Page 8 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
Because he knew, of course, there was no way they would ever meet again. How could they? He knew not a thing about her.
He turned suddenly as something caught his eye. Draped over the back of the chaise, just beside his head, was a silky lilac mask. Vincent grabbed it, running his fingers over the long, fine ribbons, imagining for a moment he was tracing the soft skin of the mysterious lady. He tightened his fingers around the mask, then shoved it into his pocket.
At least if he was never to see her again, he would have a treasure to remember her by.
ChapterFive
Afurious pounding on the door of his bedchamber yanked Vincent from sleep. “Vincent! Open the door this instant!” As predicted, his mother sounded furious. Worse—she sounded positively murderous.
Groaning, Vincent grabbed his shirt and breeches from where he had discarded them at the end of the bed last night and pulled them on slowly.
“Coming, Mother.”
He heard the distinct sound of a stamping foot. His mother was a firm advocate of the dramatic foot stamp. Vincent imagined he would be on the receiving end of a few of them this morning.
Still, it was worth it.Before opening the door, he went to the washstand and splashed his face with cold water, in a vain attempt to brace himself against his mother’s onslaught. After a moment, he reluctantly opened the door.
The Dowager Duchess blew into the room like a tornado, a white day dress billowing behind her.
“How dare you? You promised me! And to think that you could disrespect Miss Wyatt like that…”
Vincent faded out, letting her tirade wash over him. Everything she was saying—or rather, bellowing—was right, of course. He had made his mother a promise that he had not seen through. And he had disrespected Miss Wyatt. Yes, he had behaved terribly. But all he could make himself care about was the mysterious woman in the sitting room. After returning from the ball last night, he had lain awake for hours, his thoughts overflowing with her. He was fairly certain she had also featured in his dreams.
“Vincent.” His mother snapped a finger in front of his face. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Mother. I am sorry.”
The Dowager Duchess narrowed her eyes. “You do not sound sorry.” Her gaze moved past him to alight on the lilac mask sitting on his side table. She marched over to it and snatched it up. “And what is this?” she demanded, shaking it in his face.
“I…” Vincent trailed off. “It is nothing of your business.”
His mother flung the mask on his bed and planted her hands on her hips. Her round cheeks were beginning to turn a curious shade of purple. Vincent was not sure he had ever seen her quite so irate.
“I see,” she said stiffly. “Instead of meeting the fine young lady you are to marry, you thought to spend your evening gallivanting about the place with some trollop!”
Vincent gritted his teeth. “Mother, I demand—”
“No,” snapped the Dowager Duchess. “I do not wish to hear it.” Her voice took on a cold and level tone. “If your father were here, he would be horrified by this behavior, Vincent. Do I truly need to remind you of the importance of finding a wife? The importance of an heir to carry on your title?”
Vincent closed his eyes for a moment, chastened. Once again, everything his mother was saying was right. As loath as he was to admit it.
“I want you at Thomson House first thing this morning. You have wasted long enough. It is time for you and Miss Wyatt to begin your courtship. And I do not want to hear another word about it.”
* * *
Georgina scrubbed a hand over her eyes, trying desperately to focus on the numbers on the ledger in front of her. She had barely managed an hour of sleep, so unmoored had she been by the events of the previous night.
For hours, she had lain awake, staring into the darkness, her body aflame and her thoughts racing. She regretted the kiss with every inch of her. Not because of its scandalous nature, but because it had given her a glimpse of a life she could never have. Up until now, the life as a spinster that lay before her had felt remotely bearable. But now she knew what she was missing…
How can I bear to live a life in which no one will ever touch me like that again?
After Vincent’s touch, her body felt alight; alive. Desperate for more. She closed her eyes, trying in vain to will the feeling away.
“Oh no,” Marcus appeared in the doorway of his study, a look of horror on his face. “Have I made a mess of things again?”
Georgina shook her head to clear her thoughts. “What?”
“That pained look on your face.” Marcus came into the room and sat in the chair opposite the desk. “It is the look you get when I have made a horrible mess of the finances. I swear it, Georgie, I have done nothing without consulting you first. And I did not agree to anything last night. Well, except for a boxing match next week with Lord Hargrave, but I did not think I needed to ask your permission for that because—”
