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.
Chapter Fifteen
His duchess wore red. A daringly bold gown with a lowered neckline that was provocative yet elegant, the wine-red a striking contrast against her pale, unblemished skin. The dress clung alluringly to her frame, hugging her voluptuous curves. She wore his rubies, and they nestled in the valley between her breasts as if they were her lovers. The duchess’s hair was swept up in an elegant knot with tendrils cascading in loose spirals down to kiss her shoulders. By God, she was magnificent. Georgiana wore no other adornment, except a pair of white satin gloves and matching red slippers.
She danced with the Marquess of Locksley. The few ladies lingering close by brought to his attention how rare and scandalous it was that the duchess had danced the quadrille, and now a waltz, with the marquess. Apparently, her actions were signaling her intention to respond favorably to Lord Locksley’s pursuit.
They were both refined, their pedigrees within the top echelon of the ton, the gossips considered the match acceptable. Rhys couldn’t help observing his duchess and her marquess, a cold knot forming in his gut.
“They are such a wonderful couple.”
“I’ve heard he offered to her and she is considering it.”
“What a worthy alliance that would be.”
They were indeed cut from the same fine, genteel cloth. The marquess was everything Rhys was not—honorable, the bluest of bloodlines, and refined. With great effort, he directed his attention from the dancing couple and found his sister in the crush. She was also dancing the waltz, and her partner was the honorable Simon Basil. Lydia now seemed relaxed and confident, and Rhys was pleased with her reception. Earlier, she had been quaking with nerves, but now she glowed. She was escorted from the dance floor toward the refreshment room. Her face was flushed, and his sister looked happy. She had long held the opinion her impairment would make her unmarriageable, even to a man from a lesser class. There was an easing inside his soul, and Rhys felt as if their dreams could be attained.
Looking for the woman who had made it possible, he spied Georgiana surrounded by several gentlemen. It was the damn red dress, her smile, the warmth he could sense radiating from her as she laughed and chatted with a few notable ladies. How absurd that he should be envious of those who heard her laughter. Georgiana was in her element, at this moment appearing so secure in her position and power. Many young women and ladies paid a kind of homage to her, as if she were the hostess of the gathering and not a guest. He ruthlessly
tore his gaze from her, understanding enough of polite society’s rules that his continued regard would incite unwanted speculation.
Several lords with whom he had done business approached him and exchanged a greeting, their eyes alive with curiosity and some with slight fear. He knew many of their secrets, had traded to some of them information that had seen them marry into fortunes. They knew he had bankrupted businesses and closed out other investors. He could see the questions in their eyes as to what he was doing in their midst…and why?
“You have formed a tendre for Her Grace,” an amused voice murmured from behind him.
He tensed as Lord Mansfield sauntered forward to stand beside him. “Not many would notice,” Mansfield continued, “but I found it curious you would attend another ball. I have been watching you, and I couldn’t help noticing the satisfied way you stare at her sometimes. I must admit, I am beyond impressed. Since her duke’s death, many gentlemen have tried to be where you are now without any success.”
Rhys gave the earl a cool, impolite glance. “I do not believe I solicited your opinion.”
Lord Mansfield held up his hand as if surrendering. “A friendly warning, Tremayne—”
“We are not friends,” he said flatly.
“You wound me,” Mansfield said, his dark eyes holding a mocking glint. “I thought our connection had transcended a mere business relationship. Her Grace’s irresistible manners, graceful style, and deportment make the duchess a woman any man would be lucky to have. It is evident that honor will soon belong to Lord Locksley. You are wasting your efforts.”