Chapter 7 #2
She followed the staircase, emerging on a long hallway of dark panelling and ancient-seeming tapestries. Tall windows looked out over a quadrangle below, benches set out beneath the shade of rowan trees that grew to the height of the windows.
She walked along, examining the tapestries, turning a corner, and finding herself faced with a set of double doors. One was ajar, gently stirring in a breeze. She crept along and looked inside. What she saw drew her into the room in fascination…
A large table occupied the lion's share of the room, atop which was what seemed to be a map, but one which had been rendered in three dimensions, not two.
She pored over it, trying to discern what it depicted.
She saw mountains and what she took to be forests.
Rivers had been carved into the wood and roads.
Towns and villages were also marked as stylized collections of buildings.
A sound reached her from a door on the other side of the room just then. Looking through, she saw the Duke. He was dressing, clad only in breeches and stockings, bare from the waist up.
He faced the door, and she marvelled brazenly at his physique. His abdomen was sculpted and rigid, lacking any fat at all. His chest was broad and heavily muscled. His upper arms bulged and, combined with his long, fair hair, he seemed the very image of a Viking conqueror.
“You were admiring my map, Miss Roseton?” he said, suddenly.
Georgia jumped. Then she remembered his sense of smell. She was wearing perfume again, the only bottle she owned.
I will not let him put me off guard with these party tricks of his.
“Yes, Your Grace. I have never seen the like,” she said in a voice that she hoped was not surprised.
“I had it made from my own recollections of travels in the highlands of Scotland in my youth. So that I may explore the glens once again,” he continued as he shuffled through some cravats in his hands.
Georgia looked at his hands. Those fingers seemed dextrous and nimble. She had an image of him running those hands over the map, visualizing in his mind the image they conveyed. That would also be how he would learn people's faces, she reasoned.
“This is unconventional,” the Duke noted, “we are not supposed to meet before the wedding.”
Georgia smiled. “As I informed my Uncle, the tradition is that you are not supposed to see me.”
“Is that intended as a jest at my expense?”
“No!” she burst, suddenly seeing how her comment might be taken, “No, no! Simply that we are in no danger of bad luck. If you are superstitious, that is.”
“I am not,” he commented, selecting a cravat and discarding the rest to the floor.
“Then there is nothing to worry about, is there?” she grimaced innocently.
He is so prickly, I dare say I will be a mass of splinters just being near him!
“So, did you mean to spy or did you have some purpose for your intrusion into my bedchamber?” the Duke inquired. He glided over to a wardrobe adeptly, tossed it open, and selected a silk shirt.
“I… I did not realize it was your bedchamber,” Georgia murmured, embarrassed, really seeing the place for the first time. “The door was open, or I would not have come in.”
“Ah, so I must lock doors wherever I do not wish you to snoop in the future,” the Duke put in acidly.
“Or you do not bring me into your house in the first place,” she whispered to herself.
“You would prefer Emsworth's house?”
“No,” Georgia spluttered, astonished by the fact he had overheard, “that would be… unpleasant.”
He smirked in victory—a wholly dashing expression. “Silverton, then? Living off the charity of your relatives?”
Georgia felt a sudden spark of ire at his curtness. Not just his curtness but his entire devil-may-care facade he had exhibited since they first met at Almack's a couple of weeks prior.
“May I ask a question?” she began.
“Ask away.”
“Why are you being quite so unpleasant?” she demanded, stepping deeper into the room.
The Duke's nakedness was covered now, and she felt a tinge of regret. The shirt was not laced fully, revealing a tanned chest.
Does he parade about his grounds half-undressed like some feckless Lordling to receive so much sun?
The image was agreeable, and it took effort for Georgia to dispel it.
“Because I have been trapped into bringing you into my life. You are a distraction,” he remarked.
“I will try not to distract you then, Your Grace—”
“No, not a distraction, an intrusion,” he corrected.
Georgia glared daggers at his marble-cut chest that was quickly being hidden by an adeptly tied cravat. “I will try not to intrude, then, Your Grace. In fact, I will endeavour to keep entirely out of your way and be compliant with your rules in every way.”
“You came here to tell me that?”
Georgia’s mouth fell open at his constant displays of impudence. She shook her head and forced herself to the present, then put on a pleasant smile, remembering her place.
“No. To make you an offer,” she began, hesitating at the final word. “I wish to... to ask for help and seek a compromise.”
The Duke heaved on a large coat and set about buttoning it.
He raked his other hand through his tousled hair.
A tiny white blossom had settled in it. He might have felt it, but missed it with his hand by inches.
A window on the far side of the room was open, and the blossom likely had carried in on the breeze, she deduced.
Georgia's attention was captured by it.
“You have a blossom in your hair,” she murmured.
“I felt it. Where?” he asked.
Georgia tried to point him in the right direction, stepping closer to direct his hand, but the Duke kept missing it. Finally, she stood on tiptoes and plucked it free.
“I have it,” she said.
It was as though she had not realized how close she was getting until now. As she settled back on her heels, she was looking directly up into his sightless eyes. Her breath caught; she could not look away.
“Are you staring at me?” the Duke asked, rather softly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You have beautiful eyes,” she breathed before she was consciously aware of the words.
She blushed furiously, wishing she had the words back. The Duke colored too, coughed, and looked away, which surprised her.
“A thing cannot be beautiful that is flawed.”
“I disagree,” Georgia grinned, emboldened by his coyness, “the color of your eyes is remarkable. The fact that you cannot see doesn't detract from that.”
“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asked.
Yes! Oh God, yes!
The thought shocked Georgia back to her senses. She stepped backward, turning away. It was as though a spell had been cast over her. She fought to bring her mind back into order.
“I wanted to ask for your help,” she started again. “In exchange, you will have my full co-operation in this marriage of convenience. I will play my part,” she continued, halting and stammering.
She retreated further from him, but he swept forward, suddenly catching her arm. How he knew precisely where to find it, she could not tell, but suddenly she was close to him once more. His face was hard. Remorseless.
“Do you try to bargain with me?” he demanded.
“Yes,” Georgia gasped. “I wish to know what has become of my brother Elias Roseton. He went missing, but I cannot afford the services of an investigator. If you will...”
Suddenly, the Duke released her.
“I see,” he said flatly. “This was your plan all along, yes?”
“No. There was no plan. I acted in the heat of the moment. I... I...” She did not know how to defend herself.
There is nothing I can say that does not sound like I planned this all along…
“As it happens, I make use of a very good man, formerly of the Bow Street Runners. I will put you in contact with him. Agreed?”
If there had been a brief thaw in the ice, winter had now returned. His voice was cold and steely. Georgia sighed.
“Agreed.”
“Come then,” the Duke said briskly, “let us get married.”