Georgie slapped the newspaper on the side table. “Your behavior amplifies your brother’s. If you both intended behaving so badly, you could have at least ensured that the betrothal did not get a mention. I am a laughingstock.”
Discomfort flooded him. If he could have found a way to leave the betrothal without hurting her, he would have taken it in a heartbeat. She was undoubtedly as much at the mercy of her father’s mercenary plans as he and his family were. “As I said, I am free to do as I please.”
She slapped his arm with the paper, “As am I. You will pick me up at ten tonight and take me to the salon.”
Shock flashed through him. “Certainly not.” He stood up to full height and squared his shoulders.
“Either you take me, or I go alone.” She rolled her eyes at him and walked past him.
“Don’t be foolish. It is not your circle to frequent.” He used his most authoritative tone.
“If my betrothed can go… so can I.”
He wanted to spit out that he was her betrothed and that he did not approve.
“Don’t be naive, Georgie, stay home.”
She headed for the door.
He reached out, caught her arm and drew her close. “I will not have you going to the Salon,” he growled.
“You and I are not betrothed,” her eyes flared as she threw his words back at him, “you are free to do as you please so long as that does not involve directing me.” She tried to wriggle out of his grasp.
“I act on behalf of my brother.” He stilled her movements by holding her other arm. “Be reasonable Georgina.”
The impact of her name stilled her.
“We are both aware that he has no idea that I have decided to attend the Salon, nor do I think he cares.”
He drew her closer as he looked down at her, as he willed himself not to look at those lips of hers. “Georgie.” His voice growled the warning. “I know your betrothed well enough to know he would want me to ensure you removed this foolish notion from your mind.”
Her eyes held his, the tension between them making his breath come faster, as did hers. What would the two of them be like…together?
And then the little minx curled her hand in his coat and drew him closer still, telling him in a language men and women had used with each other since the beginning of time that he would not intimidate her with proximity. A proximity which was delicious, sending his body into a wild lust of pleasures he would never come to sample.
“So now you have intimate knowledge of your brother’s mind, yet when I wanted to know if he would come to dinner, if he would be visiting me, you ‘didn’t know your brother’s mind’. Thank heavens you are not a statesman Demetri. You lack the strategic continuity.”
“Strategic continuity….is that so.” Clever as well as beautiful and her hair was going to fall loose again. “I think you should let me go, Bushka.”
Her lips were right there, the breath between them warm and drawing him to lean closer. “You must want to be free of this betrothal Georgie.”
Her eyes widened for a moment of surprise then a small frown of determination and anger creased between her eyebrows. Yet she didn’t step back and he didn’t have it in him to move away even an inch.
“Is that what he wants?” she whispered in Russian.
“I do not know my brother’s mind.” He replied and he had to use all his discipline not to cast a look at her lips.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you know it well enough to suggest I release him.”
Her hair, praise the gods, her hair started to fall, and his fingers were threaded in it before he realized he’d moved. She sucked in a breath.
“Shhhh,” he soothed her, his arms on either side of her head, both hands in her hair, her face so close to his as he maneuverer pins in unseen. He muttered things under his breath, nonsense things in Russian, anything to keep her still, keep her right there. Breath tight and shallow. He sidled closer, body raging with a need he reigned in as best he could. His thighs pressed against her skirts. She moved, he felt the press of her thigh, then back to skirts. The glorious hair again contained, he dropped his arms, his finger aching to stroke her cheek on the way down.
“Demetri….” Her voice a hushed sound. “About the Betrothal….”
He tensed. Waited for the next words, heart hammering, emotions he was not going to examine warring.
She wavered, teetered on the cusp of telling him something, something in confidence.
He imagined it was about the betrothal, that she wanted to cancel it. He would be free, his family freed from blackmail. From her…he swallowed; his breath overly tight.
Instead the knee-buckling Georgie stepped back and raised her chin, took a deep breath in and said, “Please tell your brother, the roses were delightful. Now if you’ll excuse me there is still some packing to be done before we depart.”
He stood there in shock as she walked past him and out of the room. Had he read her wrong? He didn’t think so. Was the daughter as complicit in the blackmail as the father? Was she truly the kind of woman who wanted status above fondness and respect?
Chapter 8
The gong sounded alerting salon members to another arrival. The thick burgundy velvet curtains trimmed with gold tassels rippled with the movement of people on the other side. It was all rather dramatic, an ode to the theatre and therefore the theatrical nature of life. Each guest to the salon passed through them and effectively entered the stage of what was one of London’s best Salons. The curtains drew back and Demetri’s rib cage contracted squeezing the breath right out of his lungs.
“Miss Georgina Franklin,” announced a clear baritone.
Pride warred with annoyance as the sumptuous Georgie strolled into Madam Debuverey’s salon as if she were a regular. Her skin glowed as her off-the-shoulder evening gown gave the perfect promise that the garment might slip off well-formed breasts at any moment. Lord Marsden turned and didn’t look away. Baron Von Bauer rose from his chair. Demetri walked toward her shooting a quelling look at Leach before they decided to stake a claim.
