Chapter Eleven
Georgiana had thought herself experienced and worldly, but a single night in bed with Rhys had proven how very wrong she had been on that score. Her entire body flushed as the gratifying memories of the lascivious ways he had loved her for the night rioted through her thoughts. A full two days had passed, and she was still acutely conscious of the tenderness between her legs, and the ache in her heart. How she wished he had been able to stay. She had no notion on how to conduct an affair, nor had he offered any suggestions. Rhys had simply slipped away when she had been drowsy with repletion after another fierce but wonderful round of making love.
A sweet giggle reached her ears, and she lifted her head. Simon strolled inside with Nicolas perched atop his shoulders. Her son’s eyes drooped sleepily, and Georgiana smiled. Simon had thoroughly exhausted him. First, they had spent an hour at the lake fishing, then they had taken a swim. As if that hadn’t been exhausting enough, her little duke had tormented Simon into playing a game of hide-and-seek. Their cavorting had left her free to deal with replying to several letters from various charities, investment matters, and a meeting with her man of affairs.
“How is my son?” she asked, pushing from the desk. Georgiana had all but smothered him yesterday, to his initial delight. He had become curious at her constant hovering, and she had forced herself to retreat and trust that he was well. The man who’d wanted to hurt him was dead, and villains were not lurking in every corner. Nicolas did not remember much because of the laudanum, so he was not filled with terrors. She was eternally grateful the memory of it would not haunt him as it would her.
“Mamma,” he said with a happy chortle, scrambling down from Simon’s shoulder to launch himself at her.
She hugged him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He hardly knew what he had done to escape the schoolroom for a second day, but he was basking in all the attention.
“You will go with Williams and wash up for luncheon,” Georgiana said, ruffling his dark hair. “Afterward we will play chess together.”
“Or we could go riding?” Innocent blue eyes, a perfect replica of hers, peered up at her.
A peculiar feeling swept over her. She had almost lost her precious boy to greed. Fear clutched at her heart, and she took a steadying breath. “Or riding.”
He grinned then hurried toward his waiting nurse. When they disappeared around the corner, she faced her brother. “We almost lost him.”
“The thought crossed my mind several times today. Mr. Tremayne must be amply rewarded.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she quickly turned from her brother’s scrutiny. She strolled to the mantle and poured claret into two glasses and handed one to her brother. “Mr. Tremyane’s reward is one of the reasons I asked you to stay a few days, Simon.”
He lowered himself onto the sofa and leaned back against the cushion. “I’ve been curious about the deal you brokered.”
“He requires my aid in launching his eldest sister into society.”
“Good God, he has a sister?”
She smiled. “Three.”
Simon took a sip of his drink, a considering frown on his face. “That was all he asked for?”
“Yes.”
“I confess to being surprised. The man is known to have held the entire government to ransom until they agreed to his price for secrets. He could have asked you for so much more.”
Something inside her chest melted that he hadn’t used their connection for more mercenary means. She was quite aware of the ruthlessness beneath the veneer of a gentleman he presented. So why hadn’t he been more calculating with her? Perhaps he likes me.
“I find it rather honorable his thoughts were for the betterment of his family.”
Her brother grunted.
“I’ve ensured several invitations will be sent to Miss Lydia Tremyane. Lady Beecham’s midnight ball two weeks from today will be a successful crush, and I hope you will attend and single her out for a dance or two. Perhaps you may even lead her in to supper.”
“Done.”
“Thank you.”
A knock sounded on the library door, and a few seconds later, her butler shuffled in at her command to enter.
“This was just specially delivered for you, Your Grace,” he said, handing her a thick, folded paper.
“Thank you, Gibbs.”
With a short bow, he exited. She flipped the letter over. The seal was not one she recognized, and with a frown, she picked up the letter opener and slit the seal.
Your Grace, the Duchess of Hardcastle,
I was most prettily beseeched by a dear friend, Mrs. Doretha Tremayne, to invite you to our annual country ball, held at our manor house Stonybrook, in our small but friendly and intimate village in Hastings. I find myself very curious as to the connection between you and Dotty, and I also miss your company dearly. It has been several months since we last spoke. I hope you will honor my viscountess and me with your presence, Georgiana.
Faithfully,
Viscount Pottinger
Georgiana flipped the paper around with a frown. Slowly she sank down into her chair. Rhys’s mother had prevailed upon William for an invitation for her? William Berkeley, Viscount Pottinger, had been a friend of her husband until the viscount’s disgrace. He had become somewhat a misfit among polite society, for he had been outrageous enough to marry his daughter’s governess several years earlier. Hardcastle had been most displeased, but Georgiana had cheered the man silently for pursuing his own happiness. She had encountered him a few times in London since Hardcastle’s death, their exchanges had been warm and polite, but his destroyed reputation had prevented a deeper friendship, though she liked his clever amiability.
