Impetuous Innocent (Regencies 3)

Georgiana glanced up and found the serious face of Mr Swinson, one of her earnest suitors, who had become even more earnest over the last few days, hovering beside her. All her instincts cautioned her to refuse his request. The supper waltz, with the implied intention of going into supper on the gentleman’s arm at the conclusion of the measure, was the most highly prized of the dances at such a gathering. Whenever possible, Georgiana strove to grant that dance to one or other of her refused suitors, so as not to raise any false hopes among others of her court. But what excuse could she give, so early in the evening? A lie? Resolute, she opened her mouth to deny Mr Swinson, hoping he would accept her refusal without excuse, but was forestalled by a deep voice, speaking from behind her left ear.

“I believe the supper waltz is mine, Swinson.”

Swaying slightly with the dizziness his nearness always induced, Georgiana struggled to keep her expression within the limits of the acceptable, and knew she failed dismally. Her eyes were alight, her nerves tingling. She turned and gave her hand to Lord Alton. She didn’t even notice Mr Swinson huffily withdraw, eyeing the elegant person of the Viscount with marked disfavour.

Lord Alton bowed low over her hand. “Fairest Georgiana.”

His words were a seductive murmur, rippling across her senses. Then, knowing it was unwise, but utterly incapable of resisting the compulsion, Georgiana met his eyes, and the warmth she saw there spread through her, leaving dizzy happiness in its wake.

“My lord.”

She retained just enough wit to return his greeting, dropping her eyes from his in a flurry of shyness.

With a gentle smile, Viscount Alton tucked the hand he was still holding into the crook of his arm, thereby making life exceedingly difficult for the numerous other gentlemen waiting to pay court to this most desirable of young ladies. Lord Ellsmere, by his friend’s side, grinned. Taking pity on Georgiana, he engaged her in light-hearted conversation.

Georgiana’s hand burned where it lay on Lord Alton’s silk sleeve. Why was he behaving so? Under cover of paying polite attention to Lord Ellsmere as he related the latest on dit, she glanced up to find the Viscount’s blue eyes regarding her, an expression she dared not place lighting their depths. Another glance around showed her frustrated court dwindling, leaving only those gentlemen she regarded more as friends than suitors. Unlike those whose interest was primarily pecuniary, none of these gentlemen seemed to find Lord Alton’s possessive attitude any impediment to conversing with her.

Possessive? Georgiana’s thoughts froze. Then, inwardly, she shrugged. If the shoe fitted… And really there was no other way to describe the way he was behaving. This was the third night in a row he had appeared by her side almost immediately she had entered a room. By his mere presence he eased the crush about her, bringing relief which would doubtless be acute if she could feel anything through the sheer exhilaration of having him so near.

With an effort Georgiana forced herself to attend to the conversation, grateful for the distraction of Mr Havelock, who now joined them. By imperceptible degrees, the circle about them grew as more acquaintances stopped to talk. Gradually the sense of being, in some strange way, identifiably his receded, leaving only a subtle feeling of security.

When Lord Aylesham approached to claim the next dance, Lord Alton relinquished her with no more than a warm smile and a whispered reminder of their later appointment.

Released from the mesmerising effect of the Viscount at close quarters, Georgiana determinedly devoted a large part of her mind to a detailed analysis of his actions and motives. None of her partners noticed anything amiss; she was now too thoroughly practised in the arts of dancing, conversing and general entertaining to need to assign more than a small portion of her attention to these endeavours.

Of all the questions revolving in her head, the most insistent was, Why? Why was he doing all the things he was? Why was he behaving as he was? Again and again, only one answer came. It was impossible to attribute his actions to any other cause. He was making her the object of his attentions. Delicious shivers ran up her spine when she finally allowed her mind to enunciate that fact. Mr Sherry, whose arms she graced at the time, looked at her askance. Georgiana smiled dazzlingly upon him, completely stunning the poor man.

The next instant her sky clouded again. How could she believe such a magnificent man, with all the advantages of birth, position and fortune, would seriously look in her direction? That he was contemplating anything other than the acceptable was unthinkable. But perhaps he wasn’t contemplating anything at all. Maybe she was just an amusing aside, his sister’s protégée who needed looking after. Was she simply a naïve foreigner, reading far more into the situation than was intended? Georgiana forgot to suppress her sigh, and was forced to spend the rest of the dance soothing a ruffled Mr Sherry.

