Silence once again reined at Roxborough Manor, but it did not bring the sweet salvation Roxborough had hoped. Rhys drummed his fingers on the desk as he peered at the document his estate manager in Devonshire had sent over. He peered, but he did not read. It was time to acknowledge that no amount of staring with narrowed eyes would help to impart the words into his brain.

But this blasted silence. It set him on edge.

Granted he’d wished for normalcy ever since his visitors arrived, and silence was normal. Ever since the ball there had been a singular lack of laughter in this home. A noted absence of one particularly spirited voice.

No, this silence was not a balm. It was an accusation. This quiet was fraught with unspoken words—namely, an apology. His apology.

Her silence might as well have been a condemnation. What a bloody fool he’d been. He’d had no right to kiss the girl.

But he didn’t regret it.

Damn. That right there was the crux of his dilemma, the reason for his part in this silent exchange. He ought to tell her it was a mistake, because it had been a mistake. One that he still could not explain, even to himself. He’d spent hours reliving those few seconds but he was no closer to understanding what had come over him. He’d been angry, outraged even, at her mention of his family’s scandal. It was a topic everyone was aware of but no one spoke about.

Leave it to Miss Cleveland to break that unspoken rule.

He tried to muster up some of that original anger at the thought of her impudence, but he couldn’t quite manage it. His mind kept getting stuck on what had happened after she’d spoken out of turn.

He could not stop reliving that kiss.

Good God, it had been glorious. He wasn’t some young buck, wet behind the ears. He’d been with his fair share of women, but nothing he’d experienced had come close to that one too-quick encounter.

Of course, it had been a mistake. But every time he tried to formulate words to that effect, he found himself incapable.

He realized with a start that he was no longer even pretending to read the document before him. His gaze was fixed on the door to his study as some errant portion of his mind pondered where Georgie might be at this particular moment. Was she still in her bedroom or was she out with her sister somewhere?

Wherever she was, was she thinking about that kiss too? Had it affected her as much as it had him?

His guess was yes, judging by her dazed and delirious expression when he’d finally and reluctantly let her go. Oh hell, he truly did owe the girl an apology. He might not regret that moment—in fact, he had a feeling he’d remember it always, and not without a good deal of fondness. But despite her excessively outgoing behavior and her devilish wit, the girl was an innocent. He didn’t doubt her sincerity with regard to Lord Malcolm. Her horror at the idea was entirely genuine, as was her anger at his assumptions.

He shifted in his seat, still uneasy about that. Like Lord Malcolm, he had made faulty assumptions about her character. He’d assumed the worst, and he’d been wrong. He owed Georgie an apology and it was about time he overcame this ridiculous reluctance that made him want to seek her out while also oddly fearful of running into her.

Perhaps because he wasn’t quite certain what he would do if left alone with her again. Lord knew he hadn’t intended to kiss her the first time, and now that he knew just how soft and luscious she felt in his arms, how sweetly pliable and how temptingly—

Hargrove’s sudden entry gave him a start. “Miss Cleveland, Your Gr—”

“Pardon me, Your Grace.” Georgie swept into the room, her voice quick and clipped. Her lips pinched as she came to a stop directly in front of his desk.

Hargrove was still trying to announce Georgie’s entrance, stammering the rest of his words with a quizzical note, clearly uncertain how to proceed in such circumstances.

Rhys turned to him. “Give us a moment, please, Hargrove.”

His butler slipped out, leaving them alone.

All of Rhys’s good intentions left the study along with the butler. He couldn’t utter an apology, not when all he wanted was to do it again. Lord, she was beautiful. A breath of fresh air in his stuffy study, with her bright blonde hair and her overall hum of energy.

She was a bolt of lightning. There was that analogy again. Bloody hell, he was no poet. Best to leave that up to Lord Malcolm.

She stood there in silence for a moment. Blasted silence, so loud and accusatory. He stood slowly, while trying to gather his wits.

And words. Words would be useful at a time like this.

It seemed there was no need. Despite her barely concealed tension, despite the fact that she fairly hummed with it, she gave him a polite smile. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace.” Her voice sounded breathless. Oh hell, he hoped she wasn’t nervous to be in the same room with him.

