The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere by Anna Bradley

Chapter Eight

I beg your pardon if I offended you, Lord Haslemere.

Offended him. The woman had accused him of setting a half-dozen murdering ruffians on Draven, then she had the gall to beg his pardon foroffending him?

Benedict closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, but it did nothing to ease the heaviness pressing down on him. He’d long since accepted that all of London believed him to be a rakehell, but the leap from rakehell to utter villain was a great deal shorter than he’d imagined.

“I hope you’re not taking Mrs. Bury’s accusations to heart, Lord Haslemere. She was upset, that’s all. Once she’s had time to reflect, I daresay she’ll regret what she said.”

These were the first words Miss Harley had uttered since they left Lord Draven’s drawing room. Benedict was lost in his own thoughts, and since he’d never known her to hold her tongue for long, he’d nearly forgotten she was there.

He glanced at her now, and his eyebrows flew up. She was wedged into a corner of the carriage, her face troubled. “You look distressed, Miss Harley. Dare I hope it’s on my account?”

She darted a glance at him, then looked quickly away, down at her hands clasped in her lap. “Naturally, I’m distressed. I would feel the same for anyone.”

Benedict studied her, a trickle of warmth loosening some of the tightness in his chest. For such a flinty woman, her eyes were suspiciously soft. “I confess your distress on my behalf surprises me.”

Her brows drew together. “I don’t know why it should. I don’t like to hear of anyone unjustly accused of such an ugly crime, my lord.”

Ah, there was a beating heart under that tweedy exterior, then. How…disconcerting. Benedict didn’t like it, really. He preferred to think of her not so much as a tender woman, but more a bundle of ill temper and thorns wrapped in layers of heavy, coarse brown wool.

It was easier that way.

“That is, not anyone who’s innocent,” Miss Harley went on. “London is cursed with any number of aristocratic scoundrels. Still, for all your many, many flaws, Lord Haslemere, I can’t quite convince myself you’re a murderer.”

Ah, yes. That was much better. That was the stone-hearted Miss Harley he knew and…barely tolerated. Still, she had been quick to defend him to Mrs. Bury. “I think you’re fonder of me than you let on.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m precisely as fond of you as I let on, my lord, and no more than that.”

Benedict started, his gaze lingering on her face.

Hazel. Her eyes weren’t brown at all, but hazel.

They looked brown in dimmer light, but this morning, with the sun shining through the carriage window, they were light green, rather like late-summer pears.

Her eyes changed color depending on the light.

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter, only he had a bit of a weakness for changeable eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder if her eyes were like so many other hazel eyes he’d seen, with dozens of different shades of green, brown, and gray at once. Looking at them now, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever thought them brown.

Well, what of it? So, she had pretty eyes. Beautiful eyes, if the truth were told, but her tongue was as barbed as it had ever been.

Not that Georgiana Harley’s tongue was any concern of his.

Benedict pushed the thought from his head and cleared his throat. “All right then, Miss Harley. Let’s see what we have, shall we? Rumors of an adulterous affair, a pair of noblemen who were friends at Eton, and an earl who’s been beaten into unconsciousness. What do you make of it?”

She sighed. “I think, my lord, that this business has more heads than a Hydra. Sever one of them, and two more grow in its place.”

Benedict cocked his head to the side, considering it. “It’s not a Hydra so much as an insect bite. The more one scratches at it, the more it oozes.”

“Nonsense. My analogy is much more accurate.”

“Oozing sores, or severed heads.” Benedict shrugged. “Call it whatever you like, Miss Harley. The question is, where do we go from here, now we can’t quiz Draven?”

“Lady Wylde mentioned something last night about your sister and Lord Draven having a scandalous past. Given Lady Wylde’s preoccupation with gossip it’s likely just another rumor, but we’d better make sure. I think we should pay her a call this morning.”

Benedict nearly groaned aloud. This day was taking on a truly nightmarish cast.

