Page 20 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
Vincent tossed back another mouthful of brandy. He felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of seeing Georgina again. But he was all too aware of how treacherous that excitement was. There were so many reasons why he and Georgina Wyatt could never be. Allowing himself to look forward to her company like this was only going to hurt them both.
After all, if Mother and the Dowager Viscountess have their way, Georgina will soon be my sister-in-law…
He could not let that happen. The best thing for everyone would be to walk away from this courtship with Lydia and never go near Thomson House again. He would tell his mother that Lydia was unsuitable and ask her to find him another bride.
But Vincent felt incapable of uttering those words. Because keeping away from Thomson House meant keeping away from Georgina. And that was something he felt increasingly unwilling to do.
ChapterTwelve
Georgina and Lydia perched side by side on chairs in the sitting room, waiting for their portrait painters to finish setting up their easels. They had not had their portraits painted for several years, and with not one, but two, potential marriages in the works, their grandmother had decided now was the perfect time to commission new pieces.
“Tell me everything,” Georgina said to Lydia, her voice low. They had little chance to speak in private of their adventures in the park. The moment they had stepped back inside the house last night, the Dowager Viscountess had plied them both with questions and had not let up until they were both exhausted and ready to stumble into bed.
As far as the Dowager Viscountess was concerned, they had a perfectly chaste and ladylike afternoon with their potential suitors—and there really is nothing more to tell than that, Grandmother.
Lydia’s eyes shone. “Well, I shan’t tell youeverything,” she said with a wicked grin. “But I will tell you that it was wonderful to be in Peter’s company again.” She reached over and squeezed her sister’s hand. “I cannot thank you enough.” She gave her apologetic eyes. “How was your afternoon with the Duke? I hope it was not too trying for you?”
‘Trying’ is one word for it…
In spite of herself, Georgina had spent the last day replaying the events at the park in her mind. Over and over, she saw the Duke leaning over her, caressing her cheek. Felt his vise-like grip on her arm as he yanked her from the path of the oncoming horse. And over and over, she felt the warmth of his lips against hers, his broad, rigid body stiffening beneath her own.
When he had first traced a finger along the scar on her cheek, she had fought internally, trying to convince herself that there was no way he could feel an attraction to her, despite what his actions might suggest. But after their passionate kiss… Well, how could she deny such a thing now?
Georgina had never allowed herself to consider that a man would ever find her attractive. She was disfigured and damaged. That was what she had grown up believing.
Her father and stepmother, bless them, had always been achingly supportive of her. The Viscount had rarely spoken of her scars, as though they were of no consequence to anything. But even as a child, Georgina had known she looked different from everyone else. When she looked in the mirror, she did not see the smooth skin and radiant beauty that thetonprized in their young ladies. And she had known, once her friends started finding husbands, that she would never be so lucky.
Of course, Georgina knew that none of this sordid business with the Duke changed the future as a spinster she was destined for. But the very fact that he had seen something in her that was lovely enough to kiss—without her face being hidden behind a mask—somehow made that spinsterhood a little less hollow. And yet, in its own way, it also made it damnably worse. Because once again, the Duke had stirred that deep desire in her. That desire to give herself to a man. A desire she knew would never be satisfied.
To Lydia, she said, “If nothing else, my afternoon with His Grace highlighted just how unsuitable he is for you. But I am afraid I have not quite succeeded in scaring him away yet. Grandmother tells me he and his mother shall be calling on us today.”
“Yes.” Lydia sighed. “I heard.” Her face brightened. “Never mind. I suppose we can see it as just another opportunity to convince him that he wants nothing to do with this family.”
“Yes.” Georgina gave her sister a smile, though, in truth, she had little thought of how she might manage to do such a thing. At the park yesterday, she had spoken as openly and crudely as she could manage; had flung as many insults as she could in his direction. She had been certain it would convince the Duke they were not the right family for him to marry into. Somehow, it had only served to draw him closer. “I will do my best,” she told Lydia. But she had a suspicion that would not be enough to scare the Duke away.
And nor, she realized, did she want it to.
* * *
“Do come in, Your Graces,” sang the Dowager Viscountess, ushering Vincent and his mother into the parlor. “Thank you ever so much for coming.” The table was laden with an array of colorful cakes and biscuits. Vincent chuckled inwardly.
Lady Thomson knows the way to my mother’s heart.
He found himself glancing around the room, hoping to lock eyes with Georgina again. But there was no sign of either of the sisters. A younger man Vincent assumed to be their brother stood up from an armchair as he entered.
“Lydia will be down presently,” said the Dowager Viscountess. “She and her sister are having their portraits painted.” She gave the Dowager Duchess a conspiratorial smile. “In preparation for their weddings, one hopes.”
“Indeed.” The Dowager Duchess grinned at Vincent, not even attempting a little of Lady Thomson’s discretion. Finally, the Dowager Viscountess turned toward the young man dithering in the corner. He was fair-haired and fine-boned like Lydia, and he wrung his hands together nervously as his grandmother introduced him.
“Your Grace, I do not believe you have met my grandson, the Viscount of Thomson.”
Thomson held out a hand for Vincent to shake. He cleared his throat. “I thought you and I might leave the ladies to it, Your Grace. Are you much of a Whist man?”
Vincent smiled to himself. Lord Thomson’s nerves suggestedhewas not much of a Whist man. Vincent had a strong suspicion he could wipe the floor with him if he chose to do so.
“Sounds like a grand idea,” he said, clapping the Viscount on the shoulder.
He followed Lord Thomson out of the parlor and up the grand wooden staircase in the center of the house. As he trailed him down the passage at the top of the stairs, Vincent found himself glancing left and right, hoping for a glimpse of Georgina. Lord Thomson pushed open the door of the smoking room and ushered Vincent inside. He went to the drinks cabinet at the far corner of the room and pulled out two glasses.
