The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 (22 page)

Jonathon raised his eyebrows and cold wariness hardened his stare. “Enlighten me then.”

“I’ll spare you the details. But basically Dashkov blames me for the death of his wife.”

Jonathon’s brow plunged into a deep scowl. “
What?
”

Rafe looked him in the eye. “I can assure you I am innocent. I had nothing at all to do with Baroness Dashkovna’s demise. It was, quite simply, an unfortunate accident. I would never,
ever
, hurt a woman.”

“But...” Jonathon shook his head as if trying to knock his thoughts into order. “Why involve, Georg—” His face grew ashen. “He wants to avenge his wife’s death by hurting the woman
you
love.”

Rafe inclined his head. “It would seem so. However I would remind you, this is all just speculation at this point.” The words printed on the back of Scherzfrage’s card suddenly sprang into his mind—the phrase ‘dash off’ was close to Dashkov. It could be a coincidence, however, Rafe’s gut instinct told him the choice of words was deliberate.

Jonathon stood up abruptly and began pacing back and forth on the Turkish hearthrug. “Christ above. Does Phillip know any of this? I can’t believe that he would...” He stopped and faced Rafe.

“Support my courtship of your sister?”

Jonathon lifted his chin. “Yes. And I did support you. Now I am not so sure.”

Markham felt a muscle work in his jaw. “Phillip will vouch for me. He knows almost everything. And really, isn’t it up to Georgiana to decide if she will accept my suit?”

“She doesn’t know the truth about you. What you are.” Jonathon’s tone was acerbic. Accusatory.

“No. No she doesn’t.” Rafe’s voice was weighted with a guilt heavier than lead. “Please believe me, I want to tell her everything there is to know about me. But, men like me...” He dragged a hand down his face as he struggled to find a way to explain. “Sometimes it’s best that those around us are kept in the dark. Knowledge—and by that I mean having too much of the wrong type of knowledge—can be dangerous also. Aside from that, I’m loath to burden Georgie with something so worrisome. Particularly if my current assumptions are incorrect.”

The scorn in Jonathon’s eyes was clear as he scrutinized Rafe over the rim of his whisky glass for one long moment. He threw back the last mouthful then placed his glass on the marble mantel with a decided click. “What measures will you take to keep my sister safe?” he asked in a flinty tone. “God knows she’s already been through enough with Craven. I won’t see her hurt again.”

Rafe breathed an inward sigh of relief. Jonathon wasn’t going to drag Georgie off into the night and forbid her from seeing him again. Not that he could imagine Georgie letting her brother dictate how she should live her life.

He turned his attention back to Jonathon and outlined the additional security measures he’d put in place around Rivergate. “Actually, I don’t know if you noticed anything during the week, but since the incident outside Latimer House last Friday, I’ve had a team of my men—all former Bow Street Runners or soldiers with impeccable records—conducting continuous surveillance around Dudley House and monitoring Georgiana’s movements. I’d started to think I was being overly vigilante as no one reported seeing a man fitting Riddle’s description. But now I am relieved that I did.”

Jonathon snorted. “Egads you’re a crafty bastard. I had no idea you had put any type of surveillance in place.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “So you have been seriously worried about Georgie’s well-being for that long?”

“One can never be too careful. I promise that I will double my team’s efforts in keeping an eye on Georgie. And of course, if you are still in agreeance, I will continue to see your sister on a daily basis. Not a single hair on her head will be harmed whilst she is under my protection.”

Jonathon dropped his gaze to the fire; he was clearly considering the situation and everything they’d discussed. At length, he sighed heavily and skewered Rafe with a gimlet stare. “If anything happens to Georgie, I will hold you personally accountable.”

“Understood.”

“And I agree that we should both stay silent about the matter until more information comes to hand. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but,” Jonathon’s expression softened a little, “I have never seen Georgie so uplifted. Brimming with life. I do not want to see her happiness crushed.”

“Nor do I.” Rafe’s heart swelled with quiet joy but he kept his expression suitably grave to mollify Jonathon. “And thank you. Again, I promise you that Georgiana will not be hurt. I care deeply for her.”

