Rogue Grooms (10 page)

“Oh, no!” Alex shook his head. “That is a dull tale.”

“I want to know everything about you,” she said, echoing his earlier words to her.

“Then you shall. Another time.”

“Yes,” Georgina sighed. “We have been gone rather a long time, and I did promise you there would be no scandal.”

Alex took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Thank you for sharing your paintings with me, Georgina. And for talking with me.”

Georgina stared at their joined hands, expecting to see sparks shooting from them, or perhaps even moon-beams, so delicious were the feelings that emanated from his skin on hers. Alas, that heat was all in her mind; there was only her pale fingers in his sun-bronzed ones.

She wished, with all her being, that they could just sit that way, together, forever.

“Thank you for listening to me,” she whispered. “Alex.”

Now kiss me;
she added silently.

But he did not. He only drew her to her feet, and smiled down at her.

“We should rejoin the others,” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “Yes, we really should.”

By Jove, but he had wanted to kiss her!

Alone in his quiet lodgings, Alex ruminated on the evening, on missed opportunities.

She had been so very lovely, the lamplight turning her hair to pure flame, her green eyes wide as she looked up at him. Her hand had been soft in his, and she had smelled so very tempting with her rose perfume. He had never been so tempted by anything in all his life. Had never wanted to do anything more than he had wanted to kiss Georgina Beaumont.

She had wanted to kiss him, as well. She had leaned gently toward him as they talked; had watched him carefully, quizzically. She was no green girl; surely she had sensed his own desire.

Probably she was wondering now what had made him run away so cravenly.

Just as he was wondering himself.

Alex threw himself back into his armchair with a deep groan. The truth had to be acknowledged now, if only to himself.

He did want Georgina Beaumont, in the physical sense. He found her beautiful, and desirable beyond belief. But he also wanted much more from her than her body. Her confidences in the quiet studio had proven that beyond a doubt.

He was so proud, and pleased, and moved that she would tell him of herself, of the woman behind her glittering Society self. He wanted to know more, to know
everything.
To know about her marriages, her friendships, her home, her favorite food, her favorite color.

More than that, he wanted to confide in her. To tell her of his troubles, ask for her advice. Relate all his happy childhood memories, his life in the army, his hopes for the future. He had always been a great one for keeping his own counsel, for there had never been anyone he felt he
could
talk to. Now he found himself wanting to tell all to this woman.

This woman he had known only a few days, but who it felt as if he had known forever.

Alex sighed, and closed his eyes. Yes, the veriest truth was that he was no hardened rake like his brother had been. He could not take Georgina as his mistress, no matter how great his desire for her was. He wanted her for his wife, his duchess, his love.

So, a small voice said at the back of his mind.
You ask her to marry you, you have a wife you adore, and plenty of money besides. Where is the rub?

Ah, he answered that voice, as a wise man once wrote, therein lies the rub. Money.

If he asked Georgina to marry him, he would have to tell her all. That his brother had squandered his family’s fortune, and they were left with little more than Alex’s army pension. That they would need some of her money to rebuild.

She would surely laugh him out of her life, being the independent spirit that she was! She thought well enough of him now, when she thought him a distinguished, self-possessed, self-made man. What would she think of him then?

Truly, he had never had a luckier, or more disastrous, moment than when Lady Kate decided to take a swim in the river.

He would just have to take things slowly with Georgina, and bide his time until he could see his way clear to what he should do.

 

“It was a lovely
salon,
was it not?” Elizabeth said happily, wriggling her stockinged toes where they lay on her husband’s lap, being rubbed.

Georgina lolled on the chaise, warm with champagne and happy memories of those moments in the studio. “Umm, lovely. A great success.”

“Yes. So many people came there was scarce room to move. And even more will come to the next Friday evening, I am certain.”

“Is a
salon
not a chance for great conversation, my love?” Nicholas asked with a teasing grin. “One can hardly have a fascinating conversation if one cannot even breathe.”

“There was a great deal of conversation!” Elizabeth protested. “Was there not, Georgie?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Certainly.”

