The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 (23 page)

Georgie nodded and offered a weak smile. “Yes. I suspect you may be right.” Her expression changed, her forehead creasing into a slight frown. “But what of Jonathon? I don’t wish to worry him.”

Bugger Jonathon
. Rafe bit back what he really wanted to say and instead replied, “I am sure your brother will work out we have returned to Dudley House before too long. And we can always send one of your footmen to find him.”
Or one of my men.

Georgie acquiesced and within the space of ten minutes, Rafe was escorting her into the drawing room of Dudley House. Despite his grim mood, he smiled when he saw the arrangement of pale pink roses he’d sent this morning taking pride of place on the mahogany table near the window. He fervently hoped Georgie would accept the other gift he’d planned when the right moment came. Unfortunately that wasn’t going to be today, no thanks to bloody Craven.

After Georgie had taken a seat before the fire, Rafe poured them both a rather sizeable brandy.

“Brandy? At this hour?” Georgie’s nose wrinkled with displeasure. “I’d much prefer tea.”

Rafe smiled as she took the glass from him anyway. It was reassuring to see her spirit returning. “You’ve had a rather large shock and I’d prefer to see some color restored to your cheeks before we order tea.”

Georgie scowled at him, but he knew it was only a half-hearted attempt at indignation. “You are so—”

“Attentive?” Rafe suggested with a smile as he took the bergère armchair beside hers.

She laughed a little. “I was going to say domineering, but for once I will concede that yes, you are without a doubt attentive,” the expression in her blue eyes softened imperceptibly as she regarded him, “and understanding.”

Even though a hard knot of anger still tightened his gut, Rafe felt his heart swell at the compliment. “I would do anything for you, you know that, don’t you, Georgiana?”

A blush crept over her cheeks. “I... I know you care for me,” she whispered.

“If I could ease your pain...” Rafe barely resisted the urge to pull Georgie into his arms. The words he longed to say to her were on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them back. Even though he risked upsetting Georgie all over again, he had to find out more about Craven. “I know it is probably none of my business, but to see you so affected by the mere sight of that man, I can’t help but wonder what happened—”

Rafe clamped his jaw shut at the moment Georgie’s gaze slipped from his. When he saw how tightly her slender fingers gripped her brandy glass and the arm of her chair, he inwardly cursed himself.

He took a deep breath. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t pry.”

Georgie shook her head and to his relief, met his gaze again. “No. It’s all right. You aren’t prying. It’s completely understandable that you would have questions about him. About what happened. As you know, I’ve always found it difficult to talk about. Indeed, most of the time I try very hard to forget the whole sorry, sordid mess. But, I trust you, Rafe.”

“It must be very hard moving in the same circles, knowing that you may encounter him from time to time.”

Georgie gave him a small, sad smile. “That’s what Teddy was adept at—helping me to avoid him. He had a very tight-knit group of friends and Craven was never on the guest list at any of the London functions we attended. Jonathon used to joke that Teddy was my self-appointed champion. I don’t know how well you recall him, but he had a rapier-sharp wit, and a formidable glare. It was an unspoken rule that if you were given the cut direct by Teddy, it was tantamount to being socially ruined for all eternity. I suspect Craven probably avoided the functions we attended for that reason alone. And both Teddy and Jonathon didn’t mind if I hid myself away in the country at Harrow Hall whenever I felt like it. So you see, accidental encounters with Craven have been quite rare.”

Rafe sipped his drink, weighing up all that she had said or rather, left unsaid. “Yet there was a time, before your marriage to Darby, that you and Craven crossed paths.”

“Yes...” Georgie took a hasty sip of her own brandy, perhaps to bolster her courage before continuing with her story. “Yes. I met Lord Craven—Oliver—when I was eighteen during my debut Season. Jonathon had gone up to Cambridge the year before to commence his bachelorship of arts. That’s when he met Teddy of course—he was actually two years ahead of Jonathon, and almost finished with his studies. But I digress.” Georgie sighed and plucked at her skirts with restive fingers. “I don’t know if you have heard any of our family history from Jonathon, or Phillip and Helena—”

“Nothing at all.” He wanted to reassure her that he hadn’t been delving into the private details of her life. “As I mentioned last week, they only shared the barest of details about your marriage and your... involvement with Lord Craven.”