Jonathon gave a curt nod. “Good. She deserves nothing less.” He marched toward the library door, but then paused on the threshold. “Keep in mind, my warning stands. If anything untoward should befall my sister, it won’t be Riddle—or Dashkov, or whatever his name is—you have to worry about. It will be me.”

As the door clicked shut, Rafe sighed, his heart heavy with remorse and untold regret.
And I will not blame you for that, my friend
he thought to himself as he tossed back the last of his whisky.
If the worst should happen, there is no doubt at all that the fault will be mine.

And for that, I will never be able to forgive myself.

D
udley House
, Hanover Square, London. A week later...

“
Y
our Grace
, would you like to wear the silk bonnet with the tea roses and ivory ribbons or the wine velvet cap? Either would go well with your raspberry, pink and ivory striped walking gown... Your Grace?”

Georgie shook herself from her delicious daydream about Markham, and what they’d done in this very bedroom at Dudley House last night. She blinked and met her maid’s expectant gaze. “My apologies for wool gathering, Constance. I’m afraid I haven’t been sleeping too well of late.” She blushed when Constance pursed her lips a little; the girl must have a fair idea why her mistress was sleep deprived; not only had Lord Markham dined at Dudley House every single night of the week since they’d returned to London, Georgie had also dismissed Constance early every single night. But as usual, it seemed her ever-discreet and patient maid would hold her tongue.

“That’s quite all right, ma’am,” she replied in a neutral tone. “I just wanted to make sure that your ensemble would be ready in time for your... ‘er outing with Sir Jonathon and...” She bit her lip.
And Lord Markham
were the words she’d obviously left unsaid.

“Yes. Of course.” Georgie focused her wandering attention back on the hats Constance still held. Rafe had insisted she accompany him on a shopping expedition in and around nearby Bond Street today. To what end, she had no idea, but it seemed she was powerless to resist any of his requests of late. His company—and his love-making—were as addictive as laudanum. “The silk with the tea roses I think.”

“Very good, ma’am.” As Constance helped her to put the bonnet in place without destroying the arrangement of curls around her face, Georgie suddenly noticed shadows of fatigue beneath the young woman’s eyes that were even worse than her own. Despite the reduction in her evening duties, Constance didn’t appear to be getting enough sleep either
.

“Constance, are
you
well?” she asked gently. “You seem a little out of sorts also.”

Her maid blushed hotly as she finished adjusting the bow beneath Georgie’s chin. “Why, yes, Your Grace. I am perfectly well.” She gave Georgie a small smile then stepped away from the mahogany dressing table. “Shall I fetch the matching spencer and your ivory kid gloves? Or do you think you will need your burgundy wool pelisse?”

Georgie glanced toward the windows. It was overcast, but the clouds were high and the threat of rain slight for once. “My spencer will suffice I should think.”

Once she was ready, Georgie descended to the vestibule to find Jonathon pulling on his own gloves. “Hey-ho, sis.” He threw her an irreverent smile and winked. “Ready to spend a bit of Markham’s blunt?”

“Jonathon,” she admonished under her breath as their footmen—Perkins and the very well-proportioned and very recently employed, Lumsden—stood on duty by the front door. “Please, watch your tongue. That is not what this morning is about.”

Jonathon quirked an eyebrow. “Oh really? Don’t tell me you’re not anticipating getting a little spoiled this morning. Lord knows, you deserve it.”

“And what is that supposed to mean exactly?” Georgie demanded, her whisper harsh, her glare fierce. Jonathon must have guessed by now that Rafe shared her bed, but to suggest she deserved some type of reward or worse still, payment like a common harlot... Well that sort of thinking was beyond the pale.

Jonathon blushed a little. “Nothing at all,” he muttered, suddenly interested in the fit of his gloves until a sudden and decisive knock on the door drew his glance. “Ah, saved by the devil himself I suspect.”

Sure enough, Rafe was at the door. As usual, his wide smile and the drift of his gaze over her body sent Georgie’s pulse racing and her heart flipping. “Your Grace,” he murmured, bowing over her hand. “You are looking more than splendid this morning.” He straightened and inclined his head toward a still flushed Jonathon. “Sir Jonathon.”

