Georgie theoretically helped her sister to dress for dinner that evening, but in reality she was lost in thought. No, she was drowning in memories. That was a far more apt description of this particular form of torment.

“Ow.” Claire reached up to rub her scalp and gave Georgie a chastening look in the mirror. “Do keep in mind that I’m not a pin cushion, won’t you?”

Georgie winced. “Sorry.” She had dismissed Claire’s maid to do her hair herself. Not only was she better at it than Claire’s sweet but inexperienced lady’s maid, but she’d hoped the simple, menial task would soothe her rattled nerves.

Rattled nerves were a new experience for her, and one she didn’t enjoy.

“Are you worried about the soiree this weekend?” her sister asked.

Claire had asked any number of questions since she’d arrived in her room. Each more specific than the next. Is something bothering you, Georgie? Are you quite all right? Was it something you ate that has you looking so ill?

She shook her head. “Of course not. You know I love soirees.”

“Mmm.” Her sister regarded her in the mirror. “But most aren’t thrown in an effort to dispel rumors about you.”

Her gaze shot up to meet her sister’s, which was far too knowing.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said quickly, her hands stilling in her sister’s hair lest she accidentally cause more harm. “Everyone knows those rumors are unfounded.”

Claire widened her eyes. “Oh, of course, dear, I know that.”

Georgie caught her breath at an unexpected pain. Yes, of course her sister knew that, just like the duchess knew it. Everyone in the world knew she was no match for a duke. He’d made that exceptionally clear himself.

“Georgie, what is it?”

The kindness in Claire’s voice was very nearly her undoing. “Oh, what is the matter with me?” Her voice wobbled as she said it. Becoming a watering pot was not in her nature. She did not wallow, just as she didn’t simper or swoon.

She was a Cleveland, which meant she held her head high, no matter what rumors swirled about.

Claire turned to face her. “Is it the rumors, Georgie?” Her eyes were pleading. “Are you afraid they’ve ruined your chances with Lord Malcolm?”

Georgie started at his name and then flushed with guilt. So much had happened that night and she never had gotten around to telling her sister about it. Mainly because telling her anything would mean telling her everything. Once Georgie started talking, she rarely knew when to stop.

And right now the words threatened to burst out of her. “I do not care for Lord Malcolm.” She clamped her lips shut. Drat. Now there was no stopping it.

Claire had but to raise her brows in question and she was off, the words tumbling off her lips as she recounted what had happened.

Everything. Even that kiss.

By the end, Claire stared at her with eyes wide with disbelief. “He didn’t,” she breathed.

She knew which “he” she meant. Lord Malcolm’s behavior might have been shocking, but it was Roxborough’s actions that truly boggled the mind.

She gave a short nod. “He did. But please don’t tell Nicholas.”

It went without saying that her sister wouldn’t tell anyone else, but her husband was a different matter. They were thick as thieves, with no secrets between them.

That was what she wanted in life. An ally. A friend. Someone who saw her as more than a plaything, like Lord Malcolm. Someone who wanted more from her than a business contract like Roxborough with his intended.

She wanted it all, she supposed. Was that so much to ask?

Claire stared for so long Georgie was mildly afraid she’d sent her sister into a state of shock. Finally, Claire said, “So there is some truth to the rumors.”

Georgie gave an unladylike snort. “Of course not, you said so yourself.”

Claire frowned at her. “That was before I knew he’d kissed you! Imagine, the great, righteous Roxborough losing his senses, and in public, no less.”

“Yes, well, losing his senses is an apt way of viewing it. And kiss or no kiss, it doesn’t change the fact that I am not good enough for him.”

There. She’s said it. What everyone had inferred and what she had always known.

Claire shot up out of her seat, folding her arms with a look of challenge. “What do you mean by that?”

She sighed. “It’s the reason no one would believe the rumors, is it not? No one believes that Roxborough could ever have an interest in me, and rightly so.” She shot her sister a look when she was about to protest. “You said as much yourself when you agreed that no one would believe it.”

“I meant that I didn’t believe you would be interested in him.”

Georgie stared at her sister for a moment before moving over to the dresser to fiddle with the brushes there. “Oh.”

She wasn’t quite certain why that comment caught her off guard.

Her sister’s voice behind her sounded mildly alarmed. “You’re not interested in him, are you?”

“Of course not!” She said it so quickly even she didn’t quite believe her answer. But really, the thought of it was ridiculous. She spun around to face Claire.