Georgie nodded and sighed again. “Well, perhaps I should start at the beginning. Sadly, Jonathon and I never knew our mother; she passed away soon after our entry into this world. And our father, Sir Edmund Winterbourne, never remarried.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Georgie inclined her head. “Thank you. As tragic as that sounds however, we really wanted for nothing as children. Father had a very lucrative ship building business in Plymouth, and we had a lovely home by the seaside, Periwinkle House. My father’s older sister, Louisa took care of us along with a nurse and governess.”

She swirled her brandy about in her glass and stared into the fire, her gaze unfocused as she appeared to sort through her memories. “My father was an older man—fifty when he wed my mother—so by the time Jonathon and I were fifteen, he was beginning to suffer from the ill health that comes with advancing age,” she said at length. “Not long after our sixteenth birthday, he passed away and we were left solely in the care of our elderly Aunt Louisa.”

Georgie threw him another sad smile. “Our aunt meant well, but her memory was beginning to fade a little and she would tire very easily by the time I made my London debut.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “I imagine she wasn’t the most vigilante of chaperones then.”

“You would be correct.” Georgie set her brandy aside. “Father had been well connected enough that Aunt Louisa was able to procure vouchers for Almack’s and from there, we were invited to any number of balls, assemblies and soirées. Jonathon and I had each been bequeathed a substantial trust fund so my aunt was able to rent a respectable townhouse in Brook Street. I was so thrilled, you have no idea.” Another heartbreaking smile lit her face. “I had a beautiful new wardrobe and like every other young woman making a come-out, I had the highest of hopes of meeting my husband-to-be. A man I could love and who would love me in return. Someone to have a family with.” She folded her hands in her lap and shook her head. “I was such a fool to believe that Oliver Cantwell, the Earl of Craven, was that man.”

Anger slashed through Rafe’s heart at the thought of a sweet, innocent eighteen-year-old Georgie making her debut without adequate chaperonage.
Bloody Winterbourne should have known better.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What happened, Georgiana?” he asked gently.

Her blue eyes were unusually bright. Her smile too brittle. “I fell hopelessly in love with Lord Craven the moment I saw him at Almack’s. He was young—only twenty—handsome and dashing. He made me laugh. Aunt Louisa fell for his charms as well. He courted me by the book. At first.”

She bent her head for a moment as if regrouping. “I was so, so certain that Oliver truly loved me. His tongue dripped with honeyed words and beguiling promises. Promises I was all too ready to believe.”

“He promised you marriage?” It was more of a statement than a question as Rafe already knew the answer.

“Yes. And so I...” Georgie’s nervous swallow was audible and a blush stained her cheeks. “We became lovers. For a month, regardless of the function—be it a ball, a trip to the theatre, a garden party, a musicale—we found a way to be together. Aunt Louisa did not suspect a thing. But after a while...” Georgie took a deep breath clearly mustering her resolve to continue, “after a while, when Oliver had not approached my aunt to seek her permission for us to wed, when he continually evaded my questions about when we would formally announce our betrothal, I naturally began to suspect that I was being played for a fool.”

“At some point I imagine you confronted him about your suspicions.”

“Yes. And he hastily convinced me that we needed to elope to Scotland because his family—namely his mother, and his uncle who was his guardian—would never agree to our match. You see, he had not yet reached his majority and needed permission to wed. Accomplished liar that he was, he also made me believe that at a young age, he’d been forced into a betrothal with the daughter of another
ton
family, hence the added need for subterfuge. Of course, he never told me the girl’s name.” Her mouth twisted into a cynical smile. “But I was as gullible as a babe, willing to accept anything he told me if it meant I could preserve my dignity and be saved from ruin.”

“But something went wrong.”

Georgie pressed her lips together and nodded. Before his eyes, the color leached from her face and he noticed that she was clasping her hands so tightly, her knuckles had turned stark white. When she spoke, her voice trembled as if she were close to tears. “Forgive me, I cannot speak about what happened next... Suffice it to say, Lord Craven and I did not elope.”

Rafe frowned, torn between his driving need to know everything about Georgie and concern that he was hurting her. “Georgiana, I understand completely that it can be too painful to speak about certain things.”

