Never Judge a Lady By Her Cover: Number 4 in series (The Rules of Scoundrels series) (18 page)

“Please. The gossip pages are designed to be obvious. Lady G —? Sister to Duke L —? With a daughter, Miss P —? In actuality, I was reading about
me
.”

“Well,” said Georgiana, casting about for something to say that was appropriately parental. “You shouldn’t be doing that, either.”

Caroline looked at her, those brilliant green eyes, at once so knowing and curious. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“What was the question?”

Caroline sighed. “Why are you looking to marry? And why now?”

She stopped walking and turned to face her daughter, not knowing quite what to say, but knowing that she must say something. She’d never lied to her daughter, and she did not think it right to begin now, with the most difficult question she’d ever asked. She thought she’d simply open her mouth and let the words come out. It might not be articulate, but it would give Caroline an answer.

But by the grace of God, she did not have to find words. Because behind Caroline’s horse, Duncan West came up the rise.

Her savior.

Once more.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him approach, all golden, as though the sun shone upon him even on this grey day. He was perfectly turned out in grey trousers, crisp white shirt and cravat, and navy topcoat. His greatcoat swung around him, making him seem larger than life.

But, it occurred to her, he would seem larger than life anyway. Something about the way he moved, with such sureness, as though he had never in his life made a misstep. As though the world simply bent to his whim.

She’d been born the daughter and sister to the most powerful dukes in Britain, and this man, not an aristocrat – not even a gentleman – seemed equal to them in power. More so.

Which was the reason she was so drawn to him, surely.

Not that power should be of interest to her. She had plenty of it herself.

And still, her heart pounded. To cover the noise, which she was certain all assembled could hear, she said brightly, “Mr. West!”

Caroline gave her a strange look. Perhaps she’d spoken too brightly.

She ignored her daughter, instead looking to the woman at West’s elbow. Miss Cynthia West, his sister, younger by ten years, and widely believed to be a charming eccentric, spoiled by her brother.

“Lady Georgiana,” West said, executing an impressive bow in Caroline’s direction. “And Miss Pearson, I presume?”

Caroline giggled. “You presume correctly, sir.”

He winked at the girl and righted himself. “May I present my sister? Miss West.”

Miss West dropped into a curtsy. “My lady.”

“Please,” Georgiana said, “there’s no need to stand on ceremony.”

“But you are the daughter of a duke, no?”

“I am,” Georgiana replied, “but —”

“She rarely uses the privilege,” Caroline interjected.

Georgiana looked to the Wests. “One should always travel with a nine-year-old to complete one’s thoughts.”

Cynthia replied, all seriousness, “I so agree. In fact, I was thinking of finding one for myself.”

“I’m certain my mother would happily lease me.” Caroline’s jest drew laughter from the group, and Georgiana was supremely grateful for the girl’s quick wit, as she did not know quite what to say to Duncan West, considering their last interaction ended with her bodice around her waist.

The thought made her blush, and she pressed gloved fingers to her cheek as the heat rushed up her face. She looked to West, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.

His warm brown gaze lingered where she touched her cheek.

She pulled her fingers away. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” The words came out harsher than she expected. More shrill. His sister’s eyes widened, as did Caroline’s.

He ignored the tone, instead saying, “We were riding and saw you here. I thought that was a much better idea than creeping along Rotten Row for another hour.”

“I would have thought that you liked creeping along Rotten Row. Does it not provide food for your work?”

“Ha!” Cynthia interjected. “As though Duncan cares a bit for gossip.”

“You don’t?” Caroline asked pointedly. “Then why publish it?”

“Caroline,” Georgiana said, maternal scolding in her tone. “How did you even know that Mr. West is a newspaper publisher?”

Caroline beamed. “Ladies worth their salt read the newspaper. I always assume that included the bit where they list the staff.” She looked at West. “You are Duncan West.”

“I am.”

She considered him for a long moment. “You’re not as old as I would have imagined.”

“Caroline!” Georgiana interjected. “That’s inappropriate.”

