Success! Georgie made a valiant effort to keep from gloating. Though one glance at Mary Beaucraft’s pinched lips and she suspected she’d failed.

Mary couldn’t keep that sour expression for long, however, not when Lord Malcolm was standing beside them and watching them both.

No, not really. He was watching Georgie. She knew he was watching her because she could feel his gaze on her. She’d seen him staring from the sidelines as the duke danced with her and his gaze had been snared, firmly and securely.

That was how it was done, she wished she could say to Mary. But of course, she could not. That would be the height of rudeness, and while she might be competitive, she was never rude.

Except perhaps to the duke, though that wasn’t entirely her fault. Roxborough seemed to bring it out in her. He was just so…stiff. Such a relentless bore.

Surprisingly graceful, though. She’d been more shocked than anyone when he not only acceded to her wishes for a dance, but then led her in a waltz with a firm lead and a remarkable sense of rhythm.

She’d been impressed, but then she supposed as a duke he’d been trained in all the social niceties, including dance.

Too bad no one had taught him how to have a personality.

Her smile grew as she watched Lord Malcolm move past two of his friends so he could join them. Nay, to join her. She flashed Mary a triumphant grin. Time to give up the battle, Mary, she wanted to say.

But she wouldn’t. That would be crass.

“I see the duke is kind to his guests,” Mary said with a sniff.

Poor loser. “Indeed,” she said. She kept her chin high. She would not dignify that barely veiled insult with a proper response. Besides, Mary was right enough. The duke hadn’t even wanted to dance with her. She’d practically forced him.

The thought made her uncomfortable so she shoved it aside and brightened her smile as Lord Malcolm reached her side.

“Miss Cleveland,” he said. His smile was charming. So very charming. So very unlike the duke’s.

Her smile faltered. Why on earth was she comparing this man to Roxborough? No two men could be more different. Of course his smile was unlike the duke’s. The duke didn’t own a smile.

The memory of Roxborough’s lips tugging up almost against his will made her own lips twitch with amusement. Heavens, but it was fun to tease that man.

Inappropriate, of course. Her mother would be turning in her grave if she could see the way she’d acted tonight. But of course, her mother wouldn’t have been watching Georgie’s behavior. She’d only ever cared about one daughter, and she supposed Claire’s actions of late would be keeping their mother’s ghost well and truly occupied.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Lord Malcolm said when his friend, Lord Archer, struck up a conversation with Mary. As a baron, Lord Archer might have the better status, and perhaps even a bigger fortune, but she and Mary both knew that he couldn’t hold a candle to Lord Malcolm in terms of attractiveness or charm.

She smiled prettily at the compliment, batting her eyelashes as she’d practiced in the mirror.

Mary could have Lord Archer. She had very clearly gained the favor of Lord Malcolm, and that was what mattered.

“Might I have the next dance?” Those were his words, but his tone said so much more.

Heavens, his voice was very nearly seductive with its low overtones. She ought to be thrilled. Swooning, perhaps. But the fact of the matter was, she found herself feeling oddly chilled.

His gaze was dark and filled with something…warm. Intimate. He took her hand and led her toward the dance floor, pulling her into his arms. “Your gown is splendid.”

She smiled up at him. This was what she’d wanted. It was all happening.

“The gold color makes your eyes shine like gems.”

She blinked up at him. Shine like gems? Her eyes? Whatever did that mean? She might have asked but his look was so very intense. So serious it made her want to laugh.

“Thank you, Lord Malcolm.” And the black of your waistcoat makes your eyes appear to smolder like coals.

No, that wouldn’t do. She bit her tongue to stifle a laugh. She’d always had a tendency to laugh at the most absurd occasions. Like at their grandfather’s funeral, for example. Not that she’d found his passing humorous, yet the heavy gloom had made her instinctively seek out the lighthearted and the absurd.

But funerals were not a place for laughter any more than this occasion was.

Dancing with the duke was another matter entirely. It had been impossible not to laugh when he was silently chiding her with those judgmental looks and those disapproving glares. But Lord Malcolm…well, he was definitely not disapproving.

If anything, he was too approving. His heated looks were becoming a bit too much to bear, to be honest. The more heated he became, the colder her insides grew. But she kept a smile firmly in place for the sake of appearances.

