Page 79 of Lessons for Marquesses
Mr. Wolf’s mouth tugged into a firm, one-sided grin. The only hint of amusement he provided during the meal. Though he didn’t spare Georgiana one glance.
The conversation shifted to Georgiana and Mr. Wolf’s private match race. Bets were laid while Georgiana mentally ticked through her string to find her slowest, shortest, dullest horse for her opponent.
After dinner, the ladies left the men for the drawing room—the first time in her life Georgiana was forced to leave the table. Her father had always allowed her to stay.
Exiled to her sex, she half listened to the stultifying talk on fashion, a yawn-inducing summary of the London season, and who was marrying whom.
Lady Sybil shifted to Georgiana who stared into her sherry. “Are you to marry Mr. Wolf?”
Her glass slid from her grasp. She caught it as sherry spilled on her blue silk breeches. “No, I—I’m not.”
“My niece’s association with Mr. Wolf is strictly business,” Charlotte said.
“Oh.” Lady Sybil measured Georgiana briefly. “A fortnight ago, there was a line in the Gazetteer on Mr. N.S. Wolf and G. St. Clair.A Match Made in Racing Heaven,it proclaimed. The whole of London is in fits trying to discover the two of you.”
Georgiana flushed.
Oliver?
Who else?
She hurried to refill her sherry. “No one knows me,” she said.
“Indeed, they do now,” said Lady Sybil. “All those who count will be at your ball. And, I suspect, those who don’t, just for a glimpse of this heavenly match.”
“There is no heavenly match. Mr. Wolf and I are temporary friends. Perhaps partners.”
“Ah, I do think temporary partners are the best sort of partners,” the lady mused. “Give a man too much of your time, and he will believe he owns you.”
“Are you married, my lady?” Charlotte interjected, averting the scandalous connotations oftemporary.
“I was.”
Simply a flatI was.In it was everything one needed to know about Lady Sybil’s marriage.
The conversation turned to children, and Georgiana had the urge to pull up a pillow. She watched Charlotte and Lady Sybil instead. How they sat straight, away from the seat back. The way their hands lay like graceful jewels in their laps. The diminutive sips they took of their sherry.
Feeling a furlong past hopeless, Georgiana slumped in the chair with her heels dug into the carpet and fiddling with her coat buttons.
Exactly how Mr. Wolf found her.
With a quick look, he passed her to sit next to Lady Sybil. The lady batted her lashes. A fan appeared at her face.Follow me, is what the lady said.
Georgiana scooted to the edge of her seat as Lady Sybil swayed to the pianoforte and Mr. Wolf rose to follow. He bent to turn a page. The golden lady traced the movement with hungry eyes. She was flirting with him but the real question was,was he flirting with her?
The music ended, and Lady Sybil left the room. Georgiana dropped back in relief until not five minutes later, Mr. Wolf excused himself. She swore she saw anticipation in his long strides, a glow in his eyes.
Did no one else see what was happening?
Charlotte studied Georgiana with a pitying expression. “Dear, are you well?”
Passion stabbed her chest, a violence no stitches could mend. Sketching a bow, Georgiana tamed her steps to a snail’s pace until she reached the stairs. There she took them two at a time, leapt three at the top, and after a sprint down the corridor, pushed into her room as if surfacing from the crushing depths of the deepest sea. Throwing herself on her bed, she rolled the counterpane over her from one side to the other. She stuffed a pillow over her head.
She wanted to wrestle Lady Sybil to the ground and shake her brains out. If this was what being a woman was about, it was a wonder there were any of her sex left on earth. Feminine self-control was astounding. Men didn’t give women enough credit.
A thump resounded from the sitting room.
Georgiana untangled herself from the covers. Did she dare open the door without knocking? What if Lady Sybil was with him? She did not want to see that. But if she knocked and he didn’t answer, she would know.
