Page 38 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
He was off across the ballroom before she could even reply.
ChapterTwenty
Vincent grabbed another glass from the refreshments table as he charged out of the ballroom. He gulped it down, not really caring what was inside. He shoved his way through the door leading out onto the terrace. Stood at the railing and lifted his face to the sky.
The evening was cool, and he welcomed the chill of the air against his cheeks. He could smell rain in the air. The ballroom had begun to feel utterly stifling. Watching Georgina swanning around the place with the Baron of Renshaw had been nearly unbearable. His fingers tightened around his empty glass, and he desperately wished for another.
He knew he should not have been so blatant, asking Lydia about Georgina and the Baron as he had. But there had seemed little point in dancing around the issue. He had seen her watching him as he stared longingly after her sister. And he could tell by the fiery look in her eyes that he had been caught.
Besides, Lydia knew as well as he did that there was no affection in the courtship they had both been forced into. Vincent could not help but feel sorry for her. Knew she did not want this marriage any more than he did. He supposed his asking so overtly about her sister would not ease the animosity between them.
He let out an audible sigh, drawing the attention of a group of people chattering in a corner of the terrace.
“Everything all right, Your Grace?” asked one of the gentlemen.
Vincent forced a smile. “Yes, thank you.”
He had no idea who the man was, though the stranger clearly knew him. A stark reminder that for men of his rank, the ton was always watching. Waiting to see who he would be meeting at the altar.
Damn them all to hell.Vincent felt utterly stifled by his lofty title. Weighed down by the pressure on his shoulders.
Several times since the afternoon tea, he had considered going to his mother and telling her outright that he had no intention of marrying Miss Lydia. But he knew that, even if he squarely refused to make her his wife, his mother would only return with another prim and polished lady for him to marry.
I do not want a prim and polished lady. I want Georgina Wyatt.
But it did not matter how much he wished it, he knew marrying Georgina was not possible. His mother, and the rest of theton, would not accept her as his bride. And that thought filled him with rage. How could they not see how wonderful she was?
Even if he did dare to make her his Duchess, he could only imagine the attention it would garner. The gossip and barbed comments Georgina would be subjected to. How could he subject her to such a thing?
Was it true that Lord Renshaw planned to ask for her hand tonight? He had no thought of whether to believe Lydia. After all, he barely knew her. Had no thought of how easily untruths might slip through her lips. Begrudgingly, he could not deny there were times when Georgina and the Baron truly did look happy together. But then he thought of the ease with which they conversed, and the rebellious spirit they shared. Thought of her body writhing beneath him. Thought of her moaning his name as pleasure consumed her.
Could she really have behaved in such a way if she were so taken with another man?
“Ah, there you are, Your Grace.”
Vincent turned to see Marcus Wyatt striding toward him. The Viscount’s chest was puffed out, and he had a broad smile on his face. He looked a far different man from the one who had tried to warn him on his best behavior during their nonexistent Whist game.
Vincent gave him a nod of greeting; he could not even manage a smile. “You were looking for me?” he asked tautly.
The Viscount raised the glass he was carrying and clinked it clumsily against the empty one in Vincent’s hand. “I was simply coming to see if you had heard the good news about my sister. I thought it only right that you hear the news from me, given we are soon to be brothers-in-law.” His smile broadened. “Lord Renshaw came to me earlier today, asking for my permission to marry Georgina.”
Vincent felt as though he had been struck in the stomach. Lydia’s airy presumptions were one thing, but hearing such a confirmation from Lord Thomson made this all too real. He brought the glass to his lips, hoping for a few thin dregs of brandy.
How can she marry another man when she has such feelings for me?
The way her body responded to his, the way she kissed him so passionately, the way his name escaped on her breath as he pleasured her—Vincent knew with certainty that all of those things were real. For weeks he had suspected some kind of game, some kind of deception involving the Wyatt sisters. But Georgina’s feelings for him were genuine. He had no doubt.
But what did that matter? Georgina was about to become another man’s wife. A man not restrained by the pressure of a dukedom, or the stifling weight of producing an heir before his life slipped away from him.
Vincent closed his eyes, hit with a rush of blinding anger. Anger at Lord Renshaw. Anger at Lord Thomson, for delivering this painful news. Anger at the world for the hand he had been dealt. Not only would he be forced to marry Lydia, but he would also have to spend the rest of his life with Georgina and her new husband on the fringes.
Suddenly remembering himself, he opened his eyes and gave Lord Thomson a thin smile. “That is wonderful news. I hope they will be very happy together.”
* * *
Georgina looked up to see Lydia barreling across the ballroom toward her, a look of horror on her face.
She dropped Lord Renshaw’s hand. “Lydia? Whatever has happened? Are you all right?”
