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“Hartley?” The black brows drew down. “But there aren’t any Miss Hartleys at the Place, are there?”
In response to his master’s quizzical look, Duckett graciously informed him, “I have heard that Mr James Hartley’s daughter has been visiting the Place for the past few days. From the Continent, I believe.”
“Staying with frightful Charles? Poor girl.”
“Exactly so, m’lord.”
Lord Alton fixed Duckett with a suspicious look. “You said she was distressed. She’s not weeping and having the vapours, is she?”
“Oh, no, m’lord. Miss Hartley is perfectly composed.”
Lord Alton frowned again. “Then how do you know she’s distressed?”
Duckett coloured slightly. “It was her hands, m’lord. She was clutching her reticule so tightly, her knuckles were quite white.”
Suitably impressed by his butler’s astuteness, Lord Alton leant back in his chair, absent-mindedly laying the letter he had been reading on the pile before him. Then he glanced up. “You think I should see her?”
Duckett met his master’s eye and did not misunderstand his question. No one who was acquainted with Lord Alton could fail to comprehend the delicacy of the matter. For a young lady to meet a gentleman alone, particularly in the gentleman’s house, with no other lady anywhere about, was hardly the sort of behaviour someone as conservative as Duckett would normally encourage. And when the gentleman in question was Lord Dominic Alton, the situation took on an even more questionable hue. But Duckett’s perception was acute. Miss Hartley was in trouble and out of her depth. His master could be relied upon to provide the answer to her troubles. And, regardless of his reputation, she stood in no danger from him. She was too young and too green, not his type at all. So, Duckett cleared his throat and said, “Despite the—er—conventions, yes, m’lord, I think you should see her.”
With a sigh, Lord Alton rose, stretching to his full six feet. Relaxing, he shook out his cuffs and settled his dark blue coat over his broad shoulders. Then he looked up and wagged an admonitory finger at Duckett. “If this lands me in scandal, old friend, it’ll be all your fault.”
Duckett grinned and opened the door for his master. “As you wish, m’lord. She’s in the drawing-room.”
With one last warning glance, Lord Alton passed through the door and crossed the hall.
GEORGIANA’S DREAM was distinctly disturbing. In it, she had transformed into one of the nymphs depicted in the Fragonard canvas. Together with her unknown sisters, she cavorted freely through a sylvan glade, blushing at the cool drift of the breeze across her naked skin. Abruptly, she halted. Someone was watching her. She glanced around, blushing even more rosily. But there was no one in sight. The sensation of being watched grew. She opened her eyes.
And gazed bemusedly into eyes of cerulean blue.
Her gaze widened, and she saw the man behind the eyes. She stopped breathing, no longer sure which was reality and which the dream. For the man watching her, a gleam of undisguised appreciation in the depths of those beautiful blue eyes, was undoubtedly a god. And even more disturbing than her erotic dream. His shoulders were broad, filling her sight, his body long and lean and muscular. His face was strongly featured, yet held the clean lines painters adored. Thick dark hair cloaked his head in elegant waves, softening the effect of his determinedly squared chin. Finely drawn lips held the hint of a disturbing smile. And his eyes, glorious blue, set under strongly arched brows and framed by lashes too long and thick for a man, seemed to hold all the promise of a summer’s afternoon.
“Oh!” It was the most coherent response she could muster.
The vision smiled. Georgiana’s heart lurched.
“You were sleeping so peacefully I was loath to disturb you.”
The deep tones of his voice enclosed Georgiana in a warmth reminiscent of fine velvet. With an effort, she straightened, forcing her body to behave and her mind to function. “I…I’m so sorry. I must have drifted off. I was waiting for Lady Alton.”
The gentleman retreated slightly to lean one elegant arm along the mantelpiece, one booted foot resting on the hearth. The blue eyes, disconcertingly, remained trained on her face.
“I’m desolated to disappoint you.” The smile that went with the words said otherwise. “Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Dominic Alton, entirely at your service.”
He swept her an elegant bow, blue eyes gleaming.
“But alas, I’ve yet to marry. There is, therefore, no Lady Alton.”
“Oh, how unfortunate!”
The anguished assessment surprised Dominic. He was not used to such a response from personable young women. His lips twitched and his eyes came alight with unholy amusement. “Quite!”
