Chapter Twelve
Three days later, Rhys, his sisters, and his mother were standing together within the large, elegant, and overcrowded ballroom of Lord Pottinger. It seemed as if the entire respectable population of Hastings had tried to cram themselves into the public spaces of the man’s country home. The wealthiest titled landowner close to the village where they had their country home was Lord Pottinger. Somehow his wife had befriended Rhys’s mother and sister, and they had been invited to the annual ball for the last several years.
They had arrived promptly at seven, along with the rest of Hastings. An hour later it appeared as if the throng was uncertain what to do with itself. Rhys was amused. No one seemed interested in dancing or playing cards. They waited with bated breath for their most important guest to arrive.
“Do you believe she has changed her mind?” Joanna asked, fanning herself.
“That would be most ungracious of the duchess. I do not believe it to be so,” his mother rebutted, craning her neck to view the entrance. An elbow poked into his side, and he glanced down at Lydia.
“You seem tense, brother. Could it be you are anticipating the duchess’s presence, as well?”
He gave her what he hoped was a black scowl, and she giggled. She looked so beautiful and expectant tonight, Rhys was glad the shadows that normally haunted her eyes were missing. He lightly chucked her under her chin, and it was her turn to scowl.
“I’m no longer sixteen, you know.”
“Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Hardcastle,” Lord Pottinger announced, pride evident in his tone.
Silence dropped over the ballroom as the guests seemed to hold a collective breath. Georgina strolled into view, her smile cool and reserved. His sisters were bound to be disappointed, for she was not dripping in diamonds and rubies as they had hoped, but she was dressed in the heights of fashion. She wore a fashionable dress of vibrant yellow silk, which accentuated her slight but curvy figure. Her hair was piled high atop her head in intricate curls, and a single strand of pearls encircled her throat.
She was lovely…and his heart stumbled in his chest.
Her gaze scanned the room, and pleasure lit her eyes when she saw him. There was a bit of relief there, too, if he wasn’t mistaken. Pottinger led her across the room, beaming, and introducing her to their society. People eagerly dipped into elegant curtseys and paid her lavish compliments, some of which had Rhys’s brow arching at the ridiculous nature of it.
His sisters were jittery beside him, and even his mother seemed to be on edge. Finally, the duchess was escorted their way.
“Mr. Tremayne,” she greeted him with a warm smile. “I am delighted to see you.” Her eyes glowed with mystery and remembered passion.
Lord Pottinger stumbled and caught himself quickly. Clearly, he hadn’t expected the duchess to greet Rhys with such familiarity. He slid her a considering glance. “You are familiar with Mr. Tremayne.”
“Oh yes, we’ve had several occasions upon which to converse.”
His sisters grinned in scandalized delight, while his mother and their host threw them speculative glances.
“Your Grace, Duchess of Hardcastle, may I present Mrs. Doretha Tremayne, Miss Lydia Tremayne, Miss Joanna Tremayne, and Miss Grace Tremayne to you. Ladies, Her Grace, the Duchess of Hardcastle.”
His sisters and mother dropped into elegant curtsies.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances,” Georgiana said with a warm smile.
She spent a few minutes with them before the viscount whisked her off to meet other notable locals.
“Oh, she is so beautiful, and elegant, and charming!” Joanna gasped, laughing.
“She spent the longest with you. Do you see all the glances of envy we are receiving?” Grace asked.
“She could not stop looking at you, Rhys,” Lydia signed.
“I agree,” Grace said. “I do not believe you told us all that happened when you went to that ball, brother.”
Before he could retort, a few young bucks approached the girls, asking for dances. They eagerly consented, and he found himself alone with his mother.
“You should ask Her Grace to dance,” his mother urged.
“No.”
“Rhys, you are—”
“Miss Doretha Drummond?”
His mother whirled around. “Marcus! Forgive me, I mean Lord Gaskill, what a pleasant surprise.”
