Chapter Fourteen
Rhys whisked Georgiana through the still-dancing and rowdy crowd. He led her down a long hallway. Here and there couples murmured and laughed in the shadows, some even moaned, indicating the type of play in which they indulged. She laughed breathlessly beside him, hurrying to keep apace, her turquoise eyes sparkling with excitement. She was quite remarkable.
He glanced down, a smile pulling at his lips at her evident enjoyment. Many tonight had watched her covetously and others with avid curiosity, for she was the only patron to be so disguised. She glowed with gentility amongst the coarseness, and many perhaps suspected she was a lady but knew better than to let their curiosity leave the gambling hell.
At the end of the hallway, a man stood guard at a large oak door. Members of The Asylum were not allowed in the maze gardens Riordan tended to with such care. The guard, however, understood that Riordan had only a few friends he trusted to have access to most rooms and an outdoor section of the club, and Rhys was such a friend. The door was pulled open, and he deftly maneuvered her through, pushing it closed behind him.
“Oh! It’s beautiful.” Dozens of lanterns were attached along the trellis. Honeysuckle and jasmine graced the gardens. The air was redolent with the scent of fruit and flowers.
He pulled her farther into the labyrinth, following the lantern-lit pathway to an inner alcove. He faced her, tugging her close to him, so they were flush.
“I have a gift for you.”
Surprise flared in her eyes. “What is it?”
He reached into his pocket and retrieved a slim leather case. “This is for you.”
Her face glowed as she took it from him and gently opened the case. They were bloodred rubies formed in an intricate necklace. The stones seemed alive, sparkling with vivid beauty. “They are the most exquisite rubies I have ever seen. I’ve never seen such stones on our shores.”
The hard edges of his mouth softened into a pleased smile. “They once belonged to an Ottoman pasha.”
Her eyes lit with mischief. “And you did him an unmatched favor?”
“Something of the sort. They are now yours.”
She lifted stunned eyes to him. “Oh, Rhys, I cannot accept such a gift. They are far too expensive, and something you should give…”
“Give my mistress? My lover?”
Her tongue darted and wetted her lips. “I was going to say your wife.”
A role, he realized, he wanted to see her in, despite its impossibility. He was allowing himself to cross barriers because of the way she made him yearn for more. He frowned, suddenly restless. How had he not known there was a missing piece in his life? She had captured his attention and his thoughts with so little effort, it gave him pause. Here he was, wrapping himself into a web of his own making over a woman who likely saw him as nothing more than a temporary plaything. “I’ve been holding on to them for years. Now I know why. They were made for you, and I would be honored if you would accept them.”
“Thank you, Rhys.” She tipped on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I will cherish them forever.”
“You will wear them for me alone…soon.”
An unladylike snort was her only response.
“Perhaps tomorrow I can see you splayed atop silken sheets, waiting for me, only wearing rubies.”
“Is that so?”
“Hmm, how do you feel about going away with me, for a week?” He watched every nuance of her expressive face. Excitement had flared in the depths of her turquoise eyes before caution had her hooding her gaze. “Discreetly, of course,” he added.
“I have duties to attend. I…I simply cannot go away for a few days, not so suddenly.”
“Tell me, what responsibilities does a duchess have?”
“I suppose you believe I sit around aimlessly with servants attending to my every whim.”
His hands smoothed over her back, relishing the feel of her delicate curves. “I wasn’t being facetious, I am curious about you.”
She smiled in apparent delight. She tugged him toward a wrought-iron bench, and he lowered himself onto it. Pleasure burst into his veins when instead of beside him she sat on his thighs and wrapped her hands around his neck.
“My son is the seventh Duke of Hardcastle. I manage my son’s estates until he comes of age, and I have been slowly teaching him how to be a gentleman.”
“Your son is six?”
Georgiana chuckled. “Yes, his birthday was only a few weeks ago. He is very smart, and a bit stubborn. Once a week we visit his tenants so they may know him. He is kind and loves to play with their children with no ideas that he should preserve a distinction of rank. My mother and even my brother berate me for allowing it, but I desire my son to see the honor and goodness in people before he considers their position within society. We are building a school and a hospital in a nearby village, and as a part of understanding the responsibility that will sit on his shoulders a few years from now, we visit the work sites once every other week.”