His tone brought the hazel gaze to his face. But she showed no consciousness of her phrasing. Seeing real consternation in the warm hazel eyes, Dominic rejected the appealing idea of explaining it to her. Clearly, Duckett’s assessment of her state was accurate. She might be sitting calmly, rather than indulging in hysterics, as females were so lamentably prone to do, but he had no doubt she was seriously adrift and knew not which way to turn. The expression in her wide hazel eyes said so. In response, he smiled beguilingly. “But I gather you have some problem. Perhaps I could be of help?”
His polite query flustered Georgiana. How could she explain…? To a man…?
“Er—I don’t think…” She rose, clutching her reticule tightly. As she did so, her gaze went beyond Lord Alton to the Fragonard. Georgiana froze. What sort of man, with no wife, hung a scandalous masterpiece in his drawing-room? The answer threatened to scuttle what wits she still possessed.
Unknown to Georgiana, her thoughts passed clearly across her face, perfectly readable to the accomplished gentleman watching her. All Dominic’s experience told him to accept her withdrawal as the blessed release it doubtless was. But some whimsical and unexpected impulse pushed him to learn what strange story, what quirk of fate, was responsible for depositing such a very delightful morsel on his doorstep. Besides, he didn’t entirely like her assumption that he was powerless to help her. He drew himself to his full height and fixed her with a stern eye. “My dear Miss Hartley, I do hope you’re not about to say you ‘—doubt that I can be of assistance—’ before you’ve even told me the problem.”
Georgiana blinked. She had, of course, been about to say just that. With the ground cut from under her feet, she struggled to find some acceptable way out.
Lord Alton was smiling again. Strange, she had never before encountered a smile that warmed her as his did.
“Please sit down, Miss Hartley. Can I get you some refreshment? No? Well, then, why don’t you just tell me what your problem is? I promise you, I don’t shock easily.”
Georgiana glanced up, but the blue eyes were innocent. Sinking once more into the wing-chair, she considered her choices. If she insisted on leaving Lord Alton without asking for his advice, where would she go? And, more importantly, how far behind her was Charles? That thought, more than any other, drove her to speak. “I really wanted to ask for some advice…on what I should do, finding myself in the situation I…I now find myself in.” She paused, wondering how detailed her explanation need be.
“Which is?” came the soft prompt.
The need to confide in someone was strong. Mentally shrugging, Georgiana threw caution to the winds. “I recently returned to England from the Continent. I’ve lived for the last twelve years in Italy with my father, James Hartley. He died a few months ago, leaving me to the guardianship of my uncle, Ernest Hartley.”
She looked up. Lord Alton’s expression was sympathetic. He nodded encouragingly. Drawing a deep breath, she continued. “I returned to England immediately. I…didn’t wish to remain in Italy. On my arrival at Hartley Place, I learnt that my uncle had died a month or so before my father. My cousin Charles owns the Place now.” Georgiana hesitated.
“I’m slightly acquainted with Charles Hartley, if that’s any help. I might add that I would not consider him a fit person for a young lady such as yourself to share a roof with.”
His cool, impersonal tone brought a blush to Georgiana’s cheek.
Seeing it, Dominic knew he had struck close to the truth.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the empty fireplace, Georgiana struggled on. “I’m afraid…that is to say, Charles seems to have developed a fixation. In short,” she continued, desperation lending her words, “he has been trying to force me to marry him. I left the house this morning, very early.”
She glanced up and, to her surprise, found no difficulty in meeting his lordship’s blue gaze. “I’ve no one in England I can turn to, my lord. I was hoping to ask your wife for advice as to what I should do.”
Dominic’s gaze rested on the heart-shaped face and large honey-gold eyes turned so trustingly towards him. For some perverse reason, he knew he was going to help her. Ignoring the inner voice which whispered he was mad even to contemplate such a thing, he asked, “Have you any particular course of action in mind?”
“Well, I did think of going to London. I thought perhaps I could become a companion to some lady.”
Dominic forcibly repressed a shudder. Such a glorious creature would have no luck in finding that sort of employment. She was flexing her fingers, her attention momentarily distracted. His eyes slid gently over her figure. The grey dress she wore fitted well, outlining a pair of enticingly sweet breasts, young and firm and high. Her skin was perfect—peaches and cream. As she was seated, he had no way of judging her legs, although, by the evidence of her slender feet, he suspected they would prove to be long and slim. Her waist was hidden by the fall of her dress, but the swell of her hips was unmistakable. If Georgiana Hartley became stranded in London, he could guess where she’d end. Which, all things considered, would be a great shame. Her candid gaze returned to his face.
“I have my own maid and coachman. I thought that might help.”