Jonathon gave him an overly bright smile and rubbed his hands together. “Well, let’s sally-forth you two, and make the most of this morning. I think a bite to eat at Gunter’s could well be on the cards, if we don’t dillydally over this shopping business.”

Rafe raised a quizzical brow at Georgie as she took his offered arm. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Jonathon is simply being an ass,” she whispered as they exited Dudley House. Rafe chuckled low in her ear and she shivered with warm delight. It was moments like these that it struck her how close she and Rafe had grown within the last week. Only a fortnight ago, she would have been loath to acknowledge a connection with him. But now, as they strolled across Hanover Square in the direction of Bond Street, she realized she didn’t give a fig what the gossipmongers within the
ton
thought.

The only cloud shadowing the horizon was Rafe’s constant evasion when it came to discussing his past. Despite the growing intimacy between them, Georgie could not coax him into revealing anything more than amusing anecdotes about his time abroad. He never again brought up the topic of Solange, and truth be told, she didn’t have the heart to quiz him about his former lover. At the back of her mind, she was also concerned that if he did share details about his affair with Solange, he might expect her to reciprocate and confide in him about her disastrous liaison with Lord Craven. And that was something she could never do.

She’d never related the entire account to a single soul—not even Jonathon or Teddy. She sighed heavily; some things were just too painful to revisit.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart. I swear you haven’t heard a single word I’ve said since we left Dudley House.”

Georgie felt a blush heat her cheeks and she offered Markham an embarrassed smile. “My apologies, Rafe. I... I’m afraid I’ve been a little absent minded this morning.”

“I’m sure that’s my fault,” he murmured. “I’m interfering with your rest.”

“Yes... Well...” Georgie broke away from his gaze, scrabbling for a vaguely suitable response that she could safely articulate in public. They were ambling their way southward down Bond Street and even though it was early in the day, there was a steady flow of pedestrian traffic along the pavement, including a fair few familiar faces with decidedly inquisitive expressions directed their way.

Georgie chose to ignore them. “Where are we headed, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jonathon had wandered off and she could barely see his top hat above the bobbing bonnets and hats of the other pedestrians up ahead. He was no doubt making his way toward his favorite snuff shop or Hoby’s in St. James’s Street to pick up the pair of Hessians he’d ordered last week.

Rafe smiled. “Nowhere in particular, but...” He suddenly paused outside a gleaming shop window. Georgie gasped when she read the sign: Stedman and Vardon, Goldsmiths and Jewelers.

“I would very much value your opinion on a few items of jewelry I have had my eye on. Pieces that are purely for investment purposes,” he continued, his voice low and warm and his gray eyes shining with an emotion Georgie dare not put a name to. “Do you see anything you like?”

Georgie swallowed. Somehow she tore her gaze from Rafe’s and peered in the window. “Everything on display is beautiful. Are you after anything in particular? There’s quite a lovely golden fob watch up the back. And that gold and onyx signet ring to its right is very eye-catching as well.”

Georgie glanced at Rafe’s reflection and noticed he was smiling at her rather than looking in the window. “I’m not looking to purchase anything for myself, Duchess,” he said softly.

“Oh...” Teddy had given her many pieces of jewelry during their marriage—some of them were family heirlooms and many were unique pieces he’d had his favorite jeweler, Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, create for her. But never in her life had she been asked to choose a piece of jewelry based on her own taste. Because surely that was what Rafe was doing.

Georgie blinked away tears as warmth flooded her heart. “I rather like the look of the sapphire and diamond earrings over there.” Set in silver and edged by a row of delicate white diamonds, the teardrop shaped sapphires were an unusual yet beautiful shade of pale blue.

“You have excellent taste, Your Grace,” Rafe murmured. “But what of the matching brooch, ring, bracelet and necklace? Don’t you think they make a remarkable parure?”

