Chapter 22
“Where are we on our list, Georgia?” Hermione Archer asked.
Amelia had chosen to remain at Westvale after dinner the previous evening.
The meal had been served later than usual, due to urgent business that Keaton had claimed.
Georgia suspected it had been engineered so that it would be too late for Amelia to travel back the same evening. She had not required any persuasion.
Hermione’s card had arrived first thing that morning, requesting the pleasure of Georgia’s company, and she had replied to invite her friend to Westvale.
“What list?” Amelia asked curiously.
“A list which Georgia and I drew up of things that she wished to experience before the freedom of being a Duchess is snatched away from her,” Hermione answered.
“Snatched away? By whom?” Amelia asked, innocently.
“Why, by the Duke and your parents, of course,” Hermione furrowed her brows.
“Really?”
The three of them were in Georgia’s drawing room, enjoying tea and sandwiches. Hermione had brought a package wrapped in paper and tied with a bow. She had deposited it on the sideboard without explanation when she had arrived. It still had not been explained.
“Hermione, of course, refers to the fact that my marriage to the Duke was created artificially, to stave off scandal after what happened at Almack’s,” Georgia clarified with a warning look to Hermione.
“The child must know the true nature of your arranged marriage,” her friend shook her head.
“I did not know,” Amelia said, blushing, “I thought that the two of you had met in less than ideal circumstances, but having met, had fallen in love…”
Hermione snorted. “Ah, the innocence of youth.”
“Yes, well, I am not so naive as all that now,” Amelia said, somewhat defensively.
“I will fetch the list, shall I?” Georgia offered, wanting to change the subject, at least until she and Amelia were alone.
Her cousin had not yet opened up about the circumstances that had brought her to the house in Bethnal Green. Nor was it clear if she would remain another night at Westvale.
Or if Keaton would be happy to extend that hospitality. I think he would, but he is so changeable!
Georgia went to her bureau and took out the list. She cleared her throat, feeling herself blush immediately.
“I have consumed more champagne than was advisable in public. That one can be crossed off the list.”
Amelia gasped but looked admiringly at Georgia’s daring. Hermione clapped.
“I have… kissed someone because I wanted to. Simply because I wanted to…” Georgia continued.
“Who?” Amelia gasped again, looking scandalized.
“If you say your husband, that does not count,” Hermione cut in.
“Of course it counts. He is my husband of convenience after all, so kissing him simply because I want to is not the same as kissing him because he is my husband and it is expected,” Georgia countered.
“The purpose of that item, as you well know,” Hermione began, “is that you experience the freedom of kissing a man simply because you feel the impulse. Not because you are his wife, and it is expected of you.”
“I thought the purpose of that item was that I experience the freedom of kissing a man when I want to and because I want to. I have fulfilled that requirement. It is crossed off,” Georgia finished stubbornly.
Hermione threw up her hands in defeat.
“What else have you done, Georgie?” Amelia asked with wide eyes.
“Nothing else, so far,” Georgia hummed.
“Then I will facilitate the very first item we added to the list,” Hermione said, rising and going to the sideboard.
Georgia felt a tightness in her throat as her friend began to unwrap the paper-wrapped bundle. The very first item was Hermione’s, and Georgia had been in two minds about it from the beginning. Hermione held up a dress that had been wrapped up in the bundle.
“I brought it so that you could try it on. I have also brought a modiste’s measuring tape so that I can record what areas need to be adjusted. When is your next social function?”
Georgia stared at the dress, open-mouthed. Amelia gaped, then laughed. Then gaped again. It was extremely low-cut. Georgia thought that the upper half of her breasts would be on display, almost to the nipple. It also looked to be of an exceptionally thin material.
“It looks like a nightgown!” Georgia exclaimed.
“But it is not. It will cover you almost to the point that modesty demands. Almost.”
“But, Hermione, Georgie’s bosoms will be…” Amelia began.
“Covered. Half anyway. It is daring but not immoral. Scandalous was the word we used on the list. Wear a scandalous dress. Here it is.”
Georgia imagined herself wearing it, but there was no scenario other than Keaton and herself alone in which she could see herself wearing it. All eyes would be on her if she did!
