Cortland jerked as if the earl had suggested he bathe in a tub full of leeches. “Are you mad? I don’t fancy the chit. I was merely trying to do the honorable thing.”
Griffin tapped a hand on the table. “Perhaps what you should do, Argyle, is wait and see if rumors start to swirl about her. If not, then more than likely her reputation is sound and you won’t have to worry about your gentlemanly duty at all.”
“Indeed.” Cortland’s mind cleared as quickly as if the sun had shone brightly from beneath a cover of clouds. “Why, that is brilliant, Uxbridge. I daresay I should have considered that before I made an utter cake of her.” He laughed in relief. “It’s a good thing I have your council to rely upon.”
“Quite.” The earl cleared his throat as he downed his port. “If you will excuse me, I have an appointment I can’t miss. I shall bid you good day and good luck.”
“I shan’t need luck now, old chap!” Cortland called after the man’s retreating back. “The only thing I need is to retain my freedom, and I shall do so now that you have given me much to ponder!”
Cortland decided that it was time for him to depart as well. There was a ball that he was expected to attend that evening. Or at least, he needed to make an appearance since it was being held for one of the alliance members. One of the married ones, poor sod. But he wanted to ensure that his new duchess had a successful gathering, so he intended to do his part to ensure it was well attended. A party with one duke was considered to be a boon, but with more than one, the matrons of society would be clamoring to gain future invitations in the off chance they might spot one of these rare creatures in the wild. And perhaps throw their eligible daughter in their direction.
He shuddered at the imagining and stood then promptly wavered on his feet.
And crashed to the floor.
Genevieve was grateful to have a reprieve from the war taking place in the midst of the Cranbrook household. Her grandfather hadn’t batted an eyelash when she had announced that she would not be accepting the Duke of Argyle, but her grandmother, on the other hand, had done everything short of threatening to send her back to the country until she came to her senses and married the man. It didn’t matter what Genevieve said to defend herself, it was taken as an argument by an unruly child, even though she had reached her majority, and was quite able to make her own choices.
When Eleanor had mentioned the ball that evening, Genevieve had voiced the desire to go. Although she despised most ton events, because they were perfectly staid and boring, she desperately needed the escape that it would give her. She might be forced to travel in close proximity to the duchess in the carriage on the way there and back, but everything in between could be spent taking the air on the terrace or escaping somewhere equally quiet.
When they arrived, they handed their wraps over to the waiting footman. A sudden attack of nerves struck Genevieve as they waited to be announced, because what if Argyle was there? Would he approach her? Or pretend indifference? Perhaps act as though she was no one of consequence at all, just as he had done before the night of his house party.
In hindsight, she realized that she preferred being ignored, rather than suffering the arrogant aristocrat that he’d been that morning.
Her hands clenched as she thought of his crass approach to marriage and spending the rest of their lives together. It was like a business arrangement, only worse. The bubble of fantasy that she had spun, imagining that he had been pining for her all that time, had abruptly burst, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.
She was quite sure that nothing he did could persuade her to change her mind.
After greeting their host and hostess, Genevieve patted her hair, to ensure the coiffure was firmly in place, and ran her hands down her light pink gown with its delicate, moss green, floral overlay. She’d had it designed especially for a special gathering because she knew that the colors complemented her fair coloring.
She certainly hadn’t worn it for the Duke of Argyle. If she had, it was only to show him what he might have had, should he have approached her in a different manner.
Keeping her chin held high and proud, her footsteps sure, she entered the crowded ballroom with the confidence born of a duke’s granddaughter. She glanced at her grandmother, and the duchess gave her nod of approval. If she were to be granted any olive branch this evening, that was likely it.
They parted at the foot of the stairs, and as Genevieve meandered about the edge of the ballroom, she told herself she was merely searching for Arietta, or another lady of her acquaintance.
But as she passed by the open terrace doors, her arm was grasped and she was pulled into the night air before she could gather her wits enough to scream. However, when she found herself in close proximity to the Duke of Argyle, her reservations quickly fled, to be replaced by something infinitely more dangerous. And perhaps even a bit wicked.
“Good evening, Lady Genevieve.” His voice was huskier than usual, and his breath held a combination of mint and something darker, stronger. Even his cologne enveloped her in its scent. If it was possible to smell of desire and seduction, then surely he was the epitome of both.
“Your Grace.” She had hoped to relay a flat rejoinder, but she feared it came out rather breathless instead.
He pulled her close. “I was hoping we might have a chance to talk.”
In the light of the full moon shining down on them, she noted the color of his hair. She had always thought it was brown, but it was actually more of a chestnut red. His eyes were deep and brown with tiny flecks of gold, that matched his brown waistcoat and black attire to perfection.
But then she noticed the slight discoloration near his temple.
Genevieve frowned. “What happened to you?” She gently touched the bruise.
“Ow!” He jumped back as if he’d been burned. “I had a slight altercation with the table at White’s this afternoon.”
“Oh, I see.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “You mean you got drunk and fell down.”
He gave a haughty sniff. “I suppose if you want to categorize it in laymen’s terms.”
She sighed. “And yet, you wonder why I didn’t fall at your feet when you offered me your hand.” She moved to the stone rail surrounding the terrace and glanced out at the darkened gardens beyond. It would be the perfect place for a late-night tryst. And perhaps, if she had initially conversed with Argyle under different circumstances, she might have been inclined to traverse those paths below. Instead, those illusions about how she would get him to notice her had been shattered, never to be rebuilt.
What a shame.
