Chapter 21
“Describe the house to me,” Keaton asked of Georgia as the carriage came to a halt.
“It seems an ordinary place. Modern, end of the last century, I would say. The park is somewhat overgrown, and there is something of an air of neglect.”
“Very much in keeping with my own aesthetic then,” he murmured wryly.
“I suspect the owner of this house has neglected his garden entirely, rather than choosing plants for their smells or their looks,” she shrugged.
Georgia felt a tension within her that had not gone away since she read the note from Mrs. Pewter.
It did not help that both Keaton and Lord Swinthorpe had advanced logical arguments against Amelia being in any difficulty.
At least not the kind of difficulty that was the business of anyone outside of the family.
But she is my family. The daughter of my mother’s sister. And she has always looked to me for guidance and advice.
The driver opened her door, and Georgia descended from the carriage, then waited for Keaton. She marveled at his agility and dexterity, doubting that she would be capable of moving with as much confidence if she were blind.
I would not move from my bed out of sheer terror. I cannot imagine how he does it!
He offered his arm and she took it, turning them both to face the house and taking the first step towards it.
Georgia found her mind wandering as it always did when in Keaton’s company.
His arm was solid and steady as a mountain under her light touch.
His muscles were cables of steel, their strength evident.
She thought about sitting on the chaise with him, utterly naked.
Thought of him moving closer, becoming aware of her nudity.
The first touch, simply to her cheek to confirm that she had been blushing. ..
He would have felt the same heat all over my body.
That led her to wild imaginings of Keaton doing that very thing, exploring her nakedness with deft fingers and strong hands.
His rough, scarred hands moving over her soft, virginal body.
Feeling her softness, her wetness… Her breath caught as she tripped ascending the stone steps leading to the front door.
“Need me to lend you my sight?” Keaton whispered.
“It was slippery,” Georgia muttered.
She took hold of a brass door knocker and used it to rap three times on the door. Presently, it was opened by a maid who promptly seemed overawed by the ranks which Keaton gave for himself and Georgia.
“The master is not at home, but her Ladyship is,” the maid stammered.
“Would that be Lady Amelia Vexley?” Georgia asked.
The maid shook her head. “No, Lady Jane Montgomery, Your Grace.”
“Please present us,” Keaton said in a tone of command.
Moments later, they were being ushered into a drawing room.
“Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Westvale, Your Ladyship,” the maid introduced.
“It is Amelia!” Georgia whispered to Keaton.
He frowned but remained silent. After the maid had been dismissed, Amelia bade them both to sit. She glanced at Keaton fearfully. Georgia went to her, giving her a hug.
“Do not be afraid. The Duke is an ally,” she reassured.
“I am not. I am only thinking of the circumstances of your marriage,” Amelia replied in a subdued voice.
“Whatever are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, taking her seat again beside Keaton.
Amelia sat in a chair opposite, hands folded in her lap neatly. Her face was schooled to stillness.
“I am recuperating from an illness,” she said quietly.
“But why can you not recuperate at home?” Georgia demanded.
“So that mother and father do not contract the same illness. You should probably not have come yourselves, Georgie,” she said.
Keaton was frowning, staring at Amelia, who seemed uncomfortable under the blind scrutiny.
“Who is the master of this house?” he asked.
Amelia looked away. Georgia went to her again, concern wrenching at her innards. She knelt on the floor before her cousin and took her hands.
“Whatever is happening, you can tell us. We are here to help you.”
Amelia pulled her hands away, tears staining her eyes. She walked away from Georgia to the nearest window. Georgia looked to Keaton, whose face was impassive.
He will be thinking that I have manufactured this crisis. Maybe he thinks this is a way of prolonging our transaction, inventing a need.
“You wrote to me, Amelia, asking for my help,” Georgia reminded.
“I am sorry about that, Georgie. I was being silly. I might have been a touch delirious, actually. From the fever—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Amelia!” Georgia exclaimed, “You thought yourself in sufficient danger to ask me for help. That was not fever but fear!”
“Are you being held here against your will?” Keaton asked matter-of-factly.
“No, of course not. Do you see bars on the windows or manacles around my ankles?” Amelia asked.
“I see nothing. That is the main characteristic of being blind,” Keaton said in a low voice.
“I do not believe you, Amelia,” Georgia said, flatly, “I think Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Clarissa are forcing you to stay here. I think you are being threatened to say nothing to me.”
“You would be wrong, Georgie. I am content.”
“You don’t look ill to me.”
“I am recovering. I will return to Silverton soon, I think.”
“Who is the master of this house?” Keaton asked for the second time.
Amelia looked evasive. “I do not know. My father is renting it, but I do not know who it is from. I have not seen him. Or anyone for that matter.”
“I know you, Amelia. And I know when you are lying. I am sorry to be blunt, but I must know what is going on,” Georgia implored.
“There is nothing going on!” Amelia snapped, exasperated, “I welcome your visit and would gladly take tea with you. Or we could have sandwiches, I will have them made up. But I will not be called a liar, Georgie.”
Georgia threw up her hands, not knowing what to do or say next. Keaton rose.
“Well, Miss Vexley. It seems that our journey has been a wasted one. We will not intrude on your time a moment longer. Georgia, shall we?”