He’d sooner drop into the deepest pit of hell than pay a call on Lady Wylde. The moment he set a toe over her threshold she’d assume he’d changed his mind about a liaison between them, and she’d swoop down on him like a bird of prey.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any better ideas. “Yes, very well. I’ll pay a call on her. Grigg?” Benedict rapped on the roof of his carriage. “Maddox Street first, to drop off Miss Harley, then we’ll proceed to Albemarle—”

“Wait! What do you mean, you’ll drop me off? I’m coming to Lady Wylde’s with you.”

“No, you’re not.” It was bad enough he’d have to fend off Lady Wylde, but to have Georgiana Harley witness the tawdry scene was…far more unbearable than it should be. “Lady Wylde is a predator of the first degree. You have no idea how savage she can be. She’ll swallow you up in one bite, then turn her attention to the main course.”

Him.

Miss Harley gave him a thin smile. “Cleverer men than you have doubted me before, Lord Haslemere.”

Despite himself, Benedict chuckled. “I’m not certain that’s anything to boast about.”

She thrust her chin up. “I can pay a call on Lady Wylde as easily as you can.”

“Certainly, you can. Of course, you’ll have to get past her butler first. Egerton’s a stiff, proud creature, and rather preoccupied with rank. Even if you do manage to get access to her ladyship, I doubt she can be persuaded to spill her secrets to you.”

“She’ll spill them to you readily enough though, won’t she? I suppose you’ll charm them loose. Do you ruthlessly manipulate all your paramours, my lord?”

“Why, Miss Harley, are you a romantic? I never would have guessed.” Benedict gave her a lazy grin. “There are certain advantages to being a fashionable earl. It’s not fair, perhaps, but I’ll get far more out of her if the two of us are left alone.”

Deep, red color surged into Miss Harley’s cheeks. “You mean to say you’d seduce Lady Wylde to get her secrets out of her?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Benedict’s gaze followed the blush sweeping from her cheeks down her neck. The wash of color turned her eyes an unusually bright green, rather like holly leaves set off by their red berries. Remarkable, those eyes of hers. Quite the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen.

Her expression, though. Good Lord.

Perhaps he should bring her with him, after all. One look at the severe pinch of those otherwise tempting lips should be enough to chase all thoughts of seduction from Lady Wylde’s mind.

“Have you no shame, Lord Haslemere?”

Benedict considered it, then shrugged. “Not much, no. How is seducing her secrets out of Lady Wylde any worse than Lady Wylde seducing jewels out of me?”

“That’s your defense? Each of you is as awful as the other.”

“If you recall, Miss Harley, it was you who brought up a seduction. All I have in mind is just a bit of harmless flirtation, nothing more.”

“Well then, I don’t see any reason why I can’t come with you. Did you not, Lord Haslemere, just deliver me a lecture this morning about this very thing? No more sneaking about, you said, and now here you are, ready to sneak off to Lady Wylde’s without me.”

“Well, yes, but of course I meant you shouldn’t sneak away from me. Not so much the other way around. If you recall, I also said as your employer I’ll issue the commands, and you’ll follow them.”

“You’ll be disappointed, my lord, if you expect blind obedience from me,” she gritted, her eyes flashing dark green with temper.

Benedict raised an eyebrow. He’d do well to remember that as pretty as holly leaves were, they were also sharp, pointy things, and liable to draw blood from any man foolish enough to meddle with them. “That is unfortunate. What do you propose we do?”

She eyed him. “Perhaps we might come to some sort of bargain.”

“Perhaps we might. What did you have in mind?” Benedict folded his hands on the head of his walking stick.

She let out an exasperated sigh. “For pity’s sake. You know very well I want you to take me to Lady Wylde’s with you.”

“I do, yes, but I’m far more concerned with what I want.”

She huffed and squirmed a bit, as if she were being forced to strike a bargain with the devil himself, but at last she gave in to the inevitable. “Oh, very well. What do you want now? Quickly, if you please. We’re wasting time.”

What did he want? Ah, now that was an interesting question. Benedict would have liked to hear the word “please” fall from her lips again, but he didn’t fancy risking a limb for it. There was one other thing he’d quite enjoy, however. “I want leave to call you Georgiana, and I want you to use my Christian name, as well.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“I don’t see why not.”

She huffed out a breath. “Because I don’t know your Christian name.”

