Never Judge a Lady By Her Cover: Number 4 in series (The Rules of Scoundrels series) (22 page)

He left her then, moving to Sophie, who was first shocked and then obviously flattered by his favor. Georgiana watched them return to the ballroom and take immediately to the dance. They were well matched, the handsome viscount and the nervous wallflower.

It was a pity that Langley could not give Sophie that for which she no doubt wished.

Georgiana turned away from the couple and took another deep breath, looking to the darkness, searching for solid ground.

“You won’t find me out there.”

The words sent a thrill through her, and she tried to hide it, which was more difficult than she would have imagined. She turned to find Duncan a few feet away.

She wished he was closer.

No. She didn’t.

“As it happens, sir, I was not looking for you.”

He met her gaze. “No?”

He was exasperating. “No. And as you came to me, one might believe that it was
you
searching for
me
.”

“Perhaps it was.”

It took all of her energy to hide the satisfaction she felt. “We must stop meeting on balconies.”

“I came out to tell you that it is time to leave,” he said. It seemed apt that the statement came from the darkness, as it brought a deep sense of sin with it, pooling inside her in a pit of nerves and anticipation. And not a small amount of fear.

“Farewell,” she said, willing her fear away. Wishing for more alcohol.

“I’m for the club,” he said, moving just enough for her to see his face in the candlelight that spilled from the ballroom. “I’ve a message for Chase.” He was all seriousness. She stilled, disappointment rocketing through her. She thought he’d come for her, but he hadn’t. He’d come for Chase.

It occurred, vaguely, that they were one and the same, but she could not think too much on that.

“Chase is not there,” she snapped before she’d thought about it.

His brows snapped together. “How do you know that?”

She hesitated, then said, “I don’t.”

He watched her for a long moment. “You do, but now is not the time to discuss how. It is time for us to leave.”

“It is ten o’clock. The ball has just begun.”

“The ball is half over, and we have an arrangement.”

“We did not have an arrangement that involves my carrying messages to Chase.” She heard the peevishness in the words. Did not particularly care. “I am not ready to leave. I am dancing.”

“You’ve danced with six men, nine if you count Cross, Bourne, and the Marquess of Ralston.”

She smiled. “You’ve been watching.”

“Of course I’ve been watching.” The information was pleasing indeed. As was that “of course.” “And I allowed you a quarter of an hour here with Langley.”

“You
allowed me
?”

“I did. And nine dances is plenty for one evening.”

“It’s only six. Married men don’t count.”

“They count for me.”

She did move closer then, unable to resist the words, dark and filled with irritation. “Be careful, sir, or I shall think you’re jealous.”

His eyes were liquid, the color of mahogany. And tremendously compelling. “Have you forgotten? Me, and no one else?”

“No, the arrangement was you, and not Chase.”

Mahogany turned black. “There’s a new arrangement, then.” This Duncan West was like none she’d ever seen – utterly focused, filled with power and might. And desire.

A desire that would be mutual if she allowed it to be. If he weren’t so unnerving.

“You could have danced with me,” she said softly, stepping closer.

He met her halfway, closing the distance between them and whispering, “No, I couldn’t have.”

“Good God.”

Georgiana spun around at the words to find Temple standing a few feet away, his wife on his arm.

“Christ, Temple, you have terrible timing,” Duncan grumbled before bowing. “Your Grace.”

Mara, Duchess of Lamont, smiled, and Georgiana did not like the knowledge in the smile, as though she knew everything that had transpired between the others on the balcony. And she likely did. “Mr. West. Lady Georgiana.”

“The two of you need a chaperone,” Temple said.

“We’re in full view of half of London,” Georgiana snapped.

“You’re on a dark balcony in full view of half of London,” Temple replied, coming closer. “That’s
why
you need a chaperone. Look at him.”

She did as she was told. Not that it was a challenge. “He’s very handsome.”

West’s brows rose.

“I…” Temple paused and gave her a strange look. “All right. Well. I’m not talking about that bit – though I assume a chaperone wouldn’t care much for such a statement – I’m talking about the fact that he looks as though he’s planning to steal you away.”

