Page 33 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
Georgina turned slowly through the book, taking in sketch after sketch of elaborate trailing gowns. Her mind drifted to the sketch Vincent had made for her. What would he think of her in a gown like this?
The thought was far too treacherous for her to continue. If she did not see her plan through, the only time Vincent would see her dressed up like this would be when he was marrying her sister.
Georgina pointed randomly to a sketch in the book. “This one. This one will be lovely.”
Why did she suddenly feel so flustered?
“Ah yes, very good, Miss Wyatt.” The seamstress beamed. “A wonderful choice.”
Georgina dared to look more closely at the design she had selected. Short, trimmed sleeves, and a line of fine lace at the neck. A delicate bow in the center of her chest. The gown was undeniably beautiful.
A gown befitting a duchess, she thought dully, doing her best to chase the thought away.
* * *
The morning after the wedding gown debacle, Lord Renshaw appeared on the doorstep of Thomson House, ready to escort Georgina on a walk around the grounds.
Despite the early hour, it was pleasantly warm, with a faint breeze rustling the trees. Georgina lifted her face to the sky as they stepped into the garden. The sunlight against her skin went some way to easing the chaos that had been roiling inside her since her afternoon with the Duke in his smoking room.
Lord Renshaw seemed anything but relaxed. A deep frown furrowed his brow, and as Georgina took his arm, she could feel the tension in his muscles.
“You are worried,” she said. “I can tell.”
Lord Renshaw sighed heavily. As they made their way past the rose garden, he looked over his shoulder at Georgina’s lady’s maid. Deciding she was out of earshot, he said, “I am rather concerned that our plan is not progressing as it should. Lydia tells me your grandmother and the Dowager Duchess of Levinton are continuing to push hard for her marriage to the Duke. I fear a proposal will not be long in coming.”
Georgina watched her feet as she walked. She wondered if Lydia had told him about their grandmother hauling them off the seamstress for wedding gowns.
Georgina was beginning to fear the same thing, of course. In spite of all that had happened between her and Vincent, each day that went by without him proposing to Lydia felt like something of a miracle. But she did not dare tell Lord Renshaw that. The poor Baron’s face was so contorted in distress, she was sure confessing such things would cause him to crumble.
“I admit things have not gone as smoothly as I had hoped,” she said finally. “But I know His Grace has no interest in Lydia.”
Lord Renshaw’s frown deepened. “How can you be so certain?”
And at once, Georgina’s mind flitted back to her stolen moments with Vincent in his smoking room. To his lips on hers. His hands on her body. His tongue moving across her most private of places, flooding her with pleasure. Fresh desire swung at her suddenly and she did her best to force it away. She felt her cheeks color. Prayed that Lord Renshaw had not noticed.
“Well, I…” She hesitated. “He has said as much to me.”
Lord Renshaw hummed noncommittally. “That may be the case. But does that mean he does not plan to make her his wife? Surely if he did not wish to marry her, he would have ended their courtship long ago.” His shoulders slumped. “I am afraid I am beginning to feel as Lydia does—that His Grace plans to marry her simply to appease his mother.”
Georgina sighed. In truth, there was a part of her that had begun to fear that too. But surely bold, self-assured Vincent was not the kind of man to just bow to his mother’s wishes.Why then might he be continuing this courtship?
Some unbidden voice inside Georgina’s head whispered that she knew the answer. Told her that Vincent was continuing to court Lydia purely to be in her sister’s company. But Georgina’s clear-headed, logical side protested violently.
How many other ladies do you imagine a rake like Vincent might have taken into his smoking room? How many other ladies do you imagine he might have made moan his name, just as you did?
This time, the coloring of her cheeks was so violent, she knew there was no way it could have escaped the Baron’s notice.
The man is a damnable rake, Georgina! Do not forget that!
And yet, she could not help but think about the genuineness with which he had asked about her life. The warmth in his voice when he had nudged her toward losing control with him. Did he truly show such an interest in all his conquests?
“Are you all right, Miss Wyatt?” Lord Renshaw asked. “You look a little flushed.”
Georgina forced a smile. “Yes, of course. It is just a little warmer than I anticipated out here.”
Lord Renshaw nodded to a wooden bench beneath a sprawling oak tree. “Perhaps we might sit and rest a moment?”
“Thank you. Yes.” Georgina let him lead her to the seat, and perched neatly on the edge. She folded her hands in her lap. Forced herself to return to the matter at hand. She turned to Lord Renshaw. Looked him squarely in the eyes. He held her gaze steadily, without flinching or looking away, and for that she was grateful.
