Chapter 23
“We are popular, it seems.”
Keaton emerged onto the lawn holding a piece of paper. Georgia was taking tea with Amelia in the gardens. He approached them with what Georgia recognized as excitement in his face.
“We are? How so?” she asked, “Amelia is here also, by the way.”
“I deduced as much from the different perfumes which reach me on the breeze. Amelia favors a more spring-like floral scent. Yours has more citrus to it.” Keaton scrunched his nose, stopping before them and holding out the paper.
“We are invited to a ball being given by the Duchess of Bath while she is visiting London. It is for this evening!” Georgia exclaimed.
“Yes, it seems her visit was somewhat spontaneous, and she wished to host a small ball upon her arrival. It is all in the invitation.”
Georgia saw the information further down, an apology for such short notice, but an entreaty that the Duke and Duchess of Westvale would attend. Keaton sat, folding his hands atop his crossed legs. He looked confident and sure of himself.
“The second invitation in a week to a major society event. I take this as a sign that the scandal is fading in the minds of our peers. We are no longer pariahs.”
“Your plan has worked, then,” Georgia said, sadly.
She could not hide the emotion from her voice. Amelia seemed unaware, but Keaton frowned.
“As we both wanted,” he reminded.
“Yes, of course. As we both wanted,” she agreed.
“I am not included on the invitation, I take it,” Amelia laughed awkwardly.
“You are not, as none know that you are our guest. But a Duke has considerable leeway in interpreting the scope of an invitation. None will question you being present as my guest,” Keaton reassured.
“Actually, I would be far happier remaining here,” Amelia put in quickly, “if that is all the same to you both.”
Keaton shrugged. “So, needless to say, Georgia, you should be considering a gown for the occasion. Too late to have one sewn, but we can visit Oxford Street and choose one, even if adjustments are needed.”
She glanced at him sharply, annoyed that he dismissed Amelia so quickly.
“Why do you not wish to attend, Amelia?” she asked, “You have always loved attending balls. Any excuse to wear a pretty dress, in fact.”
“Well, I do not have any pretty dresses, they are all at home,” Amelia said, “and secondly…” she looked uncomfortable, unable to meet Georgia’s eyes, “I would just prefer not meeting… anyone, really. Perhaps my time alone has given me a taste for solitude.”
“That is decided then. Amelia will be quite comfortable here, I assure you,” Keaton said briskly, rising, “Georgia, we should leave as soon as possible to begin seeking a dress for the occasion.”
Amelia was looking at Georgia with pleading eyes. She clearly did not want to go into more detail, but such a change in character was unsettling for Georgia.
She is trying to avoid someone? Her parents, perhaps? I do not like the idea of her being afraid. It simply isn’t fair! And Keaton being so dismissive, too!
“I have a dress, Keaton,” she said, an idea coming to her.
Amelia’s eyes widened as she suddenly grasped Georgia’s meaning.
“You do? I understood that you did not have any gowns other than the everyday variety. No ballgowns, that is.”
“I have one which Hermione has kindly loaned to me. It is an excellent fit and I think will be the perfect gown for this event,” Georgia said, brightly.
As Keaton walked away, Amelia leaned forward.
“Georgie, you cannot mean… the dress!”
Georgia hushed her, looking at Keaton, who had stopped, supposedly to sample the bouquet of a rose that trailed onto the path. Keaton resumed walking back to the house.
“That dress is positively indecent!” Amelia gasped.
“Yes, it is, but I did say that I wanted to wear a scandalous dress in public, and this will be the perfect opportunity.”
And it will teach Keaton to be dismissive of you, Amelia.
Keaton walked out to the waiting carriage, orienting himself by the sound of the horses and the greeting of his driver. When he was seated, waiting for Georgia to arrive, he pondered over the words he had heard Amelia say.
I wonder what she meant by the dress. And why could Georgia not wear it?
He could only imagine that it was a dress that would be considered risque by polite society. He could have insisted on seeing the dress, gauging its appearance based on touch. But the idea that she might appear in public wearing something daring was exciting.
This is foolish! I was pleased to receive the invitation because of what it means for our plans. And now, for the sake of something as primitive as lust, I am prepared to risk everything.