She nodded and dashed a tear from her cheek. “Once I knew the truth of the matter, that I’d been well and truly duped and betrayed, I was so desperate, I traveled to Cambridge to seek out Jonathon.”

“On your own? That is a long way for a young woman to travel by herself.”

Georgie shrugged. “I had little choice. Aunt Louisa was unwell. And my business was most urgent.”

“You were with child,” Rafe whispered as the truth slammed into him.
God, my poor, sweet Georgiana.

“Yes.” She wiped away another spilled tear. “Jonathon had no idea what I had been up to. Not only was he about to commence his end of term examinations, he was head-over-heels in love with Teddy. To say Jonathon was surprised when I arrived on the doorstep of his lodgings would be an understatement indeed.”

“You told him everything?”

Georgie bit her lip as if hesitant to continue. “Almost everything,” she clarified. Her voice was low, little more than a whisper. With an abruptness that surprised him, she stood and paced over to the fireplace. There was tension in every line of her body—her ramrod straight spine, her shoulders—yet her every movement was agitated.
Christ, she was wringing her hands
.

Guilt sliced through Rafe again at the thought he was making her relive so many painful memories. “You don’t have to say any more—”

“I know.” She lifted her gaze from the fire. “But you deserve to know at least as much as my brother.”

Rafe stood and approached her carefully. “I’m listening,” he murmured softly.

She sucked in a shaky breath before going on. “When I told Jonathon about my affair with Craven and that I was pregnant, of course he was livid. Literally gripped by murderous rage. He wanted to avenge my honor by calling Oliver out, but I begged him not to. I didn’t want there to be a scandal. I didn’t want to be ruined. So then Jonathon came up with a plan to make it all go away.”

“He suggested you wed Teddy.”

“Yes. A marriage of convenience suited both my needs and Teddy’s perfectly. You see, Teddy was the last male heir eligible for the Dukedom of Darby and Teddy’s father had grown suspicious that his only son preferred the company of men. Indeed, the duke had threatened to cut off all of Teddy’s allowances and dispose of his unentailed properties unless he took a wife before the end of that year.”

Rafe had to concede that it was a clever plan, up to a point. “Your brother and Teddy would be able to reside within the same household without arousing undue suspicion. And Teddy had a very good chance of gaining an heir.” He gentled his voice. “But it seems, he did not.”

Georgie’s arms slipped about her waist. “No...” More shadows clouded her eyes. “I lost the baby, shortly after Teddy and I were married. As terrible as it sounds, part of me is relieved that I didn’t bear Craven’s child.”

Rafe wanted to reach for her and gather her into his arms, but Georgie seemed so on edge, he didn’t want to overwhelm her with his own need to offer comfort. “Your reaction is natural, not terrible at all, my love. And I can’t begin to imagine the frustration you must have felt knowing that you had needlessly tied yourself to a man who could never be a real husband to you. That you could never have children.”

Georgie shook her head. “I don’t see it that way at all. I grew to love Teddy as a friend and after having suffered so much, well, I certainly didn’t think I would ever want to marry again.”

Rafe drew a steadying breath. “And what do you think now?” he asked, searching her eyes.

“I...” Georgie blushed but didn’t look away. “I am beginning to revise my opinion. Perhaps, in time... It is not easy to trust someone with your heart when it has been broken so very badly. And I won’t marry again unless it is for love. The sort of love that will last a lifetime.”

Rafe reached for one of Georgie’s hands, drawing her closer. “I understand,” he murmured. His other hand gently cradled her jaw and he stroked her flushed cheek with his thumb. “And I agree with you completely about marriage. An enduring love is what I desire as well.”

Georgie’s breath caught and her gaze dropped to his mouth. Leaning into him, she slid her hands to his shoulders and whispered his name, “Rafe.”

He couldn’t resist her plea. Slanting his mouth over hers, he kissed her tenderly, languidly worshipping her with lips and tongue until she was gripping his hair and roughly tugging at his cravat and morning coat. Demanding more.

With a groan of reluctance, he pulled away. “I should go,” he whispered against her lips, somehow crushing down the urge to ravish her mouth all over again; to push her down onto the hearthrug, push up her skirts and take her right here, right now. “You need to rest.”