“Of course not,” Claire echoed, but amusement made her lips twitch suspiciously.

Georgie narrowed her yes. “I am not interested.”

“Yes, you’ve already said as much.”

“I’m not!”

“I know.” But Claire still smirked and that smug smile set Georgie off with another riotous wave of…whatever that feeling was that had her so unsettled.

Unsettled. That was it. She was merely unsettled by the way they’d left things today. The duchess had interrupted before he could—

Kiss her.

No. That wasn’t what she’d wanted at all.

The duchess had interrupted before he could apologize. And she was most certainly due an apology after the way he’d made assumptions about her character and then taken liberties.

Not that she’d particularly minded the liberties, but he’d made it abundantly clear that he did not respect her. He’d kissed her out of anger, and perhaps because he’d had too much to drink. He may have denied it but it made sense that inebriation factored into that kiss. She’d smelled it on his breath, and she knew well the way it made her brothers act—namely, without thought.

But no matter what his reasons for kissing her—

Because I wanted to.

His voice rang in her ears as surely as if he’d spoken them just now in Claire’s bedroom. She shook her head to clear it of low, rumbling, haunting voices.

He hadn’t meant it. Of course he hadn’t. Much as his answer might have thrilled her when he’d said it, reality had returned as the duchess spoke.

No, as the duchess assumed. Just as Claire assumed. No one in their right mind would think it. The two of them together? Laughable, to be sure.

Because I wanted to.

She drew in a deep breath as the words taunted her. He may have said those words but she knew better than to believe them. Likely the controlling, proper duke just hadn’t wanted to admit that he’d been three sheets to the wind.

Funny how that realization had brought on a wave of the weepies, as she was beginning to think of it.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” Claire said.

Georgie blinked at her. “If I were what?”

“Interested in him.” Claire’s voice was kind, her tone sweet, and her eyes filled with unbearable understanding.

It made Georgie come to her senses with a start. Claire truly believed that she was infatuated with the duke! What nonsense. She pushed away from the dresser with her nose in the air. “Well, I am not interested.”

“All right.”

“I am merely unsettled.”

“I see.”

Her sister’s tone had her pinching her lips together in frustration. Claire was placating her, pacifying her like a child. But she didn’t believe her.

“I’m unsettled,” she said again, firmer this time. “Because this whole situation is…unsettling.”

“Which would explain why you are so unsettled,” Claire said placidly. Too placidly. There was no denying that Claire was amused. And at her expense.

Georgie stormed out of the room, letting out a growling sound entirely unbefitting any gentlewoman, let alone a duchess.

Not that it mattered what a duchess might or might not do. She wasn’t interested in that title any more than she wished to be the Queen of England. The very thought of her being some high and mighty duchess was laughable.

Her mind’s eye had an image of standing at Roxborough’s side. Of dancing with him again as she had at the ball. Of smiling up at that brooding face of his.

Her insides went topsy-turvy.

She stopped suddenly in the hall and clutched her belly. Perhaps Claire’s guess had been right, after all.

Maybe it was something she ate.

* * *

Georgie still didn’t feel quite right the next afternoon as she and Mary strolled through Hyde Park. But at least at this tête-a-tête she was better able to maintain her equanimity on the topic. She’d prepared in advance what she would say and now the words tripped off her tongue with a practiced smile.

“So you see, it was all just a misunderstanding, really. The duke was merely making it clear to Lord Malcolm and the others that he has a vested interest in my welfare and matrimonial prospects.”

“Because you are his guest,” Mary said, reiterating the point as if for clarification.

Georgie willed her smile to stay in place. “That is correct.”

“I see,” Mary murmured.

Georgie felt Mary’s doubtful stare but kept her gaze and her smile, fixed on the steady stream of people they met walking in the opposite direction.

“So that is it then?” Mary’s disappointment was palpable. Oddly enough, disappointing Mary made some of the tension ease out of her. She always loved to irritate her bosom friend.

“Why, Mary, you almost sound as though you wished for me to become a duchess,” she teased. “We both know you’d hate the thought of such a thing.”

“I would not,” Mary said, tugging her arm from Georgie’s where they were linked. “I am a selfless and generous friend, and I do not appreciate your insinuations.”

Georgie rolled her eyes. “Oh please. You would have been green with envy.” And then, before Mary could argue, she added, “As would I, no doubt.”

Mary turned to her with a smirk. “You would be jealous if the duke were to court me?”

A possessive rage swept through her so strong and fierce, it temporarily obliterated the sunshine and the trees. It nearly blinded her with its force. She stumbled to a stop.

