Regency Debutantes (22 page)

Mrs Howard made her presence known. ‘Miss Raithwaite’s
trip had long been planned. She’s enjoyed a most interesting visit in the weeks since her arrival.’

‘Indeed, I wasn’t suggesting anything to the contrary.’ Although the girl seated by his left side was not what he considered a beauty, he had to admit that she possessed a certain inexplicable quality of attraction. A dewy fresh complexion and lips shaped to tempt a kiss from a man of stone. But that wasn’t what held Cyril Pensenby’s attention at the minute. His gaze fastened firmly upon her
décolletage,
on the glinting jet beads surrounding her neck, and lower to the swell of her bosom. It was evident that he had been too long from port. ‘I can quite understand Captain Hawke’s desire to collect you and take you back to England.’ The remark was addressed to the curve below Georgiana’s neckline.

‘Are you one of the Pensenbys of York?’ enquired Mrs Howard, determined to draw the man’s attention from her charge.

With some reluctance Lieutenant Pensenby remembered his manners and entered into conversation with the formidable woman, leaving Miss Raithwaite to be monopolised by Mr Anderson.

At last the evening was done and Georgiana was making her way to the safety of the carriage, Nathaniel’s reassuring presence close by. For all that she had enjoyed the dangerous game they played, she could not be sorry that the night was at a close. It was more of a strain than actually pretending to be George Robertson! She was just poised to climb into the carriage behind Mrs Howard when the hushed tones of Lieutenant Anderson sounded.

‘Please excuse me, Captain Hawke, I wondered if I might speak with you before you return the ladies to their residence?’

Nathaniel was not best pleased by John Anderson’s interruption, especially as he was desperate to gain some time with Georgiana, something that had so far evaded him throughout the evening. ‘Mr Anderson?’ He turned a glacial eye upon the officer.

‘It’s Master Robertson, sir, I’m concerned for—’ The lieutenant halted abruptly as Miss Raithwaite missed her footing on the steps.

With a lightning reflex Nathaniel’s arms were around her, lifting her up and against him, concerned eyes scanning her face. ‘Georgiana!’ he whispered, a look of intense urgency tensing his jaw.

‘It’s nothing. I’m a little tired and careless, and somehow missed my footing. No damage done.’ She blushed profusely, aware of both the close heat of his body and Lieutenant Anderson’s fixed interest. To make matters worse, Admiral and Lady Tyler had noticed the rumpus and were making their way steadily to the epicentre of the commotion.

Mrs Howard hurriedly removed Georgiana from Captain Hawke’s arms, guided her into the seat, and fixed her firmly into position by means of a blanket across the knees.

The strain of Lady Tyler’s high voice carried to the carriage. ‘So romantic, so in love!’

Georgiana blushed the colour of port wine. Captain Hawke clambered aboard, bid his lieutenant meet him at the pinnace in half an hour, and escaped into the blackness of the night.

G
eorgiana sat at one end of Evelina Howard’s parlour. Nathaniel sat at the other. The clock on the mantel sounded its slow and steady rhythm in measured ticks.

Mrs Howard stood beside the doorframe. ‘All that chatter has rendered me quite thirsty.’

It occurred to Georgiana that no one could possibly describe Mrs Howard’s articulate conversation as chatter. No, chatter was a word that could only be ascribed to the likes of Lady Tyler and Mirabelle Farleigh, although she had rapidly revised her opinion on any similarities existing between those two women.

‘I’m sure, Georgiana, that you would benefit from a dish of tea. Captain Hawke, may I offer you some refreshment?’ Her serenity spread like ripples in the room.

‘Yes, thank you, tea would be most acceptable.’

The soft rustle of grey silk and they were alone, separated by space and Mrs Howard’s elegant furnishings. Each gaze fixed on the other, intense brown deepening to a dangerous dark smoulder, stormy blue lit with sparks of the translucent silver of the sea.

Nathaniel broke the silence first. ‘Well done, Georgiana, you were wonderful tonight. I’m quite sure that nobody suspected in the slightest. You weren’t too uncomfortable I hope?’

‘No.’ The long ebony ringlets of the hairpiece tickled the skin of her neck. ‘Indeed not. It was really rather exciting, apart from Lieutenant Anderson’s insistence that my face was familiar.’ A grin spread across her cheeks. ‘And, of course, his overt reference to George Robertson. I must confess to being surprised at that, and at the most inopportune of moments! Your officers and Admiral Tyler will pity you that you’re promised to the most clumsy-footed of women, not knowing that I’ve yet to find my land legs!’

