Page 60 of A Duke for Diana
Geoffrey glowered at Foxstead, which did nothing but make the chap smirk. They went off together, leaving Geoffrey to seethe. He wasn’t angry with Diana—he’d learned through the course of Rosy’s instruction that only very special situations allowed a woman to refuse to dance with a man. Hell, even if shecouldrefuse Foxstead, Geoffrey understood why she might not. From what he’d seen, Diana and her sisters got few opportunities to dance.
No, it was Foxstead whose neck he wanted to wring. The man had picked Diana just to annoy Geoffrey, because Foxstead assumed he was jealous.
Geoffrey wasn’t jealous. Not one whit.
Keep repeating it to yourself, and it might become true.
He scowled. Why would he be jealous of Foxstead? In less than two hours, Geoffrey hopefully would be the one holding Diana, kissing Diana . . . giving Diana the pleasure she obviously cravedanddeserved. The pleasure she would have gained if her father hadn’t driven her mother to leave and thus ruined Diana’s chance at a more conventional life.
That was what Geoffrey had come to believe had happened. The veiled—and not so veiled—comments of Diana and her sisters had implied as much. But there was no reason Diana should have to spend the rest of her life as some chaste acolyte of high society. He meant to make certain she didn’t. He might not be in a position to marry her himself at present, but he damned well wanted her to experience what marriage could be like, so that if Geoffrey did become free, or a man like Foxstead offered . . .
No, not Foxstead. The man couldn’t be trusted to be faithful to her, and neither could the likes of Lord Winston, the only other bachelor he knew in her world.
Well, that part of it she would have to decide. But now that he had the idea of marriage to her in his head, he couldn’t get it out. What if he were just to . . .
That wouldn’t work. He needed to do as he’d originally planned. The rest he’d have to leave up to her.
* * *
To Diana’s surprise, Foxstead wasn’t the only gentleman to ask her to dance. Two others followed him. Perhaps her performance with the earl had reminded them she’d been known for her dancing before the Incident had brought her and Verity’s romantic lives to a screeching halt. The men were both polite, so she felt certain they weren’t merely angling to gain something sordid from her.
Only Geoffrey is doing that.
Was he? She didn’t think so. Geoffrey wasn’t like any of them. Or at least she hoped he wasn’t. But it was ridiculous that she was finally at Almack’s, with a perfectly lovely gentleman walking her back to Eliza, and she could only think of Geoffrey and their assignation later on. She looked at the large clock again. Ten more minutes.
“Diana?” said a low voice.
Whirling around, she broke into a grin. “Winston!”
Diana introduced her dance partner to her second cousin, and her partner considerately bowed and moved away, leaving her to speak to Winston alone. Casting a furtive glance around to make sure Geoffrey wasn’t close enough to overhear them, she smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I was hoping you’d be here.” He nodded to where Rosy was happily dancing with another gentleman. “I don’t suppose her brother would allow her to dance with me. Grenwood has to be around someplace.”
Lord Winston had been a handsome man at twenty—with black eyes, raven hair, and a tall, lean figure. But at only twenty-eight he’d begun to look more . . . hardened, as if he’d been to the well so many times that his thirst couldn’t be quenched by mere water. Tonight, however, under Almack’s famous wax candles, he appeared more youthful.
Diana stared hard at him. “What is your interest in Rosy?”
“She’s . . . different from all the other girls having their débuts.”
She eyed him askance. “How would you even know? You met with her only once before.”
“Romeo met Juliet only once and fell in love.”
“And died for it, not a fate I’d wish on either of you.” She lowered her voice. “Are you saying you’re in love with Rosy?”
“I don’t know. I can’t even explain it, because I don’t understand it myself.”
Diana sighed. “You don’t need to explain.” She looked for Geoffrey but didn’t see him. He must have already gone to the stairwell. “Rosy and her brother are both different from people you and I are likely to meet in society.”
“They don’t belong.” He continued to gaze at Rosy, the way an artist might assess how to paint a portrait. “More importantly, they don’twantto belong. It’s rather . . .”
“Intoxicating.”
“Disturbing.” He cast her a rueful look. “Throws everything one believes into question.”
“That it does.” The clock began to ring the hour. “Forgive me, Winston, but I was just on my way to the retiring room. We should have a chat sometime soon, however.”
“Of course,” he said with a nod.
