‘That’s not quite true, is it, if you are honest? You knew I would. Because I cannot keep away from you, andyoudo not want me to.’
‘I should want you to,’ she sighed, tacitly acknowledging the truth of his words. He was very close now.
‘We never want what we should, have you not observed? How convenient it would be if we did. I think you and I are alike in that. The tantalising little patch you wear beside your eye isLa Passionnée, you know, and it suits you perfectly. The rules of society are clear enough, and dinned into us from our earliest childhood, but you, quite as much as I, struggle to follow them, even though the penalties for transgression are all too obvious, for women so much more than for men. Perhaps you would find it easier,’ he said gently, ‘if you could make for yourself a way of life that allows you to blur such boundaries, rather than trying and failing to conform over and over again. Your aunt has done so, after all. I consider it admirable, though I am sure she would care nothing for my approval, the way she and her poetess manage to live entirely as they please, and do it with such insouciance that nobody even thinks to censure them.’
‘They are not done yet,’ she said drily, struggling to maintain her composure as she always did when he was close by. ‘We will see if their latest start pushes them beyond the bounds of what society will accept at last. I hope not. Because it’s dangerous, living as you please. Look at Lady Georgiana Morpeth’s mother, the late Duchess of Devonshire, if you wish for an illustration.’
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘Believe me, I do not mean to belittle your fears. Her life was undeniably tragic, and I understand why it preys upon your mind. But Devonshire piled cruelty on cruelty – to make her greatest friend his mistress, to keep her living under their roof… You do not need me to rehearse the whole sorry story. It hardly helps my case, I am well aware, as anexample of what supposedly civilised men can do to the women they marry.’
Once again, she resisted his invitation to turn the conversation to more personal matters; she feared he was about to renew his suit and she did not know if she had the strength to resist him for long when she so craved his touch, his mouth on hers. ‘I was not old enough to discuss it with my mama, naturally, but Louisa has told me that Mama believed her friend would never have involved herself with Lord Grey if Devonshire had not treated her so badly for so many years. She was very unhappy, and confided in Mama a great deal.’
She thought his face was unwontedly troubled behind the mask, though it was hard to be sure in the moonlight. ‘Georgiana,’ he said softly, ‘I am conscious that I am makingyouunhappy by a lack of consideration. I am certainly all too aware that I made a sorry hash of my proposal. Babbling of Leaky Sue like a simpleton – I would not wonder if it gave you a disgust of me. I know what you fear, and my behaviour since we met has given you little reason to think me a man of sense, much less one of feeling or any shred of decency. But let me ask you this one last time – can we honestly not find some way to make things work between us?’ He took her hand and drew her to her feet, and when she stood he did not release her, but raised her gloved fingers to his lips and kissed them with intense concentration. ‘I must always make a sad mull of things when it comes to you. You make me nervous, you know,’ he confessed with a wry smile, still gazing down at her hand where it lay in his, rather than looking up and meeting her eyes.
‘Nervous, you?’ she scoffed, clinging perilously to her composure, unbearably conscious of his nearness, of the sheer physical power of him, and how his body called out to hers, how the mere touch of his hand, the brush of his lips, left her wanting so much more.
‘Something about your presence,’ he said, releasing her, but only so he could cup her face and draw her closer, ‘makes me lose my head and say outrageous things I do not really mean, or do not wholly mean. I beg you not to pretend you do not understand me, for I know you are affected in the same manner. Or you would not have told me you were a widow, on a certain memorable occasion, or as good as invited me to put you across my knee and spank you.’ He was close enough to see the dark flare of desire in her eyes as memories flooded her, and he laughed, very low. ‘Now, you see, the way things generally proceed between us, I would immediately add, “an invitation I look forward to accepting”, or some such nonsense, and you would make pretence to be shocked, while all the while intrigued, and both of us aroused, and sharing that knowledge. And this is all very well – it is more than that – but Georgiana, please tell me, I implore you to tell me, how I am to marry another woman, any other woman, when this, whatever it is, this physical connection, call it lust if you wish, is alive between us? I must ask you one final time, before I commit myself to a course that I fear will lead to unhappiness and regret for many, would it be fair to that other woman, or for that matter fair to either of us?’
‘I know it would not,’ she admitted, shaken by the force of his words.
