Impetuous Innocent

  The approach of their partners for the next dance put an end to any confidences. Georgiana dipped through the cotillion and barely knew what she did. As dance followed dance, she realised the nods and smiles denoted not scandalised horror, but a sort of envious approval. Heavens! Just by taking her for a drive, Lord Alton had all but publicly declared himself. How on earth was she to rectify the mistaken impression? Then Georgiana reminded herself that in a few short days her Little Season would be over. And she would go back to Ravello and forget all about Lord Alton and his very blue eyes.

  It was almost time for the supper waltz. Lord Ellsmere came to claim her. By some subtle manoeuvre, he separated her from her court and proceeded to stroll down the long room with her on his arm.

  “My dear Georgiana, I do hope you won’t forever hold it against me, but I’ve a confession to make.”

  Startled out of her abstraction, Georgiana stared at him. “Confession?” she echoed weakly. Oh, dear. Surely he was not going to start pressing her to marry him, too?

  As if sensing her thoughts, he smiled at her. “No, no. Nothing to overset you. At least,” he amended, frowning as if suddenly giving the matter due thought, “I hope it won’t upset you.”

  Georgiana could stand no more. “My lord, I pray you’ll unburden yourself of this horrendous secret.”

  He smiled again. “It’s really quite simple. I engaged you for this waltz in proxy, as it were.”

  Her heart was beating an unnerving tattoo. “Who…?” Georgiana didn’t bother finishing her question. She knew who. And as if to confirm her suspicions, she felt a familiar tingling sensation start along her nerves, spreading from the bare skin of her shoulders and neck in a southerly direction. No, Lord Alton had not accepted his dismissal.

  “Ah, here he is.”

  With a smile and an elegant bow to her, Lord Ellsmere surrendered her to the suavely elegant gentleman who had come to stand beside her.

  Georgiana felt her hand being raised and the warm pressure of his lips on her fingers.

  “Georgiana?”

  His husky tone rippled across her senses. Despite all her intentions, she could not prevent herself from looking up. And she was lost. His eyes caught hers and held her gaze effortlessly. Somewhere in her unconscious the subtle perfection of his attire registered, along with an appreciation of face, form and figure, all apparently designed with her own prejudices in view. But her conscious mind was only aware of the total mastery he exerted over her senses, the hypnotic tug which drew her, unresisting, into her arms. Before she knew it, they were waltzing.

  With an effort, Georgiana managed to free enough wit to realise he was smiling at her in amused appreciation, quite certain of his conquest. Then, as her senses probed the ballroom about them, the enormity of his strategy hit her. They might have been waltzing amid a host of other couples, but every eye in the ballroom was on them. She blushed vividly.

  This evidence of her sudden awareness drew a deep chuckle. “Don’t worry. You look radiantly lovely. Just think what a handsome couple we make.”

  Georgiana tried to summon enough anger to glare at him, but her overwhelmed emotions were not up to it.

  Dominic looked down at her, her golden eyes and creamy skin, the glorious riot of her golden curls filling his vision. More than satisfied with her capitulation thus far, he made a mental note to play on her senses more often—a subtle torture, at present, but so very rewarding.

  The music drew to a close, Georgiana waited to be released, but, instead of bowing and escorting her back to Bella’s side, Dominic simply tucked her hand into his arm and walked out of the ballroom. Entirely unable to resist, and with a sinking feeling that it would be singularly pointless to try, Georgiana found herself wandering the corridors on Lord Alton’s arm.

  Suspecting that the amble had more purpose than was apparent, Georgiana turned an enquiring gaze upwards, to be met with a smile of quite dazzling effect.

  “I thought, my love, that, given your apparent misconception regarding my feelings towards you, we should find a quiet spot where I might endeavour to disabuse your mind of its strange notion.”

  Georgiana tried, really tried, to come up with some suitable response, but not a coherent phrase came into her head. At the end of the long corridor, Dominic turned right, opening a glass-panelled door and ushering her through.

