A shiver traveled down Georgiana’s spine. She discreetly studied the Earl. Broad, solid—his muscles straining against the protesting seams of his tailcoat—and incredibly handsome. No. Handsome wasn’t quite right. Pretty was more apt. His features were beautiful. Now thatwas a man. One in charge.
But…who was Fitz? Her brows scrunched and then immediately shot to her hairline. Mr. Fitzwilliam Jennings, the Earl’s younger brother.
She glanced at the man next to her, who currently looked like he was trying to disappear inside his cravat like a turtle.Hewas Mr. Fitzwilliam Jennings? She looked back at the Earl.The Earl’syounger brother? This confident, commanding, composed man’s younger brother? If she looked beyond the flushed, sweaty complexion and the disheveled amber curls, she supposed she did see the resemblance. Matching amber eyes, matching amber shade of locks.
“I. Urm. Ope. You see. Muromph.”
She frowned. Truly? They were related?
Lord Bentley crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his brother to start forming actual words. Apparently, Mr. Jennings’s odd behaviorwasnormal. At least she no longer needed to fear for his brain. Just his future. Her future. Which was going to becometheirfuture without some quick thinking.
“I don’t think an explanation is required, my lord,” Georgiana’s father said, his voice rising. Clearly Father had gotten over his shock. “It is obvious your brother has taken advantage of my daughter! He has defiled her!”
If only. She deflated with a sigh. If she was going to be caught in a compromising position, was it too much to ask that she hadactuallyexperienced a thorough defiling? Also, since when did her father care? Oh, right. Male pride. How darehisdaughter be defiled… The daughter in question didn’t matter so much, just that she belonged to him. The lobster could have defiled her father’s boot, and he would have been just as offended.
“Father,” she said soothingly. “There has been no defiling. It was all an accident.” Yes, an accident. That was perfect. She could work her way out of this. “Mr. Jennings had been reading his book and walking”—she pointed to said book on the floor.Ha!Evidence!—“And we collided and tumbled to the ground. His foot got tangled in my skirts, which tore down my bodice.” She spread her arms wide and smiled encouragingly at her father. “You see, it was all a most unfortunate accident.” And a most perfect lie. “No one need ever know.”
“Whose bodice was torn down?” a loud, female voice asked.
Her smile fled. Fled fast and far away. Because that was a familiar female voice.
Georgiana’s shoulders slumped, and she wished she could turtle like the man next to her and disappear. Because Georgiana’s grasping mamaglided into the room, Lady Billingsworth—known for her wagging tongue—at her side. Getting out of this had been slim before, but now? Now that a calculating glint flared in Mother’s eyes, and a look of pure glee lit up Lady Billingsworth’s wine-flushed face?
Now Georgiana Hartley was most definitelyfucked.
3
Fitz
FitzwilliamJenningswasfucked.
He didn’t often wander from the safety of his London town house, but even he had heard of Mrs. Thomas Hartley’s wild attempts at securing her daughter a husband. Just last year, she had accidentally shoved her daughter directly into the Serpentine. Her aim had been throwing the young woman into the Marquess of Dunmore. And if rumors were true, she had nearly succeeded, but the Marquess had given Miss Georgiana a discreet nudge to avoid her.
Miss Georgiana, meet Serpentine.
Fitz followed his brother, Felix, to his brother’s study, the Hartleys in tow. There was no way out of this one. Not when Lady Billingsworth was a witness. Besides pistols at dawn, of course. And as much as marriage frightened the wits out of Fitz, it was preferable to a duel. Barely. But at six-and-twenty he’d like to keep living. He swallowed repeatedly, trying to gain some sort of moisture in his dry-as-sand mouth.
The problem was, Fitz struggled with social interactions until he got to know someone. And then he waslessawkward. When it came to women, he very rarely got to that less-awkward point, like to the point where he could breathe properly. And the more attractive he found a woman, the longer it took for his awkwardness to abate.
So where Miss Georgiana Hartley was concerned? There was zero chance of abating, zero chance of breathing. Because she was stupidly beautiful. Annoyingly beautiful. Why did she have to be beautiful? Better yet—why did she have to attack him with her breasts?
He ground his teeth, hot frustration building in his chest. He was quite happy with his current life. His blissful solitude. He had his translations, and he had his mistress—a woman hefinallyhad gotten comfortable with.Safe. His current life was safe.
And now he was going to lose all of that peace. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with: the young woman who had launched the bosom assault, or himself for not having the wherewithal to extricate himself from the situation before it turned calamitous.
Calamity, meet Fitz.
They settled themselves in Felix’s study, and Fitz did his best to avoid eye contact with everyone. He curled his toes in his shoes and willed his lungs to continue to breathe air, in and out.In and out.
Thankfully, Felix’s study was full of interesting—and more importantly, distracting—bric-a-brac. His brother had this fascinating clock that had come from Germany. Every hour on the hour, a small door opened at the top from which a bird appeared and made a “cuckoo” noise. Fitz was most definitely not avoiding the conversation at hand and focusing on the neat little clock.
“They must be married without delay,” Mrs. Hartley said. “A week’s time, no later.”
Thatdistracted Fitz from the clock. His gaze shot to the woman. She was blonde like her daughter, but much more generous of figure. A figure that was wrapped in luxurious fabrics covered in an overabundance of gold embellishments and glittering speckles. Goodness, had she had her seamstress throw an entire jewelry shop onto her dress?
Fitz fidgeted in his seat. Everyone was looking at him. Was he meant to respond? Oh God.Words, Fitz.
But whatever it was in his throat that was supposed to form words was currently being strangled by the cloying air in the room and the shrewd stare the woman was sending his way. She was a hunter who had found her mark. Her eyes may have been light in color, but there was a darkness to them that had nothing to do with their hue.
