Georgie pirouetted before her mirror, showing off the swirling skirts of her new gown. Her favorite gown. The most delightful gown anyone in the world had ever seen.

Claire laughed at her enthusiasm from where she perched on Georgie’s bed. “I’m so glad you’re happy with your wardrobe, Georgie. You deserve fine gowns.”

The wardrobe in question had been a gift from her brother-in-law, the Earl of Davenport. He’d taken over financial responsibility for all the unmarried Cleveland siblings when he’d married their sister, Anne, and no one could deny that he was a generous guardian.

Though he wasn’t technically her guardian, per se. Their eldest brother, Jed, held that role but as he’d made rather a mess of their lives when he’d squandered their inheritance at the gaming tables, he was something of a guardian-in-name-only these days. It was a situation that seemed to suit them all quite well.

It left Jed free to go about his gallivanting ways—minus the gambling, one hoped. Their brothers, the twins, Jonathon and Marcus, as well as Collin, the youngest, were home with him, of course, looking out for him as much as he was watching over them. It was a house full of young men, however, so no one seemed to worry overmuch about their reputation.

Georgie, on the other hand, was being spoiled rotten by her sisters and their new husbands, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She traveled between the two, staying with one sister and then the other over the course of this past year.

They’d all decided it would be for the best if she spent the season with Claire and Nicholas, as Anne was expecting a baby at any moment and unable to travel. That was, her husband had decreed that she was unable to travel, though Georgie and Claire suspected he was being overly protective of the wife he doted on so sweetly.

Truly, it was little wonder that by the end of a year spent watching Anne and Claire revel in their newfound bliss, Georgie had not only acquired a lovely wardrobe but also a newly solidified belief in true love.

Oh, she’d always believed such a thing existed in fairy tales. In the real world? That was another matter.

But now she not only knew it existed—she knew who her love would be. She’d attended a house party with Anne several months before and had met a gentleman who brought about all the delightful feelings she’d read about as a child.

Lord Malcolm Reynolds had every trait she could wish for. The son of a marquess, he was handsome, clever, and romantic beyond all measure. The man was a poet. An actual poet, in the flesh.

She’d never dreamt she would meet a man who not only understood poetry but who lived and breathed it, who felt its passion and spoke of it with such eloquence…

She sighed wistfully as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

Her hair was swept up in the latest style, and with this gown she looked as pretty as she could manage. Tonight’s ball at the Davies’ would be the perfect opportunity to catch Lord Malcolm’s eye.

Her smile faltered in the mirror. For that was the one problem with her grand plan to win the love of Lord Malcolm. He had not quite fallen for her yet. Oh, he had been delightfully attentive at the house party, but then again, he had been attentive to all the ladies.

He was a charming man, her Lord Malcolm. Which was one of his finer traits, really. Or rather, it would be once he admitted that he was in love with her and her alone.

Which he would, because it was destiny. Everyone knew that true love went hand in hand with destiny. And tonight was the start of their epic love story.

Claire sighed behind her. “That shade of gold is perfect for you, Georgie. It looks lovely with your eyes.”

Georgie’s gaze met her sister’s in the mirror and they both burst out in laughter. It had become their favorite joke, but only in private, of course. Georgie took her cue, lowering her voice and drawing her brows together to mimic that dark scowl the duke always seemed to wear.

“You have green eyes,” she intoned, imparting all the scorn in the world.

Claire shook her head. “We mustn’t mock. He is a duke, after all, not to mention my brother-in-law.”

But even as she said it, Claire was laughing, her eyes alight with mischief. Over the past year that Claire had been married to Nicholas, she had become more and more comfortable letting that wicked side out into the light.

Georgie loved the fact that Claire found a man who not only accepted her true nature, but who adored it. All those years her sister had made the ton believe she was so virtuous and good, but in the end she’d met and married the one man who’d seen the truth. She was good, but she was also human, with depths of feeling and an intelligence that few had acknowledged thanks to her flawless features and unassuming demeanor.

But Nicholas had seen Claire in all her glory and he loved her—all of her.