Nathaniel laughed, flashing white teeth against the subtle blue shadow of his jaw. ‘I promise you, it’s not pity that they feel!’

‘Whatever do you mean, sir?’ she countered, rising from her chair, hands on hips.

‘You know very well and I don’t mean to make your head swell with too many comments on the extent of your beauty.’ His eyes glinted dangerously and his mouth had moved to a lopsided grin.

The sight of his powerful athletic figure encased in the magnificent full dress uniform was impressive. Georgiana tried not to stare. ‘You’re teasing me again, you wretch.’

He moved playfully towards her. ‘That’s a fine way to address the captain of your ship, and your betrothed—a wretch, indeed! I should have you strung up and flogged for the very mention of the word.’ Reaching her, he pulled her to him with mock severity. He knew it was a mistake from the minute that his fingers wrapped around the bare skin of her arms, between the end of her short puff sleeves and the start of her long silken gloves. So soft and smooth, so warm and inviting.

A harsh intake of air. He was so close that she could smell
his scent—soap and sandalwood, and something unique and masculine. The skin on her arms burned beneath the touch of his fingers and a pulse leapt in her throat. The dark smouldering eyes were filled with tenderness and a look that Georgiana knew now to be desire. She wondered if her own face betrayed her rising emotions as clearly as his, for then Nathaniel would not mistake what he saw there. Her hands moved of their own accord to gently cup the roughened skin of his face, tracing the outline of his jaw with infinitesimal care.

‘Georgiana!’ he breathed, and the name was pained on his lips. ‘My own sweet Georgiana.’ His hands slid round to the soft silk of her back, gliding over the curve of her hips. His head turned to capture her gloved fingers to his mouth, nibbling on their tips, lapping against them with his tongue.

At last she could bear it no longer and, rising onto the points of her toes, replaced her fingers with her lips, meeting his tongue with her own until they arced in a sensual lightning of passion.

China chinked on china and the thud of Mrs Howard’s suddenly heavy footsteps sounded outside the parlour. Nathaniel thrust his betrothed back down into her chair and, by the time their hostess entered the room, was examining a small porcelain vase on the mantelpiece. Silence echoed loudly.

‘Your tea, Miss Raithwaite.’ Mrs Howard passed the delicate dish and saucer to an extremely red-faced and breathless Georgiana. Amazingly Mrs Howard appeared to notice no change in her charge’s appearance and busied herself with supplying the same beverage to
Nathaniel. ‘Captain Hawke,’ she said politely. The steady silver gaze slid to his, and Nathaniel inclined his head in a silent salutation.

The deep mellow voice sounded within the room, his words halting Georgiana’s sip of tea midflow. ‘Miss Raith-waite and I were just discussing Admiral Tyler’s kind offer to hold our wedding breakfast in Belstone House. I’m hopeful that everything shall be in place to allow our marriage before the week is out.’

It was Mrs Howard’s turn to acknowledge his response, which she did most amiably with a smile and a nod of her immaculate head. ‘That,’ she said smoothly, ‘is something I’m very relieved to hear.’

Georgiana squirmed within her seat, acutely aware of the unrefined hurry of her forthcoming nuptials, and the magnitude of the obligation she had thrust upon Nathaniel Hawke. Whether he wanted to or not, he could not reasonably do anything other than wed her. She reminded herself that he was taking such drastic action to save his own reputation as well as her own, but what if…A shadow of cold wheedled its way through the warmth that blazed within Georgiana’s breast. It was a matter that deserved nothing less than the foremost consideration. She looked up to find herself the focus of both Nathaniel and Mrs Howard, and realised that she had paid no heed whatsoever to the conversation. ‘Please forgive me, I was wool-gathering.’

‘So it’s settled, then,’ concluded Mrs Howard. ‘We look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Captain Hawke. Until then we’ll bid you good-night.’

Captain Hawke took his leave as the most gracious of gentlemen, entrusting his precious prize to the safe care of the dressmaker.

‘Sir, I wondered if I might be so bold as to enquire of Master Robertson’s condition?’ Lieutenant Anderson spoke in a quiet voice, but not of sufficiently low volume to prevent the remainder of the boat from pricking up their ears. He was
seated beside the captain as the pinnace rowed back out to the
Pallas.
The gentle murmur of conversation died out. Only the sweep of the oars through the water sounded in the warm night air.

