Why would I take a bet I hoped to lose? “I’m not going to wager on my future happiness. Now, come on. Let’s go in. Still buying dinner?”
“Yes, I’m buying dinner. And I’m floating you a guinea for this wager. We’re going to find that famous book and write this bet in it. That way when I win, I’m not emptying your pockets.”
“If that will get you to not mention this anymore, then fine.”
As we entered the establishment, the Duke of Torrance was leaving.
I nodded.
He did too. “See you tomorrow for my friend’s first exhibition lesson.”
With a doff of his dark hat, he walked to the other side of St. James’s Street and boarded his carriage.
He didn’t have the cane.
The man looked better too.
My friend knocked my elbow. “Wonder if he already put a bet in Brooks’s book?”
Chuckling, Livingston went inside.
And I sort of stood there, my mind filling with questions. Were Miss Wilcox and I pawns in a bigger game, one of the duke’s making? Did he take advantage of this scandal to even a score with my father?
Livingston popped back out. “Oh, come on, music man. Tell me about this latest piece over a fine dinner. We’ll fret about bets and weddings later.”
“Right.” I followed my friend into Brooks’s, wondering if all this faux engagement was a gamble for a duke with secrets.
Chapter 16
GEORGINA—A FIRSTLESSON
The music room in Anya House should be a place of miracles. The gilded trim, the walls bearing the magical color of rose always stole my breath. It was the same hue reflected in the Thames when the sun set. I felt I should cover my head in reverence as one did entering church, but I let my freshly washed curls be free.
Pulled up high with an onyx ribbon, the tight curls fanned out like a crown.
Lord Mark Sebastian stared at me for a long moment. Then he danced his fingers along the pianoforte’s keys. “Miss Wilcox, let’s try the hymn again.”
Did he not like what he saw?
Was I unkempt or had he never seen a woman be free?
Waiting for his rhythm to settle, I no longer refrained from twirling. My gold-and-yellow dress, we’d found at the bottom of Mama’s trunk. The gathers about my natural waist dated the skirting but enhanced my figure and made the gown ready for movement.
“I can’t concentrate if you keep spinning. It’s also difficult for you to sing, Miss Georgina.”
“Almost on a simple first-name basis.”
“Well, ah . . . I . . . Miss Wil—”
“Georgina. Sir, you can be familiar. We are pretending to be a couple enraptured. Servants and guests stopping by for science meetings can poke their heads in or slow-walk past and see me twirling to your music. We are on display.”
He fingered a few more keys. “I need you closer, here by the pianoforte concentrating. Your voice is quite lovely, surprisingly so.”
My mouth formed the wordsthank you, but my tongue refused to say it. Instead, the part of me that wanted to run, that wanted to escape scrutiny, went for an argument. “Why? Why does my voice surprise you? Courtesans can sing. Women who love the sun can too.”
He looked up, but his hands never missed a note.
“It’s surprising because you actually have the passion to carry a tune. You could be proficient with practice. You definitely must learn to breathe and sing.”
