Chapter Sixteen
Miss Lydia Tremayne’s launch into the ton could be declared a success. The revelation of her deafness had not heralded the condemnation Georgiana had prepared for. Instead, there had been an outpouring of sympathy from those who knew and admired her gentle manners and charm. Lydia had been invited to a few balls and routs without Georgiana needing to use her influence, and at least three young, respectable gentlemen had called upon her. Though there were as yet no marriage offers or declarations of courtship, there was enough interest from polite society to signal their willingness for her to enter their select circles.
There had been several questions as to her background and connections, and Georgiana had made known the familial connection to Viscount Westcott. Her most respectable caller was the honorable Simon Basil, the son of Viscount Sterling. Lydia was quite taken with him but worried about her dark past, for the ton and everyone simply accepted she and her sisters had been abroad. Georgiana had cautioned her to be careful in her revelations until she was certain of Simon’s intention.
A knock sounded on the door. Georgiana lowered the reports from the steward overseeing Nicolas’s estate in Devon and answered, “Yes.”
Gibbs entered, moving more spryly than she had seen him in ages. She had returned to Meadowbrook Park a few days past and spoken to him about his retirement and pension, but he had insisted on staying at Meadowbrook Park. She had relented, for the servants there were his family, and if he retired to the cottage she’d provided, despite its closeness to the estate, Gibbs would be lonely.
“A letter for you, Your Grace. Lady Fairfax and Lord Fairfax have also come to call.”
“Thank you. Please see my mother and brother to the sitting room with refreshments. I will be along shortly.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed and shuffled out.
Eagerly, she slit open the letter, hoping it was from Rhys. Her heart sank. It was a letter from Daphne, informing Georgiana of her departure to Berkshire. She leaned back into the chair with a sigh. Since the night of Lady Sheffield’s ball, three weeks past, there had been a distance between her and Rhys. At times, she wondered if her imagination was simply overwrought. She still slipped away several nights to be with him, but he had been requesting her presence less. There was also a cool watchfulness to his hawkish gaze whenever she encountered his presence at the balls Lydia attended. Even in that area, he had limited himself to only attending two, and their mother accompanied Lydia at other events.
He had been present last night at Viscountess Pembroke’s soiree, but they had ignored each other as they had been doing whenever he entered the ton. Georgiana had ached to go to him, to just sit with him once, but had held back more from the uncertainty of how he would receive her than anything else. She had not received a note from him this past week, nor had she shared his bed. That was uncommon and alarming.
A sharp knock rapped on the door to the library before it was flung open, and in marched the countess, a newssheet clutched between her fingers.
“Mother?”
“I’ve been waiting in the sitting room for fifteen minutes,” she snapped.
Georgiana arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware there was a matter of urgency to discuss.”
“You’ve brought shame upon us. Your father would be appalled if he were alive.”
Georgiana gasped. “I beg your pardon?”
Her mother slapped the papers on the table. “Have you seen this?”
With trembling fingers, she reached for the scandal sheet. It was a drawing of a lady…one who looked remarkably like her, and a man who resembled Rhys. Dear God. That was the only thought to blast in her mind for precious seconds. Then anger at the intrusion into her private life stirred within her heart. “It seems the reporters have little to talk about this season. This is simply baseless conjecture on their part, hoping to start a scandal.”
Even knowing her assessment to be true, discomfort burned in her heart. The drawing depicted Georgiana standing in the center of an empty ballroom, and a dark, shadowy figure of Rhys prowling to her, his gaze so intent on her, it was clear his only purpose was debauchery and ravishment. There was an accompanying expository on the mysterious and wealthy Mr. Rhys Tremayne, who seemed to only possess eyes for the Duchess of Hardcastle. It was noted he asked no lady to the dance floor, he did not join the card rooms, and the ton must be intrigued at this anomaly within their midst.
Georgiana flushed. A nosy reporter was bent on stirring society’s attention toward them. She rubbed at the slight ache in her temple. “Is this the reason you and Simon descended on me unannounced?”
“This is appalling behavior and unwelcomed prying into our lives.”
“Don’t you mean into my life?”
Her mother cast her a sharp glance. “In all our lives. I knew that man couldn’t be trusted within our circles. There is a terrible rumor that you are having an affair with him. Have you no thought of your son’s legacy, your reputation, and your sister’s chances for a decent match? Most certainly, you will lose favor in society that may never be regained.”
She stood and hurried around the desk to stand in front of her mother. “This is all speculation, Mother, and I will not be a party to it. Nor do I have to defend myself to you.”
