Chapter 6
Georgie wished she could have been oblivious to the next few minutes. She wished she could simply have walked off that balcony and into the night, or for once in her life managed a graceful swoon. She fervently wished she’d never done Priscilla Mayhew a good deed.
But never let it be said that her Aunt Berenice would allow any person to escape the consequences of their actions. Not one to settle for a whisper when parade ground volume would do, Georgie’s aunt made sure everyone along Bruton Street would know that there was a disaster brewing.
And she was doing it while Georgie was desperately trying to regain her composure, even as the fire Greyville lit in her still raged.
Her mouth tingled. Her fingers tingled. Places in her body she had never even acknowledged before positively throbbed like hot embers.
All she could think about was the taste of Grey’s kiss, his scent.
His smile. And her aunt was busy destroying Georgie’s reputation.
She had to focus.
If only Greyville wasn’t still standing so close, his scent tempting her all over again.
“Well?” Aunt Berenice trumpeted for the second or third time. Georgie wasn’t quite sure.
“Aunt Berenice,” Eddie whispered, grabbing her aunt’s sleeve.
“What?” Aunt Berenice demanded, whipping around.
Eddie tilted her head to include the small crowd that had gathered at their end of the ballroom when they should have been in the foyer donning cloaks and looking for their carriages. “Not here.”
“This is no business of yours,” Aunt Berenice accused them all, the feather in her gold turban quivering with her outrage. She made shooing motions with her arms. “Go along. Don’t let your horses be kept standing.”
There were some knowing smiles, but about half of them bowed to Aunt Berenice’s glower and faded away. The rest wouldn’t be moved by anything short of cannon fire.
“Now,” Georgie’s aunt barked, turning back to her prey. “What is this all about?”
“As I said,” Greyville said with a smile and a slight bow. “You may wish us happy.”
“You may not,” Georgie insisted under her breath, panic exploding in her chest. At least it cleared her head, not to mention the uncomfortable throbbing.
Her aunt leveled the kind of glare that should have melted Georgie’s pearls. “Oh, I believe we must,” she declared. “But we shall do it at home like civilized people. Coleford, you may follow us there. Lady Georgianna’s father will be delighted to speak with you.”
“No, he won’t,” Georgie retorted, her voice thinning with distress.
She got another glare. “Don’t be ridiculous. Now, come along.”
“Might I speak to Georgianna for a moment first?” Greyville asked.
“No!” both Georgie and her aunt snapped.
“What happened?” Charlie demanded, skidding to a halt by her mother.
Eddie frowned. “Evidently Georgie’s engaged.”
Charlie frowned right back. “But he called her Georgianna. Why in heaven’s name would a fiancé do that?”
Eddie just shrugged. Georgie, growing more frantic by the minute, saw the doubt in her cousin’s eyes and felt even worse.
“You will meet us at Packham House, young man,” Aunt Berenice declared, sounding rather like a judge delivering sentence. “There will be quite enough time to speak with Lady Georgianna after you have spoken to her father.”
Only Aunt Berenice could diminish a blooded marquess to ‘young man’ in quite that manner. Georgie was more than a little surprised to see Greyville look a bit abashed.
He gave another small bow and stepped away from her. “Of course, ma’am. I look forward to seeing you there.”
For that he got a baleful assessment from Aunt Berenice before she simply turned on her heel and led the cousins like ducklings through the remaining guests.
Before they could escape back out into the night, Lord Halverson came trotting up, his color high.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Aunt Berenice looked down her nose. “Quite. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Georgie almost choked. Even so she dipped a fleeting curtsy along with her cousins, only to be rewarded with the sound of Lady Halverson’s chirping. “Our ball has just become the success of the season.”
And then Eddie sighing. “I do wish I could have met the rake.”
Grey should have been feeling a lot worse.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He could never have anticipated it; not here, not now, not her.
But there was no question that it had. It took him several minutes before he could turn from the cool dark night on the balcony to face his contemporaries.
And even then he was fighting the most unsettling distraction. Not to mention an unholy urge to smile.
He damned near laughed at himself. Distraction. Was that what he was going to call it? It had probably been a good thing the aunt had swept in like an avenging angel, or she might have witnessed far worse.