“You look that way as well,” she pointed out.

“Yes. But that’s because I
am
planning to steal
my wife
away. As we are married, we are allowed to do the things that people do on dark balconies.”

“William,” the duchess said. “You’ll embarrass them. And me.”

He looked to his wife. “I shall make it up to you.” The words were filled with dark promise, and Georgiana rolled her eyes before he continued, “Tell me he doesn’t look as though he’s planning to steal her away.”

Mara considered them, and Georgiana resisted the urge to smooth her skirts. “He does, rather.”

“As it turns out,” Georgiana said, “he is planning that very thing.”

“Good Lord,” Temple said.

“It wasn’t going to be quite so overt,” Duncan said.

“Well, she’s not going anywhere now,” Temple replied. He turned to her and cocked his head in the direction of the dancing. “Let’s go.”

She blinked. “Let’s go where?”

“I’m going to dance with you.”

“I don’t wish to dance with you.” She heard the petulance in her tone and couldn’t summon the energy to change it. She waved a hand at the duke and duchess. “Besides, don’t you have other plans?”

“I did, and we shall discuss later how irritated I am that you are forcing me to change them.”

“I don’t need you to dance with me,” she whispered. “West can dance with me.”

“I’m not sure that will solve the issue of him looking like he’d like to steal you away,” Mara said, altogether too thoughtfully.

Duncan’s reply was more forthright. “No.”

“No?” she asked, taken aback by his quick refusal.

“I’m not titled,” he said. “You can’t be seen dancing with me.”

How silly. “But you’re the man who is restoring my reputation.”

“Among others,” Temple interjected.

“You mean others like you?”

“Your Grace,” Temple and Duncan prompted in unison.

Georgiana shook her head, confused. “You needn’t call me that; I am not a duchess.”

The trio looked at her as though she were mad. And that’s when they all realized what was happening.

“Christ,” said Duncan.

“Are you drunk?” asked Temple.

She put her fingers to her lips. “It’s possible.”

The men looked at each other, then back to her. “How in hell are you drunk?”

“I imagine it happened when I consumed too much alcohol,” she said smartly.

Mara snickered.

“Why?” Temple asked.

“I enjoy champagne.”

“You loathe champagne,” Temple said.

She nodded. “Was it Marie Antoinette with the champagne?” These three would know.

Temple looked as though he might murder her. Duncan watched her carefully, as though she might turn into some sort of animal. “She’s responsible for the champagne glass.”

“Yes! The glass is the shape of her breast!” It was all coming back, if a touch too loudly.

“Christ.” Temple said.

“Perhaps we should limit the use of the word
breast
in public,” Duncan said, dryly. “Why don’t you tell us why you felt the need to drink in excess?”

“I was nervous!” she said in her own defense, then realized what she’d admitted. She looked to Duncan, whose expression had gone from surprised to smug.
Damn.
“Not because of you.”

“Of course not,” he said, meaning the opposite.

Temple looked about. “I don’t want to know anything about that. Stop talking.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,
Your Grace
.” She emphasized the title. She returned her attention to Duncan. “There are any number of men who make me nervous.”

“Jesus, Anna, stop talking.”

“Don’t call her that,” Duncan said, and the warning in his voice was enough to draw the attention of both her and Temple.

“It’s her name.”

“Not here, it’s not. And not really, it’s not.” Duncan and Temple stared each other down, and something happened between them. Finally, Temple nodded.

“William,” Mara said quietly. “We are making it worse. You are not supposed to be so …”

“Boorish with me,” Georgiana said.

Mara tilted her head. “I was going to say ‘familiar.’”

She was not incorrect. The Duke of Lamont was not supposed to know her well enough to scold her on a balcony.

Temple was quiet for a long moment before he acquiesced to his wife. It was something that never failed to impress Georgiana – the massive man entirely engrossed in his wife. He looked to Duncan. “You’re supposed to keep her reputation intact.”

