Rogue Grooms (3 page)

And they were looking directly into hers as she gaped at him.

She looked down, startled. Which was not at all like her! She was never startled by any man; she had met too many, had married three, and been propositioned by a numberless horde. She had thought herself rather
blasé
about men.

This one, though, had her
blushing.
She could feel the heat creeping up her throat into her cheeks, no doubt clashing horribly with her hair.

Elizabeth was looking at her rather peculiarly, so Georgina knew that her odd behavior was not going unnoticed.

She forced her gaze back up to meet his, and she smiled. “How very rag-mannered you must think us, not even introducing ourselves after your heroic actions! I am Mrs. Georgina Beaumont.”

He bowed, rather awkwardly with his arms full of wriggling terrier. “Alexander Kenton, at your service.”

“And this is Lady Elizabeth Hollingsworth and Lady Isabella Everdean, her niece,” Georgina continued.

“Lady Elizabeth, Lady Isabella.” He bowed again in their direction. “How do you do.”

Isabella giggled.

“Bella,” Elizabeth chided. “Say how do you do.”

“How d’ye do,” said Isabella.

“It was so good of you to rescue Lady Kate,” Elizabeth said. “I have told Georgina that she needs a stronger lead.”

“You may be assured she will now have one!” Georgina snorted.

“May I carry Lady Kate now?” beseeched Isabella, going up on tiptoe to pat the muddy dog.

“You will get your frock all dirty!” cried Elizabeth.

“Why don’t we wrap her in my coat?” Alexander suggested. “Then perhaps I could escort you to your carriage, and make certain she is safely stowed aboard?”

“Oh!” Only then did Georgina notice the interested crowd they had gathered. Many a quizzing glass was turned in her direction, and two gentlemen in particular, a Viscount Garrick she had already met and a man she had not, had edged their horses in closer to their little scene.

Ah, well. Georgina shrugged philosophically; she was quite used to people gawking at her escapades.

“You
have
gotten yourself into a scrape, Wayland!” said Viscount Garrick.

Alexander frowned at him, and shifted Lady Kate in his arms.

Elizabeth looked over at the two horsemen. “Are they with you, sir?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Alex murmured.

“Well, then, you must all come to my house for tea! We will have you dry and warm in a trice, sir. I am certain my husband will have some garments you could borrow.”

“That is very kind of you, Lady Elizabeth, but...” Alex began.

Elizabeth lifted her hand, forestalling all protests. “No, I do insist! We want to thank you properly. Is that not so, Georgina?”

Elizabeth smiled at Alexander, and, slowly, like sun coming from behind the clouds, he smiled back. “Quite so, Elizabeth.” Georgina said. “Quite so.”

Georgina had been wrong about Alexander Kenton. He was not beautiful.

He was otherworldly.

Dry and clean, his hair was a light brown, tinged gold by the sun. Tiny lines radiated out from the corners of his eyes, which were vividly blue against the bronze of his skin, every time he laughed. His shoulders were very broad beneath his borrowed coat, and his bearing was quite poised and straight and correct. He must have been in the army, like her first husband, Jack.

Georgina thought he looked like a Caravaggio painting.

He was also a duke.

A frown pulled at her brow at the thought.
That
was a bit problematic. Peers, especially dukes, seemed the very worst of lechers, always cornering her in dim corridors or dark garden bowers, always thinking she would be full of gratitude for their ham-handed attentions. Her trusty sharp-tipped hair ornaments had quickly disabused them all of such notions.

She would have so hated to use one on this particular duke!

But thus far there seemed no danger of that. Alexander Kenton was a very charming duke. He had taken the entire Lady Kate situation with such good humor, as no other man of her acquaintance would have done. He even fed the dog, now dry and clean and not a bit sorry for all the trouble she had caused, bits of his tea cakes and sandwiches. He conversed with Isabella quite as if she were grown-up. He laughed and joked, and did not once try to flirt with Georgina in any but the lightest and most respectful way.

His two friends, Viscount Garrick and Mr. Marlow, were a bit sillier. They told horrifyingly bad jokes, and obviously thought themselves quite the wits for it. Occasionally, one or the other would cast her provocative glances. Or rather, they would simply roll their eyes and wiggle their eyebrows in what they obviously fancied passed as provocative ways.

