“That is not what he said.”
“What hesaid? How do you know what he said to me and when?”
Georgia suddenly sounded suspicious. Keaton sighed, running a hand over his forehead.
No, I owe her nothing. I do not need to reveal secrets any more than I must allow her into my heart. Damnation, but how does she always contrive to smell so intoxicating?
It served as a powerful distraction, making Keaton aware of her body, of Georgia as a woman. She was out of his sight, but he could not put her out of his mind.
“It is irrelevant what my uncle thinks. Only what I think. I am Duke.”
“And your word is law.” She had a tone of mockery in her voice.
“Yes,” he snapped.
“You cannot stop me from going to Silverton,” she started.
“It is evening. You could walk, but it is a long way and the roads are unsafe after dark.”
“I will take the risk to help my cousin.”
Her voice was suddenly closer, forcing Keaton to orient himself to her new position. He fought a flash of irritation.
“I cannot allow you to do that. It is out of the question.”
“Try and stop me.”
He heard her footsteps moving away; the smell of the soap lingered in the air, tantalizing, a memory of the woman who had moments before stood so close that he might have touched her.
“Fine. If I accompany you to Silverton, will that satisfy you?” he conceded with a sigh.
The footsteps halted. Keaton heard the swirl of a skirt; she had turned back to him.
“Yes. And I will attend the dinner with Lord Swinthorpe on our return, assuming all is well with Amelia. But if all is not well…”
“We will burn that bridge when we come to it, I assure you.”
Georgia laughed. The sound had a musical quality but also a husky note that Keaton found very attractive. It communicated a knowingness that was appealing in a woman, speaking of an awareness of feminine mysteries. Not that he had any reason to think of Georgia as being worldly, but the notion was an alluring one.
“Then we will go at once,” he said, decisively, “let us get this nonsense over with.”
He strode across the room, his mind sharpening as he recalled the layout and steered himself unerringly around furniture. A part of his mind heard Georgia breathing, expected her to be standing, waiting for him to approach, and judged the opportune moment to stop and raise his crooked arm. Her hand slipped through it, and she chuckled.
“Something funny?” he asked, coldly.
“Your performance. You ought to be on the stage.”
Keaton started for the door, stopped a yard from it, and reached for the bellpull to summon a servant. He stepped through and waited for the summons to be answered.
“You mock the hard work of a blind man to adapt himself to his environment.”
“Oh, please. You must at least admit you were simply flaunting just then,” Georgia protested.
“I do not…flaunt,” Keaton replied with ice in his tone.
He did not like even a hint of mockery, and Georgia could have a very irreverent tongue in her head at times. Keaton sensed the approach of a servant and recognized Rutherford by his particular gait. He waited for the butler to hail himand then became annoyed at himself. The only reason he had not addressed Rutherford by name before the man identified himself was to avoid further comment by Georgia.
I must put her in the proper place. It is wrong that I am conscious of what I do or say now. She is a wife of convenience. Not a true wife. A very inconvenient wife, in all honesty…
