“Between,” Georgie repeated, “us.”
And all she could hope for was that she could talk her service-minded father into understanding that his oldest daughter, who had lived her life as an obedient oldest daughter, had finally had enough. She had hoped…
She had planned….
She shook her head. No matter to give voice now. She would simply confuse her aunt and worry her cousins. But the chaos that was upending her plans swelled in her like lava rising in a volcano, threatening to scorch the earth beneath and send everyone fleeing.
And yet, still, she couldn’t discount the lingering delight from that kiss.
Blast him.
“It would seem, Aunt,” she said, finally pulling at the fingers of her gloves, “I do have time to speak to the Marquess before my parents arrive home.”
“Do not be absurd,” her aunt protested, feathers bobbing again. “Haven’t you caused enough talk for one night? You shall wait for your father.”
“No, Aunt,” Georgie disagreed, pulling off her second glove and laying both on the secretary, her voice gentling. “I need to speak with the Marquess before a formal offer is made or my voice will never be heard.”
Her aunt spun around, those pernicious feathers bobbing and swaying. “What do you have to say to the matter? Especially after that display you put on tonight?”
A display no one would have seen if her aunt had not broadcast it like a town crier. All Georgie could do was walk over, give her aunt a kiss on the cheek and continue out of the room. She had a real confrontation to face.
7
Georgie was standing outside the door to the Chinese salon trying to screw her courage to the proverbial sticking post when the sisters’ maid trotted up and took a moment to consider her, head tilted like a curious bird, her hands filled with the ubiquitous knitting she did for the village poor.
“Got yourself in the suds, did ya?”
All Georgie could do was nod. She didn’t need to ask how Preston knew. Preston knew everything almost before it happened.
Preston nodded right back, her greying blonde hair not moving an inch from its ruthless bun. A comfortably plump fifty, Preston had been assigned to Georgie and her cousins on their seventeenth birthdays when they came down from what she and her cousins fondly called the Last Chance Academy, where they had allegedly learned the basics of being a lady. Preston’s job had been to polish the edges and watch for trouble. Too bad she hadn’t been at the ball tonight.
“Is he at least easy to look at?” the older woman asked, considering the door much as Georgie was, as if she could discern his features through wood.
Georgie shrugged. “Compelling,” was all she would allow, even as her heart picked up speed again in anticipation of seeing him. Her ridiculous heart that didn’t know what was good for it.
Blast him.
“Well, you’re not gettin’ anything done standin’ here. Wait much longer and yer auntie will be goin’ in before you do.”
An excellent point.
Taking a last moment to wipe her damp palms against her skirts and draw in a steadying breath, Georgie opened the door and stepped through to find the Marquess standing over by the display case in the corner, hands clasped behind his back, head bent forward, evidently perusing the collection of jade dragons that inhabited the shelves.
“Exquisite,” he said without turning.
She stopped inside the door, hand still on the latch. “My parents are well-traveled.”
Finally, he turned, wearing a half-smile. “And you? Are you well-traveled?”
That caught in her chest like a shard of glass. “Not as much,” was all she would admit. She wouldnottell him of her dreams delayed that involved time on the Continent, the subcontinent, maybe a continent to the west. Dreams she had only recently allowed to crystallize.
“Won’t you have a seat?” she asked as Preston carried her knitting over to the conveniently placed chaperone’s chair by the window.
As if on cue, there was a scratch on the door.
“Come,” Georgie said, approaching the scarlet settee and easing down as if she were practicing etiquette back at school.
The door opened to admit Reems and two perfectly turned-out housemaids laden with tea fixings. Flipping his tails, Coleford sat in the opposing settee and laid his hands onhis thighs. Beautiful thighs. Horseman’s thighs. Strong, sinewy hands.
