Page 19 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
Georgiana doubted any of them had gotten any pleasure from this evening, but she gave Lord Darlington a brisk nod, then threw open the carriage door herself before the coachman could climb from the box, and leapt down to the pavement.
Lord Darlington came down after her and held out his arm with a bow. “Allow me to escort you to the door, Miss Harley.”
“There’s no need, my lord, truly. I’ll be perfectly fine. It’s a quick step or two only.” Georgiana waved a hand toward the school.
“Ah,but I insist.”
She flushed at his gallantry, but allowed him to take her arm and lead her up the stone stairs to the front door. “Thankyou, my lord.”
He bowed again, his lips curving in a polite smile. “Good night, Miss Harley.”
Georgiana paused on the top step, her gaze on Lord Darlington’s broad back as he strode back to the carriage, but she didn’t really see him as her mind drifted over the eventsof the evening.
She hadn’t learned nearly as much as she’d hoped to about Clara Beauchamp tonight. Lady Tilbury seemed to know surprisingly little for one who’d been on such intimate terms with the Beauchamp family. As far as discovering Clara’s whereabouts were concerned, Georgiana might as well have stayed in her bed with her nose buried in her book.
Still, the ball hadn’t been an utter waste of time. She’d learned one thing, a thing she’d suspected, but hadn’t been certain of untilthis evening.
The Duchess of Kenilworth wasn’t being truthful with her.
Her Grace, that soft-spoken, wide-eyed, ladylike creature had looked directly into Georgiana’s and Lady Clifford’s faces, and lied to them.
It was a lie of omission, yes, but a lie all the same. Georgiana and Lady Clifford both had enough experience with secrets to know the duchess was hiding something, but the scope of her lie, the depth of it…
Georgiana hadn’t expectedthat. It wasn’t some harmless little falsehood. The duchess was at the center of a storm of gossip, a scandal being whispered over in every drawing room in London.
Georgiana didn’t much care whether the Duchess of Kenilworth was having an affair with Lord Draven or not, but she didn’t appreciate being sent into battle with thetonwithout the proper armor.
She’d been thrown off her guard tonight when that intolerable Lord Harrington had spoken of Lord Draven’s “secrets” in such a derisive manner, but that was nothing to the shock of discovering the two people rumored to be having a torrid liaison were the same two people who were searching for Clara Beauchamp.
There wasn’t the least chancethatwasa coincidence—
“Wandering about in the dark all by yourself, Miss Harley?”
Georgiana startled at the sound of the low, deep voice behind her, her thoughts scattering.
“Such a clever lady, yet so careless withyour safety.”
That voice, it was familiar. She’d heard it before, but she couldn’t quite place—
“You never know who might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for you.” Footsteps thudded softly behind her, and when the voice spoke again, it was closer. “Why, it could be anyone.”
Georgiana closed her eyes as that husky murmur hit the back of her neck. Sweat broke out on her palms, her fingers went slack, and the next thing she knew, her precious jar of quince preserves slipped from her hand and rolled down the steps. “Oh, no!” She raced after it, but it was already too late. The jar smashed to the ground in a splatter of thick orange syrup and shattered glass.“My preserves!”
“I beg your pardon.” The toe of a spotless evening pump nudged a piece of the broken glass aside. “They look delicious, too. Thick, but not too thick, just as preserves should be. Pity.”
That drawl, slow and deep, faintly mocking…
She knew that voice, knew the shape and plumpness of the lips from which it emerged, despite her every effort to forget them. Georgiana reminded herself to hold onto her dignity as she raised her eyes to meet his, but when she caught sight of her tormentor’s face, only one word seemed appropriate. “You.”
“Me, indeed. You do remember me, then?”
Remember him? She could sooner forget a fiend on the back of a hound from hell riding straight from one end of London to the other than she could Lord Haslemere. “Vividly.”
He grinned. “I’m flattered, Miss Harley.”
Georgiana eyed him, her lips going tight. “I don’t see why you should be. People remember all sorts of unpleasant things, Lord Haslemere. Breaking a bone, falling down the stairs, having atooth pulled.”
Her irritation only amused him, and his infuriating grin widened. “You seem cross, Miss Harley. If I didn’t know better, I might think you aren’t pleased to see me.”
