“Your Grace, how wonderful to see you,” Lydia said warmly, dipping into a most elegant curtsy.
“How are you, Lydia?” Georgiana replied, her heart a pounding mess. Had Rhys arrived with his sister?
She felt the weight of his eyes boring into her before she saw him. Her skin prickled, and her heart lurched. He was moving in her direction, and she tried to find the words to greet him with. She was shocked when he looked past her as she if was a nonentity and handed a glass of champage to a laughing lady. He gave his attention to the fashionable and quite beautiful Lady Wexham, a dowager countess. The smile the countess gave him was lascivious as she gently squeezed his arm, her invitation to come to her bed evident. Rhys smiled in reply, and Georgiana stumbled, pain piercing her heart. As if he felt her regard, he glanced up. His expression was shuttered, and the look he dealt her held a promise of an unfathomable emotion she could not identify.
Lady Wexham was behaving scandalously indeed, for she tipped onto her toes and whispered something to Rhys, wresting his attention from Georgiana. Her heart a pounding mess, she directed her gaze to Lydia, whose eyes were filled with sympathy.
Never had she imagined he would have simply moved on. Dear God. Her fingers trembled, and she struggled for equanimity. To think she had been plotting their life together, and he had been acquiring himself another lover. A sharp pang of loss cut deep into her heart. The bloody scoundrel. But could she blame him? She had told him he was inferior to her in wealth and connection, and she would not be induced to marry. The realization that she loved him beyond propriety and could endure any scandal if he was by her side had come a bit too late.
I love you, Georgiana.
Forcing down the misery, she allowed herself to smile and chat with Lydia for a few minutes. Several friends came by, and though she tried her best to appear lively, she wanted to march over to Rhys and slap him. Belatedly, she realized several high-placed members of the ton greeted him and spoke of him in admiring tones. Hiding her shock, she stood silent while Lady Chestnut and Viscountess Primrose discussed him.
“He is the nephew of Viscount Westcott, and rumors say he has over a hundred thousand pounds a year from his business interests alone. Not to mention the income from his lands and properties.”
She swallowed an exasperated curse. Of course, they would not admire the man himself, his character, or his honor. She watched him discreetly, at times willing him to glance in her direction. Instead, he made the rounds with Lady Wexham at his side. Why was he with her?
He was so clever, wily, the ton not realizing they had somehow let the devil into their midst. He was calculating in whom he drew into his web, a Russian prince, a countess, yet he also indulged the wallflowers, and by the end of the first hour, his name seemed to be on everyone’s lips. They loved the complex mystery of this man who seemed to blend effortlessly into their world, the delicious ruthlessness he vibrated with, his shocking handsomeness, and the fact he was wealthy enough to rival the most notable lord of their gathering.
What is he doing? The few times she had witnessed him in her world, he had stayed in the shadows, evidently apart from the ton. Somehow, he was wooing them to his side, perhaps plying them with secrets? Her heart thudded, and each time she thought he would approach, he veered and gave his attention elsewhere. Georgiana was a wreck.
“Many maters are casting the lure in his direction. I do not blame them,” the viscountess said with a light, tinkling laugh to Lady Chestnut. “If I were not married, perhaps I would be tempted, too.”
Georgiana’s stomach roiled, and she hurriedly excused herself and ran smack into Lord Locksley.
“Oh dear,” she gasped with a laugh. “Forgive my clumsiness.”
He held her elbow lightly and directed her to the windows, which opened into a large garden.
“Think nothing of it. In fact, I am quite pleased you bumped into me.”
“You are?” she asked with a light laugh.
“I haven’t seen you in weeks. You have been missing all the events of the season.”
“I have been enjoying myself with my son.”
“And how is the duke?”
“He is quite well.” With an effort that was almost painful, she prevented herself from looking in Rhys’s direction. She felt a dread-filled recognition. This was the same manner in which she had ignored his presence at Lady Sheffield’s ball. Had her indifference pierced him in a similar wretched manner? Was this how he had felt when she had danced the night away with the marquess and other gentlemen? How arrogant and silly she had been. The keen regret that pierced her almost made her knees buckle.
Her lips trembled slightly, and Locksley’s gaze sharpened. “Are you well?”
She touched him briefly. “I’m fine, my lord.” She needed to leave—she felt too inclined to burst into raw, ugly tears.
“Would you partner me on the boat ride tomorrow?” he asked with a charming smile. “It promises to be quite romantic.”
It was almost foolhardy for the countess to have midnight boat rides at her house party. But Lady Chestnut wanted her event to be the talk of the season and had several exciting experiences planned for her guests. Midnight boat rides, a masquerade ball, and even curricle racing. The countess was determined to outdo the Duchess of Waverham’s house party a few weeks ago that had been the talk of the season so far. Georgiana had missed it, but her mother had plied her with all the delightful tidbits she had witnessed.
Georgiana smiled. “I believe I will retire early. I am a bit tired, and Lady Chestnut promises tomorrow to be wildly exciting.”
Disappointment settled on his face, but there was also a deep concern. It warmed her heart to see it, but she could not give this man anything beyond friendship.
“May I speak with you alone for a few moments, in privacy?”
“Most certainly.”
“A turn in the gardens?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
She inclined her head and looped her hands with his. They walked away from the crowded drawing room, the sensation of Rhys’s stare penetrating her gown. Unable to stifle the impulse, she glanced back to see him watching her with penetrating intensity.
The marquess glanced back, no doubt to see what had caught her attention, and she quickly fixed her stare forward, her throat tightening. She had been ravaged with pain and tears daily, battling with her family’s expectations, society’s condemnation and herself…while he had simply found himself another lover, or was about to.
Firming her lips and governing her emotions, she allowed the marquess to lead them to a hidden alcove. She lowered herself to a wrought-iron bench with a sigh of pleasure. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d felt.
“My dear,” Locksley murmured.
Georgiana shifted to face him and froze.
“I believe you know why I’ve asked for a private moment.”
“I do,” she said softly.
“Let me also confess, I had not planned to attend Lady Chestnut’s house party. But your brother paid me a visit a few days ago, and I felt inspired to accept the invitation.”
Blast Simon.
“I am renewing my sentiments, Georgiana. Marry me.”
Anticipation sharpened the handsome marquess’s features, and a faint veil of color accentuated his cheekbones. A frown split his brow at her silence. “Georgiana?”
She closed her eyes briefly, then peered up at him. “Oh, Andrew, I do not mean to cause you any discomfort, but I cannot accept your offer.”
He gripped her hand in his, searching her face. “If it is more time you need, I am willing—”
She gently extracted her hands from his. “Please, Andrew, it is not that.”
“Then what is it? Your brother led me to believe you would be very receptive to my offer.”
A different kind of pain pierced her heart. Her brother and Andrew had been friends for years. To think that he would willingly deceive his friend and encourage her to deceive this man and fois
t another man’s child upon him to preserve their reputation was heartrending.
She took a bracing breath. “I find my heart is entangled elsewhere, and it would be selfish for me to not admit it.” Nor could she marry this man and pretend that Rhys’s baby was his.
“Meaning?”
“I’ve had a lover,” she said bluntly, hating that her face heated.
“My dear, since we are honest, so have I. Several, in fact. My most recent only being last week.”
A startled laugh escaped from her.