Help? A companion with her own maid and coachman? Dominic managed to keep his face impassive. There was no point in telling her how ludicrous her ideas were, for she wasn’t going to hire out as a companion. Not if he had anything to say in the matter. The wretched life most paid companions led, neither servant nor family, stranded in limbo between stairs, was not for Miss Hartley.
“I will have to think of what’s best to be done. Instant solutions are likely to come unstuck. I’ve always found it much more useful to consider carefully before committing any irrevocable act.”
Listen to yourself! screamed his inner voice.
Dominic smiled sweetly. “I suggest you spend an hour or so with my housekeeper, while I consider the alternatives.” The smile broadened. “Believe me, there are alternatives.”
Georgiana blinked. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. She hoped she hadn’t jumped from the frying-pan into the fire. But he was turning her over to the care of his housekeeper, which hardly fitted with the image revolving in her mind. There was another problem. “Charles might follow me.”
“I can assure you this is one place Charles will never look. And I doubt he’d pursue you to London. You’re perfectly safe here.” Dominic turned and tugged the bell-pull. Then he swung back to face Georgiana and smiled reassuringly. “Charles and I don’t exactly get on, you see.”
A pause ensued. While Miss Hartley studied her hands, Dominic studied Miss Hartley. She was a sweetly turned piece, but too gentle and demure for his taste. A damsel in distress—Duckett had been right there. Clearly, it behoved him to help her. The cost would be negligible; it would hardly take up much of his time and might even afford him some amusement. Aside from anything else, it would presumably annoy Charles Hartley, and that was a good enough reason in itself. He determinedly quashed his inner voice, that advocate of self-protection at all costs, and returned to his agreeable contemplation of Miss Hartley.
The door opened, and Georgiana came slowly to her feet.
“My lord?”
Dominic turned. “Duckett, please ask Mrs Landy to attend us.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Duckett bowed himself from the room, a smile of quiet satisfaction on his face.
AFTER A PLEASANT and reassuring hour spent with Mrs Landy, Georgiana was conducted back to the drawing-room. The motherly housekeeper had been shocked to learn of Georgiana’s plight and even more moved when she discovered she had missed her breakfast. Now, fortified with muffins and jam and steaming coffee, and having been assured her two servants had been similarly supplied, Georgiana faced the prospect of her interview with Lord Alton with renewed confidence. No gentleman who possessed a housekeeper like Mrs Landy could be a villain.
She smiled sweetly at the butler, who seemed much less intimidating now, and passed through the door he held open for her. Lord Alton was standing by the fireplace. He looked up as she entered, and smiled. Georgiana was struck anew by his handsomeness and the subtle aura of a deeper attractiveness that owed nothing to his elegant attire, but derived more from the quality of his smile and the lights that danced in those wonderful eyes.
He inclined his head politely in response to her curtsy and, still smiling, waved her to the wing-chair. Georgiana seated herself and settled her skirts, thankful she had this morning donned one of her more modish gowns, a grey kerseymere with a fine white linen fichu, edged with expensive Italian lace. Comfortable, she raised expectant eyes to his lordship’s dark-browed face.
For a full minute, he seemed to be looking at her and thinking of something else. Then, abruptly, he cleared his throat.
“How old are you, Miss Hartley?”
Georgiana answered readily, assuming him to be considering what employment might best suit her years. “Eighteen, my lord.”
Eighteen. Good. He was thirty-two. She was too young, thank God. It must just be his gentlemanly instincts that were driving him to help her. At thirty-two, one was surely beyond the stage of lusting after schoolroom chits. Dominic smiled his practised smile.
“In light of your years, I think you’ll find it will take some time to discover a suitable position. Such opportunities don’t grow on trees, you know.” He kept his manner determinedly avuncular. “I’ve been thinking of what lady of my acquaintance would be most useful in helping you. My sister, Lady Winsmere, is often telling me she pines for distraction.” That, at least, was the truth. If he knew Bella, she would leap at the opportunity for untold distraction that he intended to offer her in the charming person of Miss Georgiana Hartley.
Georgiana watched Lord Alton’s face intently. Thus far, his measured statements made perfect sense, but his patronising tone niggled. She was hardly a child.
