Page 53 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
“Lady Wylde’s masque ball.” He raised Georgiana’s hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss to her gloved knuckles. “Quite a successful evening all around.”
“For everyone but Lady Wylde, yes.” The duke studied Benedict for another moment, his gaze speculative, then his lips stretched in a cool smile. “But she has a new admirer in Lord Harrington, so it seems she’s landed on her feet, as all cats do.”
Benedict didn’t appear to have anything to say in reply to that, and a heavy silence fell between them until the duke rose to his feet and offered Georgiana a bow. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Georgiana. I trust I’ll see you again very soon.”
The duke nodded at them, then turned and made his way across the room, pausing once or twice to greet acquaintances. They waited until the duke had disappeared into another room before Benedict caught Georgiana’s hand and tugged her away from the faro table. “Collect your winnings, Georgiana.We’re leaving.”
“No. Not yet.” Georgiana spoke through gritted teeth, that frozen smile still pasted to her lips. “He’s likely still watching us. It will look suspicious if we flee the moment he’s out of sight. Another game, andthen we’ll go.”
Benedict dropped into the chair beside her without a word, but all Georgiana’s pleasure in the play had evaporated. Her chest was tight, and she was no longer able to concentrate on the cards. The pile of coins in front of her shrank as she lost one hand, then another, until Benedict lost patience, and with a low grumble snatched her hand and hurried her through the crowded rooms and out to the pavement, where Grigg was waiting for them.
* * * *
Benedict handed Georgiana into the carriage, threw himself onto the bench beside her, and slammed his fist against the roof with enough violence tomake her jump.
Damn it. He never should have agreed to let Georgiana accompany him to Lady Archer’s this evening. He’d been a fool to let her talk him into it. He didn’t like the way Kenilworth had looked at her, and he didn’t like the way he’d touched her. The second the duke lay a hand on her, Benedict had envisioned, in lurid and realistic detail, ripping the man’s armfrom his body.
Until tonight, he would have said he knew Kenilworth well, but the man they’d left just now—the man who’d grabbed Georgiana, and seemed to take pleasure in frightening her—he didn’t knowthatman at all.
London was overflowing with scoundrels, but Benedict had never heard any ugly rumors about the duke. His Grace didn’t engage in any of the usual aristocratic sins and foibles that characterized so many gentlemen of theton. He didn’t drink, wager, or keep mistresses. There’d never been as much as a whisper against him, and this was London, where everyone was always whispering about everyone else. The man had a spotless reputation.
Toospotless.
Every single aristocrat in London had felt the sharp edge of the gossip’s tongues. Everyone, that is, but Kenilworth. Benedict had never thought it suspicious before, but after his conversation with Lady Archer and that disturbing scene with Georgiana, he couldn’t help but wonder if he ever truly knew the duke at all.
“Do you think he believed we’re…do you suppose the duke believes I’m your mistress?” Georgiana asked, once Grigg closed the door and they were tucked into the carriage and waiting in the queue to turn onto St.James’s Street.
“No.” Benedict didn’t see any point in pretending. Kenilworth’s suspicion had been plain enough.
Georgiana was quiet for a moment, then she muttered, “No. I don’t imagine he did. Lady Trowbridge seemed to accept it readily enough, but she’s an elderly lady. The duke is too worldly to believe such an unlikely story.”
Benedict was peering out the window, but the strange inflection in her voice made him abandon his watch and turn toward her. “What do you mean? Why shouldn’the believe it?”
She frowned at him. “You just said yourself he didn’t believe it.”
He had said so, but not, he suspected, for the same reason she did. “I know whyIthink he wouldn’t believe it. I want to know whyyouthink so.”
“Well, why doyouthink he didn’t believe it?”
“Because Kenilworth was likely suspicious of us before he arrived at Lady Archer’s tonight. Bagshaw will have told him all about our visit to Jane this morning, and Bagshaw, curse him, has a talent for embellishment. After Bagshaw bent his ear, Kenilworth was bound to be skeptical of anything we said. Why doyouthink it?”
“Well, because I’m not…I don’t look…” Georgiana waved her hand over herself, as if it clarified everything. “I don’t look like a mistress.”
What the devil did that mean? “Just what do you suppose a mistress looks like, Georgiana?”
She blinked. “Well, I don’t know, exactly. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one before. I just mean I don’t look like the sort of lady who’d have a protector.”
Benedict made an impatient noise in his throat. “I don’t see why not.”
She laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “Oh, come now, my lord. I’m nothing like Lady Wylde, am I?”
Lady Wylde? What did Lady Wylde have to dowith anything?
After struggling through an hour of the woman’s tiresome company this morning, Benedict could no longer recall why he’d ever considered making her his mistress. The red lips, the fluttering eyelashes, the exposed bosom—it was like hanging thick wallpaper over flaking, cracked plaster. Cracks tended to make themselves known, sooner or later.
Sooner, in LadyWylde’s case.
“No, you’re nothing at all like Lady Wylde.” And thank God for it. Lady Wylde’s voice alone was enough to curdle the blood of a saint, and Benedict was no saint.
