The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (19 page)

He frowned but pressed on, staring resolutely into her eyes with undiluted fervor for his message, whatever that may be. “But you’re only eighteen, and London is full of people who would…”

But then his gaze slid away, fading off into the distance even as his shoulders slumped forwards.

“
People who would what?” Georgie finally asked, throwing her hands up into the air in exasperation. The silence that had fallen between them was heavy with tension to the point she could no longer hold it aloft.

His head shook slightly, as though he was warring with himself over what to say. “I need to know what you were doing, Georgie. I need you to tell me who you were skulking after and listening to, and why.”

She bit her lower lip while she debated her options. He already knew she wanted to meet Lord Haworth, though she’d not informed him why she had such a desire. Would it really hurt to tell him this, just because he’d refused to introduce her to the viscount?

No matter how she racked her mind, she couldn’t sort out a good excuse to lie to him, blast it all.

Eventually, she screwed up her courage and went for it, sucking in a massive gulp of air before beginning. “That was Lord Northwood and Lord Sackville. I followed them because they were discussing Lord Haworth. Since you won’t help me to meet the man, I thought to learn what I could about him, in whatever way I could.”

It took a decided effort not to heed the rising sense of panic taking over Monty’s expression at her confession, but she determinedly ignored it.

“
Now,” she continued, staring at her slippers in order to avoid the censure she knew would be in his eyes, “if you don’t mind, I should be getting back to the ballroom before someone misses me.”

Georgie didn’t wait for his response. She sprinted through the corridors in the direction of the ballroom, with as much haste as she could muster short of resorting to running.

Running would be supremely unladylike. That would never do.

Four days.

For four solid days since the start of the Season, Georgie had hardly been able to get herself out of Monty’s sight for even a few minutes, save those blessed moments when she was shut away in her chamber, supposedly sleeping.

Supposedly
, she should note, because she’d scarcely been able to sleep a wink since the Season had started. Lud, but she hadn’t been able to stop her mind from working other than for a few dratted moments at a time…and even those moments were few and far between, to say the least.

At every turn, she was trying to determine just how, precisely, she was going to escape Monty’s attention for long enough to discover which events and soirees Lord Haworth might attend. From there, she was still at a loss as to how she would gain an introduction to the man, since typically gentlemen sought to gain introductions to ladies and not the other way around. And even after she
did
manage to meet him, it would still be necessary to convince him to take her up in his gas balloon.

None of this seemed all that easy.

Particularly not with Monty about constantly. His hovering had only increased since the Davenport ball two nights ago. Since then, he was at their house on Berkeley Square before she arose in the morning, and he stayed until after she retired in the evening, and she couldn’t fathom how to breathe without him there to watch and make certain she was doing it properly, or how to blink without him darting to her side to offer a handkerchief in case she was crying—let alone how to meet Lord Haworth.

Goodness, even now, as Georgie and her mother and sisters took their luncheon, he was sitting across from her with a rather queer expression on his face as he stared at her.

Again
, it should be noted. The more often he was around, the more frequently this particular expression greeted her. Monty had taken up this sensationally perturbing habit of staring at her in a decidedly…well…
uncomfortable
manner.

Uncomfortable for her, that was. Monty didn’t seem all that uncomfortable.

On the contrary, he seemed entirely too comfortable in his surroundings, like he had just decided to make himself a permanent fixture at the dining room table or something else of the sort that would be equally ridiculous and perplexing.

Georgie stabbed a spear of asparagus with far more force than was necessary and then sulked as she chewed it. She could not make her plan work with him underfoot at every turn.

She needed a plan.
Now
.

Typically, she’d go to Moira or Patience for help with her plans, but they’d both been busy with their various problems…being in the betting book, or trying to get there, whichever the case may be for the lady in question. Besides, they’d want to know
why
Georgie wanted to avoid Monty, since she’d never been overly keen to do so in the past, and that would require all sorts of explanations she wasn’t prepared to provide.

No, Moira and Patience wouldn’t do. And Pippa wasn’t exactly in a position to help her out right now, either. Not that she would, since it would mean aiding Georgie in doing something scandalous. Pippa seemed determined to avoid any hint of scandal right now.

None of her friends could help her. Could one of her sisters, perhaps?

Frankie was rather good with sorting through problems, but she was even more of a stickler for propriety than Georgie was. That left her out of the equation.