His hands were still about her face, holding her gently but inexorably as he looked deep into her eyes. ‘I do not want to marry any other woman, no matter who she might be,’ he told her. ‘I do not commonly use words such as right and wrong, for I gave up that privilege long ago. But it seems to me entirely wrong to crash into another woman’s life, uprooting her from all that is familiar and comfortable and asking her to put her future, her whole chance of happiness in my power, when all the while there is this madness in me, and I know that I would abandonher without a second thought to follow you across the world if you asked me to. Or even if you did not.’
‘Would you?’ she said wistfully. She could not help herself.
‘Georgiana, you know I would…’ It was almost a groan, and then their lips met. Her arms slid around his neck, and he released her face to clasp her to him, his big hands tight on the boned bodice of her gown below her breasts, holding her fast, holding her exactly as she needed to be held, as their mouths fused in mutual need. She pressed herself against him, wanting to be closer still, pushing her fingers deep into his silky hair and freeing it from its restraining band. ‘Georgiana…’ he whispered again against her mouth, and then he kissed his way along her jawline, and she threw back her neck, letting him take her weight, surrendering herself to his strong arms and inviting him wordlessly to explore her throat, her almost entirely exposed breasts, with his lips and tongue and teeth.
He was tasting her skin at the point where her neck met her bare shoulder when a sound behind them penetrated their reverie. The Duke raised his head, Georgie opened her eyes, and they saw in mutual shock that they were no longer alone.
22
The trouble was, she was too beautiful, too desirable, too… toohis. She was in his blood and there seemed to be no way of getting her out, that was the bare truth of it. Gabriel had made all sorts of resolutions and had meant to keep them, but at the sight of Georgiana in that gown every single one of them had fled. He had intended, though the prospect had filled him with no joy, but rather a sick feeling of wrongness, to ask for Miss Templeton’s hand in marriage that evening. He thought she and her mother were expecting as much, her mother being far the keener of the two. But of all the women assembled here, Alice Templeton seemed the most amiable, though undoubtedly shy. More than that, he did not think her home was a happy one, nor her wishes ever consulted by those around her, and he could at least offer her an escape to a better life, along with the status marriage to him would bring. She was extremely timid and presently a little nervous of him, but that was only because they were not yet well acquainted, and she was not, he thought, slow in understanding or lacking in character. Many marriages began, and went on to prosper, on flimsier foundations. They would marry, he would treat her with all possible considerationand afterwards bother her as little as was compatible with the reasons for their union, and he would have done his duty by everyone who depended on him. He had thought that he was reconciled to it all.
The trouble was, he could not find it in him to give a fig for duty when Georgiana appeared on the staircase in black velvet and silver lace, and their eyes met. She looked like a princess, a duchess, a queen from the previous century. His princess, his duchess, his queen. He understood now – and it was very late in the day for a man of his reputation and experience to come to such a realisation – how a man could become obsessed with a woman, and throw aside everything, all thoughts of duty, honour, family, obligation, in order to possess her. The very word ‘possess’ and all it implied could make him hard, could set his body and his mind on fire with longing for her. Just her. He’d fought a duel over a woman once, but he’d been no more than a foolish boy then. He couldn’t even remember her face now. He couldn’t remember any other woman’s face.
Georgiana’s feet were clad in high-heeled shoes that Blanche must have found for her, since they were very far from the current mode. He had never previously held a conscious opinion about women’s shoes, but now he wanted to fling himself at those feet and kiss them. Her ankles were revealed, in white stockings clocked with silver. They were very shapely ankles, but God knows he had seen many, many ankles before and they had not affected him so. The skirts of the gown were full, black velvet over silver. His colours. His. She was very tightly laced, and his hands should be about her little waist, spanning it, holding her tight. Her bodice was low, and her beautiful breasts were revealed by it, nestled in silver lace. The areolae of her nipples were concealed, just barely, he thought, but he didn’t need to imagine them because he’d seen them, had kissed them, and just now he would have given every single thing he owned in theworld to kiss them again. He wanted to bury his face between her breasts. He wanted to eat her.
Her lovely, well-shaped head was carried regally on her long white neck, and that neck was circled with a simple black velvet ribbon, which he would very much like to remove, with his teeth. And she was wearing – this was the last straw where his composure was concerned – that damnably enticing black lace loo mask. He knew in his blood that it was the same one she’d been wearing on their first meeting. Her eyes were revealed, those beautiful, unforgettable blue eyes, and beside one of them, in order to push him right over the brink, she had set an alluring black velvet beauty patch, such as had been fashionable in his grandparents’ day. Patches had their own language, and this one – it was the sort of curious thing he knew, though now he wished he didn’t – was entirely appropriate for her, being the patch that conveyed the useful information that the wearer had a passionate nature. And he knew the truth ofthat.
