his mother. His sister.
“I never want to hear you say that word again.”
“Why not?” she asked. “It’s what I am. Others use it.”
“They won’t once your mother and I are through with them.”
“They will,” she replied. “They just won’t do it to my face.”
She was too wise, this girl. Knew too much about the world. And he—who had only known her for a week—hated that she had no choice but to know it. That her life had always been embroiled in scandal and muck.
All that could be done was to give her a chance at propriety. Which was why Georgiana had come to him. Together, they could give Caroline that opportunity, just as he’d given it to Cynthia all those years ago.
And it was in that moment that he understood why Georgiana hid from him.
He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before—how he hadn’t recognized the way she moved the pieces across the chessboard of Society. Hadn’t he done the same? Hadn’t he packed up his sister and run into the night, afraid of being caught, but even more terrified of leaving her there, in that place, with those people who judged her with every breath? Hadn’t he built this life to keep Cynthia safe?
To keep their secrets?
And now, as he stared at Georgiana’s daughter, he understood that she was doing what she could to save Caroline. This girl, with her smart mouth and her independent spirit and her winning smiles—Georgiana would
do anything to save her. To give her the life Georgiana had not had. To keep her secrets.
And that meant keeping Chase’s secrets, too.
How many times had he seen Chase destroy a man? How many times had a debt been collected to the demolition of a history, a life, a family?
How many times had West aided and abetted those destructions?
Granted, they had always been men who deserved the demolition, but that only made it more tempting to partner with him. It was easy to climb into bed with Chase. But virtually impossible to climb out.
There had been resignation in Georgiana’s eyes earlier—when he’d left her—as though she had no choice but to play Chase’s guardian.
To play his fool.
And now, staring at this girl, he understood why.
Chase held too much power over her.
Chase held too much power over every one of them.
No one had ever resisted his sway.
No one had ever been strong enough to do it.
Until now.
“I am not a fool,” the child across the desk told him.
“I never said you were,” he replied.
“I know the way of the world,” she insisted, “and I see what my mother is doing. What she’s asked you to do for her. But it isn’t right.”
He could have denied the charges, but this girl, who had spent her whole life in darkness, deserved light. “She wants to marry.”
“She doesn’t want to marry. Anyone can see that.”
He changed tack. “Sometimes, you make choices to protect the ones you love. To keep them happy.”
She narrowed her gaze on him, and he was instantly uncomfortable with the knowledge there. “Have you done that?”
He had built a life on it. “Yes.”
She watched him for a long moment, as though she could see the truth in him. Finally she said, “Was it worth it?”
It had left him deep in debt to Tremley, a man who was willing to do anything to keep his power. It had built him a life of dependence on informants and scandalmongers. But it had also built his empire, established his power. Kept Cynthia safe.
And it would keep Georgiana and Caroline safe, as well.
Even if it would not make him worthy of them.
“I would do it again without question.”
She thought on that. “What about keeping my mother happy?”
He would do that, too, if only she’d let him.
He smiled at the girl. “Your mother has made her goals clear.”
“Me, in a house somewhere, preparing for Society events.”
He nodded once. “Eventually. Until then, I think she’d just like you to be happy.”
There was a long silence, until Caroline said, “Do you have children?”
“I do not,” he replied. But as he looked at this girl, all strength and smarts, like her mother, he thought perhaps he might like one or two.
“It isn’t only she who wants me happy,” she said after a long pause. “I wish her happy, as well.”
As did he. Quite desperately.
He stood, having every intention of coming around the desk to—he didn’t know what—but he hoped it would be the right thing to comfort this girl who so clearly wanted to have some control over her life.
He stopped, however, when he saw the small ecru square on the desk, and recognized the seal there.
It was from Chase.
He was opening it before he could stop himself, reading the words written black and forceful across the paper.
Rage flared, hot and welcome, not because of the fact that he had lost his membership—there were a dozen other clubs that would have him—and not because of the insistence that he stay away from Georgiana.
The fury came with the single, possessive word that rippled through him like poison. Our.
Our Anna.
He wanted to roar his disagreement with the words. She was not Chase’s. Not any longer. She was his. She, and the girl who sat across from him.
He would get them their new life.
He would keep them safe.
He might not know what was to come, but he knew this: Chase’s power was at an end. Duncan wanted him weakened, never again dictating his actions, or Georgiana’s, or Caroline’s. Duncan would see them protected from Chase and his unmatched control. And he would see them blossom.
Even if they were not with him when they did.
“Let me take you home. Your companion will no doubt be terrified to have lost you.” He came around the desk, noticing that she watched him carefully.
“What of my request?”