“Why?”

“It’s not at all inappropriate.” He smiled at her daughter, and Georgiana did not like the way it made her feel. In fact, it made her feel somewhat queasy. “I shall take it as a compliment.”

“Oh, you should,” Caroline said. “I would have thought you quite old. Considering you’ve so many different papers. How did you manage that? Did you have a brother who is titled?”

Warning bells rang, as Caroline knew that part of the reason why The Fallen Angel existed at all was because of her uncle Simon. There was no need for West to grow curious about the reason for her questioning. “Caroline, that’s quite enough.”

Cynthia interjected, “If only we had a brother who was titled. Everything would have been much easier.”

Don’t be so certain
, Georgiana wanted to say, but she bit her tongue.

“Well, if I can’t ask him that, then can I at least ask why he publishes gossip if he doesn’t care for it?”

“No,” Georgiana said. “We do not ask probing questions.”

“Well, he does, doesn’t he? He’s a reporter.”

Lord deliver her from nine-year-old girls wise beyond their years.

“She has a point, Lady Georgiana, I am a reporter,” West said.

And from thirty-three-year-old men too handsome for their own good.

“There, you see?” Caroline said.

“He’s being polite,” Georgiana replied.

“I wasn’t, really,” he interjected.

“You were being polite,” Georgiana insisted firmly, wishing she’d stayed inside today. She turned to her daughter. “Which you might try sometime. What did we discuss relating to Society events?”

“This is not exactly an
event
,” Caroline argued.

“It’s close enough. What did we say?”

Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Not to bring up skull drinking?”

Shocked silence fell, broken almost instantly by West’s and Cynthia’s laughter. Finally, the lady said, “Oh, Miss Pearson. You are great fun!”

Caroline beamed. “Thank you.”

“Now tell me about these beautiful horses, will you? You must be a very fine horsewoman.”

And with that, Caroline had been deftly extricated from any situation that might end in her being either scolded or murdered by her mother. Georgiana’s head spun as she was overcome by the distinct feeling that she and West had been left alone on purpose. She was not used to losing so roundly.

She missed her club.

She turned back to West, who was still smiling. “Skull drinking?” he asked.

She waved away the words. “Do not ask.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

“You see now why I need a husband. She’s too precocious for her own good.”

“I don’t see it at all, honestly. She’s charming.”

She smirked. “You are obviously not good
ton
.” He went serious, and she suddenly felt as though she’d misspoken. She added. “And you do not have to live with her.”

“You forget, I have a sister who is similarly eccentric.”

It was a perfect word for Caroline. “Tell me, are most gentlemen seeking eccentricity in their wives?”

“As I am not a gentleman, I would not know.”

Something flared inside her, unfamiliar and yet thoroughly recognizable.
Guilt.
“I didn’t mean —” she said.

“I know,” he replied. “But you were not wrong. I am not born a gentleman, Georgiana. And you would do best to remember it.”

“You play the part well,” she said. And he did, looking every inch the gentleman now, and each night on the floor of her club. He’d played it well when he’d rescued her from Pottle’s slithering, disgusting grasp. And in the years leading up to that moment, during which he’d never propositioned her. Not once.

“You think so?” he asked casually, as they trailed behind Caroline and Cynthia, whose conversation grew more animated by the minute. “You think I played it well when I manhandled you on the floor of a casino? When I nearly stripped you bare?”

They were in public – in the middle of Hyde Park. And to an unsuspecting observer, they were all propriety. No one would ever know that his words sent heat coursing through her, warming her straight through, as though they were in that shadowed alcove in her casino once more.

She did not look at him, afraid he would see what he had done to her.

“When I wanted to do much more than that?” he added, the words soft and full of promise.

She’d wanted it, too. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you are not such a gentleman after all.”

“I promise you, there is no perhaps about it.”

She was certain that anyone who watched them would know what he said. How she enjoyed it. How shameless they both were. She looked to the Serpentine, trying to pretend they discussed something else. Anything else. “What are you, then?”

