She was being kissed.

She was blissfully conscious of the sensation of his lips, of his tongue, and the manner his hands moved over her body, as if seeking to memorize it.

She inhaled the Scotsman’s masculine scent, so different from the cologne-spurting dandies prevalent in the ton. No floral compilation distracted her.

Lips brushed against hers in a delicious, ever-changing rhythm, more satisfying than that by any continental composer.

His arms had appeared muscular even in the dim light cast by the flickering candles, but now that no space separated them, the sensation was stronger.

Her sister’s intended brother-in-law had scrambled up the wall to enter her room through the balcony.

And yet, though Georgiana knew she should pull away, knew that this was one of those situations that did deserve a slap, pulling away from him seemed impossible.

Were they to stop kissing, they would likely have to discuss the kiss, and since Georgiana had never been kissed before, she wasn’t certain of the appropriate etiquette.

And the worst thing was—

It was pleasant.

Ridiculously, gloriously pleasant.

But then he thought she was marrying his brother. The fact soared through her mind, and she pressed her hands against his shirt, resisting the urge to contemplate the firm muscles beneath the linen, and shoved him away.

He moved instantly, and his hair appeared more tousled than before, and she realized it was because her hands had touched it. His skin was now flushed, and his eyes appeared disoriented.

“You kissed me,” she said, despising the confusion in her voice.

He hardened his expression and roamed his gaze over her body. “You enjoyed it.”

She flinched. “Why did you do it?”

He smiled, and unlike during his kiss, there seemed nothing pleasant about the manner in which his lips curled. His expression turned stony. “You shouldn’t marry my brother.”

“Oh,” she squeaked. “That’s—”

Mad? Insane? A flurry of words invaded her mind. She had no intention of wedding the duke, but then she was not engaged to him.

She considered telling him that she was merely his brother’s betrothed’s sister, but she didn’t want him to pester Charlotte. Her sister didn’t need to feel unwelcome in her new family. She must already feel overwhelmed by the duke’s impeccable status.

Her sister was so good. If she thought marrying the duke would bring him harm, she might be convinced to break off the engagement, no matter the horrific consequences she would face.

Formerly betrothed women could not easily find another fiancé. Everyone seemed to think chaperones were laxer after their charges had rings firmly on their fingers, and if Charlotte’s betrothment were to end, people would practically expect her to depart suddenly to Switzerland for a monthslong health cure. No other man would desire to marry her if the heritage of any resulting child would be forever questioned.

Georgiana would not allow Charlotte to be the subject of such malicious gossip. No way would she permit Charlotte to be persuaded to abandon her engagement.

Georgiana raised her chin to an angle that did not feel the least bit natural now and rallied her voice to evoke severity. “You need to leave.”

“Are you certain?” he drawled. “What with all the kisses?”

Anger inundated her, replacing all the pleasant sensations that had still fluttering through her. “You’re an abomination.”

She studied him. The man’s likeness to his brother was relegated to similarly straight noses and defined chins. The duke’s brother’s hair was dark, and it didn’t curl in any manner, much less an angelic one.

His shoulders seemed broader, more intimidating, though the duke had never stood as close to her as his brother did now. Once again her nostrils flared, acting against her will, as if enticed by the scent of manliness.

She jerked her head away.

There was nothing the least bit admirable about him, she reminded herself.

“Do you despise your brother?” she asked.

His blue eyes widened, and he stepped back. The floorboards creaked, and whatever strange tension had existed between them vanished. “Of course not.”

“Then why would you deny him the woman he loves?”

“Loves?” The man’s voice wobbled, as if he were musing the concept. “He loves you?”

Well. He loved Charlotte. Of that Georgiana was certain. Why else would he marry her? Even Georgiana knew Charlotte was an unlikely choice, despite her sister’s sweetness and beauty. He must have been compelled by love.

“What greater force is there?”

Lord Hamish Montgomery scowled, and for a moment Georgiana thought he might begin listing scientific elements or weapons. The latter seemed particularly plausible. Wasn’t the man supposed to idealize Scotland’s medieval heritage? Scotsmen had a peculiar ability to remain in the past, despite its unpleasantness.

Personally, Georgiana preferred the present, if not precisely this incarnation of it.

She glanced toward the door. “My parents might hear you.”

“Then I’ll declare you compromised, and you won’t be able to marry my brother.”

She blinked. “But then you’ll have to marry me.”

“Aye. Er—perhaps you’re correct.” The words came out in a much smaller sound, and Georgiana tried to not let her heart drop.

It shouldn’t matter that the thought of marrying her brought reason to a mind so uncontrolled by it. After all she had no desire to marry him either. The man had definite impossible tendencies. No sane man should clamber up the wall of a townhome.

It was just—

Georgiana had thought she would be betrothed by now. Her governesses had warned her that her auburn hair was unfashionable and might remind some gentlemen of witches, but Georgiana hadn’t thought she would find herself with no prospects in sight at the close of her third season.

Everyone had said that this was a good time to be a debutante. Men were no longer riding off to war, their epaulets fluttering and their medals gleaming under the sun. Yet the men who returned from the continent and beyond seemed disinclined to marry, favoring the chance to indulge in the pleasures they’d denied themselves in the past. The need to have an heir seemed less urgent when they were no longer dodging cannon balls, and gaming halls seemed more reliable sources of retreat from memories of the war than wedding breakfasts.

But perhaps Georgiana had been wrong, and they’d simply found her distasteful, despite her mother’s insistence that Georgiana attend a finishing school in the hopes of making a good match. The good match never appeared, and now a man who had just been kissing her was grimacing at the prospect of spending additional time with her.

“You should leave,” Georgiana said, and this time the duke’s brother nodded solemnly.

“Think about the money,” he said. “If it is a question of more—”

“It isn’t,” Georgiana said tersely.

Surprise lit his eyes, though unfortunately the emotion did not induce speechlessness. “The duke is betrothed to someone else. He is supposed to marry Lady Isla McIntyre. Her estate borders ours.”

The words ricocheted through her. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the duke was engaged, but she’d dismissed it as a rumor. After all, if the duke were truly engaged, he wouldn’t have proposed to Charlotte.

But this was the duke’s own brother. This was a man who knew the duke’s supposed other fiancée.

She squared her shoulders. Lord Hamish Montgomery’s words didn’t matter. Perhaps it was even more romantic that the duke had chosen her sister over a more sensible choice. Wasn’t that the sort of thing Loretta Van Lochen would write about in her delightful stories? The duke had given his heart to Charlotte, no matter the consequences.

“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “He doesn’t love her. Obviously.”

“I see you are not to be convinced.” The duke’s brother swept into a bow. The gesture seemed ridiculous after he’d barreled through all boundaries by breaking into her chamber via the balcony, but she descended into a curtsy.

What could she do?

In two days her sister would marry the duke, and they would no doubt encounter one another at all manner of family gatherings.

Perhaps her sister would move to Scotland to become duchess of an estate in the Highlands, but Georgiana intended to visit her, despite the unpleasantness of her sister’s new family.

Lord Hamish Montgomery opened the door and slipped outside, and Georgiana was left with the sensation of her heart still beating with a great force like a drummer boy calling troops to a battle that had already been lost.