“What is it?” Simon queried.
“I’ve been invited to a local ball, in Hastings.”
“Hastings! Good God. By whom? All of our set are in town.”
At her silence, his brows lowered. “Come now, do not leave me wondering.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “It’s from Lord Pottinger. It seems he was prevailed upon by Mrs. Tremayne to send me an invitiation,” Georgiana said with some amusment, shocked by Mrs. Tremayne’s forwardness but also intrigued. Did the lady wish to meet her? Perhaps her son informed her Georgiana would present her daughter to polite society. Then why not pay a call upon her?
Incredulity filled Simon’s eyes. “You will of course decline, but do so politely.”
She leaned back against the high wingback, her gaze unfocused on the wall of books in front of her. Was it that Rhys had prevailed upon his mother to send the invitation, under his guise of discretion? “I believe I shall attend.”
“Have you lost your senses? You are a duchess; why would you even desire to attend?” he countered in a troubled voice.
She took a long, fortifying breath. “Because I want to, Simon.”
“Don’t be silly; people like us don’t simply get to do what we want,” he said flatly. “That family is a family of nobodies. Where would Lord Pottinger even find the gall to send you an invitation? Has he forgotten his disfavor with society?”
She did not like the cold arrogance in Simon’s mien. It seemed as if everything good and wonderful had been forgotten about the viscount since his marriage. “Would you like to attend with me?”
Simon glared at her. “Upon my word, you really plan to attend?”
She replied with a haughty lift of her brow. “Yes, I do.”
“You do realize if word gets out that you attended the viscount’s ball, it would be seen as if you are giving him the stamp of approval and welcoming him back into the fold.”
She allowed one side of her mouth to lift in a smile. “Perhaps he should never have been cut for wanting to be happy,” she said softly. “If I recall correctly, his wife is the daughter of a most respectable vicar, and she is quite lovely and intelligent. Perhaps the ton should have helped Lord Pottinger celebrate his good fortune instead of rebuking him so severely.”
“Good God, you are entirely serious. Where in Hastings is this blasted ball?”
“Netherfield.”
“You are aware Hastings is miles from where you live?” he asked drily.
“Hmm, Lady Blanchet has a quaint little manor there. I will prevail upon her to spend a couple days. I’m sure Nicolas will enjoy a change of scenery.”
“You are determined to go, then?”
Her stomach flipped at the prospect of seeing Rhys again. “Why, yes, I believe I am.”
Her brother scowled. “Your judgment and conduct are beyond the pale, and you are absolutely ungovernable.”
“You compliment me, brother.”
She laughed at his light growl.
He pushed his fingers through his hair, sighing roughly. “Georgie, are you attending because Mr. Tremayne’s mother is involved? It is madness to be attracted to Mr. Tremayne. I could see… I saw something between you two the night he brought home Nicolas. I do not believe you should respond to this invitation.”
She stood and walked over to him. “I am frightfully drawn to him,” she admitted. “But I will be careful. Now, will you please stop this ceaseless worry about my person. I will always be directed by my desires. I’ve lived far too long ignoring them.”
Her time with Rhys would be too short and precious for her to be hesitant.
…
The last few days had been filled with work for Rhys. He had brokered a deal with the Greeks for guns. It seemed war and tension hovered on the horizon, and they wanted to make ready. He now possessed the deed to an estate in the moors of Scotland. Perhaps he could convince his duchess to visit with him there soon. Remember this is temporary…
It had almost been a week since their night together, and he had devised many ways he could see the duchess in his imaginaton but had discarded them all. It seemed she was just as uncertain about their unorthodox liaison, for he’d received no letter from her, either. The only thing he was certain of was that she was upholding her promise. Lydia had been amazed to receive several invitations for balls for the rest of the season. The hope that had blazed in her eyes had filled him with such gratitude. She had accepted an invitation to a ball from one Lady Nelson, and Lydia was already making herself sick with worry about how she would be received.
He glanced down the table to see how Lydia was faring this morning. Her fingers were flying with speed as she laughed. His sisters chattered away as they ate their breakfast.
Their housekeeper, Mrs. Wiles, entered and went to his mother. “Excuse me, ma’am, this came for you.” She handed his mother the letter and then departed.
His mother quickly opened it. Her loud, dramatic gasp had everyone lifting their gaze to her. With a frown, Rhys set aside the freshly ironed newssheet he’d been pretending to read. “Are you all right, Mother?”
His mother appeared dazed. “She accepted. I cannot credit it. I never thought or even imagined she would.”
“Who accepted, Mamma, and accepted what?” Grace demanded impatiently, no longer concerned with the scone she had been eating.
Even Lydia and Joanna had paused in demolishing their breakfast.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Hardcastle.”
He never knew silence could be loud. “Invitation to what?” he asked, despising the way his heart started to lurch.