While Georgiana struggled with question and answer, alternating between cloud nine and prosaic despondency, the object of her thoughts strolled about the rooms, stopping here and there to chat as the mood seized him. Dominic was in a state of pleasurable anticipation. To his mind, his course was clear. While it was not one he had followed previously, he did not doubt his ability to carry the thing off. The major problem was time—or, rather, the patience required to see the campaign through.

The necessity for taking things slowly was self-evident. This time the object of his desires was not an experienced woman, capable of playing the game with a facility on a par with his. This time he wanted a green girl, an innocent, an angel whose conquest meant more to him than all the others combined. She needed gentle wooing. So the habits of the last ten years were set aside in favour of the strict dictates of propriety. With a wry grin at no one in particular, Dominic wondered how long he could harness the coiled tension that was growing, day by day, beneath the surface of his

suave urbanity.

“Dominic! What ho, lad! Up from the princely delights of Brighton?”

Dominic swung to face the speaker, a smile lighting his face. “My lord.” He nodded to Lord Moreton, one of his late father’s contemporaries. “As you say, sir, the amenities of Brighton palled.”

“Palled before the attractions of the young ladies, eh?”

Unperturbed by the close scrutiny of a pair of sharp grey eyes overhung by bushy brows, Dominic smiled in his usual benign way and agreed. “Oh, Prinny’s no competition, I assure you.”

Lord Moreton guffawed. Slapping Dominic on the back, he resumed his peregrination through the crowd, allowing Dominic to do likewise.

It was, Dominic supposed, inevitable that people would start to speculate. The very fact that he was here, attending all the balls and parties of the Little Season, rather than pursuing a very different course, in very different company, positively invited the attention of the gabble-mongers. No one was as yet sufficiently bold to put their speculation into circulation, but doubtless that, too, would come. For his part, he didn’t give a damn what the gossips said. He’d weathered far worse. But he would need to be vigilant to ensure no disturbing whispers reached his Georgiana’s ears. In truth, he was not sure how she might respond. But, with firsthand knowledge of the spitefulness of some among society’s civilised hordes, he was not prepared to take any chances.

For the first time, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, he was seriously wooing a young lady. The pace grated. The slowly compounding returns, when set against the constantly high expense in time and restraint, were hard to bear, particularly for one to whom instant gratification of the smallest whim, however fleeting, had become the norm. And unusual abstinence only aggravated his state.

Still, there was at least one shining beacon on the horizon, holding the promise of safe haven in the end. He was too experienced not to be able to read the signs. Her response to him was gratifying, even at thirty-two. Who would have imagined he would be so susceptible to such flattery? Dominic allowed a slow grin to twist his lips. The pull he sensed between them—that magnetic attraction that drew man to woman and bound them together with silken strands of desire—was so strong that he felt sufficently confident to leave her, essentially unwatched, for half the evening. The other half, of course, would be his. At least this way the gossip-mongers would have to wait a little longer for their on dit.

“What on earth are you grinning at?”

Startled, Dominic turned to find Bella at his side. His slow smile surfaced. “Pleasant thoughts, my dear.” His eyes scanned her face, noting the pallor she had attempted to hide with rouge. “How goes it with you?”

A small frown worried at Bella’s arched brows. “Oh, so-so.” she paused, then went on in a rush, “If I wasn’t so concerned about Georgie, I declare I would have stayed at home with Arthur. These affairs are becoming a dreadful bore.”

The quavering note in her voice alerted Dominic to her state. He drew her hand comfortingly through his arm, stroking it soothingly, a small gesture he had used since she was a child. It had the desired effect. While his sister regained her composure, it occurred to him that time, his present arbiter, was about to place a limit on his courtship. The Season had only two more weeks to run. Then the ton would retire to their estates for Christmas and the worst of the winter. He was unsure if Bella had yet recognised her condition. Typically she was not one to coddle herself and could be relied on to fail to consider such possibilities until they became too obvious to ignore. But Arthur was not so sanguine. He would undoubtedly wish to remove from London as soon as the Season ended. Which raised the question of Georgiana’s future plans.