She only hoped Mary was watching.

But of course she would be. The poor girl wouldn’t be able to help herself. Last season they were both new to society and she supposed their close friendship was only natural. The competition between them even more so. Georgie was glad of it. She thrived on that sort of competition; it gave her boring life the thrill she needed.

So she found herself smiling up at Lord Malcolm for Mary’s sake. Just as she’d admittedly strong-armed Roxborough into dancing with her to make her friend jealous.

“Are you warm, Miss Cleveland?” Lord Malcolm’s smile was knowing. “Your pink cheeks are fetching.”

Her smile faltered, but luckily they were circling one another in the dance and she was given a reprieve from that heated stare.

To be clear, her cheeks were warm, but out of embarrassment at her earlier behavior. Oh, she did not regret dancing with the duke. For one, it had achieved its purpose of snaring Lord Malcolm’s attention while also making Mary green with envy. And two, the duke had proven to be a surprisingly capable dancer. And entertaining to boot. Not charming—heavens no—but his laugh was quite lovely. Its rarity made it that much more special. And while he did not speak much, she found herself listening eagerly to his words—yes, because she longed to tease him for whatever stodgy statements he might make, but also because his words were always so eloquent, in their own way.

The remainder of the dance made conversation with Lord Malcolm nearly impossible and for that she was grateful. Not because she didn’t want to speak to him, but because his gaze was slightly unnerving, as though he were searching her for something. His words too seemed to hold hidden meanings. While he said one thing, his smirks and leering gazes inferred quite another.

All in all, the dance was disconcerting. This was the most time she’d spent in close proximity with Lord Malcolm and he was nothing like she’d imagined. His charm seemed forced at this close range.

When the dance came to an end, he took her hand and started to lead her to her friends. Or at least, she’d thought that was his intention. Instead he pulled her aside and murmured in her ear. His voice was low, his breath hot, his words…startling.

“Meet me in the gardens at midnight.”

That was it.

Meet me in the gardens at midnight. Nothing poetic about that, really, just a command. An order. She blinked at him in surprise, but before she could respond he led her toward Mary, who had been joined by Claire and Nicholas. He gave her one last heavy look, one filled with some foreign meaning before turning to rejoin his party.

Meet me in the gardens at midnight. Why ever would she do that? Presumably he’d meant alone, which was shocking in and of itself. But even more shocking was that he seemed to think she would comply.

Claire leaned toward her to be heard over the chatter around them. “Are you all right, dear? You look stricken.”

She forced a smile for her sister’s sake. If she were to tell Claire what he’d proposed, Claire would tell Nicholas and this situation would quickly escalate into something far more serious than it need be.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I suppose I’ve just overtired myself.”

Claire did not look convinced but her sister let the matter drop as she turned her attention back to her husband. This was fine by Georgie as it gave her a moment to sort out what exactly had just happened.

She might be young but she was not quite so naïve that she could not decipher Lord Malcolm’s intent. The more vexing question was why had he assumed she would be willing to risk her reputation for a garden rendezvous? They barely knew one another.

Had she been too forward? Had she given him the wrong impression? She’d meant to convey interest, but not like that.

She found him charming, certainly. Or at least she had before tonight’s odd behavior. But it was not as though they had formed some sort of connection. She’d felt nothing of the visceral bond her sisters were always going on about when they spoke lovingly of their husbands.

She frowned at the dance floor as if by reliving that dance in her mind she might figure out what exactly she had missed. Was there a connection there that she had not noticed? Had she been looking in the wrong direction when said bond was formed?

No, that didn’t sound right at all. She didn’t have to be a master of love to know that was not how it worked.

She was so lost in thought she forgot she was frowning off into space until her gaze met the frowning, furrowed scowl of her host.

Roxborough stood on the opposite side of the room but he might as well have been standing right before her. Their gazes met and held, his fierce glare still a glare, but a glare that held concern.

He was asking if she was all right. How she knew that, she did not know. She gave a smile and a small nod. I’m fine, she tried to say with her smile.

She was not fine but knowing that he saw her, that he was watching... It was somehow reassuring.