He also knew in his bones that it was the sheerest insanity to contemplate marrying another woman when he felt like this. She could call it lust if it made her happy. He didn’t really care what it was called any more.
What was more, when they danced together it was very clear to him that, however hard she tried to conceal it, she felt exactly the same. She did not want him to marry any other woman alive one whit more than he wanted to do it. She would find excellent reasons to object to any bride he might choose, while all the while refusing to admit why. Surely it must be possible to make her see…?
By the time the dance with her had ended, he was fixed in his determination to try again. He endured the next set with Miss Templeton with an impatience he was barely able to conceal. He did not even stop to worry how exactly he would contrive to get Georgiana alone and make a last desperate attempt to convinceher that she could, she should, shewouldmarry him. He knew an opportunity would present itself, for it must, and was not in the least surprised when he saw her leave the room, her face pale. This was his last chance and by God he would take it. He followed her. He was not in a state just then to consider or to care whether anyone saw him go or not.
They spoke – he thought she came tantalisingly close to admitting that it would be the sheerest folly for them even to think of parting – and then, as he had always known they would be, they were in each other’s arms. This was his best argument, surely, and it did not need words. It was perfectly clear that they could each of them have been married to another and it would not have mattered; it could even have been his wedding day, or hers, and still they could not be alone for five minutes without claiming each other. In sober truth, lust was far too feeble a word to describe it.
This time they were interrupted. He knew she was horrified – he felt her stiffen in his embrace – and he could have cursed aloud in frustration, for this did not suit his purposes at all, though he feared she would think it did. He had wanted her to admit, to herself as much as to him, that they should marry. She had not quite done so, and now he had no option but to put out the fire of scandal before it had a chance to flare up and ruin her. He saw in a lightning glance just exactly who he was dealing with, the worst possible news, and everything he said after that was preordained for him.
23
It seemed a veritable crowd of guests had been seized by the urge to take the air at this precise point in the evening, and to do so in what was still known as the Duchess’s Garden. Blinking, Georgie beheld the appalled faces of her aunt and Miss Spry, and the unattractive mixture of shock and prurient fascination that warred for prominence on the sharp countenances of Mary Debenham and her mother. The only person present who betrayed no distress at all was Alice Templeton, who seemed nothing but delighted, and appeared to be repressing the urge to cheer and do a little dance of celebration.
All these impressions penetrated her dazed brain in a matter of seconds, but she would never know how she might have reacted to them if left to herself, for Northriding recovered his wits much faster than she did. Perhaps, she was later to reflect bitterly, he had practice in dealing with disasters of this nature, and worse.
He did not release her, though his hands slid imperceptibly down to her waist, and he gave the tight bodice of her gown a warning squeeze. ‘Ladies,’ he purred. ‘So many ladies! This is unexpected, but what a delightful surprise nonetheless, as youmay be the first to congratulate us. Lady Georgiana has just this moment agreed to do me the honour of becoming my wife. I beg you will forgive me for my ardour, but I hope you will consider it excusable, and even understandable, in a newly betrothed man. Will you not wish us happy?’
Lady Louisa rose nobly to the occasion. Her blue eyes were a little wild, but her voice was reasonably steady as she said, ‘I suppose, sir, you should be censured for not applying first to Lord Irlam for his sister’s hand, but we were, after all, aware that you were seeking a bride when we agreed to visit the Castle, and so perhaps his permission was implicitly given and your… ardour may indeed be excused. Please accept my congratulations, Northriding, Georgiana. I am sure I wish you very happy. And no doubt you will write to my nephew directly and set right your omission in formal terms.’
Miss Spry murmured approval, and Alice added her voice to the congratulations with enormous enthusiasm; from beneath her eyelashes, Georgiana saw the Duke’s sculpted lips twitch appreciatively as he took in the full extent of Miss Templeton’s most unflattering joy at the unexpected reprieve she had been given. She could see that he was amused, though she was not. Mary and Lady Debenham were obliged in common courtesy to express equal pleasure at the news, although it was obvious that it gave them considerable pain to do so. She could hardly doubt that they would spread the tidings of her indiscretion with lightning speed and lurid detail.