“I have written a letter to her,” Dominic continued, pausing to draw a folded parchment from his coat, “in which I’ve explained your predicament.” His lips involuntarily twitched as he imagined what Bella would make of his disclosures. “I suggest you take it and deliver it in person to Lady Winsmere in Green Street.” He smiled into Miss Hartley’s warmed honey eyes. “Bella, despite her occasional flights of fancy, is quite remarkably sane and will know precisely how you should go on. I’ve asked her to supervise you in your search for employment, for you will be sadly out of touch with the way things are done. You may place complete confidence in her judgement.”
Relief swept over Georgiana. She rose and took the letter. Holding it carefully, she studied the strong black script boldly inscribed across the parchment. Her fingers moved across the thick, finely textured paper. She felt oddly reassured, as if a confidence placed had proved to be well founded. After her problems with Charles, the world seemed to be righting itself. “My lord, I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve been more help than I expected, certainly more than I deserve.” Her soft voice sounded so small in that elegant room. She raised her eyes to his, smiling in sincere gratitude.
Unaccountably irritated, Dominic waved one fine hand dismissively. “It was nothing, I assure you. It’s entirely my pleasure to be able to help you. Now one more point.” He hurried on, strangely unwilling to bear more of Miss Hartley’s gratitude. “It seems to me that if Charles is out there scouting about he’ll be looking for your carriage, with your coachman atop. I’ve therefore given orders for you to be conveyed to London in one of my carriages, together with your maid. One of my coachmen will drive you and will return with the carriage. After a few days, when Charles has given up, your coachman will follow you with your coach. I trust such an arrangement is satisfactory?”
Georgiana felt slightly stunned. He seemed to have thought of everything. Efficiently, smoothly, in just one short hour he had cleared the obstacles from her path and made all seem easy. “My lord, you overwhelm me. But surely—you might need your carriage?”
“I assure you my carriage will be…better used conveying you to London than it otherwise would be,” Dominic responded suavely, only just managing to avoid a more subtly flattering selection of words. God! Dealing with an innocent was trying his wits. A long time had passed since he had engaged in social discourse with a virtuous young lady of only eighteen summers. It was too abominably easy to slip into the more sophisticated and seductive modes of conversation he used almost exclusively to females these days. Which, he ruefully reminded himself, was a definite reflection on the types of ladies whose company he currently kept.
With another dazzling smile, Georgiana Hartley inclined her head in acceptance. At his intimation, she fell into step beside him, gliding towards the door on tiny, grey-slippered feet.
Still bemused, and with the feeling that events were suddenly moving rather faster than she could cope with, Georgiana could nevertheless find no fault with his arrangements.
Duckett met them in the hall with the information that the coach stood ready.
Dominic could not resist offering her his arm. With gentlemanly courtesy he conducted her to the coach, pausing while she exchanged farewells with Ben, surprising everyone, Ben included, by breaking off her words to give him a quick hug. Then Dominic handed her into the luxuriously appointed coach, wherein her maid was already installed, and stood back. Duckett shut the door firmly. The coachman, Jiggs, gave the horses the office. The coach pulled smoothly away.
Dominic Ridgeley stood on the steps of his manor house, his hands sunk in his pockets, and watched his coach roll out of sight. Then, when he could no longer see the swaying carriage roof, he turned to go inside, pausing to kick at a piece of gravel inadvertently, inexcusably resident on the steps. With a sigh and a pensive smile, as if some pleasant interlude had come to its inevitable conclusion, he went inside and shut the door.
Chapter Two
NIGHT had descended by the time Lord Alton’s travelling carriage drew to a halt on the cobbles before the elegant town house of Lord and Lady Winsmere. Georgiana glanced up at the tiers of lamplit windows reaching high above the street. Beside her, Cruickshank sat silent, her lips set in a severe line. The groom swung down and trotted up the steps to jangle the doorbell before returning to help them to the pavement.
A portly butler appeared. One glance at the groom’s livery was apparently enough to effect instant entrance for Georgiana and Cruickshank.
Georgiana allowed the butler to remove her pelisse. Then she turned and, in a voice tinged with nervousness, said, “I wish to speak with Lady Winsmere, if you please. I have a letter of introduction from Lord Alton.”
Despite the butler’s gracious bow and solemn face, Georgiana was instantly aware of his avid interest.
“I will convey your letter to Lady Winsmere, miss. If you would care to wait in the drawing-room?”