  Vines and species of ficus grew out of large tubs artfully arranged to give the impression of a tropical forest. Cyclamens provided bursts of exotic colour amid the greenery. A small fountain played a lonely tune in the middle of a circular tiled courtyard. Of other humans, there was no sign.

  With no real idea of what he meant to say, Georgiana was caught between a desire to hear his words and a conviction that it would be unwise to do so. But she was given no choice in the matter as, smoothly compelling, Dominic led her to a rustic ironwork seat. At his nod, she sat, and he sat beside her, retaining possession of her hand and showing no inclination to release it.

  Sensing her skittering nerves, Dominic smiled reassuringly and raised her fingers to his lips, placing a leisurely kiss on each rosy fingertip, his eyes all the while holding hers. He watched as her golden eyes widened and her breathing suspended, then started again, more shallowly and less evenly. Entirely satisfied, he grinned wickedly. “Now where were we, when you so abruptly left the room this afternoon? Ah, yes! You believe I’m in love with Lady Changley and was intending to marry her.” He directed a look of patent enquiry at Georgiana, clearly seeking confirmation.

  Trapped, in every way, Georgiana coloured.

  Smiling again, Dominic continued, his voice light but perfectly serious. “I’m not, I’ll have you know, in favour of the idea of a gentleman discussing his paramours with anyone, least of all with his intended bride. Young ladies are not supposed to be cognisant of the sorts of affairs women such as Lady Changley indulge in. However, as you have already heard of her, I’ll admit we enjoyed a short liaison, which ended some weeks before I met you.”

  Dominic paused to allow the full implication of his words to sink in. Georgiana’s attention was complete; she was hanging on every word, and he doubted not that she would remember what he said, even should she fail to immediately register its import.

  Pensively he began to stroke her fingers with his thumb. “Like all rich and single peers, I am high on the list of prey for such as Lady Changley. She, unwisely, believed I was besotted enough to offer marriage. At no stage did I do so. You’ll have to take my word for that, although you will notice no public charges for breach of promise have been levelled at me. That’s because she knows no one would believe I would be so lost to all propriety as to offer to make her my Viscountess.”

  To Georgiana his words were every bit as intoxicating as the sensations produced by the insistent pressure of his thumb over the sensitive backs of her fingers. Then his eyes lost their far-away look and his gaze became intent, capturing her own as if to focus her entire being on him. Georgiana felt herself drowning in blue.

  Without releasing her from his spell, deliberately, Dominic raised her hand to his lips, but this time turned it to press a warm kiss to her palm. He smiled at the marked shiver the caress produced, but his eyes were nevertheless perfectly serious as he said, “The feelings I have for you, my love, are far removed from the lust a man feels for his mistress, a fleeting emotion which dissipates, usually in months if not weeks. No man marries his mistress. No man falls in love with his mistress.”

  Georgiana could not have moved if the ceiling fell. She was mesmerised—by his voice, by his eyes, by him. Drawing a shuddering breath, she waited for what was to come, knowing she could not prevent him from saying the words, knowing that, once said, they would bind her, no matter how hard she struggled, tying her to him, not by his love, but by hers.

  Dominic continued to devour her with his eyes, following her reactions. He waited until full awareness returned to her, then said, “What I feel for you is far removed from mere lust. I can hardly den
y I know what that is and can readily define it. What I feel for you is not that. I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you, asleep in my armchair by the drawing-room hearth at Candlewick. You belong there.” He paused, knowing that his next move was chancy, but, confident he had gauged her responses, and her temperament, accurately, he smoothly continued, “Regardless of what you may say, regardless of how many times you deny it, I know you love me in exactly the same way I love you.”

  His words, delivered in a low, deliberate, slightly husky tone, sent shivers up and down Georgiana’s spine. He was right, of course, at least in defining her love. Oh, what temptation he posed! Still trapped in his gaze, she knew immediately his attention shifted. His eyes were now fixed on a golden ringlet hanging beside her face. One long finger came up to caress the soft curl, then moved on with tantalising slowness to outline the curve of one brow, then the length of her pert nose, and then traced, oh, so lightly, the full bow of her lips. The roaming finger slipped under her chin and tilted her face upwards. Georgiana’s eyelids drooped. His lips touched hers in the gentlest of kisses.