She tilted her head as she watched him closely. “I also manage my own wealth. My grandmother bequeathed me an inheritance of fifty thousand pounds that I have since tripled. And my widow’s portion was very generous. I find some days I spend hours reading investment reports and poring through ledgers, and then there are other days I am consumed with balls, the theater, and the opera.”
“And are there days when you are just free?”
A radiant smile split her face. “There are, Rhys, and today…tonight is such a day.”
“I’ve been trying to unearth your secrets,” he said softly.
Her fingers tightened around his nape. “Have you?”
“Yes. I woke up a couple of weeks past with this hunger to know you. And I sent my sparrows deep, seeking information about you.”
“And did you find any?” she asked, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Because you are my only secret. Do not keep me in suspense, what did your…sparrows uncover?”
“Politically speaking, you are a member of the Tory party, shocking and quite scandalous, since your late husband and your family are members of the Whig party. Your last birthday, which was only three months ago, you held a house party that lasted a weekend, where you used your influence to convince some of the most notable members of the House of Lords to support a few pieces of legislation you had taken an interest in. There was even some speculation that you were the lover of Lord Melbourne, but those rumors were quickly laid to rest. You are an exemplary hostess, and the Marquess of Locksley desires your hand in marriage. There are bets laid down at White’s as to how successful he will be. Some believe he is crazy to want a woman as fiercely independent as you are, despite your beauty.”
“Those reprobates!”
“Hmm, tell me of the marquess.”
Her eyes widened. “Lord Locksley?”
Rhys’s mouth hovered inches from hers so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “Yes.”
“What do you wish to know?” she murmured.
“Do you plan to marry him?”
“I do not plan to remain alone for the rest of my life. I am only six-and-twenty.”
“That is not an answer.”
She stiffened, her spine elegantly straight. “I will eventually remarry. Perhaps several years from now.”
“To the marquess.”
“If he is unencumbered when I am ready, he is a suitable candidate.”
“Then why isn’t he your lover now?”
She flushed and shifted her eyes away from his. Placing a finger under her chin with firm pressure, he directed her attention back to him.
“He doesn’t rouse me.”
“Your body? Your intellect? Your heart?”
“All of them,” she said hoarsely. “You’re the only man to ever arouse me so completely.”
“I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
He eased her from his lap and guided her deeper into the gardens. When he reached the section he always came to, he released her hands and sank onto the thick carpeted grass, with his hand behind his head. She lowered herself, too, and curled her legs beneath her, regarding him steadily. Then she removed the delicate facemask, revealing her features.
“It is lovely here.”
“Sometimes I lie here and stare at the sky, my mind unburdened, and I just watch the stars. There is no beauty like the night.”
Georgiana leaned back until she, too, was lying, staring up at the vastness of the sky.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
He slid his hand along the prickly surface of the grass and laced their fingers together. “Why?”
“Because this feels perfect. Our affair will be etched forever in my heart.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “Perhaps it does not have to end.”
The garden was silent, the darkness comforting, the starlit night tranquil. She remained silent, and he did not push her.
“How long do you imagine we could have an affair?” she asked softly. “Weeks, months?”
“Years.”
She laughed shakily. “Even after I’m married?”
She drove every sane thought from his head with that pronouncement. How naive she was to think he would allow another man in her body once they were lovers. “You would dishonor your vows?”
“Never.” She squeezed one of his fingers. “The duke had a mistress, and I hated the very notion. I would never hurt my husband by being unfaithful.”
The man had been a fool. Georgiana was all that was wonderful, kind, intelligent, and as sensual as sin.
“I realized his needs were being satisfied elsewhere about three months after he stopped visiting my chamber.”
Rhys tugged her closer, and she came willingly, shifting her body slightly, so her head rested on his chest.
