Her mother flicked open her fan with artful grace and continued her diatribe. “Despite his presence here, he is clearly of questionable breeding.”
Georgiana sighed. “Are you familiar with him, Mother?”
“Of course not!”
“I daresay then that you have no notion of the manner of man he is.”
Her mother harrumphed, and Georgiana was startled at her defense of the man when he was indeed a reprobate.
“I’ve heard of an attachment between you and Lord Locksley,” the countess murmured, steering the conversation in the direction she was clearly eager to delve.
“There is no attachment.”
“He led your brother to believe there would be an announcement soon?” Her mother’s words were posed as a question as she watched Georgiana with light-blue eyes that glowed with keen intelligence and serious matchmaking fervor.
“He made an offer. I have not accepted.”
“You rejected his offer?” her mother said in shocked reproof. “His disposition and circumstance are very pleasing. My dear, you are frightfully stubborn. It has been five years—”
“I’m aware of how long my husband has been buried,” she snapped. “Your urgings are becoming tiresome, Mother.”
“At least think of dear Nicolas. He will need a gentleman’s influence to be the best possible duke. Surely you must see this and acknowledge your desire to remain unmarried is selfish and detrimental to your son.”
Georgiana sucked in a breath to hear her mother so boldly suggest she was insufficient to rear her son to be the best man he could be. A fear that had long dwelled within her heart reared its ugly head. Was she providing for all of Nicolas’s needs? Hardcastle could have left his brother in charge of the family finances, but the duke hadn’t. He had trusted her with their son’s legacy, because the duke did not trust his brother’s prodigality with money. She resented her mother implying she was unequal to the task.
“Lord Locksley is imminently suitable to be a father figure for Nicolas,” her mother murmured. “And while this is indelicate to mention, I’ve heard it said he is a knowledgeable lover.”
Dear Lord. Before she could retort, a voice interrupted.
“Your Grace, if you please, may I introduce you to Mr. Rhys Tremayne, a business associate of mine.”
Distressingly, her pulse hammered, and she shifted slightly to face the earl and Mr. Tremayne. He cut quite a dashing figure in his black trousers, well-fitted matching jacket, and an exquisitely designed silver waistcoat. He possessed a cool aura of combined razor-edged grace and danger in one package, and it was frightfully appealing. Mr. Tremayne managed a veneer of respectability by his fine manner of dress and his curious connections to the Mansfields.
“Mr. Tremayne,” she said, tilting her head in acknowledgment.
His eyes dipped to the hollow of her throat, before leisurely strolling up to meet her regard. The man was far too arrogant for his own good.
“Your Grace,” he said with a short but very elegant bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His gaze lowered to her mouth, his desire to kiss her a tangible thing. Good heavens. The man had no shame. The eyes of the ton were upon them.
She knew the disturbing sense of wariness again that she had felt the first day she met him. “Mr. Tremayne,” she murmured coolly. “A pleasure.”
Lord Mansfield made the introductions with her mother, and though Mr. Tremayne’s regard had shifted away, Georgiana felt as if he were aware of every fidget and the slight tension winding itself through her. When all the necessary polite introductions had been completed, he turned to her.
His eyes contained a flash of challenge that stole her breath.
“May I have the honor of this dance, Your Grace?”
Her mother gasped softly, and Lord Mansfield tried to affect a nonchalant mien, but his dark eyes blazed with curiosity and caution.
“Are you familiar with the waltz, Mr. Tremayne? That is the dance being announced.”
“I am,” he replied simply.
The refusal hovered on her lips, but the distance seeping into his eyes affirmed that he expected her rejection. Her mother’s outraged countenance also indicated she expected Georgiana’s refusal. It was silly of her, the way her heart was suddenly suffused with an ache. She had always lived her life above reproach, without scandal, to please her duke, her family, and even herself, for she had set a high standard on her comportment as a duchess. The slightest incident could lead one to disgrace, and she was reckless to even contemplate dancing with a man like Rhys Tremayne. “Yes.”
Surprise flared in his eyes before he smoothly masked his reaction. Her mother and Lord Mansfield seemed equally shocked at her capitulation. It was indeed noteworthy and might even merit a mention in tomorrow’s scandal sheet. The thought was enough to make her reconsider. Then it was too late, for suddenly she was there with the other couples on the dance floor, and she was swept into a waltz. The man moved with such dignified power and grace, she was startled and impressed. They twirled across the ballroom, and Georgiana could feel the eyes of society upon them. She waited for him to say something, anything, but they danced in silence.
Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow keener, sharper. Just from a simple dance, she was so aware of him. She tried to assess him critically. A faint blue-black shadow already darkened his aggressive jawline. Instead of giving him an unkempt appearance, he seemed roguishly dangerous. As for his body, she could find no flaw in those wide shoulders, lean waist, and long limbs. How would his lips feel pressed to hers? What would it be like to have this man as her lover? The unbidden thought sent a jolt of heat through her body. The sensations were altogether strange but not entirely unpleasant. A flush worked itself through her, and she fervently hoped she was not blushing. It disturbed Georgiana that she couldn’t suppress the increasingly desperate craving erupting in her body and tugging at that cold, lonely place.
“You will be mentioned in tomorrow’s paper,”
she finally murmured. There would be unceasing speculation about the man the Duchess of Hardcastle had deigned to partner with for a waltz. A few of the barbs might possibly be directed her way, but more of the speculation would be about this stranger in their midst.
Their gazes locked for long, silent moments. “And this bothers you?” he drawled.
“No.”
“Then why was it worth a mention?”
“Society can be very fickle and extremely hypocritical. Perhaps you have a family who will read the papers.”
“Is this your roundabout way of asking for my family connection?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “Of course not.” Though she was very curious about the manner of man she danced with.
“My mother devours the gossip pages with relish. If I was somehow deemed important enough to grace the pages, she’d be tickled, I’m sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.”
“I see. My family will not be as enthused as yours. I can already sense the recriminations that will be heaped upon my head.” She gasped silently at her uncensored admission.
“So, you are overly concerned with your reputation.”
“Sometimes all a person needs is their reputation to carve their place in the world, wouldn’t you agree? Is it not your dastardly notoriety as The Broker that makes you the only man to turn to when information is needed? You’ve created a monopoly on your brand of service. In fact, your reputation precedes you. It is the same for me, Mr. Tremayne. I am the Duchess of Hardcastle. My presence is coveted in all drawing rooms in England. Any scrutiny that will call into question the honor of my reputation is decidedly unpleasant.”