George was ready to walk out the door, shout To hell with extending the Stamp Duty Extension Bill, unhitch a horse, and ride away.
And where the bloody hell was Lilith?
The elderly Lord Harrowsby shuffled in, hunched over his cane. A serious young man attended him. Deaf in one ear, Lord Harrowsby spoke to everyone as if they were standing yards away. “Well, my boy, I almost lost my poor life on your roads. They get worse every year. Now I feel my gout coming on again.” He jerked his head toward the man behind him. “I bring my physician along since that bout of painful indigestion after the Lord Chancellor’s dinner party. Have a weak liver, you see. Vinegary wine brings it on every time. You never know what people are going to serve you.”
“How’s that weak liver, my lord?” an amused male voice said. “Still has you in the dumps?” In swaggered Lord Charles, with his father behind him.
Charles’s eyes scanned the grand hall before lighting back on George and his mother. “Lady Marylewick, you are still the most beautiful lady in London after all these years. Pardon me, I forget we are in the country now. And how could I after bouncing and bumping about those potted roads? I positively feel my gout coming on.”
“That’s what I was telling him,” cried Lord Harrowsby, not perceiving the joke was on him.
“Were you, now?” Lord Charles replied in all seriousness, except for his eyes, which were aglitter as when he was at Eton, enjoying the casual torment of another boy.
George made a point to keep his fists from clenching. “I shall send my man to see about the roads,” he replied civilly.
“Do that, my good man.” Charles edged closer to George as his father greeted Lady Marylewick and Penelope. “Where is she? Where have you hidden her? Are we playing hide and seek?”
“I assure you that Miss Dahlgren will come down shortly.”
“How she taunts me,” he mock-cried to the heavens. “All day I dream of—” He faltered. The cynical, bemused expression evaporated from his face. A low hush blew through the room, all eyes turning up to gaze at an elegant young lady dressed in pale gold standing on the stairs. A hot, dizzying wave rushed through George’s head. In his mind, he saw her as a picture, all dazzling gold, red, and light.
Lilith cursed herself for being late. Even after she dressed, she had paced the room. Her mission had been simple: get George to see his art and then go on about her life. See how wonderful you were before you turned into a flaming arse? she would say to him. See how your life could have been? Very well, then. There is nothing more for me to do. Ta-ta. Using her feminine wiles, she had gotten him to promise. That had been child’s play.
The problem was hers. When she had looked at him this morning, she didn’t see the George she expected. She saw George and lovely blue robin eggs. And when he kissed her breasts and his body reacted to hers, he was George and lovely light dancing on the water. Now as he glanced up at her on the stairs, she had to grab the banister else she might go tumbling down, head over heels. She had always known George was handsome in an empirical, cold, assessing way. George is handsome, and isn’t that a lovely rug. What a fine view from this window, and, by the by, George is handsome. His beauty assaulted all her senses.
She kept her head high and feigned the strength and confidence she didn’t feel, as she had learned to do during those first excruciating days at a new school. She forced herself not to look at George but at Lord Charles, who gazed at her with a predatory gleam. She stifled a groan behind a gracious smile and swept forward to greet the duke.
“How wonderful to see you again, Your Grace.” She curtsied. “And Lord Charles.” Lilith tried to keep from peeking at George, else he would flood her senses once more. Nonetheless, her skin tingled at his proximity as if he was touching her all over.
Lady Marylewick gave her little laugh. “I didn’t realize you were already acquainted with His Grace.” The edges of her smile hardened.
“I attended school with his lordship’s daughter,” Lilith explained, in the gracious tones befitting a hostess. “Did you not bring her?” she asked the duke. “How I would have loved to have shared a little tête-à-tête.”
“She was loath to leave my grandson,” replied the duke. “He is almost half a year now, but she refuses to part from him.”
“Of course she would be,” she said. “A devoted mother. And Lord Charles, you look to be in fine spirits. I hope the journey from London wasn’t too taxing.”
“Like traveling on a cloud.” Charles gave George a sideways glance, as though sharing a private joke.