Georgie’s long sigh sounded silly and swooning even to her own ears. But really, her sisters’ love stories were ones to swoon over.

Georgie turned to face her sister. “I’m not mocking—” At Claire’s knowing smirk, she relented. “Oh, all right, perhaps I am. But it is all in jest. I like Roxborough.”

Her sister arched her brows. “Do you?”

“I do.” She said it staunchly because she meant it. True, the duke was not exactly charming, or even terribly likeable with his constant glowering and his judgmental glares.

But she liked him nonetheless. She always had. There was something about him that others did not seem to see. They were so busy cowering at the sight of that formidable glare that they did not look beyond it.

Even Claire would laugh if she tried to explain it, but Georgie had caught a flicker of humanity in him on more than one occasion. He might have perfected the image of the upright, proper gentleman, just as Claire had been the perfect simpering miss once upon a time. But underneath that rigid exterior was a soft center, she felt quite certain of it. She knew without a doubt that she hadn’t imagined his momentary panic after he’d uttered those silly words about the color of her eyes and had realized what he’d inadvertently insinuated.

Nor had she imagined other moments when she’d seen a chink in his armor. The duke might be self-righteous and forbidding, but he was human, and every man had his vulnerabilities.

Granted, she nearly laughed aloud at even thinking the word vulnerability in context with the great and ominous duke. Tall and broad-shouldered, the man certainly looked as though he were unbreakable. And his demeanor fooled everyone into thinking he was unfeeling and humorless.

But she knew better.

Georgie liked to think she had a keen sense of character. She’d always enjoyed puzzling people out, seeing past what they wanted the world to see and into the human heart beneath.

In that way she fancied herself a poet, to some extent. An artistic soul without the talent to express it. Which was why it was so very fitting that she’d found herself a true poet to wed.

“I have to admit, I am surprised that you like Roxborough,” Claire said. Then she hesitated, and Georgie understood why in an instant.

She flashed her sister a mischievous smile. “Why? Because he seems to dislike me so very much?”

That startled a laugh out of Claire, as she’d intended. Claire folded her hands in her lap, a left over remnant of her rigid upbringing. “Yes, I suppose that’s why I am surprised.”

Georgie laughed too. “You more than anyone ought to know how much I enjoy a challenge.”

Claire’s pretty blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “Indeed, I do. I am quite certain that accounts for at least half of your current obsession with that poet fellow.”

She scowled at her sister. “His name is Lord Malcolm, as you very well know.” She threw her chin up in the air with a sniff of only partially exaggerated self-righteous indignation. “And the fact that Mary Beaucraft has also set her cap for him is not the reason for my interest.”

The truth niggled at her. She never had been able to tell a lie, even if it were a minor one. “Well, not all of it.”

It was true that Lord Malcolm first came to her attention because Mary had seemed so smitten with him. She and Mary were of the same age and had similar tastes, in fashion and in gentlemen. They also both enjoyed being the center of attention and since there could typically only be one center to any social circle, this often left them as rivals.

When they weren’t friends, of course. She truly did consider Mary a dear friend. She just wished her dear friend would stop trying to steal her thunder, so to speak.

And there was no way she would concede on Lord Malcolm. Mary might have spotted him first, but everyone knew that Georgie was by far the more romantic of the two. If anyone were to be courted by a poet, it ought to be her.

That thought buoyed her as she finished getting ready. It fueled the competitive side of her so she was bursting with energy by the time they went downstairs to meet the others. Nicholas looked dashing as ever alongside the ever beautiful Claire, and Georgie was heartened to see that their mother had joined them, looking noble and stoic beside Roxborough with her silver hair and her fiercely unreadable expression.

It was clear where Roxborough got his temperament. Georgie had never met a lady with more armor around her person than the good duchess. But just like her son, the duchess showed glimpses of humanity. And in those rare moments, Georgie thought she might get on quite well with the older woman.

By the time the season ended, Georgie decided, she would be dear friends with the duchess and at least on friendly terms with the duke. She already liked him, it was just a matter of getting him to like her.

