“You are a widow, and a passionate woman, I believe. No one expected you to remain celibate. Though I commend you on your discretion, for I’ve not heard a word.”
His lips smiled, but in his eyes, there was a keen watchfulness. Though the drawing in the papers had been a month ago, surely the marquess remembered it. His efforts to be so generous made her throat tighten.
“Do you love me?”
His eyes widened. “I never thought you a romantic,” he mused softly.
She tried to smile. “One can be realistic and still believe in love, Andrew. Do you love me?”
“I feel affection for you,” he said gruffly. “I am attracted to you, and I believe we will have a pleasant marriage together.”
Pleasant. “I love someone. And the feelings he inspires in me are not pleasant, they are riotous. I want him and all his complexities with every breath in my body.”
He appeared equally fascinated and appalled at her declarations. “Upon my word, Georgiana…”
She stood. “I like you, Andrew, you are a dear friend. I married once for duty, and I had a pleasant marriage, and I was lonely within its amiable confines. I do not believe I can endure such a state again.”
He surged to his feet, a grimace twisting his expression. “I will try and be gracious in accepting your rejection. You are beyond charming, and now I regret I did not pursue you for an affair.”
She gasped softly.
A wry smile slanted across his lips. “Yes, I did want that, but I went the honorable route.”
Regret lay heavy within his tone. There was a flash of loneliness in his eyes, and her heart ached to see it. How they surrounded themselves with the trappings of the ton but were empty inside. She recalled the unhappiness on her dear friend Daphne’s face, who had fled to Berkshire and refused to respond to Georgiana’s letters. “If you are determined to select your bride this season, perhaps you could consider Lady Felicity Bramwell.”
He arched a brow. “Lord Stillwell’s daughter? She is a bloody wallflower.”
“She is very pleasant and intelligent, and I believe halfway in love with you. Perhaps a dance and a few conversations might change your perspective,” Georgiana gently urged.
“You are a good friend,” he murmured, dipping his head to brush a brief kiss on her lips. “I beseech you to be my partner on this afternoon’s curricle drive. Lady Agatha will find a way to become my partner, and I cannot abide her screeching and cackling laughter.”
Though Georgiana wanted to retreat to her chambers and burrow herself under the covers on her bed, she nodded. “I will, because you have been so gracious, my lord.”
His eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Allow me to escort you inside.”
So that she could observe Rhys and the delectable widow? “I would prefer a few moments by myself.”
He bowed and with long strides exited the garden. A gusty sigh slipped from her, and she lifted her face to the warm rays of the sun fighting valiantly to pierce through darkened clouds. A rustle had her spinning around to see her mother hurrying toward her, a smile on her face.
“Are we to expect an announcement at tomorrow’s ball?”
“Oh, Mother, I refused his offer.”
The countess gaped, and her eyes dropped to Georgiana’s still-flat stomach.
“My dear, you are not thinking clearly.”
“Mother, please, I know you and Simon love me and want what is best for our family and me, but deceiving the marquess in such a horrid manner is not the way.”
“That is the only way to preserve your reputation, sweetheart.”
“And if my child is a boy?”
“Then the marquess would have his heir,” her mother insisted stubbornly.
She walked over to her mother and lightly gripped her hand. “I do not love him, Mamma.”
Her mother scoffed. “Love—”
“Don’t.” She squeezed her hands gently. “You and Papa loved each other and had a wonderful love match. Both of you had great expectations for me, none that included me having a similar love and contentment in my marriage as both of you had. You were both selfish, Mamma, denying me a similar happiness.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed. “I did not marry your father because I loved him. It was my duty, and I grew to love him most ardently. If you married Lord Locksley, it would come.”
“I did my best to honor your and Papa’s expectations. I married a duke, our family prestige soared…and while my marriage was pleasant and amiable, I was never happy until I had Nicolas. He brought me such joy and continues to do so every day. I also have high expectations for him when he takes his seat, but I would never pressure him to marry only for duty and honor. I’ve been married for that reason before, and I was never fulfilled,” Georgiana said hoarsely, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I had a normal marriage, like many lord and ladies of the ton. It was a business transaction with mild affection. I met a man…a wonderful man who loves me. I love him, Mother. More than I thought possible to love another. I cann…cannot walk away from him, from a love that promises to be extraordinary, for the sake of duty and reputation. I do not want to form another alliance using my head or my social position, but with my heart. And my heart is irrevocably linked with Rhys Tremayne.”
