How can such wicked, wanton thoughts exist in my mind? Where do they come from? I would not have said I knew such acts could be performed!
Her face was scarlet as she recalled a moment in which she had lain back in a forest clearing, grass and moss soft beneath her. The barbarian prince had lifted her dress and then...
Oh my! I will go to hell if I do not purge myself of such.... delicious thoughts. Stop it!
It was then that she became aware of the knocking at her door.
“Yes?” she called out, scrambling to cover herself with the bedclothes.
The door opened to admit the fiery heads of Maggie Marsh and Cynthia Marsh, a pair of maids who were hired to help Cook during the summer seasons. Sisters, their eyes were wide above their freckled faces.
“Begging your pardon, Miss Georgia. But His Lordship and Her Ladyship have asked for your presence in the big house,” the older one, Maggie, said.
“There's a prince come to see you!” Cynthia quickly put in before her sister could usher her away to her chores.
This last was delivered in an excited, impatient squeak. Georgia frowned. No one would mistake the Earl of Emsworth for a prince. Someone the servants did not recognize had arrived, but one who had a great deal of presence.
“Oh my…” she suddenly breathed, thinking back to her stolen kiss, “would he have come after what I did?”
“Beg your pardon, Miss?” Maggie asked, entering the room to select a dress from Georgia's limited wardrobe.
“Not a prince, Maggie. A Duke, I think,” Georgia said thoughtfully.
“Same difference, Miss. Still exciting!”
Is it? I kissed him because I sought an escape, and I believed that would serve the purpose. Now that the moment is here, though... I am afraid. I am stepping into the unknown... Is it better the devil you know?
She dressed with Maggie's help, and then hurried across the stable-yard to the main house. She went to the sitting room located near the main entrance on the north side of the house, customarily used for receiving visitors. As she approached, she suddenly wondered if she had made a mistake. There was no sound of conversation from within. Perhaps the Duke was being entertained elsewhere?
Before she could reach for the handle, the door thrust open, and Uncle Benjamin stepped out. He puffed out his chest so that it almost matched the expanse of his stomach and tugged on his side-whiskers, glaring at her.
“You've done it now!” he whispered fiercely, “mired us in scandal, you have! Put my daughter's future at risk, not to mention our own carefully nurtured reputation!”
Georgia could almost scream at the audacity!
“Perhaps you should not have tried to foist an unwanted marriage to a beast upon me. Then he would not have tried to foist himself upon me, and I would not have needed to be rescued,” she whispered back, equally furious.
Benjamin's face darkened, and his meaty hands clenched. He took out a handkerchief, mopping at the sheen of sweat that had erupted across his broad forehead.
“I—I will not be spoken to like that by a wicked child. You will come in here now and salvage something for this family from your disaster.”
He opened the door and preceded Georgia into the room. She spotted the Duke seated in front of the window, which looked out over the park in front of the house. Aunt Clarissa was a disapproving statue seated on a chaise with her daughter beside her, immeasurably nervous.
The Duke’s face turned her way as she stepped into the room, and she reminded herself that he was blind and could not see her. His eyes just missed hers but were unerringly close. She found herself studying him brazenly. His face was handsome, remarkably so, communicating strength, sternness, and nobility. His eyes were soft and deep. It was ironic that they were, in fact, broken, for they were easily his most beautiful attribute.
Georgia felt her pulse gallop, butterflies gamboled in her stomach, and her mouth went dry. For one terrifying moment, she thought of the dream and feared that her thoughts wouldbe transparent for all to see. She fought to maintain some semblance of self-control.
“Your Grace,” she greeted the Duke tightly.
Now his eyes met hers as though the sound of her voice was all that he had needed. She gazed at him, feeling no sense that he could not see her, that he was not gazing back at her.
“Miss Roseton. I now have a name to put to the perfume,” the Duke said coldly.
“Perfume… Your Grace?” Georgia asked.
“It is how I first came to recognize you. We bumped into each other at the Assembly Rooms, quite literally. Obviously, I would not remember your face, but I do remember scent.”
“I must apologize once again, Your Grace, for my niece's precipitate behavior last night,” Uncle Benjamin put in, “I have been assured by Lord Emsworth that no harm was intended and that no further action will be taken. His marriage to my niece will proceed and...”