“I was warned all gentlemen secured their heir and a spare, and then they would have mistresses. Though I expected it, it hurt deep down inside. I felt…inadequate. After a time, we only saw each other for dinner parties, balls, and when I hosted his political dinners. I felt so alone and then ashamed for even having such a thought. I had so much when others had so little, so I tried to be content, but there was always that feeling of something more that I needed. It was quite frustrating never having that desire assuaged.”
Rhys frowned as he recalled the loneliness that would sometimes strike at his gut even when he was with his family. It was as if something was missing, a disconnection in his life he’d hardly understood. It was those nights he would take to The Asylum and find a woman to ride for a couple hours, hoping to slake the burning need for that elusive something. It didn’t escape his notice that that yawning chasm hadn’t been there since before he’d found her son. He stroked his thumb over her fingers in a soothing motion.
She turned his hand over, noting the fine scars on the insides of his fingers. “Your hands are rough.” Then she pressed a kiss on his knuckles. “I ache to know more about your life. Where is your childhood home? Why…why aren’t you married? How did you become The Broker?”
He stilled, wondering how much to share. The dangerous thing was that he wanted her to know everything, even if it would repulse her more. “For a while, we lived in the stews.”
She froze and tried to move, but he trailed his fingers over her flat stomach and pressed gently. His duchess’s breath hitched at the intimate caress, but she stayed still. “How is that possible?”
“My father…he was cruel to my mother. He was in the shipping business and was very wealthy. Her father, the viscount, needed money for his flagging estates and sold her to the man who wanted the connection to a title. My father had no love in his heart for her or for me. He hurt her, beat her, and he was within his rights according to the law. He had several mistresses, and he shamed her with them.”
“Oh, Rhys, I am so sorry.”
“It had become unbearable living with him. He was beating her, and I intervened. He turned his dissatisfaction on me, but I did not mind for it spared my mother.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
Her hands tightened on his.
“The very next day, she packed what little we could take, and we ran. She went home, and her brother, who now has the title, turned her away.”
His duchess gasped.
“He told her of duty and that to leave her husband she would shame the family. We were both bruised horribly. Lydia was a baby, and Mother was with child, but it did not matter to the viscount. She reminded him it was her marriage, and that her sacrifice was why he was living with such wealth, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. We left, but we didn’t return to her hell. My mother sold what jewelry and silver she ran with and rented the cheapest rooms she could find. She was heavy with child and could find no employment. The money from the jewelry didn’t last long, and I had to start taking care of my family.”
“I cannot imagine it,” she whispered. “You were a child, and to shoulder such responsibilities.”
“I found work at the docks, and somehow I made it work. I was quiet, I listened, and I learned, and I absorbed the world around me. I traded my first secret to the butcher. His brother was pilfering, and his wife had a lover. I learned the value of watching people, holding my tongue when needed, and knowing where to see the thread and follow on the connection. I quickly learned when I traded information for money, that the money ran out quickly. It was better to trade for another favor. My reputation soon grew, and after a time, I got requests from all sorts of people—lords, ladies, the criminal class, the government.”
“And duchesses,” she murmured.
“And duchesses.”
“Tell me about your first kiss, the first time you kissed a girl.”
Pleasure burned through him at her desire to know him deeper. “My first kiss was at fifteen with a gentleman of your society who thought I was too pretty to be left alone.”
She gasped and twisted around so she was now atop his chest. “Truly?”
“Hmm, he was the first lord I entangled in my web. He paid heavily for his secret to be buried. Several acres of land, if I recall correctly.”
His duchess chuckled, her laugh soft, carefree, inviting. The outside world, their difference in station seemed far away as they talked and share bits about their lives they’d never shared with anyone before. If only he could damn society and everyone in it and keep her. God’s blood. It was such a pity he couldn’t find the right words to convince her this could be more than an affair.
…
Lady Sheffield’s midnight ball was a wonderful crush, and Georgiana had been about to escape to the gardens until she espied her lover. She had not expected Rhys to attend Lady Sheffield’s ball with Lydia. Georgiana had been wrapped in his arms last week, and he’d not mentioned he would attend with his sister. Why hadn’t he told her? Since their time at The Asylum over three weeks past, she had met him several times at an elegantly appointed townhouse in Piccadilly. It was operated by a skeleton staff who only came by during the day, and the night belonged to them. She learned so many delightfully intriguing things about Rhys. He was intelligent, shrewd, selfless, and perplexingly possessed a ruthless heart but one of the kindest she had ever known.