His mother blushed, and Rhys coolly observed the man who had managed to wreak such an astonishing reaction. His mother was fifty years of age and was acting like a young debutante.
Lord Gaskill seemed equally entranced. “How are you? It has been so many years.”
“May I introduce my son, Rhys Tremayne? Rhys, this is…the earl is an old acquaintance of mine, Lord Gaskill.”
Rhys inclined his head politely.
The earl stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Mr. Rhys Tremayne?”
“Yes,” he drawled with an icy smile. So, the Lord Gaskill had somehow heard of him.
“Your son?”
“Yes. I have four children,” his mother said proudly. “They are all here.”
Regret gleamed in the man’s eyes as he stared down at Rhys’s mother with longing. Was this the man she would have married before her father sold her to a merchant instead? Christ. His mother would have been a countess.
“May I have this dance, Dotty?”
She flushed at his familiarity but nodded in evident pleasure. With an almost startled glance in Rhys’s direction, she marched onto the dance floor with the earl. His mother glowed, and Rhys filed away the information that he would need to investigate Lord Gaskill thoroughly.
Moving through the tightly packed room, he made his way to the small balcony and propped his shoulders on a column. His gaze unerringly found the duchess. Though she smiled and nodded, there were lines of strain around her full, sensuous mouth. As if she felt his stare, her regard turned his way. He inclined his head slightly, and those lips curved into a wide, inviting smile.
Soon…
…
Rhys’s family was charming and lovely. Georgiana had spent more time chatting with Lydia since it was her she needed to introduce to polite society. Georgiana had been careful in how she enunciated her words and had faced Lydia while they conversed, so she could get an accurate reading of her lips. With her beauty and cheerful disposition, Lydia would have no trouble attracting suitors. Georgiana would have to work to ensure they were the right kinds and not fortune hunters or libertines who would think to make her their mistress. Though Lydia’s clear gray eyes gazed at Georgiana with a worldliness far beyond her years, she was a soft and rare beauty that would remain ageless. Her halting speech and the way she sometimes stared at someone’s mouth would be considered impolite to many, but a true gentleman would not be deterred.
A quadrille was playing, and all of Rhys’s sisters had been claimed for dances. They were all elegant in mind and temperament, with the graces of ladies.
Almost two hours after she had entered the ball, Georgiana found herself standing with Rhys alone atop a gallery overlooking the dancing throng. “We are finally alone.”
“If I’d known this was a source of displeasure, I would have whisked you away over an hour ago.”
She laughed. “Your family is charming, Rhys.”
“Ah, despite our dubious connections?”
It was a clear taunt.
“Your mother informed me she is the daughter of the late Viscount Westcott. So not all your connections are an unsavory, disreputable lot as I’ve been warned. The current viscount is friends with Simon. I’ve had the opportunity to socialize with your uncle, Lord Westcott, and his manners are pleasant.”
Rhys’s eyes hooded, and he stared at her for an infinite amount of time. “Would you accompany me on a walk along the seaside? It is only a few minutes from the viscount’s manor. If you listen, you can hear the crash of the sea.”
A thrill skittered through her, terrifying and exhilarating. She realized with a flash of amused bafflement he was stripping her of her long-held decorum with one enticement after the other. “I would like that.”
They went outside, and Georgiana silently cursed her impulsiveness, for more than one keen pair of eyes had noted their departure. I’m in the country, so there should be no rumors of this in town, she told herself, but she knew it was wishful thinking.
Pushing aside her disquiet, they strolled through the gardens and away from the merriment of the ball. Georgiana took a huge breath of fresh summer air into her lungs.
“This ball may not be the right setting to make an assessment, but do you believe my sisters can find happiness?”
“They all want to marry?”
“Lydia and Grace. Joanna is more reticent on the matter, but I see the hunger in her eyes. She feels her scar will prevent a man from wanting her.”