Just at that moment his gaze fell on her and she had the distinct impression that she had made an egregious error by walking down the stairs as she had done. Or perhaps it was just the way she smiled that bothered him so.

The thought made her smile broaden and, sure enough, his glower intensified, his eyes narrowing on her as though she had just offended his honor.

Heavens, but it would be fun to tease this man given the opportunity. Her lips twitched with the effort to keep from saying something that would poke a hole in his rigidness. Something that would make him laugh.

She tilted her head back to better study him as she accepted his cold, but perfectly appropriate greeting and compliment when she reached his side.

Yes, she would love to see him laugh. Preferably at himself, but she would accept any outward form of humor as a victory.

“Shall we?” Nicholas said as he led the party out toward the carriages.

There was not enough room for all of them in one so it was agreed that Nicholas and Claire would go on ahead in one, while Georgie accompanied the duke and his mother.

“Good luck,” Claire whispered with a laugh as she squeezed her hand before departing.

She eyed her companions with as much meekness as she could muster. Good luck, indeed. It was a wonder Nicholas turned out so very amiable with a mother and brother so frighteningly rigid. But, she reminded herself, she had made the duchess laugh at least once with her Haversham impersonation. There was hope for her yet.

The duke, on the other hand….

She beamed up at him when he offered his arm. When in doubt, she was not above killing with kindness.

He met her smile with a wary glare. Could a glare be wary? Somehow Roxborough managed it. The man was a true artisan with his brooding stares and glares and glowers. The thought turned her false smile real. She always had been able to amuse herself, if no one else.

She accepted his help into the carriage and seated herself beside his mother, who looked miserable, though elegant, in her black dress.

Despite their heavy silence, or perhaps because of it, Georgie filled the silence, avidly ignoring the duke’s disapproving glares as she did so.

She did have a tendency to talk too much, of this she was aware. But the silence here made her nervous. Not only was the duchess a rather intimidating woman, but her son managed to make Her Grace seem meek and approachable in comparison.

And it wasn’t just his permanent scowl or the judgmental coldness in those cold blue eyes. No, it was the fact that he had a way of looking at her as though he were looking straight into her soul. As though he saw straight past the pretty curls and the fashionable golden gown, straight past the upturned nose and gold-flecked green eyes… Why, she might have been a repulsive old spinster sitting across from him, or even his butler Hargrove, for that matter.

He didn’t seem to notice her looks at all, but he never dropped his gaze and those blue eyes cut straight through her making her shiver.

Oddly enough, his unnerving stare had the opposite affect that one might expect. It had always been this way with her. The more nervous she became, the more she spoke.

Of course, the same could be said when she grew overly excited or too overset. Chattering on and on seemed to be her outlet for excessive emotions. Some women blushed, others swooned—she talked. And talked and talked and talked some more.

She managed to keep up a mostly one-sided conversation during the carriage ride to the Davies’ ball. Once they came to a stop, she let out a long exhale of relief.

The duchess did not seem to notice that they’d arrived, nor that Georgie had stopped talking. The woman was staring into the distance and Georgie was not at all certain the older woman had been aware that she had been talking at all.

Guilt rose up, shaming her into silence at last. Here she had been prattling on about gowns and gossip when the duchess was facing her first season without her husband. They were waiting in a queue before they could exit the carriage and Georgie acted on impulse, leaning toward the intimidating woman slightly and placing a hand on her arm.

She may have been breaching protocol but her heart went out to this woman, who was so obviously still grieving. “Are you all right, Your Grace?”

The woman blinked rapidly before turning a pair of startlingly familiar icy blue eyes in her direction. “Of course,” she snapped. “What makes you ask that?”

Georgie could lie. Or rather, she supposed she could. She’d never been much good at prevaricating though, and she didn’t see why she should start tonight. “It’s just that this must be difficult for you. I am so sorry for your great loss.”

The duchess stared for so long, for a moment Georgie thought the older woman had lost the ability to speak. Meanwhile she was growing uncomfortably aware of Roxborough’s cold gaze on her, judging and accusing and overall finding her extremely lacking, of that she was certain.

