Page 72 of The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere
And wait, andwait, and wait…
It was coming up on nine in the morning according to the small clock on the mantel, and still Benedict didn’t return. Georgiana tried to distract herself, first by straightening the coverlet, then by arranging the dozens of small pillows into a neat row against the headboard. What might a courtesan need with so many pillows?
Five more minutes passed, ten, half an hour…
By ten o’clock, the walls of the bedchamber seemed to be closing around her. She paced from one end of the room to the other like a caged animal before finally coming to a halt by the window again, bracing her hands on the sill as she tried to calmher breathing.
For pity’s sake, where was he? It was a wonder the duke hadn’t found them here by now, given he’d had enough time to check every other place in London while she sat about up here like a discarded handkerchief while Lord Haslemere…did whatever it was he was doing with hisfriend.
She huffed and fretted through another fifteen minutes. Benedict had told her to wait here, but Georgiana couldn’t bear to remain in this bedchamber a moment longer. Who did he think he was, ordering her about? Well, she hadn’t obeyed any of his other commands, and she saw no reasonto start now.
Georgiana slipped through the door and made her way down the hallway toward the staircase. Either she’d see Benedict on his way up, or else she’d findhim downstairs.
But he wasn’t downstairs. The parlor they’d been taken to the night before was empty, and there wasn’t any sign of the butler who’d attended them last night.
There wasn’t any sign of anybody. Not Madame Célestine, not Benedict, and not any of the dozen young ladies who’d been entertaining the gentlemen last night.
Georgiana crept down the hallway and peeked around the door into a formal drawing room, but it was empty as well, so she turned with a huff and made her way through the elaborate entryway back toward the parlor. Perhaps there was a bell there to summona servant, or—
A soft gasp rose to her lips as she paused in the anteroom, all thoughts of Benedict, and servants and bell pulls flying from her head as her gaze caught on one of the scandalous paintings she’d seen the night before.
She glanced around, but no one was about. The entire house was as silent as a tomb. So she tiptoed closer, seizing her chance to examine the paintings without Benedict gaping over her shoulder. Why these paintings should fascinate her so, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was simply that such things were so far out of her experience, and…well, she’d always been fond of learning new things.
Georgiana stepped up to the first painting, blinked, then stepped closer, and closer still, until her nose was nearly touching the canvas. “Oh, my goodness, that looks like…”
Itwas. A fair-haired lady with an impressively large bosom was reclining on a gold silk settee, her skirts thrown up over her waist, and she wasn’t alone. A gentleman was on his knees beside the settee, his hands resting on the inside of her thighs, and his face was—
Georgiana slapped a hand over her mouth, her face bursting into flames. She whirled around, turning her back on the painting, but in the next instant she turned back again for another peek.
She cocked her head to the side, her brow furrowing. How did the lady get her leg to bend at such an unusual angle? And was the manmissing a hand?
No. There it was, on his…oh, dear God.
Perhaps she’d better wait for Benedict upstairs, after all.
But that wasn’t what Georgiana did. She moved on to the next painting, then the next, heart pounding, eyes wide, and her palm pressed to her lips.
Chapter Seventeen
“Miss Harley is an intriguing creature,mon ami. Not your usual sort though, is she? Wherever didyou find her?”
Benedict rolled his eyes. Why did people keep asking him that? “In my wardrobe, of course. She was hanging next to my waistcoats. My valet was appalled.” A rude answer, to be sure, especially to as devoted a friend asCélestine, but Georgiana wasn’t an errant shoe or a missing cravat,for God’s sake.
She was a woman. An infuriating, distracting, incomprehensible woman with the most alluring lips he’d ever kissed.
Damn her.
Célestine was far from being offended, however. She let out a delighted laugh, and placed a hand on his arm. “Such a sharp tongue,mon chère! It’s not like you, but love makes fools of us all,n’est-ce pas?”
“Love?” Benedict shot her an incredulous look. “Have you gone mad, Célestine? She’s the most uppity, sharp-tongued chit I’ve ever come across. I’d sooner fall in love with a hissing cat than I would Georgiana Harley.”
Much to his annoyance, Célestine let out another merry laugh. “Ah, so she is severe with you. But maybe she has reason to hiss. What did you do toearn her ire?”
“Not a thing.” Benedict’s lips twisted in a sullen pout. “Well, that’s not quite true. I did sneak up on her once and make her drop her jarof preserves.”
Célestine’s brow furrowed. “Preserves? I don’t understand.”
“I…well, it’s foolish, really, but it was dark, and she didn’t see me, and when I spoke it startled her, and the next thing I knew the jar rolled down the steps and smashed on the pavement. I also threw pebbles at her window to make her come down and talk to me, and I may havestolen a kiss.”