“But I noticed that
you
quite vanished, for nearly an hour,” said Elizabeth. “You minx.”

“Yes!” Georgina cried merrily. “I do freely admit to minxdom. I was showing Alex my paintings in the studio.”

“Oh-ho!” said Nicholas, waggling his eyebrows comically. “Alex is it now?”

“He
asked
me to call him Alex.”

“What happened in the studio, Georgie?” Elizabeth asked in desperately curious tones.

“Nothing happened,” answered Georgina. “At least not in
that
way. We talked.”

“Talked? For all that time? What about?”

“Lizzie!” Georgina protested, laughing. “Such curiosity. We only talked of this and that. Nothing of consequence. I find him very pleasant company.”

“Pleasant company, eh?” said Nicholas. “Well. Nothing wrong with that, is there, Lizzie my love?”

“Of course not,” Elizabeth answered slowly. “I find him to be quite a pleasant gentleman myself. Does that mean that nothing of a more—serious nature is happening, Georgie?”

Georgina took the last sip from her champagne, then looked down into the empty glass, puzzled by Elizabeth’s question. How could she answer something that she herself did not know? “I—well, honestly, my dears, I am not sure. Perhaps there is. He is not the sort of man one can just flirt lightly with, is he? I do like him, very much. I am not sure, however, what his feelings are toward me.”

Elizabeth and Nicholas stared at her in obvious shock.

“Oh, my,” Elizabeth said finally in a small voice. “Well, of course he must be in love with you. Almost every man you meet is in love with you! He is very fortunate to have your affection in return.”

“People would say
I
am the fortunate one,” Georgina answered. “To have the interest of a duke. If indeed I do have his interest, which I am not at all sure of.”

“Are you saying you are feeling—uncertain, Georgie?” Elizabeth said, her eyes growing even wider. “You?”

“Yes, me! I am—oh, I just don’t know. I do not know what my feelings are for him, or his for me, or what is happening at all.” Georgina placed her empty glass carefully on a small side table and stood. “I do, however, know one thing. I am tired, and I am going to retire now.”

“Would you like to drive my curricle tomorrow? Get in form for your race with Pynchon?” said Nicholas. “We could all go into the countryside for the morning, and have luncheon at the White Hart Inn.”

“That sounds delightful.” Georgina kissed his cheek, and Elizabeth’s. “Good night, my dears. It was a lovely evening.”

“Good night, Georgina,” they echoed.

“And please do not talk about me as soon as I leave the room.”

“Would we do that?” cried Elizabeth, all wounded innocence.

“I am only warning you.”

Georgina left the drawing room and closed the door behind her. But she left it open a tiny crack, and leaned her ear against it.

“Do you think she is in love with him?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, yes,” Nicholas answered. “Undoubtedly. Have you ever seen Georgie
flustered
about a man before?”

Elizabeth sighed happily. “Hm. Yes, I do believe that you are right. It must be love.”

Georgina smiled, closed the door all the way, and went up to find her bed.

“Pardon me, my lady, but there is a gentleman caller,” announced Greene, Elizabeth’s butler.

Elizabeth, left alone for the morning while Nicholas and Georgina went driving, looked up from her sketchbook in surprise. “A gentleman caller? Why, here I had thought my days of attracting suitors were long over!” She pressed her hand to the small bulge of her stomach with a laugh.

Greene sniffed in disapproval. “It is Lord Wayland, my lady. I told him it was not your at-home hour, but he insisted.”

“Lord Wayland?” Elizabeth interrupted. “Surely he has asked for Mrs. Beaumont, not me!”

“He did first inquire after Mrs. Beaumont, but when I informed him she was on an outing, he asked if you were at home.”

“Oh, yes, Greene! Do show him in.”

As the butler departed, Elizabeth struggled to her feet, and glanced around the morning room in great consternation. Things were in such disarray, with her own sketches and some of Georgina’s piled about everywhere. Shawls and hats were tossed around, Nicholas’s newspapers were trampled on the floor, and Lady Kate sat before the fire busily gnawing on a bone she had unearthed in the garden.