“That’s quite all right, I was just—”

“But you see, the most interesting news has come to my attention.” She’d continued as if he’d never spoken.

“Oh yes?”

“Yes.” Her green eyes met his and didn’t look away. “The most astonishing news has just reached me and I was hoping you might shed some light.” She took a step toward him, then another. He had the unsettling feeling he was being stalked by a panther.

“I would certainly be happy to try.”

“You see, it’s recently come to my attention that you intend to court me.”

He stumbled back a step. “Uh…er…” Yes, those were sounds coming out of his mouth, but no one would label them words, as such. He fought for some semblance of ducal grace and refinement, for the kind of civil distance he’d been raised to embrace. “I, er—”

Bloody hell. She was even more of an innocent than he’d thought. One kiss and she thought they were beholden in some way? Lord, he should have explained earlier that it had been a mistake, whether he meant it or not.

“You see, Miss Mary Beaucraft was just here to see me,” she continued, her hands clasped in front of her as she continued to smile. She looked as though they were discussing the weather. Only that coiled tension he felt in her belied her casual tone.

He, on the other hand, scrambled to keep up with the conversation. There was nothing calm about his demeanor—he couldn’t even feign calm. Coming around the desk, he tried to focus on what she was saying but his mind kept getting caught on the one phrase. You intend to court me.

Visions of what it might mean to court Georgie Cleveland made it impossible to think beyond that phrase.

“She related the most astonishing news,” Georgie continued.

“Oh yes?” He was temporarily distracted by the sight of her lips. Now that he knew exactly how they felt and tasted, the urge to try it again was far more potent than he’d like. That kiss—well, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all—but since it had, it ought to have satiated that curiosity.

His body had not gotten the message.

And Georgie was still talking. “It seems there’s a rumor going about in society that you intend to court me.”

“Er—” A rumor? What exactly was she on about?

Her lips pinched together for a moment as he came to a stop just before her. Bloody hell but she had beautiful lips.

“They are saying that you informed Lord Malcolm that you had intentions toward me.”

Her words registered this time, and they struck with all the force of a thunderbolt. Oh bloody hell. If he got his hands on that damned, no good—

“Would you care to explain, Your Grace?” Georgie tilted her head to the side as she arched one brow in a politely curious look that fooled no one.

She was angry. Irate, even. And he couldn’t say that he blamed her. But hell and damnation, he’d said that to help save her honor. She might not be demure, and Lord knew she lacked the ability to be quiet and unassuming, but that didn’t give Lord Malcolm the right to speak of her as though she were a silly simpleton, or worse—a loose woman.

“Yes, about that,” he started slowly.

Her calm pretense dropped so swiftly it came as a shock to see her fierce, undiluted anger. “What on earth did you say?” she demanded, taking a step toward him so he had a better glimpse of the fire in those expressive, glittering eyes.

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Didn’t mean to imply?” She repeated his words, making them sound even more ridiculous than they were.

“Now just wait a moment,” he started. “I didn’t exactly say—”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “What exactly did you say?”

He straightened to his full height, puffing out his chest as his own levels of irritation rose to match hers. For the second time in his life, he could feel his tight grip on reason and rationality slipping out of his reach. “There was a misunderstanding.”

“I’ll say there was,” she said. Her voice was bitter and angry and—

And she was gorgeous when she was livid. She was also irritating beyond measure. “I don’t appreciate your tone.” Bloody hell, was that him speaking or his father?

She took another step closer. This did not help matters. It only made his tentative grasp on calm become shaky. Control threatened to crumble altogether as her feminine, floral scent floated around him and those eyes drew him further into her spell.

“What did you say?” she demanded again. “And why?”

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped short. He’d forgotten what he was going to say. This woman surely practiced some sort of witchcraft. There was no other explanation for the way she muddled his senses and singlehandedly destroyed his will power. Even now it was with the greatest of effort that he kept his hands at his sides rather than reach for her as he longed to do.

She stood too close. He could smell her scent and it threatened his resolve even further.