A few more pleasantries managed to slip past before Lady Marylewick retook control of the conversation, at which time the duke noticed an acquaintance entering the parlor and excused himself.
Charles remained, taking Lilith by the arm. “I must talk to you,” he said in an urgent whisper. “Of the most serious nature.”
She wanted to resist, but she had to be careful. George needed the man’s vote. She allowed him to escort her to a corner of the hall, partially concealed by a black and gold Greek vase hoisted on a pedestal.
“Lord Charles, whatever is troubling you?”
“That you are magnificent. A fine performance. Brava, my dear.”
“Performance?” She had been lured away so that Charles could flirt! Now all she could do was patiently endure it until she could manufacture what looked to be a natural break in the conversation. She missed her old rag-mannered world where she could say Go to Hades, Lord Charles. Now she felt she was balancing on a spider’s thread.
“Yes, England’s most gracious hostess, and most beautiful, if I may boldly add.”
“Lady Marylewick is the hostess. I’m merely a family member.”
“Are you really a Maryle?” He leaned closer. “I prefer the Dahlgren. Exciting and enticing.”
She edged back, but smiled so she wouldn’t give offense. “Be careful, Lord Charles. You might be straying into territory others would call impertinent.”
“I can’t afford not to be. I must act boldly and swiftly. Look around, Miss Dahlgren, all eyes are on you, except for Lord Marylewick, the old boy, who prefers those proper, simpering, witless types. Ah, see now how this one curtsies before him, a shy, blushing, vacant young thing.”
Lilith glanced over her shoulder. Another family had entered the hall, this one escorting a lovely daughter in a trim blue gown, her brunette hair falling in glossy spiral curls. She blushed when George greeted her. Lilith felt a nasty pang of jealousy as she watched the girl, but she kept her features cool. She knew Lord Charles, who only played the charming fool, watched for any twitch in her visage, anything he could use to dig into her.
“That particular female specimen is Lady Cornelia,” he said. “This season’s forerunner in the marital race for Lord Marylewick.”
It seemed so obvious now, yet why did the knowledge suddenly strike her with such brutal force: of course every young lady of quality would be angling for George. The blinding light of the title marquess outshone the numerous deficiencies of his unyielding personality.
Why did this bother her? Who George courted shouldn’t be a concern of hers, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to stomp across the room and shout Just so we are clear on the facts of the matter, he kissed me on my breast.
“Now I have made you quite society’s darling to get you invited to this little party and keep me entertained,” explained Charles. “By Jove, I could not fathom a week of George’s dull political romancing.”
“This was all your little game? Why?”
“Do you not know?” He flashed an intimate smile as he set his elbow against the wall and rested his temple in his hand. “Can you not venture a guess?”
She remembered how George said that Charles had tormented him at school. She could see maliciousness lurking about the edges of his blond, wholesome face. The word “dangerous” drifted through her mind. “Someone to share your deep profound love of poetry?”
He tossed back his head. “Precisely.” His face sharpened. “Ah, and here is Lord Fenmore now. I think a charming little family drama is in the brewing. Better than anything Drury Lane can offer. Shall we watch?”
She spun around. Penelope’s husband ambled into the hall, carefree, roguish, as if the world were a big jolly toy for his amusement. Once he had been the type of young man to set girls’ hearts aflutter. No doubt in his mind he still saw himself as that wild, carefree buck, but his exterior didn’t match anymore. His fast living was beginning to show; his once chiseled, handsome features were bloated and lined.
Lady Marylewick greeted him by saying, “Lord Fenmore, has Penelope been so naughty as to desert you?”
“Lady Fenmore has been a naughty lady indeed.” He chuckled, amused at his pathetic joke.
Penelope glanced at Lilith. She could see the distress beneath her cousin’s composure.
Lilith didn’t bother to make her excuses to Charles but swooped in. As she approached, Fenmore’s gaze raked over her body in a way that made her feel squeamish. Poor Penelope.
“Greetings, Cousin Lilith,” he said. “I can’t venture too far in London these last few days without hearing your name.”