But then the older woman’s frosty exterior thawed ever so slightly and she gave Georgie a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Georgie. That is kind of you to say.”

Georgie could practically feel Roxborough’s tension ease along with his mother’s, and that tiny show of humanity made her heart go out to him. It could not be easy to watch one’s mother grieve. She’d lost both parents at once in an accident, but even if they had not died together, she was not certain they would have grieved for one another any more than was necessary in society’s watchful eyes. There was no love lost between her mother and father, though Claire swore that they’d loved each other once. Or at least, she seemed convinced that her mother loved their father.

No one knew if their father was actually capable of love.

Heavens, how thoroughly depressing. She brought her attention back to the present when the duchess addressed her son. “Did you have a chance to read the list I left for you?”

She looked over to see Roxborough give his mother a small nod. “I have.”

“And? Did you see anything of interest?”

His gaze darted to her so quickly she blinked and looked away, as though she’d been caught snooping on a private family moment.

“I have narrowed it down,” he said. “Several will be at tonight’s ball, so I hope to have a better feel for the matter by the end of the night.”

Georgie gave up pretending that she wasn’t eavesdropping. She was sharing the same confined space, for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as though she were pressing her ear to a door and trying to listen in.

What list? She wanted to ask. Narrowed what down? She had to physically press her lips together to keep from asking.

She nearly didn’t make it. The questions threatened to burst out of her in the silence that followed. Just in time, their door was opened by a footman and then she was being helped down.

With wide eyes she stared at the entrance to the grand townhouse. Music spilled through the open doors and beautiful people in gorgeous dresses and suits were milling in the entryway.

This was it, the start of a new season. Last season had seen her sisters married and this would be her year, she was sure of it.

Roxborough offered his arm again, and she happily took it, not just because her gown and her new slippers were not well-equipped to navigate these cobblestones unaided, but also because…she was arriving on the arm of a duke.

Of course, his mother graced his other arm, but still. She was being escorted to her first ball of the season by a duke. Surely this boded well for her.

She just hoped Mary Beaucraft saw them arrive.

Her gaze sought out her friend and rival as they walked through the entry and into the ballroom, but when she found her, she nearly wished she had not.

She might have arrived with a duke, but Mary was dancing with her poet. She narrowed her eyes in irritation as she watched her friend giggle as she made eyes at Lord Malcolm.

“Are you all right, Miss Cleveland?” It was Roxborough addressing her and he sounded far from concerned. If anything, he sounded as irritated as she felt. This was her season, for heaven’s sake. It was she who ought to be smiling up at Lord Malcolm.

Why had they had arrived so late? If they’d arrived earlier she surely could have claimed this dance. She uncharitably blamed the duchess, even though she and Claire had been the last to arrive in the foyer.

Oh all right, perhaps she had been the tardy one. But everyone knew that it was not seemly to arrive too early.

It seemed she had misjudged.

Roxborough made to remove his arm, which she hadn’t been aware she was still clinging to.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, his voice droll and condescending.

It was then that she realized the dowager duchess had left his side to join Nicholas and Claire on the other side of the room. They were alone and still standing in the doorway to the entry.

He arched his brows and gave her hand on his arm a meaningful look. She tightened her grip. Really, there was only one way to regain the upper hand, and as this night would set the tone for the entire season, it was absolutely necessary that it be a success.

The only way to do that was to be seen arriving on the arm of a duke, nearly related or not, judgmental and stuffy or not, he was still a duke. She forced a smile as she pleaded with him through stiff lips. “Just one moment,” she said, her gaze darting to the left to see if Mary or Lord Malcolm had spotted her yet.

No, not yet. They looked horrifyingly amused with one another. But then, Lord Malcolm was too charming and pleasant to be anything less than jovial, no matter who his dance partner.

Roxborough towered over her. Of course he did, most gentlemen did, though none seemed to lord it over her as this duke did. “Are we waiting on something specific before we are allowed to be on our way?”

It was a struggle to keep her smile in place while also showing that she was not amused by his sarcasm. Which she was not. “Please, just wait one more moment,” she said.

