Never Judge a Lady By Her Cover: Number 4 in series (The Rules of Scoundrels series) (21 page)

“Oho, she’s a lady now? The
whore
” – he emphasized his crass wording – “must be tremendous between the sheets if you’re elevating her so far.” Tremley looked back at him. “I don’t care what you do to her. But she’s Chase’s whore first and foremost. And you’ll get me his identity.”

One day he would destroy this man, and it would feel glorious.

The earl seemed to hear the unspoken thought. “You loathe it, don’t you?” he said, watching West carefully. “You hate that I have so much power over you. That with a single breath, I could ruin you. That you are beholden to me. Forever.”

Hate was too easy a word for what West felt for Tremley. “Forever is a very long time.”

“Indeed, you would learn the truth of that statement if you were ever found out. I am told that forever in prison is even longer of a time.”

“And if I cannot get you his identity?”

Tremley looked away and West followed his gaze, the way it flickered over the
ton
, finding his wife in the throngs of dancers. West noticed the lady’s eye, yellowed around the edge. It took a moment to realize that Tremley was not in fact looking at his wife; her partner turned her, revealing the couple behind. The
woman
behind.

Cynthia.

“She’s a pretty girl.”

West’s blood ran cold at the threat. “She stays out of it. That’s always been the deal.”

“It was. It still is. After all, the poor thing doesn’t know the truth about her perfect brother, does she? What you did? What you took?”

The words were a cold, brilliantly crafted threat. West did not look to the earl. Could not guarantee that if he did, he would not assault the man. Instead, he took the words Tremley spoke. “It would be a pity if she were told the truth. What would she think of you then? Her unimpeachable brother?”

It was a perfect threat. Not empty in any way. It did not threaten West’s future. It was enough to keep him under Tremley’s thumb without being enough to force Tremley to make good on the larger, constant threat that hung between them.

He did not threaten to reveal West’s secrets.

He threatened to reveal Cynthia’s.

“You cannot save all the women in the world, Jamie.”

Anger flared, hot and nearly unbearable. He spoke, a low, dark promise. “I will wreck you someday. I shall do it for me, yes, but for everyone else you’ve ever hurt.”

Tremley smirked. “Such a hero. Tilting at windmills. Still the boy who cannot win.” The words were designed to make Duncan feel powerless. “I don’t care how much money or influence you have, Jamie, I’ve the protection of a king. And your freedom exists only through my benevolence.”

With the words, Duncan was a child once more, furious and eager for a fight. Desperate to win. So desperate for a different life that he was willing to steal one.

He did not reply.

“That’s what I thought,” said the other man, taking his leave.

West watched him as he approached a young woman, a duke’s daughter, just out, and asked her to dance. She smiled and accepted the offer, sinking into a deep curtsy, knowing that a turn with the Earl of Tremley, who held King William’s ear, would only increase her value.

It was ironic that the aristocracy did not notice the filth among them – only its title.

He needed to know what Chase knew about Tremley.

Immediately.

She’d had too much to drink.

It was unplanned. Unexpected, even. Indeed, she could drink scotch with the best of them. She
had
drunk scotch with the best of them.

But tonight, she’d had too much champagne. And champagne, as everyone who had lived since Marie Antoinette knew, was perfume going in and something altogether different once it got there.

She paused. Was it Marie Antoinette with the champagne?

It did not matter. What mattered was that she had had too much champagne, and now she was expected to dance. And later, she would be expected to do other things entirely.

Things she wanted to do. With Duncan West.

Things she’d
asked
to do.

Things she was terrified of doing incorrectly.
 

But all those thoughts were for a different time. Now, all she had to do was dance.

Thank heavens that Viscount Langley was an excellent dancer.

It should not have come as a surprise, as he was exceedingly well bred – charming and amusing and more than willing to keep up his end of the conversation – but Georgiana was always surprised when the viscount whirled her across the ballroom without a single misstep, ignoring the fact that she was not an exceedingly talented follower at this point in the evening.

