That was as far as he got with his grand plan before sleep overtook him.
3
Friendship
At least this time, Georgiana didn’t stumble upon a couple engaged in sexual congress.
It was merely a duke slumbering on the library’s settee, all long legs and broad shoulders, the narrow piece of furniture barely holding him. One arm lay flung over his eyes, his lips slightly parted. Stubble lined his hard jaw, rays of dawning sunlight spilling through the open window to catch in the deep hollows beneath his cheekbones. He’d lost his cravat and coat, and had unfastened his shirt enough to show lean muscle and sinew she tried very hard to ignore.
Georgiana stepped close enough to catch his scent—soap, brandy, man—and when his gold-tipped lashes quivered, she stumbled back, dropping the book she’d come to return. He didn’t wake, only rolled onto his side, and she threw out her arms in case he tumbled from the settee, a ridiculous instinct, since she’d never have been able to catch him.
When he stilled, she eased out a breath and took the offeredopportunity. With every tense line gone from his face, he looked younger, so much so that she could imagine the boy he’d been.
He also had the pinched look of someone who’d soon be needing breakfast.
Georgiana had good instincts. Everyone in her family said so. She’d certainly had enough practice nursing her brother through more than one morning after he’d imbibed too freely the night before. So she made her way to the kitchen, begged the staff just beginning to fire the stoves for tea and buttered bread. When she returned to the library, it was to find a duke sitting on the settee with his head in his hands.
His gaze skated to her with a ragged groan. “I’m going to kill Vale. Though itwasthe best cognac I’ve ever had.”
Georgiana stifled a smile that might not be appreciated. Crossing to him, she set the tray on the table and poured tea without comment. He accepted it with a low murmur of thanks, drank deeply, then held it out for a refill.
“Henry’s nurse won’t have him up yet,” he said, in a tone that was very much an invitation to stay.
Georgiana followed instinct and sat on the floor opposite him, the table between them, her skirt covering what ought to be covered. It was just after dawn, and from the past week, she knew no one would be up for hours. She poured her own tea and sipped, watching Dunmere work through three pieces of bread and jam as though he’d not eaten for days. He made no move to censure her casual posture, which felt decidedly un-ducal.
From where she sat, she took proper inventory, deciding his features a mix of elegance and hardness that somehowworked. His hands were broad, his nails neatly trimmed. His jaw was that of a pugilist, but his nose was as refined as an emperor’s. The most charming element was that his eyes didn’t match. One was distinctly lighter than the other, almost a crystalline blue while the other was a bold indigo. She’d never before seen the like.
“I had a raging fever when I was a babe,” he murmured, chewing. “My mother claims they were the same color before the illness, butI’m not sure that’s logical. My father didn’t think so, but then, they never agreed about anything.”
Georgiana choked, bringing her hand to her lips. “I’m sorry, I was staring.”
Dunmere waved this away and reached for the last piece of toast. “I laid myself out for viewing, didn’t I? As well as if I’d gone to the great beyond and you stumbled upon a viewing. Frankly, I’m grateful it’s you who found me. Lady Thompkins-Bedford has been trying to foist one of her frightful daughters on me, and this could have been her grand chance. The scandal of the year, a duke and a chit from her first season found tangled up like two cats in a sack.”
He paused, the toast halfway to his mouth.
And then there it was, what had been missing in every interaction so far: the genuine smile she’d only seen turned on his son. “You see, the duchess bit is enticing to some, Lady Georgiana.”
As if it weren’t toher.
She was beginning to think this was the only reason he talked to her—because she didn’t appear to want him.
Taking the last hearty bite of bread, he nudged the book she’d dropped with the tip of his polished boot. “The Corsair,” he murmured, tossing another amused glance her way.
“I like Byron,” she returned, the need to justify it catching her off guard. Dunmere now undoubtedly thought her a moody dreamer when nothing could be further from the truth. Only yesterday, she’d paged through a copy ofThe Annual Register, intent on an account of Waterloo. She’d only chosenThe Corsairbecause her sister, Imogen, loved everything romantic.
Vexed, she reached for it at the same time he did, her fingers grazing his. If he experienced the same jolt from the contact, he didn’t show it. Though he did flex his hand before drawing it back to his lap.
“If you’re returning it,” he said, tipping his teacup toward the book, “don’t forget your envelope.”
Georgiana frowned, recalling she’d used her father’s letter as a page marker. Rising, she moved to the shelf where the poets were keptand slipped the volume between Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Moore, but not before drawing out the envelope and folding it into her palm.
Dunmere propped his boots on the table and leaned back into the settee. “That’s quite a striking shade for a missive. A note from an enamored gentleman, perhaps?”
Georgiana glanced at the envelope. Why had her father chosen a garish crimson for his daughters’ assignments? “It’s from my father,” she said, surprising herself. She didn’t talk about him with anyone outside her family. The pain of his passing was a wound she hoped would heal faster if she didn’t think of it.
His smile dimmed. Society was, for the most part, a small world. Deaths, births, marriages, and scandals were known, privacy often the cost. “I’m sorry. Rather recent, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she murmured, returning to her tea and her place across from him. “I suppose I’m still getting used to his absence.” She placed the envelope in her lap. “Though he saw fit to leave each of his daughters an assignment, so in some ways he is still directing the household.”