Her mother’s lips parted in outrage. Before she could retort, Georgiana continued. “You and Simon are welcomed to stay for a few days if that is your wish, but I will not discuss this further. I promised Nicolas he could swim in the lake with Calliope and Barnaby. I will see you for dinner perhaps?”
Her mother nodded stiffly, and Georgiana swept from the library. She was suddenly grateful Rhys had not planned any clandestine meetings for the last several days. This scrutiny was decidedly unwelcome, and she felt unsettled. Perhaps she needed to cultivate more distance between herself and Rhys until society found some new tidbit to speculate about. A humorless smile crossed her lips. How careful she had been, how discreet, and the carrion had still found something to print.
She was suddenly grateful she had traveled down to Meadowbrook Park to spend a few days with her darling son. Her townhouse must have been besieged by callers wanting to judge her reaction to the scandal sheet. She was sorry for the shock her mother had endured. Her parents had always been so proper and respectable, a family that prided themselves on their integrity and that there was no scandal or taint in their background. They had long held the expectations of their children to always comport themselves in a similar exacting manner. She felt a pinch of guilt for the shame her mother must have endured. Her family had always been so dignified and noble, especially her father.
Your father would be appalled if he were alive.
Gritting her teeth against the pang of hurt, she hurried up the main staircase and collected her son from the schoolroom. His face lit with joy when he saw her.
“Is it time, Mamma?” he shouted, ignoring the frown of his tutor.
She laughed and held out her arms. Without hesitation, he stumbled from the stool and flung himself into her embrace. Grabbing him up in her arms, she snuggled her face into his neck, inhaling his sweet, unique scent. A happy laugh bubbled from him. She glanced at the scowling tutor who looked displeased she had arrived an hour early.
“Nicolas, bid Mr. Brantley good day and let our adventures begin.”
Her son’s dark-blue eyes widened, and a sigh of pleasure issued forth. Wiggling down, he turned and executed a smart bow to his teacher, who returned the honor with a “Your Grace.” Then her son slipped one of his hand between hers, and they hurried away to enjoy the rest of the day in leisure.
…
A gentle breeze rolled through the windows, cooling the sweet arousal coiling deep inside Georgiana. She shifted, a moan slipping from her, the smooth sheets beneath her an unbearable friction against her sensitive skin.
“Wake up,” a voice murmured with a soft brush against her skin. She surged to awareness, her heart a quaking mess. A dark figure hovered above her, from the scent of his cheroot and uniquely male fragrance she knew it to be Rhys.
The desire his devilish fingers had awakened needed to be assuaged. “Join me,” she purred, tugging the satin peignoir to her thighs and widening her legs lasciviously.
The sliver of moonlight glinted off the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and he flashed a sensual smile. Another breeze rolled through the windows, shifting the dark purple drapes in her chambers ever so slightly. She frowned and then lurched upright, scrambling from the bed to tug her silken robe from the peg. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw the drawing in the paper.”
She glared at him helplessly. “And you crept into my chamber in the dead of night to tell me this? How did you even get in?” She hurried to the door to find it still locked. “That article was a week ago, and it wasn’t a headline that would keep the ton titillated for long. There was no need for you to travel down. However did you manage to gain entrance?”
There was a piercing watchfulness to his regard, and it made her decidedly uncomfortable.
“I sent you three invitations,” he murmured.
She sent him a reproachful glance. Georgiana had ignored them all, not wanting any possible reoccurrence of the drawing in the scandal sheet until she had figured out how best to continue their affair. Being his lover by night and then strangers whenever they met at balls and picnics as she introduced his sister to the polite world was not an existence she was happy with. “I thought it better to place some distance between us.”
Rhys moved over to the fireplace and sank to his haunches encouraging the fire to flare with efficient expertise. He stood and faced her. “Is that all?”
“Yes.”
Unable to help herself she crossed over to him. She could have done so many things—kissed his infuriatingly sensual mouth, slapped him for sneaking onto the estate and into her chambers, or even ordered him to leave. Instead, she slipped her arms around his waist, rested her cheek against his chest, and hugged him tightly. His arms banded around her, dragging her closer to his muscled frame.
“I missed you,” she murmured.
He eased her from him, shrugged from his jacket, and tossed it over a chair by the fireplace. With impatient fingers, he tore at his cravat, and before he was finished, pulled her into his arms and settled his mouth over hers. He didn’t ravish. He was gentle yet passionate. She responded helplessly, parting her lips for his questing tongue. He made a low noise of pleasure, as if he’d tasted something delightful.