Benedict hid a grin. It was a lie, of course. For better or worse, everyone in London knew his name. “It’s Benedict.”

She blinked. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Benedict choked back a laugh. “The six previous Earls of Haslemere, all of them named Benedict Gabriel Alexander Harcourt, might not agree with you.”

“But it’s quite a pious name, isn’t it? There’s Saint Benedict, and his Benedictine monks, for a start. Benedict is Latin for blessed, and Gabriel is an angel.” She gave him a doubtful look. “Blessed angels are not, alas, the first words that come to mind when I think of you, Lord Haslemere.”

“Do you think of me, Georgiana? How delicious. But come, enough of this nonsense. Either you agree to my terms, or I’ll have Grigg take you back to Maddox Street.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Very well, I agree to your terms, my lord. Can we go now?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can we go now, who?”

Her lips pursed as if she’d tasted something sour. “Can we go now, Benedict?”

“Certainly, Georgiana.” It wasn’t very gentlemanly of him to enjoy himself at her expense, but Benedict had to struggle to keep the grin from spreading over his lips again. She didn’t have any idea how entertaining she was. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been more amused.

Likely the last time he’d sparred with her.

“Albemarle Street, Grigg.” Benedict nodded at his coachman, who was pretending not to listen through the vent.

“Yes, my lord.” Grigg slid the vent closed.

Neither Benedict nor Georgiana said a word as the carriage made its way toward Mayfair. She kept her gaze on what was passing outside the window, while Benedict lounged in his seat and occupied himself with stealing glances at her, and savoring his victory.

* * * *

It was clear from the moment Lady Wylde swept into her private sitting room that she’d expected to receive Lord Haslemere alone.

“My dear Lord Haslemere. I imagined I’d see you again, but I didn’t anticipate it would be so soon.” She prowled across the room, so intent on her quarry she didn’t even notice Georgiana was also there. She sashayed right past the settee where Georgiana was seated, the long, diaphanous train of her skirts and a fog of scent trailing behind her.

Rose, or vetiver? Whatever it was it descended on Georgiana like a noxious cloud, clogging her throat and burning her nostrils.

“Lady Wylde.” Lord Haslemere attempted a polite bow, but he didn’t get far before Lady Wylde put both her hands on his chest, and with a little push sent him sprawling back to the settee.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but—”

He broke off with a grunt when she landed squarely in his lap. “You’ve no need to beg for anything, my lord.”

“Other than mercy.” Lord Haslemere held his hands up and away from her, as if she’d pointed a pistol at him.

Lady Wylde was busily unwinding his cravat, and didn’t appear to notice his reluctance. “Shhh.” The long length of linen fluttered to the floor. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her painted lips against his bared throat. “I’ve already forgiven you for your ungentlemanly behavior last night.”

Georgiana stared at them in a daze. She did not want to witness whatever Lady Wylde would do next, but she found she couldn’t look away from the two of them. She gaped, torn between fascination and horror as Lady Wylde writhed sinuously over Lord Haslemere’s lap.

“Do, however, feel at liberty to abandon gentlemanly behavior now.” Lady Wylde let out a throaty chuckle. “No woman wants a tame lover, but you already know that, don’t you, my lord? There is such delicious gossip about you! I’ve longed to discover for myself if you’re as insatiable, as ferocious as rumor claims.”

Ferocious?Georgiana’s frozen limbs thawed in an instant. She leapt up from her seat, intending to flee from the room straight back to Lord Haslemere’s carriage, but his calm voice stopped her before she could reach the door. “Sit down, Miss Harley.”

She turned, trembling, and met his gaze over the top of Lady Wylde’s head. He didn’t look at all like a notorious rake with a seductress in his lap ought to look. He wasn’t flushed or panting, and his full, sensuous lips were pressed into a straight line.

Instead of expiring with passion, he looked…irritated. “You remember Miss Harley from your masque ball, Lady Wylde?”

He jerked his chin toward Georgiana, and Lady Wylde glanced over her shoulder. “Miss Harley?”

“Yes.” Lord Haslemere wrapped his hands around Lady Wylde’s waist, lifted her from his lap and deposited her on the settee beside him with an unceremonious plop. “Miss Harley.”

