Chapter Ten
Geoffrey debated going after her, then thought better of it. For one thing, it was safer for the two of them to enter the drawing room through separate doors at separate times, so no one would guess what they’d been up to. For another thing . . .
He groaned. One look at his breeches right now, and they’d know precisely what he and Diana had been up to. Despite how the encounter had ended, he was still so aroused, he couldn’t think.
If he had his way, he’d leave the dinner, go upstairs to his bedchamber, and take matters into his own hands . . . or hand, as the case may be. But Diana would probably chide him more for running away from the dinner than for his blatant misbehavior with her.
Ifshe would even speak to him again.
Bloody hell! He dared not tell her she’d had it all wrong about a fiancée, or she would keep pressing until he revealed the real reason he’d said he wasn’t free. Then she might tell someone else. Like his mother or sister.
No, there was too much at stake to involve her. Besides, she and her sisters had already weathered one scandal— they couldn’t weather two. So he should focus on getting Rosabel a kind, respectable husband and making sure his mother wasn’t suspected of anything untoward or subjected to public shaming. And those two things were contingent on Father’s secret not coming out.
What did Diana want from him anyway? To marry him? To bed him? He supposed he could have misread the level of her intimate experience.
That was impossible. Their first kiss had definitely been tentative on her part. And their encounter just now had shown her to be eager but unsophisticated. Hell, the only reason he knew what to do himself was that he’d had a certain lusty friendship with a merry widow in Newcastle. She’d taught him a great deal before she’d figured out he was only fourteen. At that point, she’d transferred her affections to a man who wasn’t still a green lad.
The widow wasn’t the first to assume he was older than he was either. Geoffrey had sprouted up so tall and quick that women had often assumed him to be a man in his prime. For a while, Geoffrey had taken advantage of their assumptions. What young man didn’t want to bed as many women as he could?
Then Father had sat him down and warned him about the perils of disease or getting a woman with child. Father had said that one day Geoffrey would marry, and he would hate to have the activities of his salad days hanging over his head.
Geoffrey had been mostly celibate ever since. With women. But not with his hand.
“What are you doing lurking about out here?” a female voice asked.
“Damn, Rosy, don’t surprise me like that! I just needed a breath of fresh air.” Thankfully, he’d lost the bulge in his breeches. For the moment anyway.
“Well,” she said, “Diana sent me to fetch you. Everyone is asking about you.”
“Fine. I’ll come back in.” His heart raced. Diana wanted to see him. To refuse to be involved any further with him and his family? Had he mucked matters up beyond his ability to fix them? “Did she say what she wanted?”
Rosy gazed up at him. “For you to come in, so people stop asking about you. Or at least that’s what I assumed. She didn’t really say.”
Damn. His sister was no help at all. As they walked together toward one of the doors into the house, he asked, “Are you enjoying the dinner and the dancing?”
“I am indeed! Thank you for pushing me into having a Season. So far, it’s been grand.” She paused just inside the door. “Oh, and I danced with one of your friends—Lord Foxstead. He seemed very nice. I didn’t know you had any friends in the nobility.”
“And now you do.” Foxstead. Damn. The man might have a title and wealth, but his reputation for wenching was almost as bad as Lord Winston’s.
Geoffrey might know better than to voice his honest opinion to Rosy. But that needn’t stop him from having a word with Foxstead—asking about the man’s intentions, making sure Foxstead knew what he was getting into and all that rot. For God’s sake, the man was a full nine years her senior!
You’re six years Diana’s senior. Besides which, you’re taking advantage of her every chance you get. Yet you’re ready to throttle Foxstead for merely dancing with your sister? Don’t be a hypocritical arse.
Geoffrey really was a hypocritical arse, and he didn’t care. Diana had begun to dominate his thoughts, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. He’d better figure it out soon, though. Otherwise, he would find himself on the outs with the very woman who could spin a golden future for Rosy. Mother and Rosy would never forgive him for that.
He would kick himself from here to Hades if his own hasty and unwise behavior caused him to lose the help of Diana and her sisters permanently.
* * *
The only reason Diana had sent for Geoffrey was to reinforce the guests’ illusion that he and she hadn’t been alone together on the terrace. She certainly hadn’t done it because she wanted to see the duplicitous scoundrel. No, indeed. Which was also why she had sent Rosy to fetch him. That way Diana wouldn’t have to be alone with the great lummox.
Once he arrived, she would remind him that as soon as he was ready for the dinner entertainment to conclude, he should toast Rosy to give a celebratory end to the evening. After giving him that reminder, Diana would flee as fast as she could.
While waiting for him, she paced the empty boudoir, working herself up into quite the fit of anger. Then Rosy showed up without Geoffrey.
“I thought you were fetching your brother,” Diana said . . . a little too sharply, judging from Rosy’s widened gaze.
“I was, but he told me he had to take care of a matter in the drawing room first and he would return shortly.”