She didn’t think she’d ever danced with someone so clearly athletic.

She had enjoyed it in the past, and might have done so this evening if she hadn’t had too much champagne, which she would never have done if she weren’t so damn focused on another man, who was not dancing. Indeed, Duncan West had not moved from his post at one end of the ballroom since he’d arrived at Beaufetheringstone House an hour earlier. And his lack of motion was making it quite difficult for her to watch him without being caught.

Nonetheless, she met his gaze across the room, excitement and nervousness spiraling in the pit of her stomach.

Tonight was tomorrow night.

I am in control.
 

The thought of his words from the prior evening, of their promise, sent a wash of color across her cheeks. She tore her gaze away.

Good Lord. It was possible she’d made a terrible mistake in making such a bold, brazen suggestion. Now she was going to have to go through with it.

She’d never simultaneously wanted and been terrified of something so much.

“What has you so interested in Duncan West?”

And it was clearly, thoroughly obvious.

She turned her gaze to Lord Langley, affecting surprise. “My lord?”

Langley smiled, all affability. “I am not without powers of observation.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His brows rose. “You only make the situation more curious with your protests.” She let him twirl her across the room, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. He did not wait for her to find her words, continuing. “I suppose it is gratitude?”

“My lord?” This time she did not have to affect anything. Duncan West was making her terribly nervous simply by breathing. Why would she be grateful for that?

“He is doing excellent work in bringing your qualities to the attention of the
ton
.” He smiled, self-deprecating. “I suppose that when West is done, you shan’t even give me a second look.”

It seemed that Langley noticed more than she’d given him credit for. “I doubt that, my lord,” she said. “Indeed, it is you who condescends to be seen with me.”

He smiled. “You are very good at that.”

“At what?”

“At making it seem as though I am a catch.”

“You are a catch,” she insisted.

He smiled, and she recognized the irony that others would not see.
Chase
recognized the irony. “I am no such thing. I’m impoverished. Can barely afford the shoes on my feet.”

She made a show of looking down at them. “They are exceedingly well polished, if for the holes.” When he laughed, she added, “My lord, I am said to be impoverished in any number of other ways – ways that cannot be so easily rectified.”

He watched her carefully. “Then I am to be grateful for the title?”

“I would be.” The words were out before she could stop them. Before she could realize how many different and inappropriate ways they could be taken. “I did not mean —”

He smiled. “I know what you meant.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you do. I merely meant that any number of others would happily trade places with you.”

“Do you know anyone?” He smirked.

Her gaze flickered over his shoulder again, to the place in the crowd where Duncan West’s golden hair gleamed, his height making him thoroughly visible. She wondered – if he could trade it, would he take the title?

If he had a title —
 

She did not allow herself to finish the thought. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Aha,” he announced. “So you admit that titles are not all they are cracked up to be.”

She smiled. “They do seem to be a great deal of requirement and obligation.”

“I was not supposed to have the obligation,” he said, wistfully.

“Damn distant infertile cousins,” she said, her hand flying to her lips to stop the words after they’d been spoken.

He laughed loud enough to draw attention from fellow dancers. “You are more than you seem, Lady Georgiana.”

She thought of the file in her office. Disliked the guilt that came with the idea that she might have to use it to win him. She smiled up at him. “As are you, my lord.”

He grew quiet at that, and she wondered if he realized what she was saying. What she knew. What she was willing to use if need be.

Her gaze flickered to West, still standing sentry, this time with a companion.

Tremley.
 

She would have barely noticed their conversation a week earlier – but now, there was something about them, about the way Tremley smiled that smile that did not reach his eyes, and the way West stood, strangely stiff, unsettled.

She owed West the information on Tremley – the file now filled with the secrets his wife had shared. But now, watching them together, she wondered at their connection. Why was he so interested in the earl? How had he known there were such secrets to be had?