“Miss Harley,” Lady Wylde repeated in a flat tone. “Of course, I remember her, my lord. The ball was just last night.”

If Lady Wylde was embarrassed by her wanton behavior, she gave no sign of it. She rose leisurely to her feet, a pout on her lips, and took her time neatening her hair and smoothing her skirts over her hips.

“How do you do, my…” Georgiana began, but trailed off into silence as she took in her ladyship’s ensemble. She was in dishabille, which wasn’t terribly suspiring given the hour, but this particular gown wasn’t so much dishabille as…

Invisible? Transparent? Less an article of clothing, and more a…suggestion of one?

Georgiana stared, her face on fire, but everywhere she looked she found something else that made her cheeks burn. Lady Wylde’s rouged cheeks and lips, the carefully arranged curls just brushing the tops of her breasts, and…Georgiana gasped.

Dear God, was that…

It was. Lady Wylde had rouged more than just her cheeks and lips. Georgiana gaped at her bosom, then tore her gaze away.

“Why, how lovely, Miss Harley, to see you again.” Lady Wylde regarded Georgiana with hard, glittering blue eyes. “It’s curious, though. I’d never heard your name or been introduced to you at any of the entertainments in London before last night, and now you seem to be everywhere. Wherever did you find her, my lord?”

It was the sort of veiled attack common among the ton, but Georgiana wasn’t accustomed to the aristocratic thrust and parry. She had no idea how to respond, but she was saved from having to say anything at all by Lord Haslemere’s drawl.

“Oh, here or there. The usual places one finds young ladies.”

“What, at Almack’s?” Lady Wylde snickered. “I’m afraid the marriage mart must be terribly dull for you, my lord.”

“The marriage mart!” Georgiana meant to hold her tongue, but she didn’t care for being batted about between Lord Haslemere and Lady Wylde as if she were a shuttlecock. “You’re quite mistaken, I assure—”

“We don’t wish to waste your time, Lady Wylde.” Lord Haslemere shot a quelling look at Georgiana. “Perhaps I should explain why we’ve come today.”

Lady Wylde flounced over to a chair near the fire and fell into it with a dramatic sigh. “Yes, perhaps you’d better. Quickly, if you please, my lord. I’ve another engagement this morning.”

“Yes, I realize you’re in great demand.” A lazy smile twitched at Lord Haslemere’s lips. “You’re very good to indulge me. It’s about my sister and Lord Draven.”

Lady Wylde perked up considerably at mention of the gossip, but she did her best to hide it under a veneer of concern. “Oh, my poor, dear Lord Haslemere. I’m very sorry, but it was inevitable you’d hear of it sooner or later. Everyone in London is whispering about it,” she added with relish.

“Yes, London does whisper, doesn’t it? I don’t concern myself much with rumors, my lady, but you said something last night that does interest me. You said it was inevitable my sister and Lord Draven would fall into each other’s arms again, given their past. I wondered what you meant by it.”

The pleasant smile on Lord Haslemere’s face didn’t falter, but his jaw had tightened. It was subtle—imperceptible to anyone not watching him closely—but Georgiana was watching him, and all at once she realized that despite his show of indifference, he was very angry.

Lady Wylde didn’t appear to notice it, however, and waved a careless hand in the air. “Oh, well, as to that, I’m sure I don’t know what I meant. Nothing at all, really. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“No, I won’t. Not yet.”

Georgiana’s brow rose at his audacity, but Lady Wylde didn’t seem at all irked at being ordered about in her own sitting room. Quite the contrary. Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath, her impressive bosom heaving. “Alas, my lord, I know only what everyone else in London knows.”

“Come now, Lady Wylde. How long have we been friends?” Lord Haslemere crooned in silky tones, his lips curling in the barest hint of a smile. “You always have more information than anyone else.”

Lady Wylde preened under Lord Haslemere’s sultry half-smile. “But surely you’ve heard the story yourself?”

“Of course not. A brother is always the last to hear any unflattering gossip about his sister.”

