A Daring Liaison. Gail Ranstrom
very proper and sedate way to reenter society after her most recent mourning. She would send her acceptance in the morning.
The next letter was, indeed, from her solicitor. He would see her Friday morning and hinted that he had news for her. Whatever it was, she could not be surprised. She and her aunt had shared every detail of their lives. Well, every detail but for those in her will.
Georgiana went to her escritoire and opened her appointment book. She scratched the Hawthorne reception tomorrow night and her appointment with the solicitor the day after into the book, then blew the candles out, dimming the bedroom to the indistinct glow of the fireplace.
After she shed her chemise and donned her nightgown, she went back to her window to open it to the soft breeze. A movement in the shadows across the street set her heart to racing. The overwhelming sensation of being watched sent a shiver though her and she rubbed her arms to banish the sudden gooseflesh that rose there. Someone walking over her grave, her aunt used to say. The edge of the curtain drifted back into place as she backed away from the window. Had it been her imagination or a foreshadowing of things to come?
Charles shifted in the darkness. He hadn’t meant to let the sight of Mrs. Huffington in the window draw him closer to the light, but he’d forgotten himself in his study of her. She was so bloody beautiful that he could well understand men getting lost in those soulful green eyes and proposing in the face of almost certain death.
But was she a victim or a villainess? That was the question Wycliffe wanted answered. And he needed to know if she’d been the cause of Adam Booth’s death and his wound. He rubbed his shoulder absently, the muscles still stiff from the injury.
Georgiana Huffington’s entire future depended upon what he uncovered. And, as heart-stopping as she was, he could not afford to allow his baser instincts to interfere. He’d never compromised an assignment before, and he wouldn’t start now. Seduce her, perhaps, but be drawn in by her supposed innocence? Never. He knew better.
Ah, but anticipation of tomorrow night at the Hawthorne reception made him smile to himself. Mrs. Huffington’s dismay should be quite amusing when she realized he would not be so easy to avoid as he’d been years ago.
A cold shiver worked its way up his spine. Someone walking over his grave? He glanced around and strained to hear any sound, no matter how faint. Damn Gibbons and his cutthroats. Charles hadn’t been able to relax for months, but this was different. His every instinct warned him danger was in the wind. Breathlessly, he waited. Moments passed before he breathed again. A falling leaf? A stray cat?
Only stillness. And oppressive atmosphere.
He turned away, grateful that Thackery’s was nearby. He’d find his friends and indulge in a bit of gaming. Perhaps a bit of female companionship.
Charles paid his respects to Adam Hawthorne and his honored guest, the American Ambassador Richard Rush, and moved away. The press of guests at his back waiting for introductions relieved him of the responsibility of making polite conversation.
He was pleased to find there was an orchestra. Dances, he had found, were quite convenient to get a lady alone for a private word. All he needed was the lady. He waited in the foyer to watch the wide entry door. Sooner or later, Mrs. Georgiana Huffington would come through it, and the game would begin.
Charles’s anticipation rose with each passing moment. The memory of her standing in the window in a nearly transparent nightgown, her hair falling around her in a golden aura, was enough to keep him standing there for hours. How would that glorious mass feel slipping between his fingers? What lay beneath that alluring nightgown he’d glimpsed? Did she still kiss like a wild angel?
He straightened as his sister and Mrs. Huffington came through the door, followed by his brother-in-law, Lord Ethan Travis. He hovered until they had been presented to the ambassador and then followed them into the music room.
Mrs. Huffington was elegant in a soft gray satin that draped to reveal her excellent figure. Rather than drab, as it might have been on any other woman, the sheen of soft gray became her, nicely setting off her delicate coloring and hair. Was the gown a remnant from her previous half mourning? Her hair had been contained in a graceful coronet from which a few curls were left to dangle and caress her long, graceful neck.
For one prurient moment he found himself wondering if the hollow of her throat was still soft and sweet, if he would be able to feel her heartbeat there, quickening against his lips. Did her passions run hotter now that she was an experienced woman? How fierce would she be in making love?
Sarah noticed his approach and smiled a welcome. “Ah, I thought you’d be here, Charles. With your imminent appointment to the Foreign Office, you could scarce afford to miss this event. The American ambassador—perhaps you will be sent to America.”
His imminent appointment? Now, why hadn’t he heard this? Another of Wycliffe’s ploys to convince him to investigate the Widow of Kent? He forced a smile and bowed. “Dear sister. Mrs. Huffington.” He greeted the ladies. “I trust you are well?”
Sarah turned to Mrs. Huffington, deferring to her for an answer.
“Very well, thank you,” she said. Her full lips curved in a smile both wise and innocent.
Charles knew when a woman was attracted to him, and knew by her smile that she recognized the attraction was still mutual. The question was what she would do with that knowledge. Time to test the waters.
“Have you taken care of your business in town, Mrs. Huffington?”
“I’ve done no more than make appointments, sir. I think all of London must be waiting on someone or other.”
He laughed at her assessment. “Then you will be with us for a while yet?”
“So it would seem.”
“And I am doing my best to keep her diverted,” Sarah said. “I am taking her to my modiste tomorrow.”
Ethan slipped his hand into Sarah’s, an endearing gesture that belied their four years of marriage. “Her favorite establishment,” he explained. “Though I always suspect there is some manner of mischief afoot there.”
Sarah nudged him. “Tease! The only mischief is to your accounts. Marie is simply the best dressmaker ever. One has not truly arrived in London until one has had a gown fashioned by Madame Marie. Her judgment is unerring.”
Ethan read Charles’s expression, smiled and edged a knowing glance toward Mrs. Huffington. “Have you seen the Hawthorne gardens, Mrs. Huffington? The topiary is extraordinary.”
“I’ve not had that pleasure, Lord Ethan.”
Taking the cue, Charles offered his arm. “Allow me to show you the grounds, Mrs. Huffington.”
She hesitated, then blinked and took his arm, her hand trembling just a little, and he surmised she had been about to refuse. Did she realize he was on to her “poor widow” act? That his interest in her now was due to his suspicion of her? Or was she remembering their last encounter in a garden?
“Bring Georgiana back before long, Charlie. I really must introduce her around,” Sarah called after them.
He gave his sister a sardonic wink. Sarah had admonished him more than once for his rakish ways, but he was not about to lie just to set her mind at ease. Instead, he led Mrs. Huffington through the ballroom and out to the terrace.
“I fear I’ve appropriated you with falsehoods, Mrs. Huffington,” he admitted.
“You have no knowledge of topiaries?”
He smiled down at her, a bit diverted by the subtle scent of her perfume—a note of flowers blended with ambergris—similar to the scent his former mistress had used. But on Mrs. Huffington it was quite heady. Lush and seductive. “None,” he admitted. “Absolutely none.”
“Then we shall have to bumble along on our own, shan’t we?”
Quite adventurous of her. He’d just given her