Page 21 of The Season for Loving
She sweetly thanked him. As they walked past, Fergus swore the man gave him a wink.
Demented.The whole lot of them.
He’d intended to leave the door open, but Florian closed it with a decided click. Georgie let go his arm and breathed out a relieved sigh. “Oh, this is so much better. I was finding it rather hot and crowded in the ballroom.”
“That’s because you’ve been dancing so much. I don’t think you’ve sat out one set.”
Georgie paused on the way to her brother’s enormous desk at the end of the imposing, oak paneled room. “Goodness, Mr. Haddon. Do I detect a note of disapproval? Do you think I’m having too good a time?”
“Of course not. It’s just that—” He clamped his lips shut. After all, what could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a coxcomb? He had no right to be jealous, and he should be happy she was enjoying herself. Georgie deserved to have fun.
“Oh,” she said, her expression going flat. “You think I’m exerting myself too much. That I’m wearing myself out.”
He took a quick step toward her. “No. You should dance as much as you want, and have as much fun as you want. No one deserves it more.”
She cocked her head and studied him. “Then what is it?”
“Well, it’s rather stupid.”
“I won’t mind, I promise.”
“You haven’t danced with me, that’s all,” he said.
Her eyebrows flew up in a comical arch. “You haven’t asked me to dance.”
“I know,” he said with a rueful smile. “But there’s been quite the line in front of me.”
She studied him for a moment longer before giving him a smile he couldn’t decipher. “It’s rather splendid, don’t you think? I’ve never been the belle of the ball until tonight.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He sounded like a persnickety old bachelor.
With another enigmatic smile, Georgie flitted behind her brother’s desk. But instead of retrieving the Bible, she plucked a glass from the drinks trolley tucked behind the desk and poured a healthy splash of brandy from one of the decanters.
“Ah, what are you doing?” he asked as she took a sip.
She let out a sigh replete with satisfaction. The warm, voluptuous sound sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin, and he had a sudden, vivid image of a naked and sated Georgie sighing in his arms.
“I’m having some brandy, you silly man,” she said, coming round to perch on the front of the desk. She got comfortable, as if she intended to stay for a while.
“I didn’t know you drank brandy.” Georgie never drank anything alcoholic except ratafia or a small glass of wine with dinner.
“Only on occasion, and only when I’m by myself. Bertie’s a bit of an old stick when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“And he’s never noticed?” Given the eagle eye Bertie kept on her, Fergus thought that rather amazing. Then again, brothers were dolts when it came to sisters. They generally saw only what they wanted to see.
She wrinkled her nose in that adorable way of hers. He was seized with the impulse to kiss the tip of that pert nose then head due south to her lush mouth.
“I usually sneak down late at night, once everyone’s gone to bed,” she said. “I drink only for medicinal purposes, of course. It helps me sleep.”
He laughed.
“Then you don’t disapprove?” She sounded as if she’d been expecting the opposite reaction.
“Only that it’s brandy and not whisky, which is what any self-respecting lass from Scotland would drink.”
Her eyes softened. “I’d love to visit Scotland someday.”
He’d love that too—more than anything. “Perhaps you shall. Someday,” he said in a polite tone.