Would I tell Keaton? He may not realize unless I or someone else tells him. Would he be angry if I did not tell him? He has never asked me what I am wearing on any other social occasion after all.
“This marriage was entered into precisely to avoid scandal, though,” Georgia protested.
“To avoid the scandal of the two of you being lovers,” her friend corrected, “if the world thinks that you dress scandalously to please your husband… well, the men will envy him and the women will either disapprove or wish to do the same for their husbands. It will be a good scandal.”
Georgia laughed, taking the dress from Hermione and feeling the sheer fabric.
It is so thin that I would feel like a member of a sultan’s harem while I was wearing it. Decently covered but also exposed.
That thought sent salacious images dancing through her mind. Keaton’s glowering visage as the face of a cruel, exotic eastern prince. Dark, demanding, and charismatic. Mysterious, and…
“You are thinking of what it will look like. I can tell from the blush,” Hermione grinned salaciously, “come, try the dress on so I can take measurements for my modiste. You see, I do not invite any strangers to see you in the dress. I can be discreet.”
Georgia looked at Amelia, who stared back with wide eyes and a smile that she was trying to hide.
“Whatever is it for then?” her cousin said finally, “if it is only we three who will see it?”
Georgia traced a hand over the lines of her body, relishing the soft fabric of the dress.
It felt like the gown itself was caressing her.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Adjustments were needed to reduce some of the dress's dimensions, which would render it even tighter and more clingy.
As it was, her bosoms felt like they might spill out at any moment.
Whirling, she caught sight of her rump, perfectly outlined by the shockingly sheer material.
I could not wear this in public. It is positively indecent!
“Are you ready? I have my measuring tape, paper, and pencil,” Hermione called from outside.
“Let us see it, Georgie!” Amelia giggled, “Perhaps I will be able to persuade Papa to have one made for me.”
Georgia inhaled a deep breath, then regretted it immediately after as her bosoms almost burst the seams of the dress. She walked back into the drawing room. Then yelped in surprise at the sudden knock at the door. She retreated hurriedly into the dressing room as Hermione answered the knock.
After a moment, Georgia heard her friend say, “Of course, Your Grace. Amelia, why don’t we sample the gardens and enjoy this sunshine while it is with us?”
Georgia heard them leave the room and the door close. Her heart thundered, and she thought about stripping the dress off, but the sound of Keaton’s footsteps were already outside the dressing room door. He knocked again.
“Come in,” Georgia called.
How can I deny him entry by claiming to be undressed when I have been in his company naked!
“You will note that I knocked this time,” Keaton pointed out, “in deference to your shyness.”
“Shy? I have never thought myself so,” Georgia replied, flustered.
She busied herself by gathering up her clothes and folding them. Her cheeks burned. It was not the state of undress that made her feel so, but the fact that this was a state of being that she was contemplating being out in public.
I could not wear this to the ball at Lambeth Palace! We would be ejected from the building and from polite society!
“Perhaps that is not the correct word, given how you presented yourself to me.”
“As you yourself have pointed out, what is nudity to a blind man?” she countered.
“Touché,” he replied. “I hope I did not interrupt your meeting with your friends. One in particular seemed rather… enthusiastic. I was aware of her presence from some distance away.”
“That would be Lady Hermione Archer of Stratford,” Amelia laughed.
“And your cousin?” Keaton asked.
He was moving around the dressing room slowly, but with the unmistakable air of confidence in his movements that was so attractive to Georgia.
He touched the clothing she had laid across the back of a chair, his fingers stroking the fabric.
Georgia felt the touch as though his fingers danced over her bare skin.
Once, that had been left to her imagination. Now she knew what it felt like.
She could remember the roughness of a scar on his left hand as it caressed one of her breasts.
The roughness was at odds with the gentleness of the touch.
She remembered those dexterous fingers that could map the contours of her face and translate it into sculpture.
How he had touched her in places she had considered out of bounds to any male and even to herself.
Sinful touches that had produced such delicious delights. ..
“She seems happier,” Georgia quickly said, fighting to keep her voice even.