He did not answer for a while, and she finally turned to look at him, finding him watching her carefully. She met his gaze, finally. He held it for a heartbeat. Two. Ten. “I would have thought you’d recognized it the moment we met. I’m an utter scoundrel.”

And in that moment, he was. And she didn’t care.

Indeed, she wanted him more for it.

They walked farther, trailing his sister and her daughter as they edged around the curve of the Serpentine lake. After long moments of silence, she could not bear it any longer, the wondering what he was thinking. The hoping he’d give voice to thought. The hoping he wouldn’t.

So she spoke first. “My brother’s wife nearly drowned in this lake once.”

He did not hesitate. “I remember that. Your brother saved her.”

It had been the beginning of a love for the ages. One that did not end in tragedy, but in happiness. “I suppose you wrote about it.”

“Probably,” he said. “At the time, if I recall,
The Scandal Sheet
was the only paper I had.”

“I just had a conversation with Caroline that leads me to believe that it still holds a fair amount of influence.”

He turned to look at the girls. “Oh?”

“Yes. As you may have divined, she reads the gossip pages.”

He smiled. “She and every other girl in London.”

“Yes, well, most girls of her age aren’t reading about their mother’s search for a husband.”

He slowed his pace. “Ah.”

“Well put.”

“What did she say about it?”

“She asked why I wish to marry. And why now.”

The girls now quite a distance away, and she and West were both public and private. As with everything in Georgiana’s life these days. The situation was by design, yes, but it did not mean she enjoyed it.

Although, if she were fully in private with Duncan West, there was no telling what might happen.

They walked a little farther in silence before he said, “And how did you answer?”

She turned to him, shocked. “You too?” He lifted a shoulder in an expression she was coming to recognize in him. “You know, you do that when you want someone to think that you aren’t interested in what they are about to say.”

“Perhaps I’m not interested. Perhaps I’m simply being polite.”

“Since when does politeness include prying, personal questions?” she asked. “Did you not receive the lesson I just delivered to my daughter?”

“Something about skull drinking.” She laughed, taken by surprise, and he smiled briefly, the expression there, then gone, leaving only a pool of warmth in her stomach as he added, “Well, as your daughter pointed out, I am a reporter.”

“You’re a newspaper magnate,” she corrected.

He smiled. “A reporter at heart.”

She couldn’t help her matching smile. “Ah. Desperate for a story.”

“Not for all stories. But for your story? Quite.”

The words dropped between them, and they both seemed surprised by them. She was taken aback. Did he really mean it? Did he really care about her story? Or was he simply in it for the information she promised? For the payment she always rendered when he did the Angel a favor?

And why did the answers matter so much?

He saved her from the questions swirling through her mind. “But today, I will settle for an answer to Caroline’s question.”

Why did she wish to marry.
 

She shook her head. “There are a dozen reasons why I should marry.”

“Should is not wish.”

“That’s semantics.”

“It is not at all. I
should
not have kissed you yesterday. But I very much
wished
to. There’s nothing at all the same about the two.”

She stopped, the words sending surprise and something richer through her. Desire. She met his gaze, registering the heat in his brown eyes. “You just…” She hesitated. “You cannot simply announce things like that. As though we are not here, in a public place. In Hyde Park. At the fashionable hour.”

“That must be the most idiotic description for four o’clock in the afternoon that ever there was,” he said, and the conversation had changed. As though he hadn’t just said the word
kiss
in full view of London’s aristocracy.

Perhaps she’d dreamed it.

“So, tell me, Georgiana.” Her name was a caress even as they walked, a yard between them, in a perfectly innocuous portrait. “Why do you wish to marry?”

The question was quiet and liquid, and made her want nothing more than to answer it, even as she knew it was none of his business. She started with the obvious. “You know already. I require a title.”

“For Caroline.”

“Yes. She needs the protection of a decent title. With your help, she’ll receive it, and with it, hopefully, a future.”

“And you expect Langley to be a decent father.”