She widened her eyes until they were impossibly big, pleading almost. “Why did you do it, Roxborough?” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and he couldn’t look away. “Were you trying to humiliate me?”

He started. Those words finally jarred his mind back into action. “No, of course not, why would you—”

“Then why would you do such a thing?” she interrupted. “We both know you would never court me.”

“How do you know that?” He was more shocked by his words than she was, he could guarantee it. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But her words needled him, so irritatingly certain that she knew him and his desires.

She made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat that was so very unladylike, it proved her next point. “Because I am hardly duchess material.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

She arched her brows. “I’m certainly not on that precious list of yours, now am I?”

The mention of his list made his lips turn down in a disapproving frown. “You are speaking out of turn.”

He saw a flicker of amusement cross her features, there and gone so quickly a less observant man might have missed it. But Rhys? Well, it seemed his lot in life was to be keenly aware of this woman before him.

“I suppose I am speaking out of turn,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to hint at his disapproving tone.

Bloody hell, this little minx was mocking him.

Again.

She cocked her head to the side, mischief turning her eyes a magical shade of green. “But then again, kissing me was out of turn as well, don’t you think?”

He stiffened. But this time it wasn’t outrage that had him clenching his fists, but a fierce, sweeping desire. The memory of that kiss was never far from his thoughts, but hearing her speak of it brought back a visceral memory that nearly made him forget where he was and who he was. He was dangerously close to reaching out for her.

Again.

“Is that why you kissed me?” Suspicion clouded her gaze and he was horrified to see that impish mischief replaced by something like…hurt.

Damn. His chest tightened at the sight of it.

“What are you on about?” His voice came out too gruff, like he hadn’t spoken in decades.

She took a slight step back, not far enough that his senses were safe from her bewitchery, but far enough.

Too far.

He felt her absence like he’d feel his own limb pulling away from him.

“Did you kiss me to prove some point?” she asked. “Did you wish to teach me a lesson, perhaps, on speaking out of turn?” She took another step back and her eyes widened as she was clearly struck by another erroneous thought. “Or did you take Lord Malcolm at his word? Did you believe him that I was—that I would—”

She didn’t have to finish that thought for the flush of color in her cheeks told him exactly what she meant. Could she honestly believe that he’d kissed her because he’d thought her to be morally loose? Did she truly believe he would take advantage of her like that? Of any woman like that?

Anger rippled through him fierce and hot, the feeling so rare and utterly dangerous. His control wavered under a wave of outrage. He knew what she meant and it was a blow to his honor as much as hers. “I am not in the habit of seducing innocents, Miss Cleveland.” His voice was more growling than speaking, but it took all of his power not to shout. He leaned forward slightly and watched as her eyes widened in alarm.

“Then why?” she asked, her tone quieter and lacking in anger, but the raw emotions in her voice made his own anger die a quick death. But even without the anger, his emotions were still out of his control. His mind was clouded by desire and…something else. Something he could not name. It made his senses heightened and his mind incapable of lies or diplomacy. It stripped him bare and left him feeling like some sort of primitive.

“Why?” she asked again, this time close to pleading.

Oh hell. “Because I wanted to.”

The silence between them was thick, heavy with emotion. The only sound was their labored breathing as they stared at one another. Her eyes flashed with emotions, strong but indecipherable.

He battled the urge to kiss her again. Her lips trembled. Did she feel it too? Did she want it too?

Time seemed to stand still as they squared off. Facing each other like opponents. Like they were about to spar…or make love. His tight hold on control wavered. He needed to kiss her like he needed air to breathe.

Her eyes were dark now, and he saw that same dizzying desire reflected in her gaze. She felt it too.

He took a step closer and she tilted her head back, her lips parting.

“There you are!” The sound of his mother’s voice in the open doorway startled them both.

He moved back quickly and Georgie—well, it seemed as though Georgie had been poked by a dagger.

She let out a squeak of surprise before bolting to the other side of the room.

The duchess didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as she walked in. “Thank goodness I’ve found you two.” She stopped short and darted her gaze between the two of them. He waited for her to remark on the fact that they were alone, but it seemed she had bigger issues at hand. “You will not guess what people are saying about you.”

