The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 (10 page)

She laughed, a mirthless sound, then arched against him, her belly grazing his already throbbing cock. “So arrogant. And I know what
you
want, Markham. It’s obvious. The problem is...” She closed her eyes and bit her lip. Then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

A tear escaped onto her flushed cheek and a strange combination of guilt and anger pierced Rafe’s heart. Whoever had hurt this woman, he wanted to throttle him. “Georgiana—”

“I haven’t given you leave to use my name,” she whispered, but there seemed to be no more fight in her. She tugged her bodice back into place, her movements jerky. Then she sagged against the wall. Away from him. The fire in her eyes had died.

“Georgiana. Why do you fight me so? I want you. And if I’m not mistaken, a moment ago you seemed to want me too. We’re both free.” He fisted his hands to stop himself touching her because he knew she would rebuff him. “Why shouldn’t we see if there could be anything between us?”

She sighed, and to his surprise she reached forward and cupped his jaw with trembling fingers. “Find someone else, Markham. I’m not for you.”

He dared to place his hand over hers. He wouldn’t let her go so easily. Not when his heart thundered like this and his whole body ached for her. “Promise me you’ll come to Rivergate. We had a deal.”

Another sigh. Infinitely sad. “All right. I’ll come.” Her hand slipped from beneath his and she gently poked at his chest like he was a naughty schoolboy. “But only if you give me your word that you will behave yourself.”

At least the light had returned to her eyes.

“I give you my word,” he said, inclining his head, trusting his expression was sincere. He suspected his definition of behaving himself was quite different to hers, but she didn’t need to know that.

She drew up straight and narrowed her eyes. “And don’t expect me to play cards.”

Rafe sighed, but he couldn’t hide a smile. “So many rules, Your Grace. A house party is supposed to be entertaining, you know.”

Her mouth twisted. “Do you want me there or not?”

He raised his hands in a placatory gesture and took a step back. “I promise. No more cards either.”

She nodded once. “Good.”

“Well,” Rafe took another step away and gave a slight bow, “I shall bid you adieu until next week then, Your Grace.” He turned to go.

“Wait.” The duchess closed the distance between them and laid her hand on the sleeve of his evening jacket. “I... I need your assistance.”

“Of course.” He waited.

“Where are the others?”

Rafe frowned. “Farley departed shortly after our card game. I left your brother and Phillip in the library, but that was a little while ago. And Helena, the last I heard, had headed up to the nursery. Another one of their children is unwell I believe. Young Charlie.”

“Oh...” The duchess worried at her bottom lip for a moment. “Would you mind terribly, if I asked you to help me escape unnoticed?” She gestured at her hair—her curls had tumbled into further disarray during their amorous tryst and her gown was noticeably creased. “I fear I am in rather a state. I can’t be seen by anyone. And I’m loath to disturb Helena or call on her maid at this late hour. I have a redingote—a black velvet one—in the cloakroom downstairs.”

In Rafe’s opinion, Georgiana looked nothing but beautiful even if she was delightfully rumpled, but he understood her need for discretion. “I will fetch your coat and ask for your carriage to be brought round immediately. Shall I also tell your brother to meet you outside?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you so much.”

She began to draw her hand away but Rafe caught it and raised it to his lips. “Whatever you want, you have only to ask,” he said softly. “And I shall make it so.”

Her forehead creased into an apparent scowl but she couldn’t quite hide a twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “You are a persistent devil, Markham, I’ll give you that much. But your charm won’t sway me into your arms again, you must know that.”

Pleased to see her spirit returning, he couldn’t resist throwing her a deliberately roguish grin. “Well then I shall just have to rely on my good looks, intelligence and wit to sway you instead. I shall see you shortly.” Then without further ado, he slipped from the room before the duchess could react; judging by the flash of annoyance in her eyes he suspected she might just actually be thinking about launching a chamber pot at him.

A
s soon as
the door clicked shut, Georgie sighed heavily then paced over to the looking glass positioned by the fireplace. Lord she was a mess; her cheeks were tear-stained, her lips were kiss-swollen and her fingers trembled as she vainly attempted to repin some of her tumbled tresses into a semblance of order. But worse still was the tumult of wild emotions and thoughts careening around inside her.