He couldn’t court Mary, he just couldn’t.

Mary’s laughter brought her back to her senses. She was once again aware of the fact that she was taking a stroll on a beautiful summer day and not, in fact, preparing for battle.

“I can’t believe you’d even admit such a thing,” Mary said. “You never admit to being jealous of me.”

“That’s because I’m never jealous of you.” Her response was immediate. A reflex after years of bickering and one-upping her best friend.

“Oh, of course.” Now it was Mary’s turn to roll her eyes.

It was a lie and they both knew it. Their friendship was firmly rooted in jealousy, gossip, and petty revenge. And love, of course. Underneath all the bickering and the in-fighting there was a bond that would never be broken.

Unless Roxborough courted Mary. In that case, all bets were off.

“I can admit that I would be jealous if Roxborough chose you as his bride,” she said slowly, and as evenly as she could manage. “After all, were you to become duchess, you would be insufferable.”

Mary let out a huff of laughter. “Oh all right, I suppose I might’ve been just a bit jealous when I’d heard he was besotted with you.”

Besotted? Some imbecilic part of her mind perked up. Who’d said besotted?

Outwardly she forced a laugh. “Of course you were.”

“But then I realized all the perks that might come from being friends with a duchess and I opted to be supportive,” she explained.

“How very magnanimous of you,” Georgie said.

“I thought so.” Mary gave her a smug smile. “Besides, I’d envy you the title and the power and the fortune…but the man?”

Georgie nearly tripped over her own feet for the second time in as many minutes. Her friend couldn’t be serious. He may not have been classically handsome—his features might have been too fierce and his clothing style too boring—but he was hardly an ogre. “You don’t find Roxborough the least bit attractive?”

Mary made a funny face. “He’s not horrible to look at, I suppose, but that glare.” She mimicked his furrowed brow. Georgie knew she ought to laugh—typically she would laugh, but right now she didn’t feel like it.

Mary feigned a shudder. “No, no. I might be able to tolerate being married to a man who had his face, but his personality? No, thank you.”

“He’s not all that terrible,” Georgie felt compelled to offer.

“Weren’t you the one who told me how he scolded you for dancing at your own sister’s wedding?”

She bristled. If her friend was going to comment on her life, she might at least get the details right. “I didn’t say he scolded, he merely…frowned upon it.” Quite vigorously, if she recalled correctly.

She and Nicholas, her dancing partner had laughed about it. Nicholas, she recalled, had made a teasing comment about his brother’s inability to understand fun.

Yes, she remembered now. Nicholas had said it was a smile—with love, as she might make teasing comments about one of her siblings. But then she’d seen a hint of sadness in his smile as they both looked over to the grim reaper of dancing. “I hope he finds someone who makes him smile,” Nicholas had said.

“Like Claire makes you smile?” she’d teased, giving him the same kind of sappy, lovesick smile he often wore around Claire. “Let’s hope your brother doesn’t become quite so sentimental or no one will recognize him.”

Nicholas had tipped his head back with a laugh. “Do not be too hard on him, Georgie. My brother is a product of his upbringing, as we all are.”

She hadn’t thought much of it then, but she did now. The eldest son, raised to take over the duke’s title. Raised to expect a certain type of wife, a certain type of life. Bogged down with obligations and responsibility from the moment he was born.

Perhaps Nicholas had been on to something, after all. Maybe the best trait one of those potential brides of his could have was the ability to make him smile.

“Why are you grinning like that?”

Georgie’s face fell. “Like what?”

“Like a simpleton.” Mary, ever the impressionist, mimicked her far off gaze and dreamy smile.

“Nonsense.” But she felt herself heat with embarrassment. Perhaps she had allowed herself just a momentary sense of satisfaction that the type of woman the duke required bore more in common with her than she’d thought.

Not that she’d been known to make the duke smile often, but she’d had more success than the average lady, of that she felt certain.

Mary continued uninterrupted, her voice taking on a grudging tone. “I suppose you have every right to look so smug.”

Georgie turned to face her. “What do you mean?”

Mary arched her brows. “Whether the duke truly wishes to court you or not, his rumored interest has had the effect you no doubt were hoping for.”

Georgie was at a loss. “And what effect is that?”

Mary let out an exasperated sigh. “Lord Malcolm. He’s what all this was about, wasn’t it? You probably asked the duke to insinuate his interest. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Georgie stared at her friend. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Mary flashed her an impatient look presumably for having to spell it out. “Lord Malcolm has become quite enamored with you now that he believes the duke is his rival.”