At night, she became someone else. Hidden by her wigs, eye masks, and scandalous dresses she would not ordinarily dare to wear, she visited some of the most unlikely places with her lover, her protector, by her side. It had felt so different to laugh and converse with no expectations placed upon her as a duchess. They had explored Astley’s Amphitheater to her delight, and even where he had spent most of his years struggling with his family—the Seven Dials.
She had listened to the smooth timbre of his voice as he’d told her tales of stealing, fighting, and brokering deals to put food on his table, and how he had gained his wealth by trading one favor after the other before learning the art of investing on the London Stock Exchange. She had been appalled at how he had existed, but fierce admiration had also burned inside her for his strength and cunning intelligence that had made him wealthier than most titled lords.
Other nights, they strolled through the fashionable quarters, laughing and chatting, with her regaling him with dozens of tales of her Nicolas. His first walk, the first time he’d called her mamma, the first time he’d fallen and scraped his knee, and the first time he’d lost a tooth. Stories she’d never gotten to share with her duke, or with anyone else, she found herself revealing out to Rhys. He seemed so fascinated with every word that came from her mouth, several times she had to force herself to stop talking after a mortified chuckle to say she had been talking for hours.
Some nights instead of taking her home, he had discreetly whisked her to his townhouse. A flush ran along her body at the wickedness they had indulged in. Days later, the memory of his touch was still so vivid. There had been times he had loved her so fiercely, she could not find the energy to slip away and be escorted back to her own townhouse. It was those times, despite missing her son dreadfully, she was grateful Simon had taken her boy with him to Lincolnshire.
Rhys had taken her to a masquerade ball in Soho Square, where she’d mixed with politicians, actresses, and businessmen of the middle class and aristocracy. She’d been herself and had given her opinion freely on investment trends and her knowledge of the arts and theater. Then the dratted man had taken her to another house in Soho Square for a black-market art exhibition. She had been equally appalled and enervated but had refused to make an illegal purchase.
Rhys also commanded the kitchen as he did everything else. That had pleasantly shocked her, and she had watched him one night while sitting on a kitchen stool as he cooked a stew. Georgiana had awkwardly chopped carrots and potatoes, loving every minute of it. That night they hadn’t made love but had eaten the savory meal he’d so effortlessly prepared, played chess in the drawing room, and taken turns reading her “deplorable” gothic romance aloud while they lazed on the carpet by the fire. Those were the nights he stole every shred of reserve she had in her heart about their union.
The last time she had been in Rhys’s bed had been a week ago. A sweet, hot ache filled her at the memory. Every time they made love, it created a heavy craving for more. He hadn’t treated her like spun glass at all that night. He had been a bit untamed, so ungentlemanly in his passions as he flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her onto her knees, her hips arched into the air. He’d surged into her powerfully, filling her, stretching her, enslaving her to the pleasures that burned within her heart for him. He’d loved her long and hard, and she had reveled in every stroke of his possession.
“How will I find the strength to tell you good-bye?” she had whispered into the crook of his neck. Being with him was a terrible pleasure.
He had made no reply, and she had slumbered with impossible dreams in her thoughts. There had been no clandestine meeting since, but every day he had sent her some gift. They had always been signed with a R, and were so simple in their design but brought her immeasurable pleasure. The first had been a small comb fashioned from a seashell, then a single bloodred rose, a first edition of The Mysteries of Udolpho by Anne Radcliffe. Her heart had trembled with the realization he was wooing her. Her fascination with him only grew, and last night she had sobbed herself to sleep for she was falling madly, desperately in love with Rhys Tremayne.
If only she could suppress her need for him that kept her awake in the dark while everyone else slumbered. Affixing a smile to her face as her mother chattered away, Georgiana discreetly examined Rhys as he moved though the throng, clearly an anomaly in their midst. It wasn’t that he was dressed differently, though he did not favor the flamboyant colors many gentlemen wore. He was garbed once more in dark trousers and a coat with a silver-cloth waistcoat. Danger seemed inherent in his coiled elegance, and the polite world sensed it, several people instinctively giving him a wide berth.