He looked over at Georgie but she was staring at the curtains, studying them as though she’d raced to that side of the room out of sheer curiosity as to their weight and texture.

Odd girl.

“I believe we are aware of the rumors,” he responded, because surely one of them should. He turned to face his mother with her cold, unreadable stare. “Obviously they are not true.”

She arched a brow. “Well, of course, dear. It’s a wonder anyone would believe such a thing.”

He flinched inwardly on Georgie’s behalf. But then again, perhaps his mother had meant that no one would believe a sweet young girl so full of wit and beauty and charisma would want anything to do with an uptight, stodgy old duke.

“No offense intended, of course, Miss Cleveland,” his mother continued.

Or maybe not.

Georgie turned around finally, and judging by her sweet, rueful smile it was clear she had regained her composure, along with her sense of humor. “None taken, Your Grace.”

His mother snapped into action. “There’s no use trying to figure out why people start this sort of gossip, what matters is how we respond.”

“Must we respond at all?” he asked. He didn’t like the look in his mother’s eyes. She was scheming, there was no doubt. However, much as he dreaded whatever plan was to come and despite the unorthodox reason, he couldn’t help but feel just a touch grateful for this sordid mess if it meant his mother was back to her old self.

Georgie crossed the room toward them. He didn’t look but he knew it. He could sense her in the room, feel her movements as if they were connected.

He sighed quietly. One kiss and his brain resorted to romantic drivel.

“Yes, must we?” Georgie asked.

He was surprised to hear Georgie echo his question. When she reached his side she clasped her hands in front of her. One might suspect she was the sweet, simple innocent she pretended to be. But he knew better. She was a little minx, and she was up to something.

“After all,” she continued with only the slightest trace of mockery. “No one in his right mind would believe that the duke would take an interest in me.”

He stiffened at the barbed comment, so harmless to his mother but so very critical of him.

And his kiss.

She shrugged, casting him a side glance that skewered him better than any sword could do. “Perhaps if we ignore it completely it will just…go away.”

He narrowed his gaze but didn’t respond. She was talking about him. No, she was talking to him. Calling him out for his cowardly silence these last two days. Perhaps her scorn was well deserved but it stung nonetheless. That sting made his voice sharper than intended. “Or perhaps by ignoring the situation, we would get the point across that there is nothing to discuss. Why give it more credence than is due? Clearly someone was mistaken, that’s all.”

She turned to face him and he saw her flush, the spark of anger in her eyes. “A mistake?” she said. “Of course it was a mistake. Whoever started this absurd rumor must have had too much to drink, I’d imagine.”

He clenched his jaw to hold back a retort. He had been drinking that night, it was true. But he’d been far from inebriated. Still, he could let her believe that. Let her think that his will power had been compromised by alcohol rather than the fetching allure of her perfume, among other things.

“Don’t you think so, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone deceptively mild as she addressed him.

He ignored the question as there was no right answer. He would not lie but letting her believe he’d been inebriated allowed him to avoid further questions.

Coward.

Yes, cowardly perhaps, but right now he had bigger issues to face. Namely, his mother. “What are you suggesting, Mother?”

His mother gave a small shrug that was far too innocent. “You’ve agreed that it’s high time you select a bride,” she started.

He let out a grunt of acknowledgement, ignoring Georgie’s prying gaze.

“Perhaps it’s time we moved matters along.”

He heard an alarm in the back of his mind. He wasn’t one of those men who was terrified of marriage or who balked at the thought of carrying out his titular duties. But, at the same time, this was a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Not exactly a choice to be rushed just because that toad Lord Malcolm had opened his smug mouth.

“We’ll host a gathering,” his mother continued, excitement clear in her voice.

“A gathering,” he repeated.

“A ball?” Georgie sounded far too hopeful. He shot her a withering glare, which she did not seem to notice.

His mother hesitated before casting him a wary look. Smart woman. “Not a ball, per se.” She arched her brows, giving him a cheerful smile. “Just a small gathering.”