“No, my lord, a husband is.” Lady Wylde smirked. “Very well then, it’s just this. The gossips have it that Lord Draven has been in love with your sister for years, ever since they were introduced at his father’s house party. It was some years ago, but surely you remember that party?”

“I vaguely recall it. I didn’t attend, but one of Jane’s schoolfriends who was a distant cousin of Lord Draven’s invited her. It was Jane’s first house party. She came out the following season, which means…let’s see, that must have been about six years ago. Is that your recollection, my lady?”

“Yes, about then, I think. Lord Draven—the current Lord Draven’s father at the time—ended the house party with an extravagant Christmas ball. It was said to have been very grand, with all the most elegant members of the ton there.” Lady Wylde tossed her head. “Most of them, in any case, but of course I was no more than a young girl then.”

Georgiana smothered a snort. A young girl of five-and-twenty, perhaps.

“So, Draven fancied himself in love with Jane.” Lord Haslemere lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t see what’s so scandalous about that. Many gentlemen admired my sister before her marriage to Kenilworth. She was the belle of her season, if you recall. A true Incomparable.”

Lady Wylde let out a long, dramatic sigh—her ladyship had a decided talent for theatrics—and shook her head. “I daresay it wouldn’t have been a scandal, except your sister—forgive me, my lord—was rumored to return his affections. Rather ardently, from what I understand.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Georgiana interrupted. “If Lady Jane was enamored of Lord Draven, and he of her, why didn’t she simply marry him instead of Kenilworth?”

Lady Wylde shrugged. “No doubt she would have married Draven if Kenilworth had still been a penniless viscount when they met at the Christmas ball, but he’d inherited the dukedom that summer.”

Georgiana frowned. “I don’t see why that should make a difference, if Lady Jane truly was in love with Lord Draven.”

Lady Wylde gave her a pitying look, as if Georgiana were a dim-witted child. “My dear Miss Harley, the Duke of Kenilworth offered for her. Why settle for a mere earl when you can have a duke?”

“You just said, did you not, that Lady Jane ardently returned Lord Draven’s affections? Mightn’t that be a reason for her to marry him?”

“Goodness, you are naïve. What’s affection when weighed against becoming a duchess? You remember, Lord Haslemere, what a sensation it caused when Kenilworth became the duke? Quite extraordinary, that smallpox should have carried off the three cousins standing between him and the title! Rather convenient, really.”

“Convenient!” Georgiana gasped, appalled at Lady Wylde’s callousness. She hadn’t cared for the woman when she’d met her at her masque ball last night, and she cared even less for her now. She was every inch the sort of cold, calculating aristocrat who thought nothing of sacrificing every higher principle to fortune and title.

Lady Wylde gave a disdainful sniff. “Well, it certainly proved so for Kenilworth, didn’t it?”

“You’ll have to forgive Miss Harley, my lady,” Lord Haslemere murmured. “Not many ladies are as…sophisticated as you are.”

Georgiana pressed her lips together to prevent herself from screaming. If she had to suffer another moment trapped in this sitting room while Lord Haslemere coaxed and flattered this awful woman, she feared she’d do someone an injury.

“By all accounts, Lord Draven wasn’t at all reconciled to losing Lady Jane,” Lady Wylde went on, oblivious to Georgiana’s glare. “He went quite wild that season. He might have drunk himself into his grave if his father hadn’t intervened, and sent him off to the Continent. It’s my opinion he never would have returned to England at all if his father hadn’t become so ill.”

“By the time he did return, Jane had married Kenilworth. Ah, well. Love’s a damnable thing, is it not, my lady?” Lord Haslemere spoke as if the story of Lord Draven’s broken heart was unimaginably dull.

“Indeed, and best avoided, but passion is another thing entirely. Such a passion as Lord Draven and Lady Jane reportedly had doesn’t simply vanish, my lord, and now it looks as if Lord Draven’s had his way at last. One can’t really blame the duchess, can one? Why settle for a husband when she can have a lover who’s mad for her?” Lady Wylde nodded, as if she’d said something exceptionally wise.

Georgiana shook her head, but didn’t venture a comment. There was not, it seemed, any room for irony in Lady Wylde’s private sitting room.