“Yes...” Georgie had to silently concede the whole ensemble was truly exquisite. “But a set such as this would be worth a king’s ransom. It is too extravagant for words.” She placed her free hand to her throat, determined to still her wildly beating pulse, not sure if she was terrified or thrilled by the implications of Rafe’s actions.
We’ve only been lovers for a week. Why is he doing this? Sending roses is one thing but this—buying me jewelry—is too much, too soon. Isn’t it?

“There’s nothing wrong with being extravagant on occasion.” Rafe ran his leather-clad thumb over the sliver of bare skin between her glove and the woolen sleeve of her spencer, making her breath catch. “However, we have only just begun to browse. Would you like to step inside and view something else? I believe there is an exceptional strand of pale pink pearls, and an exotic black pearl from the South Pacific, at least the size of a quail’s egg. And then we could always stroll by Phillips. I hear they have a superb gold necklace featuring the rarest of rubies; I’ve been told the stones are from Burma and are a most extraordinary hue—pigeon blood red.”

“I don’t know what to say. Perhaps we could pass by my favorite milliner’s shop first, just a little farther along on the corner of Grafton Street. Mrs. Millburn has the most delightful velvet and satin covered poke bonnets in the window. I’ve been meaning to purchase one to match my new carriage dress.”

Laughter danced in Rafe’s eyes. “As you wish. Wherever you lead, I will follow.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Georgie turned and then froze, riveted to the spot. Her lungs seized up as if she’d been slammed into by one of the hackney cabs rolling by. Clutching at Rafe’s sleeve, she dipped her head to hide her face, and willed herself not to throw up or pass out or both
.

“Georgie?” Rafe’s voice was at her ear, his tone urgent as he gripped her about the shoulders to keep her upright. “Christ. What’s wrong?”

“Help me inside... please,” she whispered, her voice a ragged thread of sound. “I need to sit down.”

Without a word, Rafe helped her into the cool and dimly lit interior of the jewelers and guided her to a satin-lined chair beside one of the counters. Bending her head, she wrapped her arm about her waist and closed her eyes, trying to control her roiling nausea and the frantic pace of her shallow breathing. All the while, Rafe held her other hand, offering silent support and comfort.

When her panic at last began to ebb away, she opened her eyes to find Rafe kneeling beside her, his eyes shadowed with concern. “Would you like some water?” he asked gently. “I’m afraid the staff at Stedman and Vardon don’t have anything stronger at hand.”

She nodded and gratefully accepted a glass from a nearby employee. “I’m so sorry I’ve caused such a fuss,” she murmured after the man had retreated a discreet distance.

Rafe frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for, Georgiana. However, I want to know what happened.”

“I—” Georgie swallowed past her tight throat trying to think of something, anything to say that would sound plausible. Anything but the truth. She attempted to take a sip of water, but was mortified to see that her hand trembled when she raised the glass.

“You saw someone across the street. In front of the tobacconist’s shop.” The gentle tone of Rafe’s voice belied the hard look of determination in his eyes. “Who was it? You must tell me.”

Georgie drew a shuddering breath and somehow forced her lips and tongue to produce the name of the man she would always dread and despise in equal measure. “It was Lord Craven.”

* * *

R
afe cursed inwardly as hot
, hard anger spiked his gut. He’d suspected it was Craven that Georgie had spied rather than Riddle—Cowan and one of his other men had been shadowing the duchess, Winterbourne and himself since they’d struck out from Dudley House. If Riddle had been following, his men would have spotted him and intervened much earlier. And he doubted Georgie would have reacted so violently if she’d merely caught sight of the man who’d bumped into her outside Latimer House. She still didn’t know about the incident at the Swan Inn.

He watched Georgie as she sipped her water. Her face was deathly pale and her hand still shook. The passing of a decade clearly hadn’t reduced her emotional scars. He suspected they ran as deep as some of his own.

His desire to reduce Craven to a bloody pulp was stronger than ever.

“Rafe, you’re hurting my hand.”

Rafe immediately loosened his grip. “My apologies, Duchess.” Ignoring the presence of the curious Stedman and Vardon employees, Rafe pushed a curl back from Georgie’s ashen cheek. “Even though Dudley House is not too far away, I think it would be best if we hailed a hackney cab, don’t you?”