“Oh.” Georgie sounded disappointed and he had the most ridiculous urge to comfort her.

“Not to worry, Miss Cleveland. Mother’s idea of a small gathering is the equivalent of an opulent ball to the rest of society.”

Georgie clapped her hands together, apparently already over her malice toward him if she could move on to giddy, girlish excitement so easily. And over a ball, of all things.

He had to intervene before this got out of hand. “How do you expect this to help matters, Mother?”

She arched her brows in surprise. “Why, it would show the world that we have nothing to hide. And we can aside the matter concerning the nature of your relationship to Miss Cleveland.”

Georgie coughed delicately into her hand, but he was sure he heard a snicker in there as well.

“I hardly see how that’s necessary. You said yourself no one would—”

“What people ought to know and what they choose to believe are never the same, dear,” his mother said sweetly. Too sweetly. Once again he was keenly aware that his mother was up to something.

“Besides,” she added with a smile. “This way we’ll have all the ladies from the list in one place where you can converse with each at will.”

He’d stiffened at the mention of the list, not because he was ashamed to be studying his future bride. That was a necessity of his role. No, he grew uncomfortable under Georgie’s mocking gaze.

“The ladies of the list,” she repeated, her tone dreamy, melodic, and filled with laughter. She turned to his mother. “I do love that phrase, don’t you? It brings to mind Camelot and King Arthur, with his knights of the round table.”

His mother pursed her lips in response. “What an odd notion, Miss Cleveland.”

Georgie seemed undeterred by his mother’s mild scolding. She shrugged. “Perhaps, but there’s just something so romantic about it, isn’t there?”

Her gaze fell on him and he frowned back at her. He knew exactly what she was saying. There was nothing at all romantic about the ladies of the list. He was treating marriage as a business endeavor, as one ought. It was a contract, after all. It was one more duty and obligation on top of the multitude of duties and obligations that made up his life.

“There’s nothing romantic about finding a duchess,” he said. “The lady who takes on the role will have a responsibility to me and to this estate.”

Georgie widened her eyes in surprise. “I do hope that is not how you plan to propose, Your Grace.”

To his horror, his mother laughed. Nay, she smothered a laugh, but not before he caught it. He shot her a look and she grew serious in response.

Georgie, on the other hand, gave him a triumphant grin. “I told you, did I not?” She turned to his mother. “I informed His Grace that all women want at least some elegance and charm from a future husband, no matter how ambitious or proper the lady might be. Don’t you agree?”

He turned to his mother as well, hoping against hope that she would come to his defense, as silly as that was. He didn’t need anyone defending him, let alone his mother. Still, he wouldn’t mind hearing his mother put her in her place when he could not.

But his mother shot him a regretful grimace. “I’m afraid she may have a point, dear.”

“What?” It came out as an inelegant sputter. “You know better than anyone that this is not about—”

“Yes, yes,” his mother held up a hand to silence him. “But you may face competition for some of the better prospects.”

“Competition?” He’d uttered it as though he’d never heard the word before. As though it were a foreign dialect.

“It seems you’re not the only duke searching for a bride this season,” she said. “And then there’s the Earl of Dunlop, who is back in England. Not exactly an unappealing option for these ladies, I might add.”

That went without saying. Dunlop was a legendary charmer, with the kind of handsome features that made the women swoon.

“Oh no, not at all a bad choice,” Georgie said with far too much emphasis.

He despised the way Georgie had said that. Almost as though she herself had hopes of ensnaring this Dunlop fellow. He spent so long scowling at her that he nearly missed the fact that a decision had apparently been made without him.

His mother was already making plans as she moved away toward the door.

Georgie glanced between his mother and him, clearly torn over whether to stay or go. The duchess made the decision for her. “Come along, Miss Cleveland. I need your help with planning.”

The smile she flashed was impish. Mischievous. It spoke of a challenge and a battle that was far from over.

He watched the skirts of her gown disappear around the corner of the open doorway and stood gazing after her for far too long.

He’d never be able to concentrate on his work now. Not with the way they had left things, even more unsettled than before. This—whatever this was between them—it was far from over.