But Alexander; ah, now, he could easily prove far too attractive for her own good.

“... Is that not so, Georgina?”

Georgina’s attention snapped back to Elizabeth, from whence it had wandered into the clouds. “I beg your pardon?”

Elizabeth’s gray eyes were slate dark with concern. “Are you quite all right, dear? You look flushed. Did you catch a chill by the river?”

“Indeed not! I am quite well. It should be Lord Wayland we are concerned about catching chills.”

Alexander laughed. “Not I, Mrs. Beaumont! I am healthy as a horse.”

“Perhaps I should give you both a dose of castor oil,” Elizabeth mused.

“No!” Georgina and Alexander both shouted.

Lady Kate barked riotously, quite as if she also had been offered a dose.

“You must forgive Elizabeth,” Georgina said. “She feels it her bounden duty to nurse and cosset everyone who comes into her sphere.”

“Indeed I do not!” Elizabeth protested.

“You must remain healthy for this evening, Wayland,” Freddie Marlow said. “You would not want to miss Lady Beaton’s ball.”

“We are also attending the Beaton ball!” said Elizabeth.

“It is predicted to be a dreadful crush,” Freddie answered, obviously delighted at the prospect.

“It always is. It is simply a great pity that my husband is in the country this week and will have to miss it!”

Georgina glanced at Alexander over the rim of her teacup. “Perhaps we shall see you there, then, Lord Wayland. That is, if you have not caught a chill.”

He grinned at her. His smile was very wide and white against his tanned skin. “I could wish the same for you, Mrs. Beaumont. But perhaps you would allow me to escort you and Lady Elizabeth to the ball? In the absence of your husband, Lady Elizabeth.”

Yes, yes, yes!
Georgina’s mind shouted. Aloud she said, “How very kind of you! Have we not imposed on you quite enough for one day?”

“Nonsense! I have not had so much fun since I returned to England. Please, do allow me to escort you.”

Georgina exchanged a look with Elizabeth, and nodded. “Then, we would be honored. And I promise you, we will leave Lady Kate at home!”

Alexander laughed. “I thank you for that! I should so hate to have to fish Lady Kate out of Lady Beaton’s Italian fountain.”

 

“Why, Wayland! You sly rogue,” Hildebrand exclaimed as they rode away from Lady Elizabeth’s house. “You have solved all your difficulties most neatly, all in one afternoon.”

Alex frowned. He would never have told anyone of his family’s troubles, if he could help it; crying of misfortunes was not at all his style. But Hildebrand and Freddie had been his friends since they were boys, and when they had come upon him completely foxed one day after dealing with five of Damian’s creditors, he had told them everything.

Yet Alex could not see that anything much had been solved by their afternoon. They had had a very nice tea with three very lovely ladies—one lovely, redheaded lady in particular. He had also ruined a quite fine coat by wrapping it about a muddy dog; a coat he could ill-afford to replace at present.

He expressed this to his friends, and added, “How tea and a ruined coat can solve my troubles, I fear I could not say, Hildebrand. Perhaps you would enlighten me?”

“You nodcock! Don’t try and cozen me. I saw how bent you were on charming Mrs. Beaumont.”

Alex shrugged. “She is a very beautiful woman.”

“And a very
rich
one! She has widow’s portions from three husbands, as well as a rather handsome income from her dabbling in painting.”

“She is perhaps not entirely
respectable
—not with the highest sticklers, anyway,” Freddie chimed in. “Racketing all over the Continent by herself.”

“All the better!” said Hildebrand. “She wouldn’t expect you to live in her pocket. You could do worse, Wayland.”

Alex was so startled he pulled up his horse right in the middle of the road, causing quite a muddle of the traffic behind them. He stared at his friends, his jaw tight with displeasure. “Are you suggesting,” he said very quietly, “that I pursue Mrs. Beaumont for her money?”

Hildebrand sputtered. “Why ... is that not what you were thinking of?”

