Chapter 1
Georgiana
Surrey, England
Summer 1816
Georgie’s mother, Lady Deering, had opinions about everything and she had made it her mission to ensure Georgie heard every one of them at least five times during their tedious carriage ride. Each one had the same intent. She wanted Georgie to marry.
“Lord Whitfield’s second son has just returned from the Continent,” her mother said, adjusting her gloves as the carriage rocked along the Surrey road. “He’s taken rooms in Mayfair. Handsome enough, I’m told, and his prospects are improving now that his elder brother has that terrible cough.”
“You’re banking on a man’s death to improve my chances of ensnaring a title, Mama? How saintly of you.”
“I am being practical. As should you.” Her mother fixed her with that look—the one that meant she was running out of patience with a daughter who refused to submit to the idea of marrying and having children. “You are four-and-twenty, Georgiana. The whispers grow louder with each Season you refuse to entertain a match. No one can fathom why a woman of your beauty has yet to take a husband.”
Georgie kept her gaze on the window. The Surrey countryside rolled past in swells of green and gray, and Greystone drew closer with every turn of the wheels. She could feel their conversation circling the same ground it always covered—her age, her stubbornness, the whispers among the ton that Lady Georgiana Whitmore was too particular, too independent, too something for any sensible man to pursue. Let them whisper. The alternative—giving her heart to a man—was far worse.
“Max has never forced the issue,” Georgie said. “He doesn’t care if I ever wed.”
Thank goodness.
“Your brother indulges you. That is not the same as doing what is best for you.” Her mother smoothed the fabric of her traveling dress. “A woman’s reputation is her currency, and yours is depreciating by the day. If you would only allow me to arrange—”
“I will marry when I find a man worth marrying. Not before.”
The words came out steady. She’d delivered them so many times they’d worn smooth, but her mother heard defiance every time. What Georgie meant was something else—that she’d trusted a man’s promises once, and it had cost her more than her mother would ever know. A man with a charming smile, pleasing face, and pretty words about their future together. One who’d taken what she offered and disappeared without a backward glance.
She’d been eighteen. Old enough to know better, young enough to believe him. She’d fallen into bed with a rake. While it had been quite pleasurable and opened her world to things she’d never known, it also caused her to put a wall around her heart.
She never thought much about that dratted rake these days.
It was easy not to think about a man she never had to see. She avoided all circles that he ran in. She never wanted to face him again if she could help it, and she preferred it that way. Not because any part of her still wanted him, but because of what she might do to him if she saw him again.
He had taught her a valuable lesson. She would never again confuse desire with devotion, or let a man see anything beyond what she chose to show.
Even though she had no intention of marrying, her body still craved things that her fingers failed to satisfy. The men she had entertained since were selected with care and kept at a distance. And it would continue that way. Discretion was key, because if her mother knew of her dalliances, the dowager would suffer from apoplexy.
The ton already spent far too much time whispering about Georgie and the possible reasons she turned down every suitor. If they knew about her wanton behavior, she’d be the talk of every drawing room and ruin her entire family in the process.
But it didn’t stop her from playing with fire.
Viscount Ashworth, Louis Prescott, was Max’s closest friend from Eton along with Wesley, Duke of Greystone. Georgie had known Louis for years, seeing him at dinners, house parties, and all the endless social functions that she was invited to as the sister of one of his oldest friends. She’d watched him flirt his way through ballrooms and drawing rooms.
Flirtation was his native language, spoken with the fluency of a man who’d never had to work for a woman’s attention. Dark hair, sharp jaw, and a mouth that always seemed on the verge of saying something wicked. Women gravitated toward him. He let them, yet never showed a bit of interest in taking a wife.
She’d been attracted to him for years and had even thought she might set her cap for her brother’s best friend. But that was before she’d learned what charming men were capable of. She’d written him off—too much like the man who’d ruined her from trusting anyone. Louis was the kind of man a woman could enjoy looking at and taking to her bed—not the kind for marriage.
But she wasn’t looking for marriage any longer. A bit of pleasurable fun would suit her just fine, and then she could return to her normal life.
Max would not be at Greystone until next week. With no big brother watching, if she could keep her mother entertained, she might just have a chance to entice the handsome viscount. A house party full of cards and amusement and Louis. The thought made her clench her legs together.
If the opportunity presented itself, she knew what she wanted from him. This would be the only chance to curb that particular craving.
The carriage turned up the drive, and Greystone came into view. The limestone facade was softened by climbing ivy and flanked by gardens lush with summer blooms.
Wesley and his duchess, Thea, waited at the front steps.
Wes greeted her mother first. He was everything a duke should be without the stiffness that so often accompanied the title. Then he turned to Georgie with a grin that reminded her why she’d always liked Max’s friends better than her own.
“Georgie. Good to see you.” He clasped her hand, then glanced behind them. “Where is Max?”
“He will be arriving late. Some estate business he had to handle.”
Thea pulled her into an embrace before Wes could reply. “Thank God you’re here. I know you will be up for a bit of mischief with me.”
