She tugged this way and that. “You know it’s rude to ask a woman her age.”
“Yes, but judging from how you’re fussing over my cravat, I would guess you to be my mother’s age.” When she eyed him askance, he laughed. “Come now, tell me. Or I’ll ruin my cravat again.”
“If you must know, I’m twenty-four.”
“You behave like a woman much older,” he said.
“Thank you?” She smoothed a wrinkle. “There. Now leave it be, Your Grace, if you can.”
He got that intense look in his eyes that sent an answering tremor down her bones every time. “For your sake I will, but only if you stop calling me ‘Your Grace.’ It makes you seem like a servant, and you’re not.”
He was right, of course, but no other client had ever suggested such a thing. A lump formed in her throat as she patted his cravat knot to make it bulge less. “So what am I to call you? Duke? Grenwood?”
“Geoffrey. Call me Geoffrey.”
“I cannot call you by your Christian name in front of anyone,” she stepped back to say. “They will assume we are . . . up to something together.” Especially if anyone caught sight of her fixing his cravat as a wife would do. And while she wanted to be “up to something” with him, she didn’t want anyone else to know about it. It had to remain absolutely private.
“Right. I see.” He ran his fingers through his hair, thoroughly mussing what his valet must have taken a while to achieve. “Then call me Grenwood or Duke in front of others, but no ‘Your Grace’ this and ‘His Grace’ that. And call me Geoffrey in private.”
In private.That was encouraging. “Very well. Geoffrey, I have much to do before the dinner begins, especially if I am to attend, too.”
“Go,” he said with an imperious wave that showed him to be more of a duke than he realized. “Go and do what you must. I’ll have a whisky and settle down to wait for the evening to start.”
She laughed at that. “Then do it in your study, will you? That will give one of us a chance to retie your cravat, if necessary, and make sure you haven’t thrashed your hair into wildness.” Then she flew off to find a footman who could fetch her appropriate clothing for dinner.
The duke—Geoffrey—could be maddening sometimes, but all in all he might be exactly the sort of man she needed for a seduction. Now if only she could figure out how best to seduce him . . .
* * *
Geoffrey watched her go with great interest, noting that when she hurried, she lifted her skirts slightly for ease of motion, which inevitably gave him a glimpse of her ankles. They were pretty, finely shaped ankles, albeit shrouded in white silk stockings. He imagined moving his hands up her legs to her garters, which he would untie so he could drag her stockings down and off. From there, well...
God help him, he was going to embarrass himself if he didn’t stop that train of thought.
“Where’s Rosy?” came the voice of his mother from behind him.
Damn, he hoped Mother hadn’t seen him salivating over Diana. He turned to find her looking a bit frantic. “I haven’t seen her,” he said. “Have you looked in her dressing room?”
“Of course.” Worry etched lines in her brow. “But none of the ladies there had seen her either, not since they’d finished helping her dress. They said she’d gone down to talk to Eliza about her hair, but I passed Eliza on the stairs and she said she was looking for your sister, too. Could Rosy be hiding? You know how she gets when she panics over an upcoming social occasion.”
“Yes, but I can’t see her doing that tonight. Judging from how she gushed about meeting the queen all the way back to Grenwood House a few hours ago, Rosy wasn’t at all worried about the dinner.”
Mother scanned the dining room. “If she saw all the chairs in here, it might have made her reconsider.”
In strolled his sister, as if on cue. “Mama, someone told me you were looking for me. Is everything all right?”
The worry drained from his mother’s face. “It’s all right now that you’re here.” She kissed Rosy’s cheeks in turn, then frowned and took her hands. “You’re awfully cold, my dear. Have you been outside?”
“On this blustery day?” Rosy countered. “I would be mad to go out there. It has already taken two hours of dressing to meet Diana’s strict requirements for my appearance tonight. One step in the outdoors and the wind would wreak havoc on the drape of this gown, not to mention turn my hair into a rat’s nest, or more of one than it already is anyway. Why do you think we decided to hold the dinner inside?”
That did make sense. “So where were you?” Geoffrey asked. “No one could find you.”
“That’s because I went into the conservatory to cut this.” She produced a burgundy rosebud from behind her back. “Isn’t it perfect? I thought you could wear it as a boutonniere.” She came up to tuck it in his buttonhole. “There. It makes you look quite dashing. I shall have to claim at least one dance with you before the other ladies demand all the rest.”
Alarm seized him. But before he could say a word, Mother said, “Don’t be silly, Rosy. A man cannot dance with his sister. It’s against the rules.”
Thank God, Geoffrey nearly said aloud before he caught himself. “I’m sorry, poppet. Perhaps another time, when no one is around to legislate our dances.”
“Now go, my dear,” Mother said. “Eliza is waiting for you upstairs so you can have your hair done to perfection.”