“All of Society knows I have a vested interest in her. They won’t be surprised in the slightest by our conversing,” he said. “They shall think she’s thanking me for my hand in her blossoming acceptance.”

“I am standing right here,” she said, supremely irritated by the way the group seemed to have forgotten that fact.

Temple thought for a long moment, and then nodded. “If you do anything to hurt her reputation —”

“I know, I shall answer to Chase.”

Temple’s gaze flickered from Duncan to Georgiana. “Forget Chase. You shall answer to me. You get her home.”

She smirked at Duncan. “No messages for Chase tonight. You’ll have to deal with me, only.”

Duncan ignored her, extending his arm. “My lady?”

She warmed at the words, hating the way they brought her such keen pleasure. She set her hand on his arm, letting him guide her a few steps down the balustrade before she pulled back. “Wait.” She turned back. “Your Grace.” He raised his brows in question. She returned on Duncan’s arm, spoke softly. “The Earl of Wight’s daughter. Sophie.”

“What of her?”

“She is dancing with Langley, but deserves a dance with someone tremendous.” She mentally cataloged the single men in attendance. “The Marquess of Eversley.” Eversley was a long-standing member of the Angel, rich as Croesus and handsome as sin – a rake to end all rakes. But he’d do as Temple asked. And Sophie would have a lovely memory of the evening.

Temple nodded. “Done.” He and Mara were gone, returned to the ball, leaving no trace of their time on the balcony.

Her good work for the evening complete, she returned her attention to Duncan, who asked, “Lady Sophie?”

She lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. “She was kind to Georgiana.”

Understanding lit in his eyes. “And so Anna rewards her.”

She smiled. “There are times when it is useful to be two people.”

“I can see how that might be true,” he said.

“I don’t need a caretaker, you know,” she said, the words soft enough that only he could hear them.

“No, but apparently you needed someone to tell you when to stop drinking.”

She cut him a look. “If you hadn’t made me nervous, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Ah, so it was because of me.” He smiled, full of pride, and it occurred to her that to the rest of those assembled on the balcony, their conversation seemed perfectly ordinary.

“Of course it was. You and your ‘I am in control.’ It’s unsettling.”

He grew very serious. “It shouldn’t be.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, it is.”

“Are you unsettled now?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, looking down at her hands. “I am disappointed in you. I would have thought you’d have been utterly prepared for this situation.”

Because of Anna. He thought her a prostitute. Experienced in all matters of the flesh. Except she wasn’t. And as if their arrangement weren’t nerve-wracking enough, the idea that he would discover her lie – her truth – was thoroughly disquieting.

“I am usually the one in control,” she said. It was not a lie.

He looked over her shoulder to confirm that the others on the balcony were far enough away not to hear their conversation.

“And tell me, do you like it? Being in control?”

She’d made a life of it. “I do.”

“Does it pleasure you?” The question was low and dark.

“It does.”

His lips twitched into a smile, there, then gone. “I don’t think so.”

She didn’t like the way he seemed to know her. The way the words rang true – more true than anyone had ever noticed. Than she had ever admitted.

She didn’t like the way he took control for himself, smooth and nearly imperceptibly, until she was bound in his dark voice and his broad shoulders and his tempting gaze. She wanted him, and there was only one way she could have him now, here. “Dance with me,” she whispered.

He did not move. “I told you, dancing with me will not help your cause.”

She looked into his eyes. “I don’t care. I am unclaimed for this dance.”

He shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Ever?”

“Ever,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know how.”

The admission revealed more than she would have expected. He did not know how to dance. Which meant he was not born a gentleman. He was born something else. Something harder. Something baser. Something that had required work to conquer. To leave behind.

Something much more interesting.

“I could teach you,” she said.

He raised a brow. “I’d rather you teach me other things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as where you like to be kissed.”

She smiled. “Be careful, or I shall think you are trying to turn my head.”

“I’ve already turned your head.”

It was true, and she couldn’t stop herself from going serious at the words. At the hint of sadness that coursed through her at them. At the feeling that he was right, and she was ruined in more ways than she was willing to admit. She hid the thoughts with her best flirt. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”