“Miss Franklin.” He took her small, warm hand and bowed over it. Bowed over it and held it for seconds longer than necessary, just long enough to let any man in the room with any sense know that Miss Franklin was out of bounds.
“Why Demetri, I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought I would be adventuring alone.” She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it a few moments longer.
“You have a lot to learn about Russian men.” He growled as his eye caught the Baron’s smirk. After a quick glance down to where he still held Georgie's hand, the man sat down again and turned to the woman beside him.
“Perhaps I have already learned too much,” she growled back. Those close chuckled at her response as he released his hold.
“Does your father know that you own this gown?” He murmured close to her ear, his gaze taking in the line of her neck and the simple black choker wrapped around it which spoke of eroticisms of which she had to be totally unaware. For a foolish moment he imagined the family topaz teardrop on black pearls in its stead. It was one of his family's collection which his wife would wear. A wife he had yet to find, and who could not be the enticing Miss Georgie Franklin, daughter of a blackmailing venturist.
“Does your mother know you are the toast of London?” She murmured back and moved to step past him.
The little minx thought he would let her loose in a Salon. A man like him was not so easily evaded and as she passed, he stepped alongside her and linked her hand over his arm. The movement soothing...and claiming. Of course, she stiffened, and he dipped his head down toward her.
“Trust me to guide you through this.”
Those amber eyes flashed up to him. The look said everything she didn’t. He and his brother were the cause of embarrassment and, as he now understood, some pain. Trust was undoubtedly the last thing she felt.
“Another truce?” he whispered to her neck.
She looked a
round the room then back to him.
“I know this world.” He whispered again, in fact he’d whisper all night if it afforded him the small tantalizing wafts of her scent, the soft heat of her body as he leaned close.
To her credit, her look acknowledged that he did in fact know this world and she didn’t. That despite all the gossip columns, people knew their families were possibly connected despite the lack of a formal announcement. For him to fill the role as her escort through the salon was acceptable. She raised her chin he was coming understand what that gesture meant. A signal of determination, a signal of vulnerability she overrode, and he stopped the smile of pleasure that pressed to escape to his lips.
A Christmas elf dressed in a tailored red and green velvet outfit, large cuffed sleeves, brass buttons and pointed caps with bells, complemented by ridiculous elven ears, glided toward them with a tray of drinks.
He reached out and took a champagne for her, only to have her reach out and select the neat whisky on offer instead. The smile he had been fighting broke through despite his efforts, she took a sip with no sign of a splutter or a wince. An unexpected wave of possessiveness rolled through him.
“So how does this work?” she motioned her glass at the rooms, oblivious to the hunger rolling through him.
Demetri placed the champagne back on the tray and matched her drink of choice, a man’s drink on the most feminine of lips, slipping down an elegant throat. Their eyes met and her eyebrow rose. His heart tripped.
He coughed. “The art of a good salon is to have a room large enough that those in the room are privy to the exchanges of others yet cluttered enough that there are small areas of semi-privacy. Madam Debuverey’s salon is a masterpiece of four interconnected rooms.” It provided alcoves and nooks for couples to glide into, spaces where no one would think twice if he pressed her against the wall and savored her mouth. Kissed her until her hair fell down and he could press his face into it. Where he could cup those promising breasts and have the chance to slip his fingers under her neckline and feel their softness, their heat.
Madam Debuverey glided forward, “Demetri dear do introduce our new guest around.” Demetri gave her a single nod. It was a mellow night, the more adventurous of the salon crowd not yet present and not likely to be for a few more hours.
“We are decorating the Christmas tree in here tonight. There is poetry in the second chamber, cards if you care for them in the third, and the fourth is taken by a private booking so watch out if you wander in because you play by the rules of the room if you enter...”
“Let’s help with the tree.” He suggested.
She looked over her shoulder toward the other rooms, then nodded.
There were a few people helping with the tree while a handful watched or were tucked away in conversations. Lady Bethany, a poetess of some note who had taken charge of the decorating, ushered Georgie into the task. In about forty minutes the tree was blazing with baubles, golden, silver and red ribbons and the tiny candles were ready to be lit.
“Now for the right to place the star on the tree,” Lady Bethany said, holding a number of straws in her hand. “Gentlemen, the one with the longest straw gets to mount the star,” there were giggles, “and the….prize.”
Demetri bent down and whispered to Georgie, “Come on, let’s have a look at another room.”
She shook her head no.
He clasped her elbow, “Trust me on this, we should leave now.” The men stepped forward, drawing their straws.
“General, your turn…”
There were three straws left and the longest, from the results, was yet to be drawn.
Georgie shrugged out of his hold; a movement noted by the Baron with an eyebrow raised out of interest.