Mattie would prefer to solve all of her problems by starting a new embroidery project—a new sampler or something similar. Not that Georgie doubted Mattie’s ability to solve her own problems in that manner, but she couldn’t imagine that causing her fingers to bleed when she inevitably poked herself with a needle would help her to avoid Monty, unless he had an overwhelming fear of blood. That ruled Mattie out, as well.

Which left Edie.

Surreptitiously, Georgie eyed her younger sister across the table, reaching for the plate of meats and cheeses as she did, so as not to rouse Monty’s suspicions. At the moment, Edie was blathering on about some poem or another her governess had her studying, which she found exceedingly tedious and boring. Both of Edie’s hands were flying wildly through the air, illustrating her points as she went on.

“
But
really
, Mother, it isn’t as though it will matter in the grand scheme of things if he was writing about a woman or a man, after all, or even a toad. It’s just
Shakespeare
.” Edie pounded the flat of her palm against the table. “Simply being able to recite it ought to be enough to prove to any gentleman worth a grain of salt that I’m well studied. I shouldn’t have to
explain
the meaning of the poem. He ought to be able to explain it to
me
.”

Well…that didn’t bode well for Edie’s ability to solve Georgie’s woes. The poor girl couldn’t even be bothered to try to understand the Bard.

Georgie slumped down in her chair and scowled. Her sisters would be no help.

Damn and blast, she wished she was a man. Men could do virtually anything they wanted.

But…well…
she
might not be a man, and Monty might not be willing to help her, but there were other men in her life who might be willing and able.

Like Pippa’s brother, Harry. He’d always been a bit of an adventurous soul, himself.

A smile stole over Georgie’s face as she plotted out how she would convince Lord Harrison Casemore to do her bidding. But then Monty caught her eye from across the table, and she fought to conceal her glee. No point allowing him to spoil her fun.

God, he had always loathed the opera.

Cedric tugged at his cravat as the soprano hit yet another ear-punishing note, wishing all the while he was anywhere other than where he was at the moment. But this was where Lady Stalbridge had wished to bring her daughters for the evening, at the invitation of Lord and Lady Sutherland, so this was where Cedric must also be, particularly since Georgie seemed more determined than ever to throw herself into Haworth’s path.

He hoped that last note represented the top of the soprano’s range. Anything higher might very well burst his eardrums. The only good thing about being forced to sit through the opera tonight was that it allowed him to at least attempt to forget the currents that had sparked through him when he’d pressed his finger to Georgie’s lip two nights ago. In the intervening time, he’d thought of little else, other than what those currents might mean.

Well, he
had
thought of one other thing in that time—the perplexing realization that, while he’d always thought of Georgie as a younger sister in the past, he currently had no desire to think of her as such.

At present, he didn’t know what the appropriate term for their relationship ought to be, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they’d moved into unfamiliar territory and might never be able to go back to how things were before.

Cedric didn’t know how he felt about all of that. He
did
know that the warbling coming from the stage was a blessed distraction from such thoughts, however.

Just as the soprano blistered his ears with a note that could shatter glass, Georgie leaned forward excitedly in her seat. Christ, could she possibly be enjoying herself? He studied her from behind and to the side, trying to sort out the expression on her face. Sure enough, it was one of glee.

He’d never thought Georgie was fond of torture—or at least not self-torture. She’d always been rather fond of torturing him and Bridge, and even Cedric’s younger brother Joshua on occasion, but never herself.

Yet there she sat, sheer and utter exuberance showing as plain as day on her face, much like the expression she’d worn at luncheon earlier.

It was enough to cause Cedric a headache. Best not to think about it, since he already had a headache from the wretched operatic voices greeting his ears with unabashed abandon.

He sat back in his seat and allowed his gaze to wander over the crowd, in the hopes that that activity might provide him enough distraction that he could ignore the near-feline-in-heat sort of screeching occurring down on the stage. Occasionally, he’d catch the attention of another gentleman in his box, and they’d nod at each other before going back to scanning the crush.

After a few minutes of his perusal, however, Cedric would have fallen out of the box completely were he not seated properly.

What on earth was Joshua doing at the opera, seated in a box across the way with Lord Harrison Casemore and a few of his usual compatriots? For that matter, what was Joshua doing in Town at all?

When Cedric had left Yorkshire for the London Season, Joshua had claimed boredom with the scene to be found here, and had begged off accompanying him to Town. Thinking that his younger brother simply wanted to sow a few more wild oats without his responsible, elder brother watching over him constantly, Cedric had readily agreed. But if that was the case, what could have brought Joshua all the way here, and why wouldn’t he have let Cedric know of his arrival?