  When he drew back, she could barely cope with the sense of loss, could barely restrain herself from throwing her arms about his neck and behaving like a wanton. Again, she blushed rosily, not at his actions but at her thoughts.

  Entirely satisfied with progress thus far, Dominic sat back and waited patiently until her breathing slowed, watching her through half-closed lids. When she had recovered sufficiently to glance at him once more, he took up his dissertation. “As you’ve realised, the rest of the ton are now au fait with my intentions. Our affairs are thus public knowledge, and should, given your age, proceed with all due circumspection.”

  He smiled, his eyes lighting with a certain devilment that awoke an answering spark in Georgiana. She found herself smiling back in genuine empathy.

  “Thus, you will now be wooed in form. I will drive you in the park every afternoon, weather permitting. I will escort you to whichever evening functions it is your desire to attend. The ton will be edified by the sight of me at your pretty feet. Therefore, having attained that position, it will be no great difficulty to propose to you at the end of the Season.”

  Whereat you’ll accept me. And thank God there’s only a week of the Season to go! Dominic left his last thoughts unsaid, contenting himself with another warm smile. Dropping a last kiss on Georgiana’s fingers, he rose.

  “Come, my child. We should return you to the ball before the dowagers start having the vapours.”

  THE INTERLUDE in the conservatory disturbed Georgiana more than she had believed possible. She had never before been exposed to, let alone been called upon to withstand, anyone as compelling as Bella’s brother. The magnetic force he wielded was of a magnitude that rendered mere reason impotent. Settled in her corner of the chaise on their way home from Rigdon House, she was conscious that the attractions of Ravello and freedom were dimming in the light of the flame Lord Alton was skilfully igniting.

  That he meant to do it, she had not a doubt. Deliberate, calculated, he made no effort to hide his tactics. He wanted the Place. In the darkness of the carriage, Georgiana shivered.

  Their discussion had at least relieved her mind of one nagging, guilty worry. He did not and had never loved Lady Changley. Of that, she was certain. She could not decide whether it was the hint of humour that had coloured his voice when he had spoken of his mistress or the coldly unemotional way he had considered her machinations that had convinced her. But convinced she was. Lady Changley might or might not have believed he was in love with her. Whichever way it was, she was only another victim of his lordship’s potent charm.

  Unfortunately, all that did was prove he had the ability to make women fall deeply in love with him. It hardly proved that he loved her.

  The more she considered the matter, the more she doubted the possibility. Why would such a handsome man, so eligible in every way, with all of the last ten years’ débutantes to choose from—incomparables included—have decided to opt for her? Little Georgiana Hartley, whose head barely topped his shoulder, who knew next to nothing of the fashionable life of England, let alone the political side with which he was so intricately involved. Why had he picked her?

  The Place. It was the only answer.

  Miserable all over again, Georgiana lay sleepless for a long time after Cruickshank had snuffed her candles. In the dark, she wrestled with demons who all too often had bright blue eyes. He professed love, and she longed to believe him. Yet, when it came down to it, his actions belied his words. Admittedly she had been brought up in Italy, but she couldn’t believe national boundaries changed human nature so very much. True love always brought desire in its wake, as was only right and proper. Yet the chaste kiss he had bestowed on her had held no hint of burning passion. And she knew that wasn’t how he kissed a woman he desired.

  Again and again, her thoughts brought her back to the same depressing conclusion. He was an expert in seduction; she was a novice. Her hand in marriage would secure the Place, so he had calmly set about capturing it. In the world of the ton, it would be considered a very fair exchange—her land for the position and wealth he could provide.

  As the hours of the night gave way to a grey dawn, Georgiana considered for the first time whether she might be wise to listen to the promptings of her heart, to accept the proposal he had told her was coming, even knowing that her love wasn’t shared. She knew he would always treat her well—with respect and affection, if not with the love she craved. She would fill the position of his wife, be able to care for him, bear his children.