“It could not be Lady Elizabeth,” Freddie said. “ ‘told Nick’ Hollingsworth is an absolute jealous fiend when it comes to his beloved wife.”

“I was not thinking of either of those ladies in such a way,” Alex answered, still quiet.

“Oh, well, I just thought... when you offered to escort them to the Beaton ball ... but I ...” Hildebrand broke off in a state of utter confusion.

“Oh, look!” cried Freddie in relief. “Here is Wayland’s lodgings.”

“Indeed it is!” Hildebrand replied, in equal relief. “Well, we shall leave you, then, Wayland. See you at the ball, what?”

Then the two of them dashed off, leaving Alex alone in front of the narrow town house, where he rented the second floor while he was in London. Clifton House in Grosvenor Square had been lost long ago by Damian.

He left his horse at the mews at the foot of the garden, and went up to his small sitting room to pour himself a brandy and settle in for a good brood.

He, marry that lovely Mrs. Beaumont for her money? Distasteful in the extreme.

Not that he had not thought at all of marrying for money. Really, in the eyes of many, it would be an eminently suitable solution. A wife of means could not only restore Fair Oak, buy a new proper London house, and finance Emily’s launch; she could also guide that launch and help Emily make a good match.

The wife, of course, in turn, would get to be the Duchess of Wayland. Not a shabby return on investment, some would say. He had even noticed many women eyeing him speculatively at balls and routs.

Alex had made and discarded many other, less feasible plans to recoup his family’s losses. Some, made in the midst of sleepless nights, had been positively bizarre. He had half made up his mind to look about this Season for someone suitable. Not a young miss, but perhaps someone older, a spinster or a widow. Someone kind and practical, who understood what was expected of her in the marriage and what she could expect in return. Someone he could be friends with; perhaps even admire.

Someone like—Georgina Beaumont.

Alex tossed back his brandy, and reached out to pour himself another.

He truly had not thought of such a thing when he met her that afternoon. He had heard of her, of course; every lady of fashion clamored to have her portrait painted by Mrs. Beaumont. No doubt they paid handsomely for the privilege.

But all he had thought when he saw her was how lovely she was, how vibrant, how confident, how
alive.

After years of the dust, death, and boredom of war, followed by the strain of his family’s situation, that vivid life had been intoxicating. He had been drawn to her, as to a roaring fire on a bitterly cold winter night. He had wanted to stay longer in her presence, to throw aside the polite platitudes they were actually voicing and ask her how she came to be an artist. Did she enjoy living in Italy; did she love her husbands? What did she like to eat for breakfast?

Would she let him sit near her and kiss her, just once?

Alex laughed bitterly at himself. She, no doubt, would find him a very dull fellow. A military man, crusty and cynical, with no deep knowledge of art, could not possibly interest a woman such as her.

If he were to make her such an offer, the use of her money for the use of his title, she would no doubt treat it with the contempt it deserved, and laugh him from the room.

But ...

But if she
were
his wife, he could make love to her. Maybe even more than once.

“Alex, you old idiot,” he remonstrated aloud. “You have spent far too many years in the Spanish sun. Your brain is baked for even thinking such thoughts of a woman you met only two hours ago!”

And he had gone his own way for too long. He could not rely on a woman to solve his difficulties now.

A soft knock sounded at his door. Alex, so caught up in visions of Georgina Beaumont, thought for one insane instant that perhaps it was she at the door. Then reality returned, and he sank back into his chair.

No doubt it was some other creditor of Damian’s, come to collect his due.

“Enter,” he called out, suddenly weary beyond belief.

Yet it was not creditors. It was Hildebrand and Freddie, looking equal parts wary and shamefaced.

“I thought you two were going home to change for the ball,” he told them. “What brings you back to my humble abode?”

At his easy tone, they broke into smiles, coming into the room to seat themselves and help themselves to the brandy.

“We came to apologize,” said Freddie.

“Apologize?”

“For our—misconceptions of your intentions toward Mrs. Beaumont,” Hildebrand said. “We truly didn’t mean to offend, Wayland. Just want to be of assistance, looking about for suitable heiresses and such.”

“What we really want,” Freddie added, “is to find
three
heiresses, one for each of us.”