Curse Markham.

Why was he making it so hard to continue despising him?

He was arrogant, undeniably so, but he was also more than a rake; Helena was right. Handsome, witty, intelligent—he did indeed possess all of those qualities he’d jested about. But he also seemed—and she hardly dare think it—caring. Not only did he make her heart race and set her stomach flutter, he made her ache and feel far too much.

He makes me want far too much.

It would be far easier for her to dislike him if she’d been able to hold onto the anger she’d felt when he’d first invaded the room—when she realized he’d sought her out with the sole purpose of seducing her.

But then when he’d kissed her—ravished her—her traitorous body had responded to him in a way that had shocked her. Still shocked her. She could no longer hide from the irrefutable fact that she wanted him, just as much as he clearly wanted her. Even now she could still feel the slickness between her thighs and the insistent pulse of unfulfilled lust low in her belly. The problem she hadn’t wanted to admit to him—the thing she could barely admit to herself—was that she would always be unfulfilled. Desperately wanting yet never able to achieve satisfaction.

She hated feeling this way
.
Only half-alive. Half a woman
.

Markham could never find out.

The idea of spending so much time in Markham’s company next week, beneath his roof, was daunting to say the least. The possibility of exploring if there might be anything between them—as he’d put it—terrified her even more so. And she didn’t believe for a moment that he would hold to his promise to behave. The way he’d looked at her after he’d kissed her, when he’d declared that perhaps he was exactly what she needed—she hadn’t only seen passion in his eyes. There was a promise of… more.

He was tempting her down a treacherous slope, and only untold frustration and bitter disappointment awaited her at the end.

And she just couldn’t put herself through that. Or him.

Georgie, you would be a fool indeed to think anything could come of this
.

But how was she to get out of this mess? A deal was a deal. Markham was a determined man and he wouldn’t let her renege, no matter that his own promise to behave was likely a lie.

At least she had a week’s grace to think on it.

By the time Markham entered the room a few minutes later, she’d managed to compose herself a little more. Her hair and dress might still be in a disastrous state, but at least the cool and dignified Ice Duchess had resurfaced. “Thank you.” She was relieved her voice sounded steady when Markham helped her into her coat. He’d also brought her a light muslin shawl of Helena’s to drape over her hair. “You’re thoughtfulness does you credit.”

“You are most welcome, Your Grace.” Markham offered her his arm, then escorted her from the room. “Your brother is waiting for you outside in the carriage with your gloves and reticule. He also bid Phillip farewell for both of you. And you’ll be pleased to find that no one is about in the vestibule at the moment, not even the night footman.”

Georgie peered over the wrought-iron railing as they descended the stairs and confirmed that was indeed the case. “Thank you again, Markham.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

When they reached the silent vestibule, he released his hold on her arm to open the front door for her. “I know you are concerned about appearances, but it’s very foggy out there. I should escort you to your carriage.”

Georgie peered out into the night. Sure enough, a thick gray fog swirled about. The gas lamps flanking the bottom of the stairs were barely discernible and she couldn’t even see her carriage. Nevertheless, she shook her head. “It’s only a few feet away. My footman will be waiting to hand me in. I shall be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Markham’s brow creased in concern. He stepped closer—too close—and the rich, spicy scent of his cologne enveloped her, immediately reminding her of the kiss they’d shared.

Georgie had to stop herself from leaning into his large, warm body. “I’m sure.” That was a lie. She wasn’t sure of herself at all; she really needed to leave right now before she changed her mind and threw herself into Markham’s arms. “Goodnight then.”

He bowed his head, a mysterious, almost regretful smile curving his mouth. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Georgie lifted her skirts and stepped carefully down the stairs into the roiling, gray miasma. The dark shape of the carriage loomed ahead. She’d only taken a few steps across the pavement when something—someone—crashed into her, almost knocking her down. A startled cry escaped her as a man roughly clutched her arms. Helena’s shawl fell away.