Georgiana thought of Joanna, with her dark-red hair and light-blue eyes. The scar on her cheek was not awful, just obvious in an otherwise stunningly beautiful face. “I can see she has very charming manners and is quite intelligent. If any gentleman were to be repulsed by her scar, he would be unworthy.”
A rough sound came from Rhys. “I’ve collected an arsenal of secrets, land, and wealth over the years, and yet I cannot give my sisters what they desire.”
“You are now on the right path.”
“I have secrets to hold over many of the ton. A simple threat might see my sisters married well.”
“Blackmail!”
“More like a business transaction. The thought has occurred me to more than once.”
“Why haven’t you taken that route? Many ladies of society find themselves wed to the men of their father or guardian’s choice.”
“My sisters’ happiness matters to me,” he said gruffly. “They have silly romantic dreams I would never want to see crushed.”
Georgiana’s steps faltered, and they stopped. She faced him and touched the shadowed line of his jaw. In a world where most men saw women as bodies to barter without care for their wishes, his ardent dedication and love for his sisters was…wonderful. He was so unlike any other man she had ever known. How could one be ruthless enough to take a life, but then do everything possible to make others happy?
“You, too, will need to position yourself within society.” The very idea of Rhys with another woman left a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she had to fight not to retract her words. It would be too selfish of her if she did not express the advantages of a society match.
“Meaning?”
“Your sisters would be better received if you were also wedded to a suitable young lady of the ton. Perhaps a family who needs money and won’t mind so much…won’t mind so much that…”
“That I am a mongrel?”
She flushed. “That you are without a title. Your sisters are very fortunate to have a brother like you. I remember having romantic dreams and how scared I felt when I was told I was to become the Duchess of Hardcastle.”
She lowered her hand and stepped back, but Rhys placed his hands on her hips and tugged her to him. The simple caress sent waves of heat curling through her body. She closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of his body tight against hers.
“Tell me,” he murmured, his voice warm, sensual, caressing.
“I…I was only thirteen at the time and had those silly romantic feelings for Lord Andrew Winthrop, my brother’s friend. I had dreams of a season, of being wooed and taken to the opera and the theater.”
“Your duke did not woo you?”
She laughed lightly. “No. I was simply told by my parents I was to be his bride. I ran crying to my brother, and he reminded me that my duty was to wed into a family that would solidify our power and finances. And that I would be a duchess. What could be grander? And deep in my heart, I wanted to be a duchess. I then spent the next three years absorbing etiquette lessons, reading political and fashion papers. I badgered Mr. Henshaw, my father’s steward, to show me our ledgers and operations. I wanted to be a good wife to a man and to be an exemplary duchess to his tenants, and servants, whom I’d never met.”
He slipped his hands from her waist and looped one of her arms with his, and they continued toward the seaside. The crashing of the waves reached her ears, and a stiff wind blew across the lands, tangling the skirts of her gown around her legs.
“Do you regret marrying your duke?”
“No. We had a…a…comfortable marriage…and he gave me Nicolas. Traditions, honor, pristine bloodlines, and reputation meant a lot to my family and the duke. It was one of the reasons he approached them for my hand. Our mutual ancestry made for a very strategic alliance.”
“Is it important to you, as well?”
She lifted startled eyes to meet his curious but decidedly cool regard.
“Yes.”
He frowned but made no answer. They walked together in companionable silence.
“Have you ever climbed a tree or fished in a lake?”
Georgiana glanced at him. He was staring at the sea. It took her a few moments before she responded. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Why not?”
She smiled. “I haven’t.”
“Have you ever walked barefoot in the sand?”
“No.” But hadn’t she wanted to as a child and been scolded most severely? She frowned, hating to think her life had been not all it could have been. She had a wonderful life with no regrets, and she wouldn’t allow the dratted man to make her to believe something was missing. She had everything she could possibly need—her son, wealth, power…and a lover to soothe her itch and loneliness.
He stopped and dropped to his haunches. “Brace your hands on my shoulders.”