It also occurred to him that Georgia was the one taking dangerous chances. From drinking far too much to this new development. Did she want the purpose behind their marriage to succeed? Or did she think that by generating more gossip and scandal, she could extend her time at Westvale?
Avoid having to return to the servant’s quarters at Silverton. How demeaning that must have been…
“Are you quite well, Keaton?” Georgia’s voice was suddenly beside him.
He had been so lost in thought that he had not heard her approach, nor heard her greeted by the driver either. He berated himself for being so distracted.
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“You look as though you are chewing rocks,” she explained, getting into the carriage next to Keaton.
Immediately, her perfume filled his mind.
“I thought you were running out of that?” he somehow managed.
“I am. This is the last. There is a splash left perhaps for Lambeth Palace.”
It was so unbelievably feminine that Keaton’s thoughts were scattered like pheasants fleeing the approach of beaters. He could not help but breathe in deeply, savoring the delicate flavor, feeling his head spin in the most delicious way.
“You looked distinctly angry,” Georgia said.
“I was not.”
“Your words say one thing, but your expression when you thought yourself unobserved says something else.”
“I knew I was being observed. Of course, I heard your approach.”
“Indeed? And you did not answer me because…?”
Keaton thumped the roof of the carriage, and the driver flicked the reins. The horses started, and the carriage lurched into motion. Georgia gave a small cry and fell against Keaton. She evidently had not been expecting the sudden movement.
Keaton put his arms about her protectively, a movement of pure instinct.
Then he understood the nature of the mysterious dress.
It covered her as it should, but its material was finer than the usual silk.
It clung to her, concealing, but at the same time suggesting just what it concealed.
At the front, it seemed cut low, perhaps a touch lower than would ordinarily be considered acceptable.
He felt her breasts crushed against him.
“Are you even covered above the waist?” he asked, taken aback despite himself.
Georgia tried to push herself away from him, but Keaton held on.
Her skin was so soft, perfect, and smooth as satin.
It was water to a man dying of thirst. He could not stop touching her.
After a moment, she settled back into his embrace with a sigh.
He felt her head rest against his shoulder and instinctively pressed his mouth against her hair.
“Barely,” she whispered.
He explored the outline of the dress, easily picturing her wearing it.
He could scarcely believe the image that was appearing in his imagination.
He feathered his fingers down her bare back, the dress cutting deeply.
He wondered if it went all the way down, exposing the slopes of her derrière.
It did not go so far, but the very notion was thrilling to him.
She turned, shifting her position so that he could map the dress at the front. He stroked gentle fingers along the line of her shoulders to the straps that seemed too fine to support the weight of the garment.
“This is not a dress, it is a nightdress!” he exclaimed in a whisper that was muted by the tresses of hair against his mouth.
“Do you want me to change?” she asked.
Common sense told Keaton that his answer should be yes. The dress should not be seen by other men. But to admit that would be to give her power over him. Perhaps she had chosen this specifically to induce a reaction, to prompt Keaton to ban her from wearing it.
“No. You have chosen it, you should wear it.”
He felt her shiver in his arms and tightened his embrace.
He explored the region below her throat, feeling her swallow against his caress.
The skin was bare. He felt her breastbone, feathering his fingers from side to side, spreading his hand wide to encompass as much of her flesh as he could.
Drifting lower, he felt the shiver return, moving through her entire body, spurred by his daring and possessive touch.
The slopes of her breasts appeared in his mind’s eye as his fingers felt the rise of her flesh.
Further, the modesty of the dress was still not revealed.
His breath caught at how much of her was on display.
She wore a throw, draped loosely around her elbows, which could be drawn up to cover her, but would she?
When he finally touched the fabric that was keeping the entirety of her breasts from view, he was almost disappointed.
He cupped one breast in his hand, fingers gently piercing the protective wall of the dress, delving beneath.
He felt the rigidity of an upraised nipple, felt her mouth moving against his shoulder, her hands tightening on his chest. He continued his attentions, kneading her breast and pulling the dress low enough to completely expose it.
“Many men tonight will think themselves privileged to a sight of your bosoms, but they will all be deceived. Your dress tricks men into thinking they are seeing more than they are.”
“Only you will truly see me,” Georgia whispered, reaching out to run searching fingers through his hair.
“I will. Because you are mine.”