‘Obviously not,’ Wolfingham uttered disgustedly.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘If there is, then it is for me to deal with,’ his friend dismissed briskly. ‘What were you scowling at so intently just now?’ Wolfingham glanced across the room in the direction Zachary had been scowling earlier. ‘Who is the honeypot attracting all the bees?’
Zachary did not at all appreciate hearing Georgianna described as a honeypot. Even if that was exactly what she had been from the moment they arrived at Lady Colchester’s home several hours ago.
Georgianna was resplendent in a gown of purple silk, a strip of lace styled discreetly across the tops of her breasts, and so concealing that damning scar, with a matching purple feather adorning the darkness of her curls.
They had barely had time to greet their hostess before the first of the handsome young bucks began to flock about them. Most of them acquaintances of her brother, Jeffrey, eager to be re-introduced to his beautiful sister. But there had been some older gentlemen, too. Single gentlemen, of Zachary’s own age and older, attracted no doubt by the air of untouchable remoteness with which Georgianna appeared to have steeled herself in order to endure appearing at this evening’s entertainment.
A remoteness, which had thawed throughout the evening until, as now, she appeared to be enjoying the attentions of so many handsome gentlemen. The wariness had slowly faded from her gaze, a becoming blush now adorning her cheeks, and those two familiar dimples having appeared in those same cheeks when she smiled, at what were no doubt flattering and flirtatious comments being made to and about her.
And for the whole of this time Zachary had wished for nothing more than to dismiss the attentions of every single one of those handsome and fawning gentlemen, before whisking Georgianna away somewhere they could be private together.
So, yes, Wolfingham’s description of his having been scowling minutes ago—enough so as to have warned off the approach of all and any who were not closely acquainted with him, who were very few—was no doubt an accurate one.
‘My ward, Lady Georgianna Lancaster,’ he now supplied.
Wolfingham continued to look at Georgianna consideringly. ‘This is the same young woman to whom you were so briefly betrothed last year?’
‘Yes.’
The other man’s brows rose. ‘She appears to be much changed from a year ago.’
Zachary’s mouth tightened at the reasons for those changes, in both Georgianna’s appearance and demeanour. ‘She is, yes.’
Wolfingham turned to look at him through narrowed lids. ‘I was not just referring to the more obvious changes in her appearance.’
A nerve pulsed in Zachary’s jaw, knowing that his friend was able to detect the air of remoteness, and the sophistication, which had been so lacking in Georgianna just a year ago. ‘No.’
‘Zachary.’
‘I would prefer not to discuss my ward any further,’ he warned harshly. ‘Even with you.’
Wolfingham continued to study him for several long seconds before nodding slowly. ‘If you will just answer one more question?’
Zachary scowled his irritation. ‘Which is?’
‘Does she know that Rousseau is dead?’
‘Yes, she knows.’ Zachary did not attempt to pretend to misunderstand Wolfingham, knew that his friend had guessed, correctly, that Georgianna Lancaster was the woman whom Rousseau had treated so despicably. The reason the other man had to die.
‘You like her?’ Wolfingham guessed astutely.
Zachary’s jaw clenched at the understatement. ‘I do.’
‘Enough to consider renewing your betrothal?’
His jaw clenched. ‘There is absolutely no chance of that ever happening.’
‘None?’
The nerve in his jaw pulsed even more rapidly. ‘None whatsoever.’
‘Time is passing, Zachary, and the condition in your father’s will that states you must marry and produce an heir before your thirty-fifth birthday remains just as pressing,’ Wolfingham reminded softly.
‘And Georgianna is the last woman who would ever accept a—another—marriage proposal from me.’ Zachary grimaced. ‘Indeed, I believe Georgianna despises me more now than she did a year ago.’