“I’m afraid that I already have an arrangement with your mother. She wants a marriage, and I have promised to help her.”
“It is a bad idea.”
He knew it. She would not be content with marriage. She would certainly not be content with Langley. And he wanted her content.
He wanted her blissful.
He could make her so.
Of course, he couldn’t. Not really. Not with his past. Not with the future that loomed every time Tremley threatened.
“What is in the message?” Caroline asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing of import.”
“I don’t believe you,” she replied, her gaze falling to his hand, where the paper was crushed in his fist.
He looked down at it, then said, “It is the next move in a game I’ve been playing for years.”
Her gaze turned curious. “Are you losing?”
He shook his head, his next step resolved, for the woman he loved. “Not any longer.”
Chapter 18
. . . It is the opinion of this publication that Lady G— has been fully returned to society. At the S— Ball last evening, the lady was given not a single respite from the festivities. And she was seen dancing with Lord L— on three separate occasions . . .
. . . As this year’s Season finds itself fully underway, this author has discovered, without question, that it is the ladies of London who rule . . .
The gossip pages of The Weekly Britannia,
May 13, 1833
That night, Lady Tremley arrived at The Other Side battered and bruised and asking for Anna.
Georgiana—dressed as Anna—met the countess in one of the small rooms reserved for the female members of the club, where she pulled the door closed behind her and began immediately helping the lady dispense with her clothing. It was important that they quickly assess the damage the earl had done.
“I’ve summoned a doctor,” she said quietly as she unlaced the bodice of Lady Tremley’s dress. “And if you’ll allow it, I’d like to send a man around to fetch your things from Tremley House.”
“There is nothing there that I need,” the lady said, sucking in a breath as her loosening corset returned feeling to bruises that might have best been left without it.
“I am sorry, Imogen,” Georgiana said, guilt and anger making the words bitter on her tongue. She’d sent the woman home knowing that this might happen.
“Why?” The lady sucked in a breath as Georgiana ran fingers over her ribs. “You didn’t do it.”
“I invited you here. I should have stopped you from returning to him.” She lifted her hand. “You’ve a broken rib. Perhaps more than one.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” Lady Tremley said. “He is my husband. It is the proverbial bed in which I lie.”
“You shan’t go back to him.” Georgiana would stand nude on St. James if it would help to stop the woman from returning to her demon of a husband.
“Not after this, no,” the lady said, the words nasal and strained through a swelling nose and lip. “But I haven’t any idea where I will go instead.”
“I told you, there are rooms here. We can provide you sanctuary.”
The lady smiled. “I cannot live in a casino in Mayfair.”
Georgiana rather thought that a casino in Mayfair was far safer for the girls who lived and worked there than Tremley House was
for its countess. Than dozens of aristocratic homes were for the women who lived in them. But she did not say so. Instead, she said, “I don’t see why not.”
The countess paused at the words, then allowed the wildness of the moment to wash over her. She chuckled, clearly not knowing how else to behave, before wincing in pain. “Life is mad sometimes, is it not?”
Georgiana nodded. “Life is mad all the time. Our task is to not let it make us mad in the process.”
They were silent together for long minutes while Georgiana dipped a cloth in a basin of water and cleared the blood from Imogen’s cheek and neck. Tremley had beaten his wife well. Guilt flared again as she rinsed the cloth and lifted it again to the woman’s face. “We should not have involved you.”
Imogen shook her head, reaching up to stay Georgiana’s touch. When she spoke, she was as regal as any queen. “I shall only say this once: I was grateful for the invitation. It gave me a way to fight him. To punish him. I do not regret it.”
“If he was a member, I . . .” Georgiana paused, remembering herself. Tried again. “If he was a member, Chase would ruin him.”
Imogen nodded. “As he is not a member, you can imagine that he will do his best to bring down this place. He had me followed. He knew I was a member.”
Georgiana met the woman’s blue eyes. “He knew you had to give up information for membership.”
“As I did not have anything of mine . . .” The countess looked away. Whispered, “I am weak. He told me he would stop if I confessed it.”
“No.” Georgiana came to her knees at the other woman’s feet. “You are so very strong.”
“I’ve put this place in danger. My husband is a powerful man. He knows what I gave you. What Chase has.”
What Duncan had.
Duncan, who had been to Tremley House earlier that day. Who had met with Tremley at two balls, she’d noticed. Who had the information to destroy the man, and had not yet used it.
“You must warn Mr. Chase,” Imogen said. “When my husb—” She stopped. Rethought. “When the earl arrives, he will do anything to demolish this place and anyone involved with the building of it. He will do whatever it takes to keep you quiet.”
Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover_The Fourth Rule of Scoundrels Page 29