Their hostess greeted Lydia, who seemed to make a concentrated effort to not use her fingers to sign. She nodded and smiled, watching Lady Sheffield’s lips and responding when needed. As if he felt Georgiana’s regard, Rhys’s head lifted, and his eyes met hers over several heads. She was appalled to feel her breasts growing heavy from that quick heated, probing stare. She turned away, fighting for equanimity. Since the start of their affair, this was the first time they had had cause to mingle within society. It was decidedly discomfiting. She felt naked and too vulnerable without her wig and eye mask. The scrutiny of the ton seemed sharper, or perhaps she was just more aware of how illicit she had been.
“Upon my word, Georgiana, you seemed flushed,” Lady Trombly remarked. “Are you well?”
Dear God in heavens.
“I’m quite fine. It is the heat. I’ve promised Lord Locksley a turn in the garden, and I shall soon prevail upon him for our stroll.”
Lady Trombly gave Georgiana a knowing smile, and she gritted her teeth in annoyance. She had overheard several people banding their names together. And what did she expect? While she was sneaking away in the nights to be wrapped in Rhys’s arms, in the day she was taking tea and going on picnics with the persistent marquess.
He was ardently pursuing her, and she was still declining more invitations than she was accepting. But the few outings they had already, resulted in society linking their names together.
With a sigh, she directed her attention to Lydia, assessing her reception. She was resplendent in a light-peach gown with tiny forget-me-not flowers lining her hem and puffed sleeves. Her dark ringlets were caught in an elegant cascade, and her eyes, so very much like her brother’s, glowed with trepidation. “Excuse me, Mother, there is someone I must greet.”
“Oh, is it Lady Preston? I’ve heard her husband bought her the most delightful filly at Tattersall last weekend. I should come with you.”
“No.”
Her mother frowned at her terseness.
“Who must you greet?”
“Miss Lydia Tremayne, Mr. Tremyane’s sister.”
A shocked inhalation sounded. “You go to her? Preposterous. The girl must wait to be introduced to you, and I certainly hope you’ll not be overly familiar. That will be giving a stamp of approval to a young woman who is undeserving.”
Georgiana stiffened. “Undeserving?”
“Surely you cannot be in doubt. Miss Tremayne’s background and connections are dubious.”
“Mother, I am sure Simon told you of the unmatched service Mr. Tremayne performed for us when he used his background and connections to find my son when no one else could.”
A flush worked itself up her mother’s neck. “Albeit, my dear—”
“You are the person being preposterous, Mother.” Georgiana walked away, knowing her mother would be infuriated at the insult.
She headed directly for Lydia, grateful Rhys’s attention had been diverted by Lord Mansfield. “Lydia, how wonderful to see you again,” Georgiana greeted, holding out her hands. Lydia’s smile widened in delight.
“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into an elegant curtsy. “How marvelous you look.” Her eyes were wide with admiration and warmth.
Georgiana drew Lydia along and introduced her to several well-connected ladies who were friends, very much aware of the curiosity of the throng as the attention she paid Lydia was remarked upon. Georgiana made the rounds with her and gave Lydia encouraging smiles as she was secured for a few dances with respectable gentlemen.
Sometime later, Georgiana stood on the sidelines, observing as Lydia danced the quadrille with young Lord Fenwick. He was the son of an earl, and rumors abounded of their impoverished state. Everyone understood he was seeking a young heiress with breeding, but from Lord Fenwick’s besotted mien, Lydia’s dubious connections might prove irrelevant.
“They do look charming together,” her friend Daphne murmured beside Georgiana. “But then Miss Tremayne’s manners are so delightful, she would easily attract any gentleman.”
Georgiana laughed, quite pleased with the assessment. Rhys’s sister was so sweetly earnest and lovely, she would be much admired.
“I am curious as to the mark of approval you have given her,” Daphne said, giving Georgiana a considering glance.
