Chapter Twelve
Aweek of Geoffrey “escorting” them everywhere had made Diana realize a few things. There was something to be said for having a large duke at one’s beck and call. Any supposed gentleman who’d made nasty remarks to them before thought twice about it when they saw Geoffrey glowering at them. Any supposed lady who generally snubbed them reconsidered doing so when they had a duke with them.
Geoffrey had even managed to get them vouchers to Almack’s along with tickets for tonight’s ball, and not because he was a duke either. The Lady Patronesses were known for turning down people of the highest ranks.
In the past, Elegant Occasions had only been able to gain vouchers if they agreed to do a favor for one of the Lady Patronesses—either to provide one of their services free of fee or to spread some important tidbit of gossip among their connections. Elegant Occasions could always refuse . . . but that meant the Patronesses could refuse them entry. Because she and her sisters declined to be blackmailed, they were rarely given vouchers, and with no voucher, there was no ticket. Not to mention the added stigma of being barred from entering that holiest of holies.
Somehow Geoffrey had circumvented all that. So now she and her sisters were at Eliza’s, choosing the accessories they meant to wear with their new gowns for their sojourn to Almack’s that evening. So far, Geoffrey had shown her his courage. Because anyone who could take on the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s had fire in his soul.
And to take them on and win? That almost never happened. She’d been trying very hard ever since not to show she was impressed. When next she saw him, she would ask how he’d done it.
“Where’s your suitor this afternoon?” Verity asked Diana.
“What suitor?” Diana asked, trying for a tone of nonchalance.
“Grenwood,” Eliza said. “And don’t be coy with us.”
Diana forced a laugh. “Then don’t be silly. Grenwood is not my suitor. He has no intention of marrying and neither do I, so by definition he can’t be a suitor.”
“Bodyguard, then?” Verity asked. “Pet tiger? Good luck charm? Do stop me when I hit on the right description.”
“Friend and client,” Diana said firmly. “That is all.” Though he was rapidly becoming less of an annoyance during the day and more of a potent temptation at night. “And duke, of course. Which precludes him from being any of those things you said.” She held a violet-hued shawl up to her face. “What do you think? This one or the ivory one?”
“It precludes me? Really?” said a male voice from the door.
With her heart jumping into her throat, she whirled on Geoffrey. “You simply must stop convincing our poor butler to let you in unannounced.”
“Why? Norris thinks it’s a lark.”
She cocked her head and eyed him with pure disbelief. “Our Mr. Norris? Stodgy, disapproving Mr. Norris?”
“All right, so he doesn’t approve, but he still lets me in.” He winked as he approached her. “As for my title precluding me from anything, I rather like the idea of being your bodyguard. But the pet tiger . . . I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Verity asked.
“Because he wants me to be the pet,” Diana said coolly. “It would make it easier for him to keep me under his thumb.”
“On the contrary,” Geoffrey said, “I have no desire to own a pet of any kind, and certainly not a tigress. But I do like the sound of being your good luck charm.”
Geoffrey looked her over thoroughly enough to make her want to smile. But she dared not, or he’d become even cockier than he already was.
“You should wear the purple shawl,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, narrowing her gaze on him.
“Because I like it.”
“The ivory one it is,” she said.
He laughed heartily. “I knew you would do that. That’s why I chose the purple.”
“It’s violet.” She eyed him askance. “And I know you, too. You would never choose ivory. Your tastes run to the more . . . garish.”
“Are you saying that one of your choices of shawl was ‘garish’ to begin with? Tsk-tsk. Here I thought you were the queen of fashion.”
She bristled. “I have never said that I—”
“That’s what Rosy calls you.”