Shown into a reception-room of pleasing proportions, Georgiana stopped and blinked. The door shut behind her. Cruickshank had dutifully remained in the hall. Georgiana scanned the room, then, finding nothing of greater moment to consider, gave her attention to a careful appraisal of the white and gilt décor. The room was well stocked with furniture, and every available flat surface sprouted at least one ornament. The rule seemed to be that if it wasn’t white it had to be gilded. Not even the ornate cornices had escaped. The effect was overpowering. With a sigh and a shrug for English fashions, Georgiana chose a stiff-backed, spindlelegged chair, heavily gilded and upholstered in white damask, and gingerly sat down.
Her gaze roamed the walls once more, but there was no Fragonard to provide distraction.
She folded her hands in her lap and tried to subdue the uncomfortable feeling of encroaching upon those whom she had no right to call on. But Lord Alton had seemed unperturbed by her request for help. Maybe, despite her misgivings, there was nothing so very peculiar about her predicament. At least, not to an English mind. Determined to be optimstic, she endeavoured to compose herself to meet Lady Winsmere’s questions. Doubtless, she would have a good few. What was she making of her brother’s letter?
Only then did Georgiana realise she had no idea in what light Lord Alton had presented her to his sister. The thick parchment had been fixed with a heavy lump of red wax, on which the seal of the Viscounts Alton had been imprinted. Georgiana frowned. A wave of tiredness rose up to envelop her. Not for the first time since leaving the comfort of Candlewick Hall, she wondered at the wisdom of her actions. She was too impulsive. Often she had landed herself in the suds by rushing headlong on her fate—witness her flight from Ravello. But it was too late to draw back now. She grimaced. The more she thought of it, the more clearly she perceived her inability to influence the course of events Lord Alton had charted for her. These, presumably, would determine her immediate future. Somehow she had placed herself in Lord Alton’s hands.
Georgiana stifled a despondent sigh. She hoped she looked more confident than she felt.
On the floor above, Bella, Lady Winsmere, was in the middle of her toilette, preparatory to attending the theatre. A knock on the door of her boudoir was followed by a whispered conference between her dresser, Hills, and her butler, Johnson.
Distracted from the delicate task of improving on nature, Bella frowned. “What is it, Hills?”
Her black-garbed dresser produced a folded parchment, inscribed to herself in her brother’s unmistakable scrawl. Intrigued, Bella immediately laid down her haresfoot. Bits of red wax scattered in all directions as she broke open the seal.
Five short minutes later, she was crossing her front hall in a froth of lacy peignoir, rendered barely respectable by a silk wrapper. Johnson, having anticipated her impetuous descent, stood ready to open the drawing-room door for her.
As the door shut, bringing her guest to her feet, Bella’s bright blue eyes, very like her brother’s, surveyed her unexpected visitor.
Unconsciously clutching her reticule, once again in a tell-tale grip, Georgiana beheld an enchanting vision, fashionably slender and no taller than she herself was. But there the resemblance ended. Lady Winsmere was dark-haired, her fine skin was alabaster-white. Her blue eyes Georgiana had seen before. And the elegance of her lacy gown made Georgiana feel awkward and abominably young.
For her part, Bella saw a girl on the threshold of womanhood. Her innocence shone beacon-clear. She was all honey and cream, from the top of her curls, tinged with the sun’s kiss, to her delicately tinted complexion. Her golden eyes contained a quality of unusual candour. And she had no more inches than Bella herself. Bella’s face brightened. A little sigh escaped her. With a generous and genuine smile, she floated forward, both hands outstretched to capture Georgiana’s cold fingers in a warm clasp.
“My dear! So you are Georgiana Hartley! Dominic has written me all about you. You poor dear! What a dreadful thing to happen, and you newly returned to England. You must let me help you.”
At Georgiana’s murmured, “My lady,” Bella broke her stride. But when Georgiana attempted to curtsy, Bella held on tightly to her hands, preventing it.
“No, no, my dear. You’re among friends here. You must call me Bella, and I hope you won’t think me terribly forward if I call you Georgiana.” She tilted her small head to one side, blue eyes twinkling.
Georgiana found her engaging manners difficult to resist. “Why, of course not, my…Bella. But truly, I feel as if I’m imposing dreadfully upon you.”
“Oh, pooh!” Bella pulled a face. “I’m always bored; there’s so little to do in London these days. I’m positively thrilled Dominic thought to send you to me! Why—” she paused, struck by a wayward thought “—just think. If you’d grown up at the Place, we would have been neighbours.” Bella waved Georgiana to the chaise and sank to the white damask beside her. “So, you see, there’s no need for you to feel at all bothered about staying with me.”
Georgiana’s head reeled. “Oh! But I wouldn’t dream of imposing—”