Georgia stood her ground, folding her arms.
“I will not, but you are welcome to,” she muttered.
“There is no point arguing over me,” Amelia assured, “I am in rude health and positive mind. I do not need rescuing.”
“Georgia, we are leaving,” Keaton commanded.
“You may be, but I am not,” Georgia retorted.
“Please go, Georgie. I do not want to be the cause of an argument between you,” Amelia implored.
Georgia searched her face, reaching for her hands again, but her cousin stepped away, remaining out of reach.
Georgia felt bereft, unable to think of any way to remain but unable to bear the thought of leaving her cousin alone and to who knew what fate.
Keaton stood, impassive and unyielding. At that moment, she hated him for not supporting her, though she could not think of how he might do that.
Then he spoke.
“You say that you are alone here? That there is no master of the house who might miss you, were you found to not be here?” he asked.
“Yes,” Amelia said, sounding confused.
Keaton smiled broadly. “Well then. If you have no other social engagements for this evening, we would be honored if you would be our guest for supper.”
Georgia felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss him.
She berated herself for not thinking of the same solution.
Amelia clearly did not want to admit that she was in danger or at the house against her will.
So, the invitation to dinner gave her a way out.
It might only be temporary, but it would do for now.
Georgia went to stand beside Keaton, threading her hands through the crook of his arm. She brushed a kiss against his cheek and then smiled at Amelia.
“You would be most welcome, of course,” she enthused, willing her cousin to go along with the subterfuge.
“I do not wish to impose,” Amelia said, hesitantly.
“Nonsense,” Keaton replied, “no imposition at all. My Uncle regularly dines with us, and at unexpected times, so the kitchens always prefer sufficient quantities for an additional guest. It would be a pleasure to make the acquaintance of another member of my wife's family.”
Georgia squeezed his arm, silently thanking him for supporting her. He patted her hand. She felt the intoxication of her attraction to him then. It filled her, making her want to be alone with him, her desire threatening to overwhelm her sense of propriety once more.
“…In that case, I should be glad to accept. There is no carriage at this house, I'm afraid. I am rather dependent on my father for transportation. And my own feet, of course,” Amelia chuckled awkwardly.
Georgia thought she could detect relief in her cousin's face.
She has matured since I last saw her, and it is neither a natural part of her growing up nor a desirable characteristic. She has been aged by her experience, whatever it is. I will get to the bottom of it, though.
“You can come back to Westvale in our carriage,” Georgia fixed a comforting smile.
“Well, that is settled, I suppose. I must say it has been somewhat lonely here,” Amelia said, then added hurriedly, “I quite understand Father’s reasoning, of course. It has been quite necessary.”
“And I’m sure the need to conceal your identity from the staff was simply to avoid the possibility of well-wishers like us arriving at the door. Or gossipers,” Keaton said drily, “we have first-hand experience of that kind of person, do we not, Georgia?”
“We do indeed. Yes, I quite understand,” Georgia affirmed.
“If you will excuse me for a moment, I will inform the staff that I will not be at home for dinner this evening.”
“And pack an overnight bag. In case it is too late to drive back, or the weather takes a turn for the worse,” Georgia hastily added.
She felt Keaton shift and squeezed his arm again, willing him to remain silent. Amelia nodded and hurried from the room.
“This is not a prelude to an additional house guest,” Keaton told her quietly.
“Oh, don’t spoil it!” she laughed, “You were doing so well.”
“Pray tell, at what, besides indulging you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I like being indulged,” she replied in a low voice.
“Why are you whispering?” he asked, lowering his head to her.
Georgia looked up at his handsome face. His wide, expressive eyes that seemed to mock the fact of his blindness.
They may no longer function, but they are still the windows of his soul.
She felt that she could gaze into those eyes all day, that she could lose herself in them. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face.
“Are you staring at me?” he asked, also whispering.
“Not at all,” she lied quickly, “I am admiring the decoration in this room.”
“Describe it,” he challenged.
Georgia opened her mouth to speak, but found her mind blank. She had not taken in a single detail and now did not want to look away to find out.
“Quite beautiful, though with a tendency to severity. Expressive when looked at a certain way. Soft at times and comfortable. Hard at other times,” she said nebulously.
“And uncomfortable at those times, I’ll wager,” he replied.
“Immensely. Yet, I feel drawn to… this room. I would like to spend a great deal of time here.”
Georgia’s pulse quickened at the game they played.
She could see from his face that he had decoded the puzzle.
It excited her just as much as when she had realized that he knew she was naked.
Her lips parted, and her breath caught. She felt close enough to him that he might be able to feel the heat in her cheeks.
“It must be a remarkable room,” he whispered.
“Quite. One that I would like to see replicated at Westvale.”
“Perhaps that could be arranged.”
His lips were inches from hers, but she was not consciously aware of him moving. Or herself, for that matter. Her eyelids fluttered, on the verge of closing for the kiss. Then, Keaton pulled back.
“Your cousin is returning,” he said.
Moments later, Georgia heard Amelia’s footsteps. She sighed as the door opened.
“Such a lovely room,” she smiled, taking Keaton’s arm.
Keaton chuckled.