Nathaniel resisted the urge to ask just what damn business it was of Anderson’s and answered as if it were not a matter of concern at all. ‘Oh, the boy has taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid. Presently he’s lodged with an acquaintance of mine in the town and will be attended by a physician tomorrow.’

‘I cannot help but overhear your words, Captain,’ exclaimed the surgeon, who had in truth been straining to listen from his position at the other side of the small wooden boat. ‘Allow me to offer my services, humble though they are. I’ll happily attend the boy tomorrow and assist the local physician in any way that I can.’

‘Thank you, Mr Belmont, but that won’t be necessary.’ Captain Hawke made to turn the talk to another subject, an aim that was to be thwarted by the tenacious interest of his officers.

Mr Pensenby spoke up. ‘Sir, I saw the like of Robertson’s symptoms when I was in the East Indies. Sweating, fever, pains within the stomach and a terrible sickness. Not a pretty sight, and many of the afflicted men did not recover. Ran rampant amidst the crew, lost a third of the men. Still, it’s unlikely to be the same thing, different part of the world and all that.’

Nathaniel suppressed a smile. Cyril Pensenby may well just have handed him the very excuse to leave poor George Robertson behind on Gibraltar. ‘Let’s leave it to the expert and pray that such a plague is never visited upon the
Pallas.’

‘Amen to that,’ came the unanimous response.

Alone in the cosy bed in the largest of Mrs Howard’s visitor bedrooms, Georgiana lay wide awake. For all her fatigue,
sleep was proving elusive, in part due to the lack of the habitual rhythmic roll of the
Pallas
to which she had grown so accustomed. But that was not all. For the tiny seed of a thought revealed to her prior to Nathaniel’s departure had taken hold and germinated. And with it she knew a method that would release Captain Hawke from the prospect of an enforced marriage. A cold and hard knowledge that would not let her sleep, relentlessly straying into her mind each time she drove its discomfort to the dark and distant recesses.

It was twenty minutes after two o’clock when Georgiana decided that a dish of tea was required to remedy the situation.

The house was quiet and lit only with the silver beams of a full moon flooding through the unmasked windows of the landing and lower rooms. Bare feet tiptoed step by step downstairs and on to the cold stone floor of the kitchen. Breathing her good fortune that none of Mrs Howard’s maids actually lived in, she had just set the kettle of water to boil when she was interrupted by a soft padding and a gentle voice.

‘Georgiana, whatever is the matter? What are you doing down here at this time of night?’

She wrapped the dressing gown tightly across her chest, trying to warm herself against the nocturnal chill. ‘I’m sorry if I woke you, Mrs Howard. I couldn’t sleep and thought some tea might help. Would you like some?’

‘Perhaps a small dish.’ Mrs Howard’s grey hair was plaited tidily into a braid that swept far down her back. She paused, before adding, ‘And you will, of course, tell me what it is that is troubling you, my dear.’ No one would ever think of disobeying the quiet command intrinsic in that voice.

An ear lobe suffered several pulverising squeezes between
thumb and forefinger before Georgiana could find the words to answer. ‘It’s Captain Hawke and our forthcoming marriage.’ She glanced rapidly at Mrs Howard before resuming her watch on the kettle.

‘A watched pot never boils,’ quoted the modiste. ‘Georgiana, come and sit at the table with me.’ Grey eyes observed the girl’s cold bare feet. ‘On second thoughts, run and fetch your slippers, my dear, before we continue, or you’re bound to catch your death of cold.’ A clucking, tutting noise filled the kitchen as Georgiana rose to do as she was bid, and eventually they were settled comfortably with their tea.

The steam rose from the dish as Georgiana sipped gingerly.

‘Now,’ said Mrs Howard, ‘you were about to tell me precisely the nature of your concerns with marrying Captain Hawke.’ She drank her tea and waited with her usual patience.

Georgiana fiddled with her ear. She sipped some tea. And adjusted her slippers. And her dressing gown. ‘Well…it’s just that…oh, it sounds so feeble when it comes to transfer thought to spoken word!’

‘I’m sure that it’s no such thing,’ said Mrs Howard reassuringly. ‘Perhaps you are worried as to the nature of your wifely duties? You are far from home, and your mama, but have no concerns, my dear, for I’ll tell you all that you need to know. And they’re nothing to worry about. Indeed, you are likely to find them really quite pleasurable.’