“Pardon me, Fraulein.”

She had a fleeting impression of a male face obscured by a high collar, a hat, and a mess of dark hair, and then he was gone. The swiftness with which he released her sent her flying again. She stumbled back, grabbing the wrought-iron railings to stop herself falling.

“Are you all right?” Markham was suddenly at her side, gently grasping her about the shoulders. “What happened?”

“Georgie.” Jonathon, with a footman close behind him, appeared behind Markham. “What in God’s name? Markham, what’s going on?”

Georgie’s gaze darted between her brother and Markham. “A man bumped into me. That’s all... I’m quite all right. Maybe a little shaken.” She rubbed her upper arm and grimaced. “And perhaps a little bruised. But nonetheless fine.”

Markham’s gaze was as hard as steel. “Describe him. Which way did he go?”

Georgie frowned, puzzled at the intensity of Markham’s concern. “He was tall. Dressed in a greatcoat and beaver hat. Both black. Oh, and he was foreign—he spoke German. I think he went that way.” She gestured with a nod of her head. “Toward Grosvenor Square, I imagine. But it was only an accident, Markham. Don’t fuss.”

Markham ignored her and directed his next comment at Jonathon. “See her safely home.” And then he was gone, sprinting off into the fog in the direction she’d indicated.

Georgie’s mouth fell open. “Why on earth...?” The man had been rough, but it wasn’t as if he’d collided with her on purpose. It was impossible to see anything in this fog; he’d obviously been in a hurry and hadn’t seen her. Markham was completely overreacting by haring off after him.

“Georgie,” Jonathon grasped her arm and attempted to steer her toward the carriage. “Come. Let’s get you home.”

Giving up on trying to see anyone or anything at all through the impenetrable, chill gray cloud surrounding them, Georgie sighed then followed her brother. Although she believed Markham’s act of gallantry was unnecessary, she couldn’t help but be flattered by his concern for her.

The carriage had just started to pull away when a wholly unpleasant thought burst into her mind: what if Markham was putting himself in danger? A sharp spike of panic speared her heart. What if the stranger who had barreled into her was a nefarious character after all?

Their collision had been accidental, but why had he been in such a hurry on such an inclement night at such a late hour? There could be a hundred reasonable explanations for his haste and brusqueness, but still... If he were up to no good and then Markham caught up to him, what then? Even though she knew little of Markham’s past, he appeared to be the type of man who could hold his own in a physical altercation. But what if he and the stranger came to blows, all because of her? She couldn’t bear to think of it.

“Jonathon, get the driver to stop the carriage.”

“Whatever for—”

“I’m worried about Markham.”

“Georgie, I’m sure—”

She sat forward and rapped sharply on the carriage wall behind the driver. “Stop, Benson.”

The carriage immediately drew to a halt. As Georgie reached forward to grasp the handle of the door, Jonathon gripped her wrist. “Markham will be fine.”

“You don’t know that. Let me out, Jonathon. I don’t know why Markham felt the need to chase after that man, but at least we could ask our footman, even the Latimers’ staff to assist. What if… what if that man is dangerous?”

Jonathon’s forehead furrowed into a deep frown. “I seriously doubt that. This is Mayfair after all...” He sighed and released her arm. “But if it makes you feel any better…”

“It will.” Perhaps, like Markham, she was overreacting too. She certainly wasn’t going to leave here until she knew he was all right. Her heart still thudding uncomfortably in her chest, she unlatched the door and waited impatiently for Perkins, the footman, to attend her, all the while scanning the fog in the direction the stranger and Markham had headed toward. But she could see nothing. Not only that, all was deathly, eerily silent save for the rattle of the steps as Perkins let them out, and the jangling of the horses’ harnesses. She really didn’t know if that boded well or ill for Markham. Either way, she must find out.

Alighting on the pavement again, she picked up her skirts and started back toward Latimer House. “Tell Perkins to head for the Square, I’ll speak with the night footman,” she called over her shoulder to Jonathon.

“Georgie... Wait.”