Something unsettling curled through her as she watched, and then the dance required a turn, and she exhaled her irritation at this world, where she was beholden to custom instead of her own curiosity.

They were at the edge of the room now, near to the doors that stood open onto a crowded balcony. Langley looked down at her. “Shall we take some air?”

It was possible Langley had noticed that she’d overimbibed.

And perhaps it was a good thing that he had, as outside would distract her from Duncan West, and anything that distracted her from Duncan West this evening was a good thing.

Langley guided her to the edge of the ballroom, past a lone woman standing at its edge – Lady Mary Ashehollow, alone, bereft of suitors. Georgiana experienced a slight tinge of remorse at the young woman’s sad eyes.

She paused on Langley’s arm. “Lady Mary,” she acknowledged, willing the girl to show some remorse.

The girl scowled and turned her back on Georgiana, an undeniable, public cut direct.

Georgiana raised a brow, and returned her attention to Langley, who had been shocked by the interaction. They pushed outside onto a balcony, where half a dozen people played chaperone. He walked her to the balustrade, away from the others, and she placed her hands on the stone, drawing a deep breath of cool air, hoping it would stop her spinning head.

“Is that normal?” he asked after a moment. “The rudeness?”

“It’s never been quite so obvious,” she said. “But Lady Mary might have a slightly more understandable reason for it.”

He nodded, then asked, “Did she deserve it?”

“Deserve what?”

“Whatever you did to make her angry.”

“She did, rather,” Georgiana said.

She deserved it more than you would.
 

She left the last unsaid.

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Langley went on. “The playacting?”

She looked to him, registered the understanding in his gaze. He acted, as well. Every moment. She smiled. “It is, rather.”

He leaned back against the balustrade and indicated the group of women at the far end of the balcony, a collection of them, now whispering. “They are discussing us.”

She looked over to them. “No doubt they are wondering what I’ve done to win you out here into such a clandestine moment.”

He leaned in. “And wondering if they might witness something scandalous.”

“Poor girls,” she said. “They won’t.”

“Poor girls?” he feigned affront. “Poor me!”

She laughed at the words, even as she knew he didn’t mean them, drawing more overt glances from the young women. Perhaps it would not be so bad to marry Langley. Perhaps he would make a good companion. Charming and entertaining. Kind. Clever.

But lacking in any attraction.

Lacking in any
possibility
of attraction.

Which was what had made him so perfect. Indeed, attraction had only ever been the source of her trouble.

She was best without it, and the events of the last week proved that. Without it – without the way Duncan West made her feel – she would not be so topsy-turvy. He would not have such unnerving power over her.

She should not be
thinking of West
, dammit. On what was to come that evening. On the promises he’d made, dark and sinful and wicked. On the promises she’d made, to give in. And why not give in? Now, once. Why not allow herself the pleasure of him? The experience with him? And why not then retreat, quietly, to a life as Viscountess Langley?

She had to be asked to be Viscountess Langley, first.

And that was not going to happen tonight.

Another girl stepped onto the balcony, one whom Georgiana recognized. It was Sophie, the daughter of the Earl of Wight, her champion from the other night.

She was alone, clearly exiled by her friends, no doubt for her defense of Georgiana. And the poor thing looked lost.

Georgiana turned to Langley, wanting to end this moment. Wanting to release him from her web. “You should dance with her,” she said. “She’s sweet. She could use the support.”

He raised a brow. “From an impoverished viscount?”

“From a handsome, kind gentleman.” It was an apology, but he did not know it. An apology for the way she used him. For the way she was willing to use him. She nodded in Sophie’s direction. “Dance with her. I shall be fine here. It’s nice to have the fresh air.”

He cut her a look, his first acknowledgment of her inebriated state. “I imagine it is.”

She shook her head. “I am sorry.”

“No apologies necessary. Lord knows I’ve needed that particular brand of courage once or twice with the
ton
myself.” He bowed, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to her gloved knuckles. “As my lady wishes.”