“Dear Daphne, Miss Tremayne is simply a delightful young lady with cheerful manners, and I like her.”
“Pah, I’m almost certain it has to do with the man whispers say is her brother. That one lounging on the upper balcony and inspiring very unladylike thoughts in many tonight. He is a fine specimen.”
Georgiana refused to glance toward the balcony. It had been a little over two hours since he’d arrived at the ball, and she had not approached him, nor did she intend to. She hated the discomfort stirring inside at her resolve, but it would not do for society to suspect any romantic attachment between them. Thankfully, he had not approached her, either, but at times she fancied she felt his stare.
Georgiana snagged a glass of champagne from a passing footman. “I’m heading to the retiring room for a few minutes.”
“You are deflecting. Anyone with their wits intact will see there is something between the two of you,” Daphne murmured.
Georgiana shot her friend a stricken glance. “What do you mean by that?”
“You, my dear, are making a concentrated effort not to look in his direction, and he…well,” Daphne said, flicking her fan open and moved it with vigor. “No one knows Mr. Tremayne and his family, and yet you are here introducing his sister to our society. I cannot credit it. Is he…is he, could it be that he is the man you are having a scandalous affaire de coeur with? And do not deny you have a lover, you are glowing.”
Georgiana faltered and froze. Daphne gasped, her dark eyes widening.
“Oh, Georgiana,” she breathed her hand fluttering to her throat. Despite her shocked tone, there was a curl of hunger in Daphne’s eyes, and a painful need for more burned in her gaze before her expression shuttered. “Be careful, my dear, I can see the appeal, but the ton will not be kind if it is ever revealed you took a commoner to your bed.”
Georgiana neither confirmed nor denied the affair. Instead, she gripped her friend’s hand and tugged her toward the terrace windows. They stopped beside a potted plant. She could not ignore the desire she had just seen in her friend. “Daphne, is all well with your marriage?”
The countess had similarly been married at a very young age, to the young Earl of Carrington, a man lauded in parliament for his reform speeches and efforts to end the barbaric practice of slavery. He was loved by some, admired for his daring and boldness, and loathed by others. There had even been rumors the earl had survived assassination attempts from those whose interest did not want to see slavery abolished.
Daphne’s eyes shadowed, and Georgiana frowned, for she knew her friend to be in love with her husband.
“Oh, worry not about me. Carrington and I are well.”
Georgiana sensed she prevaricated. There was a plea in Daphne’s eyes to leave it alone, and she nodded wordlessly.
“I will come by for tea soon, and we will have a long chat,” Georgiana said.
Her friend gave her an obviously brave smile and was soon whisked away by Lord Mansfield for a dance. Shortly after, Lord Locksley appeared by Georgiana’s side and took her empty champagne glass and handed it to a footman. The marquess led her to the dance floor and swept her into the waltz.
“I enjoyed our jaunt in the barouche yesterday,” he said warmly. “I was hoping you would dine at my residence with my family and me soon.”
“My lord,” she began haltingly. They had been conversing quite a lot for the past few weeks, and while she enjoyed their friendship, she was painfully aware that his arms were not the ones she wanted to be in at this moment.
“Say yes,” Lord Locksley coaxed, twirling her. “My cousins are in town, and I would love for you to meet them.”
“I will think on it,” she murmured, unwilling to commit, for her nights belonged to her lover.
Her shoulder blades burned, and she knew he stared. The marquess glided with her across the dance floor, and she caught a glimpse of Rhys, partially obscured in the shadows. A place where he seemed destined to belong whenever he moved within her world. Despite his wealth and power, he would never be accepted by polite society. They had no notion of the manner of man he was, not that they would care to learn. If they knew he had an arsenal of secrets he could use at any time against them, perhaps somehow, they would see him outlawed from England.
She wanted to leave Lord Locksley’s arms, march to Rhys, and dance with him, propriety be damned. Instead, she stayed in the marquess’s arms, hating the way he stared at her, and hating that if she married this man, she would have nothing inside to give him. All that she possessed had been effortlessly captured by Rhys Tremayne.