Ignoring her brother, Georgie increased her pace, anxiety gnawing at her belly. Her breath puffed out in short, ragged spurts. Latimer House was just up ahead—the gaslights shone like beacons through the mist.

And then a large shape materialized out of the fog, directly in front of her. A man. Gasping, she stumbled to a halt.

Markham. Thank God.

He grasped her firmly by the shoulders as if to steady her before pulling her close to his hard, lean body. A dark scowl creased his brow as he stared down at her. “Your Grace, why haven’t you gone home like I instructed?”

“I...” She wanted to say she’d been worried for him, but the words jammed in her throat. What on earth had she been thinking? Of course Markham could protect himself. Animal strength and steely assurance literally radiated from the man. Heat flooded her face; she suddenly felt foolish and more than a little embarrassed. And vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny.

“You shouldn’t be here. Where is your brother?” he continued when she didn’t answer; there was a rough edge to his voice, and he seemed different somehow.
Annoyed.

A matching spark of irritation burst into life inside her. She lifted her chin, determined to brazen this awkward encounter out. “I won’t be ordered about by you.”

A muscle worked in Markham’s jaw. “Duchess or not, if we were anywhere but here, I’d tip you over my knee and—”

“Markham. You’re all right.” Jonathon appeared beside them. “See, Georgie, I told you he would be fine—”

“Be quiet, Jonathon,” Georgie snapped, pulling away from Markham’s hold. She didn’t want Markham to hear any more about her misplaced concern. Instead she glared back at him, the irritation she’d felt a moment ago blazing into full-blown anger. The temerity of the man was unbelievable. She couldn’t let him get away with his previous comment, incomplete or not. “What was it that you were saying, my lord?” she demanded with false sweetness. “That you’d like to tip me ov—”

“Enough,” he growled before taking her firmly by the elbow and marching her back toward the carriage. “Whilst I’m flattered you are concerned for my welfare, you really have no need to be.”

“Just as you have no need to be concerned about mine,” she retorted, trying but failing to wrench her arm from his firm grasp. “Why did you set off after that man? Did you actually catch up with him? Demand he make an apology to me? Chivalry is all well and good, but your actions… well, they do not make sense.”

Halting by the coach, Markham shook his head. “It’s half-past one in the morning and I really don’t wish to discuss the matter with you right now,” he bit out in a clipped tone; he was clearly exasperated. “Please, just get in, Your Grace.”

She turned and faced him, standing her ground. She knew her contrariness was now bordering on absurd, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “You are so… high-handed.”

The corner of Markham’s mouth suddenly twitched with amusement. He drew her close, one hand still at her elbow, the other at her waist. “You have no idea,” he murmured, his gray eyes glinting with a devilish light. “Right at this moment, I’d like nothing more than to lift up your skirts and apply my hand to your delectable arse for potentially putting yourself in harm’s way again. So you’d best get in the carriage before I do.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

The hand at her waist slid downward to cup her buttock cheek. “Oh, indeed I would,” he whispered in her ear, squeezing her gently. “But rest assured I’d offer to soothe the sting later with a kiss.”

A potent combination of shocked outrage and white-hot desire flashed through Georgie; her breath caught and her lower belly quickened as she imagined Markham doing exactly that—slapping her, then placing his lips on her bare behind as she lay across his lap with her skirts around her waist. Splaying her hand against the wall of Markham’s impressively wide chest, she only just managed to crush the urge to press herself into his crude embrace. Lord, the man was turning her into a wanton of the worst kind. How could that be when another part of her also itched to slap him back for his impudence? She must be going mad.

The sound of Jonathon and the footman returning pulled her out of her lust-induced stupor, and she immediately scrambled up the steps into the carriage away from a chuckling Markham. Thank God the interior was dark so he couldn’t see her burning face.

But Georgie could see his large frame, silhouetted in the doorway, even if she couldn’t see his expression. “Goodnight again, Duchess,” he said in a velvet-soft voice. Then he was gone.

“Lord, what a night. Too much excitement all round, what?” Jonathon declared a few moments later as he threw himself into the seat opposite her. “I’m done in.”