She complied, and he lifted one foot after the other and slipped off her shoes. Georgiana held herself still when he tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. She swallowed, a sweet ache fluttering low in her stomach when he touched her ankle with his fingers. She gasped softly. He peered up at her from his crouch, his lips curving with sensual intent. The heated desire in his stare kindled a yearning deep inside her body. His fingers were warm, slightly rough, but so perfect. His fingers leisurely skimmed farther yet up to her stocking-clad legs, untied her garters, sensually rolled down her silk stockings. He repeated his actions with her other foot and then stood, stuffing her garters and stockings into his pockets.
She stared at him wordlessly as she dug her toes into the sand. Emotions rose in her throat. How is it that she’d never felt this smoothness beneath the soles of her feet before? She whirled about, staring at the frothing sea. The moonlight glinted off the edge of the water, and the vast power before her beckoned. She ran toward the water. Georgiana gripped the folds of her dress and dragged it up to her knees and then stepped into the shallow tide. “Oh, it’s so cold!”
With a laugh, she sprinted from the waters, and he grabbed her around the waist and headed back toward the sea. “You wouldn’t dare, Rhys!”
His breath brushed her ear. “Wouldn’t I?”
“Infuriating man.”
He lowered her and slowly turned her to face him.
Her knees wobbled, and a trembling laugh escaped her. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?”
“This doesn’t feel like we’re conducting an affair.” It felt more like courtship, like they were getting to know each other for something more permanent, more lasting.
“I thought you had never had an affair before.”
“I haven’t!”
“Who says a part of it isn’t taking a long walk on the beach in the dark?”
She scowled up at him. “You’ve had an affair before?”
“No…you’re my first and my last.”
She scoffed, quite unladylike. “You cannot know if I will be your last.” She felt an odd arrow of envy at the idea of another woman taking walks along the seaside with him, missing him, taking him into her body and holding him close.
“I just know,” he said softly. “You’re different, in a good way. I’ve been reminded there is more to life than simply securing power and existing in a shadow of what could be.”
Pleasure scythed though her, making her chest tight until she could scarcely breathe. She couldn’t find a quick repartee and could only stare at him helplessly. “It’s best I return home.”
A wicked smile of knowledge slashed his strong, sensual mouth. “Afraid to be alone with me?” he taunted.
Without thought, without reason, she yearned to stay with him for the entire night. “The opposite—I fear I do not want to leave.” She stepped to him and gripped the lapel of his jacket.
His eyes flared. “What—”
She fastened her lips to his. Her hands fisted in his hair to hold him closer. His sensual mouth was like a brand on hers. Rhys took control of their kiss, sinking to his knees in the sand and lowering himself to the ground, his hands on her hips, pulling her atop him. A moan of surprise slipped from her, and all thoughts to protest were burned away by the desire pouring through her like molten lava. He made love to her mouth with devastating expertise.
Georgiana was shattered by the awareness that she wanted him inside her, making love with her, as fiercely as she wanted air to breathe. His hands cupped her backside and pressed her closer. She felt the searing brand of his erection and his unyielding strength through the layers of their clothes. He kissed her slowly, with an irresistible passion.
Though they were hugged in the arms of darkness, anyone could come upon them and witness her acting with a careless wantonness. That realization gave her the strength to pull her lips from his and scramble off him to sprawl indecorously onto the sand.
A mortified giggle slipped from her, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Rhys had already surged to his feet and held out his hand. She clasped it, and he hauled her up. “This reckless need you inspire in me has to stop,” she said a bit too breathlessly.
“Pity, I was quite enjoying your reckless heart.”
“I have no intention of starting a scandal anytime soon.”
“I suppose the rumors would not be kind if you were caught with me.”
“If I was seen with any man, cavorting in the sand, the scandal would be spectacular.”
“I’m quite aware, Georgiana, the scandal would be more horrendous if you were seen with me.” His lean, darkly handsome face was unrevealing.
His bluntness made her feel vulnerable and threatened. “There is sand in your hair,” she said softly, unable to refute his claims.