Without releasing her from his drugging kisses, he swept her into his arms, and a few steps later he bore her down onto the four-poster bed, parting her thighs with his knees and cradling his large frame there.
One of his hands coasted over her skin, dragging her nightgown up to bunch at her waist. Georgiana’s entire body seemed to burn, and she shifted restlessly beneath him. Rhys released her mouth to trail his lips down, over her collarbone and to her aching nipples. His tongue stroked her hardened nipple, and a breathless, inarticulate cry echoed in the room.
He rolled the hardened tip between his teeth. A soft moan of distress slipped from her, and he lifted his head to peer into her face.
“What’s wrong?”
She encircled his neck even tighter and wrapped her legs high around his back. “My breasts have been terribly sensitive. I believe you should direct your attention elsewhere,” she murmured huskily, pressing soft kisses along his jawline.
It took her a few seconds to realize he was frozen. “Rhys?”
“We have been lovers for about eight weeks.”
Georgiana frowned. “Why is that important now?” she asked, flummoxed at the sudden tension thrumming through him.
“Forgive the indelicate question, but I must ask, when was the last time you saw your courses?”
Georgiana was bereft of words. For a long moment, she couldn’t answer. She released his neck, and he pushed from between her legs and off the bed. Tugging her nightgown over her thighs, she slipped her feet off the bed, swiftly thinking. Dear God. “I… You need to leave, Rhys.” Georgiana could scarcely breathe, she shoved a shaky hand through her hair.
“Answer me. When was the last time, duchess?”
The flat command in his tone had her lifting her eyes to his shuttered mien.
“Before we became lovers,” she confessed softly.
“You’re with child.”
She wanted to shout at him. She wasn’t ready to think about the implications of her missed courses, overly sensitive breasts, and dear God, the slight queasiness of the past few days. It wasn’t possible. The doctors had informed the duke the spare he had been hoping for would never arrive.
Taking an even breath, she stood and faced Rhys. His stare made her feel as if she belonged to him, as if he had a right to her soul, not just her body. Her heart started to pound as the awareness this was not a simple affair for him scythed through her. “I may be,” she breathed.
“My lady?”
Oh, the sensual possessiveness of his tone whenever he referred to her as “my lady” indicated it wasn’t an honorific as she’d thought. Marshalling her wits, she replied, “Yes?”
The silence felt anticipatory.
“Marry me.”
A delicious shock ran through her. The words were like a honeyed blade, painfully cutting, but wonderfully sweet. These were sentiments she hadn’t realized she longed to hear…but never thought they would be voiced because they were simply impossible desires. “I…” The words stuck in her throat, threating to choke her. Her entire being was consumed with the need to say yes. Oh God, it was impossible, their worlds and expectations were simply too different. “Rhys…”
“Yes?” There was a trace of amusement in the warmth of his voice.
“I’m…I’m a duchess,” she said inanely.
“I am aware of that, Georgiana.”
She started to pace, hating the confused emotions rioting inside. I am with child. She wanted to say the words, but couldn’t voice them. “I cannot marry you.”
He flinched. It was so subtle, but she caught it, and her heart broke even more.
“Why not?”
She wanted to weep from the confusion twisting through her. “We had an affair. I was your lover, your mistress even, and I enjoyed each scandalous thrill. But nothing more can be between us, Rhys. I…I am a duchess…and you’re…you’re…” Her words tapered off, and she stared at him helplessly. The ton would savage him, he would be the butt of gossip for years to come, nor would he be allowed in any drawing room. “Marriage to me will not see your family elevated. Instead, you…would be pariahs.” The scandal would roar like an unquenchable fire, linger for months, years, eroding the Hardcastles’ legacy and her family’s reputation.
“Is that what you believe, that I would ask you to marry me because I seek social elevation?” He was very good at controlling his expressions.
No, her heart shouted, but her lips remained sealed.
“Well?” His voice was soft, utterly devoid of emotion.
“No,” she gasped. “I’ve been groomed my entire life to be a duchess.”
“So, you are not a woman with desires of your own, but a mere puppet of the ton. I am impressed you lowered yourself to indulge in an affair.”
“You do not understand.”
He prowled over to her, resting the flat of his palm against her stomach. The deliberateness of his touch made her pulse flutter. “You forget the most salient fact, my lady. You are with child. My child. This is the only thing I am currently concerned with.”