Demetri stepped forward and drew a short straw. The Baron then drew. His was long. They didn’t need the final draw to know who had won. The Baron’s eyes gleamed in his direction. Demetri gave a warming scowl back, only to have the Baron raise the long straw between them then cast a glance at Georgie. When he stepped in front of Georgie, the Baron barked a laugh, then made a great fuss over climbing the stepladder and placing the star on the tree. He made more of a fuss as he stalked between the ladies to claim his prize.
“Slip your arm through mine and lean on me.” Demetri said into Georgie’s ear with urgency. “Now.”
To her credit she took one glance at him before her hand slipped through his and she pressed against him just as the Baron cruised towards them. He noted Georgie’s posture and smirked, making a turn to the left and dramatically snaking an arm around a blonde, whisking her away to the curtained alcove.
“What are they doing behind that curtain?” Georgie whispered still leaning against him, head tilted to his.
As he bent his head, her breath touched his lips. “Whatever they want,” he said softly. Her eyes flared before they darted back to the alcove.
“How did he know she wanted to go with him?”
“It was winner’s choice. He could choose whomever he wished.”
The realization that the Baron could have chosen her dawned. “What if the girl didn’t want to go?”
“She shouldn’t have stayed to play.”
“Do you like to ride, Miss Franklin? I hear the Russians breed a good steed.” Lord Marsden cackled.
“I love to ride,” Georgie beamed. Demetri stepped forward protectively. He really needed to get her home.
“Oh sweetness,” the cad Marsden smirked at him. “Demetri you have to let Vlad know he is slipping. She has no idea what she’s talking about.” The room laughed and his gut churned.
“You should take her on a tour of The Velvet Basement before you let her loose with Vlad. Or be a good brother and show her the ropes yourself.” Anger shot through him hot and fast.
“You go too far.” Demetri’s hand slipped into his jacket and he pulled out his white dress gloves and raised them. He was going to kill this man.
Georgie’s hand clamped over his. “Demetri. Please, clearly he jests.” She whispered as she leaned into him, her presence, the warmth from her proximity and the soft brush of her breath pulled back his blind anger. He stilled. The room had gone absolutely silent. They knew he was on the brink of calling the cad out.
“Demetri?”
He looked down at her, amber eyes full of concern. A balm.
“I am not so fragile I can’t take some ribbing.” She fluttered those impossible lashes, smiled at him and the heat went out of him. She slipped her arm through his and drew him closer to her side. “Perhaps you will do me the courtesy of a circuit around the salon and explain it to me.” She beamed her most charming smile and he accepted it.
They started to stroll.
“I am not happy to let that lie unchallenged.” He looked over his shoulder at the culprit and growled something in Russian under his breath.
“What did I miss?”
“They were talking about Russian men not horses.”
She looked up at him brows creased. He turned back to the man, he should go back and hit him at the very least. And then a soft peal of laughter sounded beside him.
Demetri looked down at her as she beamed up at him. “I am just going through the conversation now and you have to admit it was very funny.”
“You are not shocked?”
“No, the idea is funny, imagine me riding on Vladimir’s back while he crawls around on all fours pretending to be a horse like in the nursery. No wonder they all thought it was funny.”
Something somersaulted in is chest. She would never imagine that they spoke of her riding a man’s cock, more particularly his brother’s or perhaps his. That the joke had been lude and bawdy. “I should get you home.”
“Nonsense I have only just arrived.”
A cheer went up around them. “Salon rules: the next couple to enter the room have to kiss.” A buxom demimonde giggled to the agreement of the room.
“We stumbled in by mistake. Please accept my apologies.” He started to
back out of the room.
“Are they serious?” Georgie asked under her breath.
A tall and overly skinny man opened a closet door as three others swarmed around them and ushered them into the closet.
“Salon Rules…” came the call from the room. “Salon rules… salon rules.”
The salon was a minefield. Demetri looked down into her face, flushed and totally unaware of the next hurdle.
“She’s to be my sister-in-law…” He said to the room, lifting his shoulders as if to say, he couldn’t possibly.
They laughed, “Vlad won’t mind” and in moments they were inside the closeted alcove with soft lighting and naturally the obligatory sofa big enough for all manner of things.
“We have to kiss?” Her voice husky with all kinds of temptation she had no idea she was emitting. He nodded and rubbed his hand over his face. He really needed to get her home.
“I have a way out of this.”
She scowled at him. “That’s not very flattering. Will they know if we fudge it?”
“Trust me I have had some practice.” He reached out and gently drew her towards him.
“What are you going to do?”
He pinched her lips, pulled some strands of her hair loose, then pinched her lips some more. “Leave some tell-tale signs.”
He let his fingers wander over her cheek, follow the line of her jaw as the need in him grew. He found her extremely attractive. He liked her. He followed the shape of her eyebrows, down her nose. Her breath came ragged. Those eyes held invitations she should not be giving.
“Do you think your brother would mind if you kissed me?” she whispered and a shot of heat went through him, curled around his cock and squeezed.
“No.” It was true. She was after all his betrothed, not his brother’s.
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