Her mother pulled away and wrapped a hand around her middle. It took Georgiana several moments to realize her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
“Mother?”
“I only wanted your happiness, but you must understand you will never really belong in society anymore if you make this decision.”
Georgiana’s and Rhys’s expectations and connections were so different. All their time wouldn’t be spent in the bedroom, or on a desk…or in a chair or the numerous ways in which he had loved her. Their whirlwind affair had been about feasting on each other, and she had been reckless and irrepressible with her sensuality. He’d allowed her the freedom to express her desires and wanton heart without shame.
Something fierce swelled inside of her, and a revelation flowered. Loving Rhys, choosing to be with him, meant she would never truly belong again, not to her world, or his. In truth, the only place she would truly belong was in his arms, but she would be with him, a man who loved everything about her, and that was all that mattered.
Georgiana hugged her mother briefly before slipping from the gardens. She would find out Rhys’s room’s location, and tonight, she would go to him and dearly hope she wasn’t too late.
Chapter Nineteen
His duchess was unhappy. There were lines of strain around her beautiful mouth, and her eyes appeared haunted. Rhys wanted to gut whoever had placed those shadows there. Georgiana was seated beside the marquess in a landau, resplendent in a high-waisted yellow gown, with a bonnet to protect her fair skin from the sun and half gloves. How was she? His gaze dropped to her stomach. How was their babe?
Lady Chestnut had a finely turfed lawn that stretched for miles for racing. Several gentlemen had arranged for their high perch phaetons to be brought down from London, and others preferred very light curricles in preparation for the lavish entertaining races the countess had planned. However, the members of the four-in-hand club stuck to driving their elaborate landaus. The countess had set a course that bypassed her well-tended lawns and spanned the lanes of the estate onto the open roads.
Lady Wexham prevailed upon Rhys to be her partner, and he was seated with her in her curricle, the reins loosely held in his hands.
&nbs
p; “Today’s racing promises to be glorious,” she said with a tinkling laugh.
He shot her a glance, and she bestowed upon him a warm, pleasant smile, which came as a surprise, for he had tossed her from his room last night. He hadn’t been delicate in his refusal, as he had told her already he was not interested in an affair. He was in truth disgusted with a few of the married ladies who had offered themselves to him without reserve. Their hypocrisy would have been amusing if they weren’t so cruel to those who indulged in the same vices they did so avidly behind closed doors.
A peal of thunder rumbled in the distance, and he frowned. The sky had darkened, but the countess and most of the houseguests would not be deterred. Those who were not participating in the race were either in the card room, rowing on the lake, or picnicking on the southern lawns.
The path of the race was only about two miles long toward the village, then they would cross a small bridge and circle back to the estate. Several footmen had been placed in strategic spots on the race route to warn other possible road users about the race. Rhys admired the powerful but graceful horses he would encourage to speed. Only five curricles were going this round, and he was surprised at the jerk of excitement filling him. He did like competition. Another quick peek at his duchess showed her finally smiling as they were encouraged to move into position.
The race started, and they were off. All the curricles lurched ahead of him, but he did not mind. Though the spirit of competition burned in his veins, he preferred to be in the back so he could discreetly watch his duchess to ensure her safety. Not that he believed she was in danger. But he had always been a cautious man with anyone who mattered to him. And despite the raw pain that still lingered in his heart whenever he gazed upon her, she mattered to him more than anything.
They had not been racing long before a splat landed on his cheek. Lady Wexham cried out, “Drat, now we shall all be soaked.”
Several claps of thunder rumbled in the distance, and he cursed as the few drops turned into a heavier downpour. He gently tugged on the horses’ reins, slowing them to a canter. “I believe it is best we turn back.”