“And in my extremities, too,” he returned drolly.
Rhys prowled over to her and started dusting the sand from the back of her gown.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, always.”
Patting her hair to assess its state of dishabille, she was grateful to realize her chignon was still in place.
“I’ve ruined your dress.”
“It’s inconsequential.”
“Is it? My sisters tell me you are regularly featured in Lady’s Monthly Museum for your exquisite flare. That was a direct quote from Grace, who wishes to emulate your fashion sense but was given a scolding from our mother. I’ve also learned you are an avid patron of the fine arts, and I was ordered to comport myself with extreme gentility around you. I failed.”
She laughed, delighted with his teasing. “I do love fashion and all the arts. They have been my solace in a time when my loneliness hurt.” The admission slipped from her without thought.
“Tell me,” he said softly.
“Do you truly wish to know?”
“Yes.” The way he considered her as if he wanted to peer into her soul fascinated Georgiana.
“I got used to the idea of being a duchess a few months after my parents informed me I would be wed to Hardcastle. Though I employed all my intellect and wit to learn how to be a proper wife, sometimes I felt imprisoned by the roles expected of me. I was encouraged to read books I had no interest in, like The Mirror of the Graces by a lady of distinction, and Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women, instead of the gothic romances I longed to devour, books like The Mysteries of Udolpho.”
The night seemed to close around them, the crashing surf a lullaby instead of a discordant jangle. “I was urged by my mother and the duke to dress with elegant yet respectable demureness befitting my station. I did not resent Hardcastle’s instructions, for I wanted to be the best possible duchess. My father died a few months after the duke. I lost the two people who had impressed upon me the most stringent need for strict propriety, and it became frustratingly hard to remain in the mold in which I’d been cast,” she said softly. “I found myself buying those books he had warned me did not edify my thoughts and intellect. I found that the vibrant colors and daring styles I’d long desired to wear as part of my ensemble suited me. I actively sponsored young artists and attended the theaters, and it wasn’t long before I wasn’t a duchess to be pitied because I had lost my husband so young, but a person to be admired. Yet despite the joy and wonder I found with my son and indulging in the lavish extravagances of the last few seasons, I felt empty.” Until you… “I must go.”
“Allow me to escort you back to the ball.”
“I would prefer to return to Lady Blanchett’s manor.”
“I am familiar with the viscountess. You are staying with her?”
“With my son. Only for a couple days.”
“Is he recovering well?”
“Yes. He has no memory of the encounter, and I am grateful for it.”
“Has he ever been by the seaside?”
She glanced at Rhys. “Nicolas has never had the pleasure.”
They were silent for a few moments as they padded along the coastline.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I…I had no definitive plan when I came down. I had intended to call upon your family, to meet your sisters in a more informal setting. Did you have something in mind…for us?”
“I thought your son might enjoy the seaside. Would you like to bring him here?”
Uncertainty almost cleaved her in two. Entangling him within her son’s life was far different from having an affair.
Clasping his hands behind him, he tilted his head to the sky, breathing in the crisp, clean air. “I thought we were to be friends.”
“Yes,” she said. “I find I am perplexingly comfortable with you.”
“I promise I would never hurt your son. And when our affair ends, it will have no bearing on whatever bonds of friendship we’ve formed.”
The tightness in her chest eased. “I think Nicolas will love it here.”
Rhys smiled. “Then we’ll meet here in the morning, early when everyone will still be abed.”
She wanted to say she would meet him at whatever time but knew, even so far removed in the country, the speculation would be too much to bear. “I would like that. And Barnaby and Calliope will be joining us.”
“And who are Barnaby and Calliope?”
“Nicolas’s pups. They are one-year-old wolfhounds and are quite large, but Nicolas goes nowhere without them,” she said, laughing.
This friendly companionship was dangerous. They were not of the same world, and she should be pushing away from him, not drawing closer. She was leading her heart to break, and she was helpless to stop it.