Shaking free of despondency, Georgiana slipped out of bed. Cruickshank held up a blue morning dress for her approval. Through narrowed eyes, Georgiana studied its clean lines. Then, abruptly, she shook her head. “No, Cruckers. The new green velvet, please.”
Cruickshank’s eyebrows rose comically, but she made no comment beyond the predictable snort.
Stripping off her nightgown, Georgiana washed her face and donned her soft muslin undergarments while Cruickshank brought out the latest of her purchases from Fancon. If her association with Lord Alton had taught her anything, it was to value the added confidence appearing before him in new and fashionably elegant gowns gave her. Besides, in a few days’ time, she would no longer have the pleasure of appearing before him at all. Despite the heaviness of her heart, weighed down by unrequited love, she was determined to live these last few days as fully as she could, to store away the bittersweet memories to warm the long winter days, and nights, in Ravello.
THE EAST WIND was chilly. Grey clouds scudded low across the tops of the trees, skeletal fingers emerging to trap them as the summer cloaks were stripped, leaf by leaf, away. Everywhere summer was in decline, giving way to the gusts of autumn, chill harbingers of year’s end.
Perched on the box seat of Viscount Alton’s curricle, Georgiana was immune from the cold. Refusing to face her bleak future, she revelled in the warmth of the moment. Her wind-whipped cheeks glowed and her eyes, when she managed to wrench them free of his lordship’s steady gaze, sparkled with life and love. She had left her inhibitions in Green Street and was happy.
Beside her, Dominic was host to a range of emotions, some of which were both novel and, to one of his experience, distinctly disturbing. That he loved Georgiana Hartley, in the complete fullness of the term, he no longer doubted. But that she could invoke in him the full gamut of desire, to the point where his mind became prey to salacious imaginings, was not something he had expected. She was a young, innocent, inexperienced, green girl. A golden angel. Yet, no matter how many accurate adjectives he heaped about her name, nothing detracted from the sensual spell she cast over him. She was learning quickly. But she had no idea, he felt sure, of the risks she courted. His well honed skills, all but automatic, were in danger of carrying them away.
There were few people in the park. The cold weather had kept most of the fashionable indoors. They completed one circuit, then went about again, content to prolong their time in such unaccustomed seclusion. Few words were exchanged. Their eyes spoke, and that was enough.
When the gates hove a second time into view, Dominic acknowledged the passing hours and headed his team for the street. His gaze flicked to Georgiana’s face, catching her wide-eyed hazel stare, and he knew she had enjoyed their time together as much as he had. In that instant, he made his decision.
He had postponed asking her to marry him, wanting his courtship of her to be a recognised fact before any announcement. Quick betrothals between men such as he and sweet delights such as she had a way of being remembered and whispered about. He wanted no breath of a question to touch her.
But there were only two more days of the Season to go. And there was no doubt of their state. And no reason at all to procrastinate.
As the park gates fell behind, Georgiana was conscious of the day closing in, of a dimming of her joy. For the past hour she had been happy. It was so easy to forget, to imagine instead how things might have been. But always reality eventually intruded, reminding her of the real reason for his interest in her.
By the time Green Street was reached and he lifted her down she was thoroughly depressed once more. He escorted her indoors, and she inwardly shrank at the coming meeting with Bella. Her hostess, to whom she owed so much, was aux anges at the prospect of having her for a sister-in-law.
She was shaken out of her dismal thoughts by the words, “The drawing-room, I think, Johnson. You needn’t inform your mistress that we’ve returned.”
Before her weary mind had time to do more than register that quite improper order, Dominic had deftly ushered her into the drawing-room and shut the door.
Suddenly conscious of the desirability of putting as much space as possible between them, Georgiana quickly crossed the room. Her heartbeat, which had slowed somewhat since they had left the park, picked up its tempo.
From his stance just inside the door, Dominic viewed her impetuous movement, which had about it the air of flight, and frowned. Then, when he saw the agitated flutter of her small hands, clasping and unclasping before her, a slow smile erased the stern look. She was nervous, no more. A strange rapport existed between them. So she sensed his intention and, true to her age and innocence, was disturbed. His features softened. He crossed to stand beside her.
“Georgiana, my love…”
A small gesture silenced him. Georgiana could stand the strain no more. “Dominic, please,” she whispered, infusing every particle of persuasion she could into her tones.
After the briefest of pauses, she continued, “My lord, I am most sensible of the honour you do me, but I cannot marry you.”
Dominic suppressed the instinctive retort that he hadn’t yet had a chance to ask her and, to his surprise, found himself fascinated, rather than furious. “Why?”
Despite her highly strung state, Georgiana spared a moment to curse silently the incredible evenness in temper that could yield such a mild response. If truth be known, she would infinitely have preferred a more melodramatic reaction. That, she would have known how to deal with. Instead, his deceptively simple question was anything but easy to answer.
In fact, as the minutes stretched, she realised she couldn’t answer it at all. In growing panic, she shook her head, dropping her gaze to her nervously clenching fingers.
Dominic sighed. “Georgiana, my love, I should perhaps inform you that I am not one of the school which holds it right and proper that a young lady should refuse her chosen suitor at least three or four times before accepting him, so as not to appear too eager.” He waited to see what effect that had, and was not entirely surprised to see her ringlets dance a decided negative.
Allowing silence, so often his ally, to stretch still further, Dominic, close behind her, watched her growing agitation, and chose his moment to murmur, “Sweetheart, I’ve not got infinite patience.”
The gentle tone of his voice cloaked the steel of the words. Georgiana did not miss the implication of either. Her nerves singed by his nearness, she abruptly took a step away, then turned to face him. She had to make him understand the futility of his enterprise.
“My lord, I…must make it plain to you. I will not marry you.”
Dominic wasn’t really listening. She had not answered his question, which, in itself, was answer enough. He was not in the mood to listen to missish denials, not when her eyes were so soft and her lips, gently parted, just begged to be kissed.
Seeking to impress on him the inevitability of her refusal, Georgiana allowed her eyes to meet his. And, as had happened so often before, in the warm blue of his gaze, she felt their wills collide and hers melt away. Mesmerised, she could barely breathe as he moved closer, one long finger rising to trace the curve of her cheek, stopping at the corner of her mouth. Unable to move, she watched as his eyes fixed on her lips. Unconsciously, her tongue slipped between them to run its moist pink tip along their suddenly dry contours. He smiled. Then, tantalisingly slowly, his head drew nearer, his lips hungry for hers.
As her eyelids drooped, panic seized Georgiana. In desperation, she put her small hands up before her and met the wall of his chest. She turned her head away. She felt him hesitate. In that instant she seized the tattered remnants of her sanity and, on a choked sob, fled the room.
In utter disbelief, Dominic watched her go. As the door shut behind her he uttered one comprehensive oath and, thrusting his hands deep in his breeches pockets, swung about to glare at the window.