Surely Mary would feel her stare if she could just look hard enough.

“Is there a reason you are speaking like that? Like you cannot move your lips?” Roxborough finally sounded amused. For the first time since she’d met him, the great and powerful duke sounded amused…and it was at her expense.

Lovely.

She silently willed Mary to look over. Mary was about to take a turn on the dancefloor, so now her friend must surely see her.

No! Drat.

“And why exactly are you staring at the dancers like that?” Roxborough continued. He was loud enough that she forced herself to look in his direction. If he did not stop speaking like that, he would attract attention.

The wrong sort of attention.

She smiled again, more naturally this time, she hoped. “Of course not,” she said. “I just thought I spotted someone I know.”

“It is the same crowd as every other ball, is it not?” he asked, his tone no less mocking. “I would certainly hope you recognize someone here.”

She pursed her lips, forgetting that she was supposed to be smiling lest Mary or Lord Malcolm glance over. “What list was your mother referring to?”

His irritating smirk faded instantly and she experienced a moment of satisfaction.

“That conversation was not for your ears,” he said.

Of course it wasn’t. That was what made it so tempting to tease him with it. And really, she had been right there. The blame surely fell on the duke and his mother for speaking of private matters in front of her.

He gestured toward the rest of their party, where they stood near the refreshments. Out of sight from the dancers. Two very particular dancers. “Shall we?”

She resisted, holding firmly to his arm. Drat. This moment would be lost if those two did not cease with their dancing and turn to look.

“Dance with me,” she said. Or rather, she ordered. She bit her lip in horror the moment the words were out. Not that dancing with Roxborough was all that horrifying. The man might be a stick in the mud, but he wasn’t as frightening as he’d have people believe. Still, that did not mean she wished to dance with him and watch him glare down at her without ceasing.

More than that, though, she did not suppose he’d often found himself ordered to dance. In fact, it was quite clear by the shock on his face that he’d never been ordered about—to dance or to do anything else.

And most certainly not by some young lady like herself, with no power, no title, and no fortune to speak of.

She shifted under his glare. Didn’t he ever tire of that particular look? His tone gave new meaning to the word haughty. “Pardon me?”

She itched to laugh but she would not. Though she did make a mental note of the precise and insufferable way he’d said those two words. Pardon me? Claire would appreciate the impersonation when she regaled her with this story later.

Of course, she might leave out just how impertinent she’d been to demand a dance.

She swallowed down her laughter and sought to appease the situation. “My apologies, Your Grace. What I meant to say was…”

Oh bother. How was she supposed to nicely order him to dance with her? She couldn’t, she supposed. But couldn’t he see that this was her grand entrance into society? This was her chance to make heads turn and Lord Malcolm take notice and—

“Bloody hell.” His muttered curse shocked her internal monologue into silence.

She blinked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He sighed as he looked down at her, quite obviously exasperated. “Your eyes are quite expressive, were you aware of that?”

She bit her lip, uncertain whether she ought to laugh or cringe. They are also green, she wanted to point out, but perhaps he would not see the humor in that particular jest.

She settled for arching her eyebrows. “What exactly did they say?”

“They were begging,” he said.

Her brows hitched higher in surprise. “Pardon me?”

“Pleading, really.”

She pressed her lips together now to keep from laughing outright at the disdain in his voice. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

He lifted his elbow by way of proffering his arm, which was unnecessary, really, as she was still holding on to him as though he were about to run off with her jewels. Never had anyone looked so inordinately displeased than he when he glanced down at her. “Shall we?”

She nibbled on her lower lip. Oh dear. Now she had gone and forced a duke to dance with her. Her mother hadn’t taken as much care teaching her the rules of society as she had Claire, but even she knew that this was not done.

Her gaze flitted back to the dancefloor where the man who might very well be her love was laughing at something Mary Beaucraft said as the dance came to an end.

It was decided. She looked up at her unwilling dance partner and donned the sweetest, most gracious tone she could muster. “I would love to dance, thank you.”