She would not cry. Tears would do no good. “That is not how this works. We do not marry, and I bear our child, and then we ride off in our carriage into the sunset, and all is well,” she whispered fiercely, hating the fact her voice trembled. “Our union will not be accepted. My reputation and honor will come under the severest of scrutiny, and even your sisters will be affected most egregiously, for our alliance will not be welcomed by polite society. My family, your sisters, we will endure social ostracism.”
His hands fell away, and he stepped back. “I need more clarity, duchess. You are with child, and that cannot be undone. Will society not be as unkind to an unwed mother? Even amongst my common kind, an unwed mother is shamed,” he said with chilling softness, his expression betraying not the slightest flicker of reaction.
She swallowed. “Perhaps I am not even with child but ate something that did not agree with me and…” Her words trailed away, and panic muddled her thoughts. These were the same symptoms she had shown when she had been enceinte with Nicolas. Georgiana had accepted the assessment of all three doctors Hardcastle had summoned and never dreamed that there could have been an error in their pronouncement. “I would not be an unwed mother,” she said, knowing she would never allow her child to be labeled a bastard. That was possibly an even greater scandal. A duchess bearing a child with the father unknown to the world.
Something dark and dangerous flashed in his gaze, and she stumbled back.
“I believe I misunderstood you, duchess. Are you by chance implying you would allow another man, no doubt a lord, to raise my child and deny me the right?” His voice was icy with lethal scorn. “You will answer me, duchess.”
Georgiana hadn’t thought so far ahead; her response had simply been visceral at the idea of her child suffering at the cruelty she knew existed in the ton. “I have no answer to give you,” she said hoarsely.
At this moment, nothing of her sensual and charming lover stared back at her, only a piercing ruthlessness that had alarm burning through her veins.
She took a deep, restorative breath. Everything she knew about this man indicated his family was important to him, and though the idea of a child was new and unexpected, she could see the curl of hunger in his gaze for it. “Rhys, I need time. This is so unexpected…I never believed I could have another child. I never imagined this was a possible outcome of our affair, or I wouldn’t have been so weak in my desires.”
A silence fell between them thick and heavy. The cruel lines around his lips softened as he regarded her. “Do you love me?”
An inarticulate cry spilled from her. She wasn’t reared to fall in love, but for duty and honor to her family. “Rhys, please, I…”
“I love you, Georgiana.”
Her world shattered at her feet at his unadorned declaration. The joy, trepidation, and the vulnerability clutching at her heart felt terrible.
“I’ve loved my family for years. I bend the laws of society to help them find their place in this world, and I will continue to do so, even if the ton tries to cut them. I am not a man of romantic words and such, but I confess what I feel for anyone else is a mere shadow of the feelings you inspire in me. A simple smile from you makes me tremble to lay the world at your feet. Marry me, and let me deal with society’s rage and derision. I assure you, my lady, I will not allow it to harm you and our child.”
The latent ruthlessness in his promise shook her, and she understood he would use his ties as The Broker to see her position secure. Her throat went tight with fear. Did he not understand how easy it was for the more powerful lords of society to vanquish him if they thought him a threat? The lords of England were the law. While Rhys could bend the law and operate within its murky, shadowy world, they were the makers. The ton would find nothing within Rhys to esteem, even if they enjoyed his unrivaled wealth. They would find his cunning intellect, his ruthlessness terribly uncomfortable, a definite threat, for he could not disguise it.
“I cannot,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I only wanted a discreet affair, that is all. The fact I am with child changes nothing. I cannot…I will not marry you.”
Silence throbbed in the room like a wound.
His expression shuttered, all desire for more leaching from his expression. “It seems I made a mistake, Your Grace. Forgive me,” he said with chilling civility. “I shall never approach you again with my unwanted sentiments.” His voice was dangerously low and tinged with scorn. In his eyes, she saw the absolute truth. He would keep his word. They would never kiss or dance or laugh and love again.
He grabbed his jacket from off the chair, slipped it on, and moved toward her windows. Her heart cracked, and she shivered as a cold gust blew into the room. A sob hiccupped from her at the loss that tore through her.
Do you love me? He’d demanded an answer, as if love was enough, and that was all that a person needed to flourish in this world. She had tried to stay reserved, to draw on the cold decorum which had saved her so many times. Instead, a wild, unimaginable pain clutched her heart in a fierce grip. She felt breathless, terrified as she stared at his retreating back. I hurt.
She tried to bury the swell of emotions, the pain, doubt, and confusion. A raw sound spilled from her throat when he disappeared through the windows, a specter fading with the breaking dawn.
Pain and sorrow invaded every inch of her body. She would survive without him in her life, but she would never be whole.