Lord Haslemere rose to his feet, his full lips curling in yet another enticing smile as he paused and raised Lady Wylde’s hand to his lips. “Thank you for seeing us today, my lady. You’re an angel.”

“Not all angel, I assure you, my lord.” Lady Wylde eyed him from under her thick, dark lashes.

He gave a soft laugh, and brushed his lips over her bare knuckles. “Is there anything else you can recall that you think might prove useful to us?”

“Not that I can think of, no, but I’ll send for you at once if I do.” Lady Wylde fluttered her eyelashes at him. “No matter how late at night it is.”

Georgiana was obliged to look down at her lap to hide the roll of her eyes, but this time she wasn’t quite able to smother her snort.

Lady Wylde turned on her with a huff. “Does something amuse you, Miss Harley?”

Before Georgiana could get a word out, Lord Haslemere took her elbow and hauled her rather unceremoniously to her feet. “You’ve been most helpful, my lady. We won’t keep you any longer, but will leave you to ready yourself for your engagement.”

He marched Georgiana to the door, but Lady Wylde called after them. “Oh, my lord? Now you ask, there is one other thing.”

Lord Haslemere turned. “Yes?”

“You might want to pay a call on Lady Archer. She and Lord Draven were…well, I don’t wish to offend Miss Harley’s delicate sensibilities with such lurid gossip, but they were lovers during Lord Draven’s year of debauchery in London, before he got himself banished to the Continent. She might be able to tell you a great deal more than I can.”

Lord Haslemere bowed. “As I said, my lady, you’re an angel.”

“So was Lucifer,” Georgiana hissed as he tugged her down Lady Wylde’s staircase and back to his carriage.

It had begun to rain, fat, wet drops splattering the pavement. Georgiana scrambled into the carriage and was busy shaking the damp from her skirts when Lord Haslemere said, “Do you know why my sister married the Duke of Kenilworth, Georgiana?”

Georgiana’s hands stilled. “I assumed it was for the reason Lady Wylde mentioned—because she wished to become a duchess. Don’t ladies of the ton all marry for titles and fortunes?”

“I’ve no idea what most ladies of the ton do, but Jane never cared about Kenilworth’s title. She never aspired to become a duchess, and she didn’t need Kenilworth’s money. She had a substantial fortune of her own.”

“Why did she marry him, then?”

“For love.” Lord Haslemere chuckled at her raised eyebrows. “I see you’re skeptical, but I assure you, Jane was in love with Kenilworth when she married him.”

Georgiana paused, then asked, “And now?”

“Now?” Lord Haslemere’s laugh was harsh. “If the rumors are to be believed, Lord Draven is Jane’s secret lover, and for all I know, Kenilworth has a mistress tucked away in some townhouse somewhere. It doesn’t sound much like love to me.”

Georgiana blinked. She wasn’t prepared to hear such a quaint notion of marriage from the fashionable, rakish Lord Haslemere. “You don’t know that. Even if he does, it isn’t uncommon for a gentleman to take a mistress—”

Lord Haslemere brought his walking stick down hard on the floor of the carriage. “No gentleman who loves and respects his wife takes a mistress, damn it.”

Georgiana stared at him, speechless. “I-I’m surprised to hear you express such a sentiment, my lord. You’ve had a number of mistresses of your own—”

“But no wife.” Lord Haslemere squeezed the head of his walking stick with such force the silver lion looked as if it would snap off in his fist. “I don’t deny I’ve earned my reputation as a rake, but I’m not utterly devoid of principles. If I did have a mistress, which I don’t, it wouldn’t be at all the same thing as Kenilworth having one.”

“No mistress?” Georgiana bit her lip. “I thought you and Lady Wylde—”

“If Lady Wylde were my mistress, I think I’d know it.” His lips twitched at her expression. “I did warn you not to listen to the gossip about me, Georgiana. The truth is much less titillating than the rumors.”

Did that mean he wasn’t insatiable or ferocious, as Lady Wylde had said? Georgiana bit down hard on her tongue before she could succumb to the temptation to ask.

Lord Haslemere tore his hat from his head, tossed it onto the seat beside him, and dragged a rough hand through his hair. “The Christmas ball Lady Wylde mentioned, the one that ended the house party Jane attended. That’s the same ball Clara Beauchamp attended on the night she disappeared.”