If Lady Georgianna—oh bloody hell. Georgie.
After what had just transpired out on that balcony, it was difficult to hold onto a polite distance.
If she had not so enthusiastically participated a moment ago, he would have felt ashamed.
After all, he had compromised her about as thoroughly as a man could and keep his clothing on.
But he couldn’t help but think that that moment had revealed a real connection, one that could, with work, develop into something more.
And yes. He admitted it. Selfishly, he was relieved.
He had walked into this ball a harried man, caught between a sudden family, a financial crisis, and a relentless government.
Completely upended from the wandering life of a soldier where he’d known his responsibilities, his limits and his rewards.
Now, he admitted that even with the girls he felt like a nomad settling for a visit.
After this, at least he knew his girls would be protected no matter what happened.
He knew from only two meetings with her that Georgie had an uncanny ability to create order out of chaos, a home for a wanderer.
Mostly, right now, he knew his house would be transformed into a place of at least comfort while he was stuck in Paris.
And then, when he got home, maybe Georgie could actually help him create a home out of the peeling wallpaper and overwhelming responsibilities.
Someplace he could finally feel settled after ten years of war.
Halfway across the dance floor toward the foyer, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His girls. His girls. He smiled. So they were.
And Georgie was just the woman to keep them safe and happy while he was away.
To mold them all into a family. Which meant he would be free to go.
Well, he would be right after he made Lady Georgianna Packham the next Marchioness Coleford.
Deciding that the best plan was to get things over with as soon as he could, he waved at Rob who was busy in a rather intense conversation with a well-endowed heiress, bowed his farewells to the gloating Halversons, and made for the front door.
“Was that intentional?” he heard behind him and didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally facing his friend and unofficial superior, Marcus, Earl Drake.
Drake’s smile was as enigmatic as the rest of him. Blond, blue-eyed, and flawlessly elegant, Drake had a knack for knowing more than he should and saying less than one expected. But right now, Grey suspected he was looking for answers.
To that end, Drake laid an arm over Grey’s shoulder and led him through the open door out into the night. “I am an earl,” he answered easily as they descended the steps to the street. “I am seen everywhere. What of you?”
“I am a marquess,” he reminded his friend. “And I am on the marriage market.”
“No longer, it seems.”
Grey cast a suspicious look at him. “You saw that?”
Drake smiled. “Oh, my dear, I believe Lady Berenice made sure everyone but the Prince Regent saw that. I thought you were to marry the Mayhew chit. Was I mistaken?”
It was all Grey could do not to shrug off Drake’s arm. He didn’t like being manipulated. He didn’t like to feel boxed in. He felt both right now, even as he spared a flash of regret that he was doing the same to his probable fiancée.
“Miss Mayhew’s parents decided that she and I have decided we didn’t suit,” he said. Thank God they had caught him on the way out and pointed that out. “Anything else?”
“Which Packham chit is it?”
Grey found himself staring at his friend. “You don’t know?”
He got another lazy smile. “All three were crowded in that doorway. The aunt didn’t specify.”
“Lady Georgianna.”
Drake’s left eyebrow rose. “Indeed. Interesting choice.”
Grey came to an abrupt halt right there on the walk, with other guests parting around them like a stream around boulders.
“It wasn’t a...” He shook his head. There was no point explaining. Lifting Drake’s arm, he took a step away. “Why exactly is it an interesting choice?”
“Share a glass at the club?”
“No. It seems I am due at the Packham abode.”
Drake nodded. “I’ll walk with you. It’s not far.”
“I know. What were you implying?” he asked as they turned down the walk toward Brook Street.
Around them Mayfair echoed with late evening entertainment.
Carriages rumbled down the street, the faint hum of strings drifted from more than one home, and lights spilled from myriad windows.
The night was mild, relieved by only a lethargic breeze, and clouds skimmed low in the sky.
A perfect night for a walk and a think. He was just afraid Drake wasn’t about to allow him that luxury.
“She will be perfect for your little cousins,” Drake mused. “She certainly has the experience, having grown up in that madhouse they all call a home and taking on some of her mother’s social duties. And she must have extraordinary patience, or her aunt would not still be breathing.”
“But?”