Georgie came to a stop, heedless of the foot traffic behind her. “He…what?”

“I knew it!” Mary stopped too, so they were facing one another in the middle of the path. “You knew he was interested in me, and you couldn’t stand it. Is that it? You figured out how competitive Lord Malcolm is and you orchestrated this whole duke nonsense to get his attention.”

Georgie gaped at her friend, who had clearly lost her faculties. “What are you on about?”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “You had your sights set on Lord Malcolm at the ball. You flaunted it right in front of my face.”

“I—I—” She had. There was no denying it. “Yes, but that all changed when—” She swallowed the rest of that sentence. She hadn’t told her friend about Lord Malcolm’s advances lest word got out and it led to the sort of scandal she wouldn’t be able to walk away from.

Mary might love her, but she loved gossip more.

Reaching out, she took Mary’s hands in hers. “Listen to me, Mary. Lord Malcolm is not the gentleman we believed him to be.”

Mary frowned, her eyes scanning Georgie’s face. “You are serious?”

“Yes.”

“Did he do something or—”

“Just trust me. Please.” She leaned in closer. “Keep your distance from Lord Malcolm, and I will do the same.”

Her friend narrowed her eyes and Georgie could see her brain working, suspicion warring with common sense. “If this is some sort of trick to keep me from dancing with him, I’ll—”

“It is not, I promise.” She let go of one of Mary’s hands so she could cross her heart like they did when they were younger. “I solemnly vow, I am not fibbing about Lord Malcolm’s character.”

After a moment, Mary conceded with a sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll keep my distance. Not that it should prove difficult now that he’s decided you are the one he wants to marry.”

Georgie scoffed. “Hardly.”

That seemed to calm Mary even more and she turned once more so they were facing forward on the path. She held out her arm so they might walk arm-in-arm again, which Georgie knew was Mary’s way of declaring a truce.

After a moment, Mary let out a sigh. “I must say, this is all quite disappointing. I might not have relished the idea of you having a romance with a duke, but it was terribly diverting. Not to mention, all the lovely attention that would have come my way if one of society’s prettiest young ladies were to be taken off the market.”

Georgie squeezed her friend’s arm at the rare and unexpected compliment. “Don’t be so gloomy, dear. I do still aim to be married, you know.”

“Yes, but to whom?”

Mary’s despair echoed her own. She hadn’t given it much thought, really, not until just now. She’d been so focused on that one kiss with Britain’s least eligible bachelor—at least where she was concerned—that she forgot her goal this season was to become engaged.

Well, her true hope was to fall in love and then become engaged, but that first part was proving trickier than anticipated.

Perhaps it was time to give up on the idea of love. After all, two sisters finding true love with a worthy, eligible man of the ton was good luck. But three?

That seemed rather like a miracle. Drat. Now she’d sunk into a gloomy state herself.

She blamed Mary.

Her friend glanced over and now it was her turn to give Georgie’s arm a comforting pat. “Do not fret, dear. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Georgie sighed. “Perhaps this season is already a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that,” Mary said. “Why, you are the talk of the town. Your greatest wish has been granted and you are now the center of attention. With word about that Lord Malcolm and a duke are vying for your affection, you could have any gentleman you wanted for a husband.”

Georgie forced a smile she did not feel. “Any gentleman except for Roxborough, I think you mean.”

A low voice behind her gave her a start.

“What about me?”

She and Mary both jumped and then clumsily bumped into one another in their attempt to spin around.

There he was. The great, brooding duke himself. And he was glowering at them.

Despite the fact that he’d caught them talking about him and despite the fact that she was still angry with him, she found her earlier gloom lift like a cloud.

She grinned up at him. He was clearly expecting an answer as to why they were speaking of him and Mary, bless her heart, was stammering and curtsying and turning a peculiar shade of red in the face of Roxborough’s harsh, all-seeing glare.

She curtsied as well, but she’d grown immune to his dark looks. Now she knew better. She knew him better. He wasn’t so very cruel. Serious, yes, but rather kind underneath it all.

“What a surprise, Your Grace,” she said when she stood. “Mary and I were just talking marriage prospects.”

He arched his brows. “And my name came up, did it?”

Mary made a squeaking noise in her distress.

“Indeed it did,” Georgie said, not looking away from that sharp stare. “I was just telling Mary that you are the one gentleman I would definitely not be marrying.”