She fought to keep her true emotions from revealing themselves, fearful of what being lured into Keaton’s embrace would reveal.
If he knows what I am wearing… then what? Will a knock at the door interrupt the consequences a second time?
“Do you still believe that she was a prisoner in that house?”
“Yes,” Georgia breathed.
“No one has come to me and demanded her return. If she were a prisoner, where are her jailors?” he asked.
“I do not know. Why do you need to question?”
Keaton laughed, turning to face her, close in the confines of the small dressing room. Georgia’s breasts heaved with each breath. She found herself focusing on his lips, following their movements, remembering their softness and warmth.
“Because it is strange to me and I do not like mysteries,” Keaton replied.
“Unless you are the one keeping the secrets,” Georgia pointed out.
“I keep no secrets,” he retorted.
She laughed. “You are a walking secret. You keep me at arm’s length, telling me nothing of yourself or your past.”
“Because of how we were brought together. You took advantage of my blindness,” he reminded with heat rising in his voice.
“I have explained my reasoning…”
“And I have only your word for those reasons. And your motives are already suspect, so why should I believe your word?”
Georgia felt frustrated. The heat of her desire was cooling as Keaton’s paranoia and suspicion came to the fore.
He was still attractive, still magnetic.
That was the most frustrating aspect of all.
If he were as repellent as Lord Emsworth, then she could simply leave, and the consequences could go hang.
But she felt tied to Keaton and not just by the mutual need to prevent scandal from engulfing them.
“Damnation, but is it so difficult to understand?” he pressed, “we are bound together, you and I. That would be much easier if I did not have to question your every action.”
“That is hardly my fault. What have I done to arouse your suspicion?” she asked.
“You entice me by turning my own desire for you against me.
You attempt to bring members of your family into my household—I do not know if that is part of a plan by Silverton to entrench his family into mine or just yours.
You tell me that you are acquainted with an investigator who works for me.
A coincidence that you launched yourself into my life and just happened to need the services of said investigator as well.
It could have been any man that you kissed at Almack's, but you chose me!”
“Because you had just saved me from that beast, Emsworth, and I was desperate to escape!”
“And to have me pay for a private investigator.”
“I did not even know you knew Mr. Thorne at that point!”
They were shouting at each other now. Georgia had forgotten the dress now, so intent was she on the injustice of what she was being accused of.
“It was you who chose to demand marriage,” Georgia reminded him.
“To spare you a beating from your Uncle. I could not have done otherwise.”
“It would not have been the first!” Georgia cried and turned away. “If my presence is so onerous, then let us end this farce and take our chances with the scandal mongers.”
Keaton was breathing hard. He slammed his hand onto the dressing table.
“I swear that no other person has elicited such anger from me so often as you. Perhaps we are just incompatible.”
“Evidently.”
Georgia reached for the buttons at the back of her dress, then stopped herself. After the argument, it did not feel appropriate to be naked in front of Keaton, whether he could see her nakedness or not. She heard him move to the door and then stop.
“I do not believe so,” he said, finally.
“Nor do I, actually,” she replied quietly.
“At least from the point of view of our arrangement,” he noted.
Georgia felt a dull, dead sensation in her stomach. She told herself that she should not be disappointed. All that mattered was that Keaton wanted to continue their marriage of convenience for a while longer.
Until I can discover what happened to Elias. After that, I will accept a life at Silverton or in a workhouse if need be.
But now there was Amelia to consider. If Keaton decided to annul the marriage, then Amelia would be forced to return to her parents and whatever fate they had decreed for her.
“Yes, we must remember that,” she said in a flat voice.
She wanted to hear from him that he wanted the marriage to continue because he wanted her. Because he wanted it to be more than a marriage of convenience.
I must accept reality and put aside fantasy. It is the real world that I must live in. Not the world of my dreams.
“Have you spoken to your man, the investigator? Mr. Thorne?” Georgia asked.
“Not about your case. Other matters have taken precedence,” Keaton informed.
Georgia turned to look at him, but his back was still to her. She felt the stirrings of hope.
He could be rid of me as soon as Mr. Thorne has done his work. But he hesitates. Why? Does he wish to prolong our marriage?