Elizabeth took it away from her, much to Lady Kate’s consternation, and shoved it under a shawl.

“Hush, Lady Kate!” she admonished. “It would never do for a duke to think we are slovenly.”

Lady Kate sat back on her haunches with a loud huff, but she quickly cheered up when Alex came in the room. She bounded up to him, barking in joy.

Alex bent to pat her head. “Good morning, Lady Kate.” Then he straightened, with a smart bow for Elizabeth. “And good morning to you, Lady Elizabeth. I trust I find you well?”

“Quite well. I fear, though, that Georgina is not at home.”

“Yes, your butler said she was on an outing.”

“She and Nicholas and my maid Daisy have gone to the countryside, so Georgina may practice her driving before the race next week. I was meant to go with them, but mornings are not—er, not my best time.” She laughed nervously.

“No,” he answered kindly. “I should imagine not.”

“I am joining them for luncheon. Perhaps you would care to come with us?”

“I would, very much. Thank you.”

Elizabeth beamed at him. “Well. Would you like to sit?”

Alex looked about at the piles of paper that covered every seat. “I would, but...”

“Oh! I do apologize.” Elizabeth pushed some sketches off of a chair and waved him to be seated, then returned to her chaise. “I fear we are rather informal in our family rooms.”

“Please, don’t apologize. I think this is a charming room.” He picked up one of the sketches, a scene of a country pond. “Is this one of G—Mrs. Beaumont’s?”

“Oh, yes. Lovely, is it not? And you needn’t call her anything but Georgina in front of me. I won’t tell.”

Alex laughed ruefully. “You will think me foolish, Lady Elizabeth! Mooning over sketches and such.”

“Never! A man who has the good sense to admire Georgina could never be a fool. Except for this man named Ottavio, whom we knew in Venice. He took to serenading her every night beneath her window. Quite gave the neighbors fits, as he sounded rather like a dying cow...” Elizabeth broke off. “But I don’t wish to bore you with my ramblings!”

“On the contrary. I am all fascination.” He placed the sketch carefully on a table, then sat back in his chair. “You have known Georgina a long time, I understand, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Oh, yes. Since we were at school. Georgina was a bit older than me, but we quickly bonded over our mutual love of art. She is my dearest friend.”

“Then, I should very much like your counsel. If I may?”

“Please do!” Elizabeth leaned toward him in interest. “There is nothing I love more than to give advice.”

“I would like to know if—that is ...” Alex looked away, a faint, warm blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Do you think Georgina would ever want to marry again?”

“Well,” Elizabeth breathed. “Are you planning to make her an offer?”

“I—might be.” He shook his head. “Lady Elizabeth, I must be completely honest with you. I think your friend is the most fascinating person I have ever met. I want more than I have ever wanted anything to make her my wife, to do anything in my power to make her happy. Only you can tell me if I have any hope.”

“Only Georgina can answer that for certain,” Elizabeth said carefully. “I do know that she admires you. I also know that her marital history has not been—entirely satisfactory.”

“She told me of her first husband. Captain Reid.”

“Yes. Jack was very dashing, and Georgina was devastated when he died. She did not tell you of her other two husbands, though?”

“No. There was not time.”

“They were no Jack Reid!” Elizabeth’s voice dropped confidingly. “In their seventies, the both of them. She married Sir Everett out of desperation. She had only enough money to return to England when Jack died, and only his meager widow’s pension to live on. Her family, and his, refused to take her in. So when Sir Everett met her and made her an offer, she could see no choice. He wanted a housekeeper, you see, but was too much a nip-farthing to pay for one. He was a terrible bully; Georgina’s letters to me then were quite despairing. Fortunately, he died after only a year, and left her a tidy portion.”

“Dreadful,” said Alex. “Was the next one as bad?”

“No. Mr. Beaumont was quite an old dear, and so besieged by his grasping children. Perhaps you are acquainted with Mr. Theodore Beaumont, who is so fond of pink waistcoats?”

Alex grimaced.