Page 62 of His Wild Duchess
George smirked. “Care to guess?”
“Perhaps,” she mused, tilting her head at him, “You heard about it in a gentleman’s club?”
“That is quite a fine guess, I’d say.”
“But not right?”
“Lord, no,” he blurted with a laugh. “The time I take advice from a man who regularly frequents a gentleman’s club, like Lew’sand Crake’s, I’d hope you’d teach me a lesson. Set the dogs on me - I’m sure that would fix me right up.”
Penelope laughed. “I didn’t know you held them at such a low regard.”
“One day,” he said, “I’ll explain, but back to the game. I’m more than curious, now.”
Holding back her smile at the sound of him saying ‘one day’ and what that could possibly mean, Penelope tapped her finger against her chin thoughtfully. “It couldn’t have been a servant.”
“Final answer?”
“A servant,” she said. “Or staff. Well, now, I -”
George pulled his arm away, holding a finger up at her in a teasing way, a mischievous smirk perking up at the corner of his lip. “Now, now, darling, Ididsay final answer.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’d have you know,” he began, curling his arm around her’s once more, “I was quite a different man before I left for the New World.”
Penelope raised a brow. “What does that have to do with Vauxhall gardens?”
“One of the reasons why ladies of the Ton do not find themselves in a place like this, is because it is a common…hunting ground for rakes and their ilk,” he explained. “I, myself, found means of pleasure in my youth.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you were a rake?” Penelope asked, looking up at him with a gobsmacked expression.
George eyed her. “Well, Iwas,but I’d like to change my answer if it made you upset.”
She could only stare for a moment, once again surprised by the man she had married weeks ago. Each day, it felt as though there would be something new, and that gave Penelope quite a thrill. Her eyes dragged over him, and the idea of a younger version of him being handsome enough to act as a rake began to make more sense than it did.
“Truly?” she asked. “You?”
George laughed, though a bit of him looked unsure. “It’s true. Penelope -”
“You should’ve warned me,” Penelope teased, “Before the townhouse is suddenly flooded with love letters, practically novels describing the life you could’ve had.”
“If you’re ever in need of a good read, I’ve got a stack by my bedside.”
“Oh,” she drawled, “Let me guess: they help you go to sleep?”
George let out a loud laugh as he threw his head back, one hand resting over his belly. When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed to twinkle, a genuine smile lingering on his lips. His eyes took in her face within an instant, his features softening to longer he stared. As he opened his mouth, eyebrows raising as if to ask her something, the orchestra paused before playing their next tune.
“Haven’t you danced yet, Pen?” Fred asked as the pair came to stand beside them, breathless and red in the face from their exercise.
Winnifred clicked her teeth, shaking her head mournfully. “She ain’t got the windblown look that she would have if she danced.” Her angry stare fell onto George. “What’s a matter with you, Georgie? Ain’t you got manners?” She smacked a hand against Fred’s back sharply before gesturing at Penelope.
“Oh, right,” Fred muttered before extending a hand forward. “C’mon, Pen. Care for a dance?”
A part of her wished to look towards George, to give him another chance at asking her for a spin. Her hesitation only lasted a second, though. He had been given plenty of time, more than enough to ask for the next dance. Despite the disappointment and heartache that twinged at her heart, Penelope gladly accepted Fred’s hand, giving him the broadest smile that she could muster.
“Mr. Miller,” she said, giving him a dramatic curtsey, “I would be absolutely delighted!”
“Careful, now,” Winnifred teased, “It ain’t that hard to win that man’s heart.”