“Yes, it’s strange, isn’t it?” More than strange, that a young lady should vanish out from under the noses of dozens of guests at a Christmas ball without anyone seeing a thing. “Did Jane attend the ball as well?”

“No. She left the house party early, before it took place. As I said, Jane wasn’t out yet, and my father didn’t think it was proper for her to attend a ball with so many members of the ton present. Whatever happened at that ball may have started at the house party. Perhaps Jane can shed some light on the matter.”

“What makes you think she’ll tell you anything?” Whatever had happened at that house party, the duchess wasn’t likely to confess it to her brother, considering she’d made Georgiana swear she’d keep silent about anything having to do with Clara Beauchamp.

He glanced at her, surprised. “Why shouldn’t she?”

“Because you’re her brother, of course. What if Lady Wylde is right, and the duchess fell in love with Lord Draven at that party? No lady wants her brother nosing into her romantic entanglements. I daresay she won’t tell you a thing.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “I can be quite persuasive when I choose to be, Georgiana.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, my lord. I just watched you persuade Lady Wylde’s every secret out of her. I’m surprised she didn’t confess to setting the Great Fire of London.”

Lord Haslemere snorted. “That wasn’t her every secret, I promise you.”

Georgiana bit her lip, an uneasy knot in her stomach. The very last thing she wanted was for Lord Haslemere to begin asking the duchess questions about Clara Beauchamp. “I don’t see how the duchess would know what happened, given she wasn’t at the ball. There must be someone else we can ask who’d know more.”

“Who? If you recall, Lord Draven is unconscious.”

“But there were dozens of other people there, my lord. The Duke of Kenilworth, for one. Mrs. Bury said he spent a great deal of time in Oxfordshire with Lord Draven. Surely, he would have been invited to such a grand house party as that?”

Lord Haslemere considered it, but shook his head. “Perhaps, but I’d rather discuss it with Jane first.”

Georgiana, who’d begun to grow quite desperate, was casting about for some logical reason they shouldn’t bring this matter to the duchess when the carriage slowed. She glanced out the window, expecting to see the Clifford School, but to her surprise, she saw they’d turned down Grosvenor Street.

Grosvenor Street? Why were they—

Oh, no. Dear God, no. Georgiana’s stomach fell.

The Duke and Duchess of Kenilworth lived in Grosvenor Street.

The duchess had made herself abundantly clear about her wishes regarding her brother. Georgiana was not, under any circumstances, to breath a word about any of this business to Lord Haslemere. Given such a restriction, it seemed…unwise for Georgiana to appear on the duchess’s doorstep with him.

She drew in a deep breath to steady her voice, and asked, “Is it too much trouble for your coachman to take me on to Maddox Street, my lord?”

“Certainly, he will. Right after we see Jane.”

She grasped his arm, her fingernails sinking into the damp superfine of his coat sleeve. “Do you think it’s wise to call on her now, my lord?”

Lord Haslemere stared down at her hand clutching his sleeve, his brows rising. “It’s generally safe enough for me to pay a call on my sister.”

But it wasn’t at all safe for Georgiana. She could not appear on the Duchess of Kenilworth’s doorstep with Lord Haslemere. She simply couldn’t, not without all of her plans toppling over like a house of cards. “I don’t think you want your sister to realize you’re poking into her secrets, my lord. It’s best if she continues to think you’re staying in Surrey for the season—”

Georgiana broke off, wishing she could rip her tongue out. She realized how badly she’d fumbled at once, but by then, it was already too late.

Lord Haslemere went oddly still, then without warning he seized hold of her wrist and tugged her across the carriage onto the bench beside him, close enough so she was practically in his lap. He tipped her chin up and stared down at her with blazing dark eyes. “Now, just how would you know I’m meant to be spending the season in Surrey, I wonder?”

“I…Lady Darlington must have mentioned—”

“No, she didn’t. Lord and Lady Darlington have been expecting me in London all week. Oh, princess.” His fingers tightened on her chin. “I think you’re the one who’s keeping secrets.”