“An invitation to Lord and Lady Pottinger’s annual ball in Hastings. I had prevailed upon William to send her an invitation.”
“And she said yes?” his sisters chorused.
“I can hardly believe such an assertion,” Grace said, pushing from her chair and rushing to grab the vellum paper from their mother.
A few seconds later she glanced up. “Oh no, she did accept. A duchess at such a lowly country ball? No one will know how to behave. I won’t know how to behave,” Grace all but wailed, panic lining her features.
Joanna’s eyes widened in alarm. “The prospect of an introduction to a duchess fills me with panic. I do not believe we are ready to meet a lady of such stature. I am still learning how to take tea with decorum according to our tutor.”
Lydia’s fingers leaped to life. “I believe this is the opportunity our brother has been working for.”
“This is all our mother’s interference,” Rhys interjected wryly.
Lydia’s chin lifted. “I’m certain this is because of you. We will all attend, and I promise we will not shame you, Rhys.”
A fist closed over his heart. He stood and moved around to the table where Lydia sat. “There is nothing you could do in this world that would shame me. The duchess is…she will be a pleasant surprise.”
Everyone exploded into speech after that pronouncement. His mother still appeared poleaxed, and Rhys smiled. Breakfast was then finished at an alarming rate, and he was herded into the drawing room with a command to stay. He woofed his obedience, and the girls laughed. For the next two hours, they drowned him with questions about the duchess, and he had to patiently sit in the room as they demanded their lady maids drag dress upon dress from their armoires for his inspection, since he’d been mixing with the ton at high-society events. His assertion that he’d attended only two balls was soundly ignored. At some point, ribbons somehow ended up around his neck, but all he felt was a deep satisfaction that they were happy. Even Joanna couldn’t hide her excitement. Then there was that thrill in his heart at the thought of seeing Georgiana again. Why had she accepted? Such an event was far below her notice.
He let out his breath again and scrubbed his hand down his face, wishing the memories of her smile and passion didn’t haunt him so much. What was it about her? The loneliness in her eyes fled when she was with him, and he felt a sense of peace and happiness from simply being in her presence. He froze as that awareness shot through him.
“Will you attend, Rhys?” his mother asked softly, shifting on the sofa so that she could scrutinize his every expression.
“Perhaps.”
His mother sighed. “You haven’t been to our local ball now in years, though we have had a house in Hastings some five years now. I believe it would be better for you to be there when the girls meet Her Grace—that is, if we are granted the privilege to meet her.”
Though her voice was mild, his mother’s eyes glowed with an excitement he’d not anticipated. It had never occurred to him that she missed her life amongst the aristocracy. “I’ll be there,” he said softly, now wondering if his mother needed to be encompassed in his plans.
“Have you informed the duchess that you are the nephew of Viscount Westcott?”
“I never saw the need.”
Her lips pinched. “I will find a way to delicately insert it in any conversation we have.”
“That is not necessary.”
“We are not a family without connections, and it must be known.” Then she launched from the sofa to help Grace decide between peach or green ribbons. Why were they even wearing ribbons?
Free to wander, his thoughts perplexingly turned to Georgiana and not to business. He stood and walked over to the windows overlooking the small back garden of their townhouse. What would he feel upon seeing the duchess again? He thought of her soft skin, how it would feel beneath his palms, under his body, how she would taste. Would he still want her with the same intensity, since he’d already feasted on all she had to offer?
He frowned, realizing he’d never had a lover whom he had made love to so many times. There had only been a few women he had tupped more than once, and even now trying to snatch memories of those times was an exercise in futility. Rhys had enjoyed at intervals having a woman beneath him whenever the need to slake the lust rose inside him. Those women had understood he had nothing to give, wanted nothing more, and were only interested in the pleasures he could give them or his money. He’d never had the time or inclination before to pause…to savor and to learn a woman’s likes, her dislikes, her pain, and joy. Yet the need was a living entity, a relentless ache to spend more time with the duchess. And not just with her sheathed on his cock.
A singularly foolish desire, for where would it lead? Rhys did not believe in investing his energy and time on a subject that would not yield positive results. The duchess was such a unique complication. He wanted her, quite fiercely, but the futility of wanting a woman like her was evident, yet the reward of loving a woman like her, even if for a few months, was inescapable. And as simply as that, he craved to touch, and take, and taste. Never had he encountered such a chaotic hunger for a woman. If it had simply been for her body, he could have moved past the need. But there was a curiosity in his soul to know what had placed the cool guardedness in her beautiful eyes. Why was her smile barely there, instead of wide and glorious? Rhys frowned. He was turning into a damn poet.
Yes…I’ll have an affair with you.
And he wanted it, too. More than his next business deal, and more than the secrets that had been offered concerning members of parliament. Christ, he was losing his senses, and damn if he wanted to reclaim them.