Thea wasn’t what society expected a duchess to be. But based on the way Wesley beamed with nothing but love for her, his wife could do no wrong in his eyes.
The duchess linked her arm through Georgie’s and steered her toward the door, leaving Wes to manage her mother. “I decided we won’t have a rigid schedule for the entertainment this fortnight. Each night there will be cards and gambling after dinner. If the men insist on being tedious about it, we’ll have a shooting party tomorrow. Beyond that, I think we’ll just see what entertainment everyone prefers.”
“You’re my favorite hostess.”
“Please be sure to tell my mother and Wesley’s that, if you please.” Thea dropped her voice as they crossed the front hall. “I expect there will be a bit of room hopping, too. Not that I am one to judge. We’ll have to place side wagers on who. My money is for sure on Louis taking up with one of the widows who will be in attendance.”
Her pulse jumped. She kept her expression even. “That sounds like Louis.”
Her words were sharper than she intended.
“This is going to be so much fun.” Thea’s eyes held a warmth indicating she had noticed the irritation in Georgie’s tone, but she didn’t press. That was Thea—she noticed everything and pushed nothing, which Georgie appreciated. “Your room’s the blue one at the end of the guest wing. I put you as far from your mother as the house allows. I thought you deserved a bit of respite while you are here.”
“I owe you my life.”
“Not yet, but maybe after several nights of losing to me at cards.”
Thea squeezed her arm and disappeared down the corridor toward the sound of voices, leaving Georgie at the base of the staircase. She found her room—bright, overlooking the gardens—and shed her pelisse and traveling gloves. She quickly checked her appearance and then retrieved the missive from her pocket.
She could send it with a servant, but it was the perfect excuse to speak with Louis.
Georgie went in search of him to deliver the missive. He wasn’t among the guests in the parlor. She crossed to the glass doors at the far end of the room and stepped onto the terrace.
He was leaning against the stone balustrade with his back to her, one ankle crossed over the other, a glass of something amber in his hand. His coat was perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and his breeches showed off his muscular thighs.
“Louis.”
He turned, and there it was—that smile. The lopsided grin and strong jaw that rendered every woman unable to think in his presence.
“Georgie.” He pushed off the balustrade and faced her, warmth in his is mischievous blue eyes. He was even more handsome with his brown hair tousled by the wind. “I was wondering when you and Max might arrive.”
“Max will join us later.” She pulled the letter from her pocket and held it out. “He sent me with this for you.”
Louis took it, turning the sealed paper over in his fingers. He tucked the letter into his coat without opening it. “I’ll read it later. It’s good to see you, Georgie. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?”
“I think the last time was when you came to stay with Max for a week and the pair of you drank yourselves to absurdity.”
He wrinkled his nose at the memory. “That was entirely your brother’s doing.”
“Ah, so you lost a foolish wager with my brother.” She really shouldn’t keep bringing Max into the conversation. Not that he could forget Max was her older brother, but still. If she wanted to get him to visit her chamber late at night for a dalliance, avoiding the topic was surely to be the better course.
“I didn’t lose. I never lose. Unless I play Thea at cards, anyway.” He tipped his glass.
“Is that so?” This was her chance. “And how do you think your chances fare against me?”
His brows lifted. “Against you?”
“Thea has promised cards after dinner every evening. I propose a wager. You and me, over the course of the fortnight. Whoever wins the most games also wins our little wager.”
He cast her a mischievous grin. “And what exactly shall we wager?”
“A dare. The winner gets to dare the loser to do one thing. Anything.” She held his gaze and did not blink. “No refusals.”
Louis studied her for a long moment. The grin was still there, and then he brought his fingers to his chin in a show of mock contemplation. “Anything could be quite dangerous, Georgie.”
“Only if you lose.”
He laughed. And she remembered how much she’d always loved that sound.
“All right.” He extended his hand. “You have yourself a wager, Lady Georgiana.”
She took it. His palm was warm against hers, his fingers firm, and he held on for one beat longer than he should have. She wanted to fall into him and discover how his body would feel pressed against hers.
When he released her hand, she wished she had closed her hand tighter to keep the contact.
“I understand the first game is tonight.” He leaned back against the railing. “I hope you’re prepared to lose, my lady.”
“I have every intention of leaving this house party the victor.” In more ways than one.
“As do I.” His mouth curved—that maddening, lopsided grin. “This should be an interesting fortnight.”
He gave her a nod and then walked past her toward the library doors. His shoulder nearly brushed hers, but she kept her eyes forward until the sound of his footsteps faded.
Georgie stood on the terrace for a moment longer, the late afternoon sun on her skin, the stone still warm beneath her hands where she’d gripped the balustrade.
She wasn’t certain how this would all unfold, but a wager with the man couldn’t hurt. At least she’d have a reason to be in his presence each evening. But it was going to take more than card games to broach the subject of a dalliance.
She’d orchestrated such liaisons before, and she could handle Louis Prescott. Georgie pushed off the balustrade and went to dress for dinner. She had a game to win.