  A vision of Candlewick swam before her, and she spent some time imagining what might be. But she could not place him in the picture beside her. Instead, he appeared as a nebulous figure, arriving in the dead of night, leaving with the dawn.

  With a sob, Georgiana buried her face in her pillow. No. It was impossible. If she couldn’t have his love, the rest was meaningless. She would leave for Ravello as soon as the Season ended.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “HUMPH!”

  The loud snort brought Georgiana awake with a start. Cruickshank stood by the bed.

  “You’d better wake up and take a look at these.”

  With a grim look, Cruickshank drew back the bed curtains. The window drapes had already been opened, letting weak morning sunshine bathe the room. For an instant Georgiana stared uncomprehendingly at her maid, then her attention was drawn to the door. It opened to admit a young girl, one of the parlour maids, all but concealed behind a huge stand of cream roses.

  The girl peeked at Georgiana around the delicate blooms, then, with a giggle, crossed to deposit the vase on a table by the window.

  To Georgiana’s astonishment, her place in the doorway was immediately taken by another maid, similarly burdened. When a third maid entered, with yet more cream roses, Georgiana put her hands to her hot cheeks. Cream roses in October!

  Hundreds of cream roses.

  By the time the procession of maids had transferred all the blooms delivered to the house by the florist’s that morning to her bedroom, Georgiana was speechless. She sat and stared. The sheer outrageous extravagance of the gesture numbed her. About her, the delicate perfume of the flowers took hold, flavouring the air with their subtle enchantment.

  She needed no card to tell her who had sent them.

  At the Rigdons’ ball, he had vowed to woo her formally. His public courtship had started that night, when he had returned her to Bella’s side but remained possessively beside her, discouraging all her partners but those he approved of simply by being there. The next day he had swooped down on her morning and taken her driving to Richmond, later producing a picnic hamper for lunch and taking her to the Star and Garter for tea. It was impossible to stand firm against the invitation of his smile. He would accept no denials. Powerless to prevent his whirlwind courtship, she had, unwillingly, reluctantly, been swept along, mesmerised by the blue of his eyes. The following evening she had
seen the effects of his strategy. As far as the ton was concerned, only the ceremony was required to establish her as the Viscountess Alton.

  In the four days that had followed, each filled with unsought joy and a hidden despair, he had succeeded in convincing everyone that theirs would be a marriage made in heaven, until it seemed to Georgiana that only she guessed the truth.

  Her moods fluctuated wildly, from ecstatic pleasure when he was with her, to blackest despair when he was not. She was counting the days to the end of the Season, to when Bella and Arthur departed for Candlewick and she could flee to Ravello and safety. She had even tried to sound Arthur out on the possibility of leaving before then. But he had looked at her blankly, seeming not to understand her oblique reference. Incapable of being more explicit, she had been forced to let the matter drop.

  Cream roses surrounded her. Her consciousness was filled with him to the exclusion of all else. Georgiana sighed.

  Only Cruickshank remained in the room, fussing over laying out her clothes, sharp eyes stealing covert glances, trying to assess her reaction.

  Shaking free of despondency, Georgiana slipped out of bed. Cruickshank held up a blue morning dress for her approval. Through narrowed eyes, Georgiana studied its clean lines. Then, abruptly, she shook her head. “No, Cruckers. The new green velvet, please.”

  Cruickshank’s eyebrows rose comically, but she made no comment beyond the predictable snort.

  Stripping off her nightgown, Georgiana washed her face and donned her soft muslin undergarments while Cruickshank brought out the latest of her purchases from Fancon. If her association with Lord Alton had taught her anything, it was to value the added confidence appearing before him in new and fashionably elegant gowns gave her. Besides, in a few days’ time, she would no longer have the pleasure of appearing before him at all. Despite the heaviness of her heart, weighed down by unrequited love, she was determined to live these last few days as fully as she could, to store away the bittersweet memories to warm the long winter days, and nights, in Ravello.