A Daring Liaison. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ closely, indeed,” she vowed. If someone was singling out the men she married, she wanted to know why.

      “Excellent. I shall make all the arrangements and send you notice of where and when we shall meet next. Leave your schedule open, dear. We shall likely begin tomorrow.”

      His hand raised, Charles was about to knock on his sister’s door when it opened and nearly caused him to stumble. Thank God he’d arrived in time.

      “Charles! Heavens, you nearly frightened us to death.”

      He looked over his sister’s shoulder to see her usual collection of friends—Lady Annica, Grace Hawthorne, Lady Charity MacGregor, Eugenia and, yes, the infamous Widow of Kent. His first love, his deepest cut and now his quarry.

      Sarah followed the direction of his attention and smiled. “Charles, have you met Mrs. Huffington?”

      “I believe I had that pleasure some years ago,” he said, removing his hat. “Refresh my memory?” He was rewarded by Mrs. Huffington’s little flinch at the slight.

      Sarah stood aside to allow Mrs. Huffington to come forward. “Georgiana, may I present my woefully wicked brother, Mr. Charles Hunter? Charles, may I present Mrs. Georgiana Huffington?”

      The beguiling creature performed a polite curtsy, her eyes downcast. Was she remembering the single extraordinary kiss they had stolen in a garden seven years ago? He took her hand and bowed. “Charmed again, Mrs. Huffington. How long have you been in town?”

      “Not long, sir,” she said as she looked up from their joined hands. “I’ve only just returned from Kent.”

      He took a moment to absorb her remarkably green eyes. Not emerald. Not greenish-gray or sea-green. Hers were more … olive. And every bit as captivating as they’d been years ago. His memory had not failed him. Nor had hers, indicated by the subtle blush on her cheeks. Yes, she was remembering that single astonishing kiss, too. Ah, but she was no longer girlishly coy. No, this Georgiana was now a woman of considerable experience. One he would have no qualms about seducing.

      “Is Kent your home?” he asked to break the silence.

      “It was until my marriage … s. And is again now.”

      Quite interesting, the way she included her deceased husbands in one group. He wondered, perversely, if he should offer condolences or congratulations.

      Before he could say anything, she tucked a stray wisp of dark blond hair back into her bonnet and continued a little breathlessly. “I have come to town to meet with my aunt’s factor and solicitor to settle matters regarding her estate.”

      He noted a quick flash of pain in her eyes, just as quickly hidden—genuine grief for her aunt, then, but only scraps for her husbands. And Adam Booth? What had she felt for him? “I am sorry for your loss … es, Mrs. Huffington.”

      A sudden spark in her eyes told him she’d caught his deliberate mocking.

      He became aware of the other ladies watching them with interest, and that he was still holding Mrs. Huffington’s warm, delicate hand. He released it and gave her his best devil-may-care grin as he bowed and stood aside to let them pass. A fair beginning. Having been reintroduced by his sister, Mrs. Huffington was unlikely to suspect the real reason he was about to show a singular interest in her again.

      But he’d been surprised by the sudden flash of anger that surfaced at his memory of that kiss—a kiss so remarkable he’d been about to propose. A kiss he still remembered seven years later. A kiss, as it turned out, that had been nothing but deceitful.

       Chapter Two

      Georgiana looked down at the darkened city street outside her window. There were a few trees in the small square across the way, two or three benches and a grassy patch for children to play. A little piece of the country in London. The thought made her a bit melancholy. She’d lived most her life in Kent, shut away with her guardian. Lady Caroline’s tragic disfigurement had isolated her from the world but for her brief and successful husband-hunting forays for Georgiana. But she could not regret those quiet, idyllic days. In fact, she yearned for them. A life in the countryside free of the controversy and scandal of her circumstances seemed the most desirable of all goals. The moment she could conclude her business, she’d hasten back to Kent and retire there.

      London was too unsettling. Too demanding. Too dangerous.

      She leaned against the window casement and pulled the lace curtain aside to watch the flicker of the lamppost below and try to organize her mind for the days ahead. But all that came to her was Charles Hunter. Her first love. Her greatest shame.

      She’d met him years ago, in her come-out season, and she’d thought him terribly handsome and quite amusing. She’d made the mistake of allowing him to kiss her in a garden one summer night, and that had been her undoing. That kiss had been deeply stirring and had led to more than she intended.

      Upon their reintroduction this afternoon, she’d confirmed he was quite the best-looking man she’d ever met. But now there was nothing of his youthful openness left. He was still tall and dark, like his brothers, and he had the same startling violet eyes as his sister, but he seemed more guarded, more … dangerous. What had happened to him during the intervening years?

      Back then, he’d been her favorite, and she’d thought she was his. But after that kiss he’d turned moody and began to avoid her. She wondered if she’d done something wrong, commited some gaucherie, or somehow offended him. When she’d complained, Aunt Caroline informed her that some men were fickle, and lost interest when a woman came too easily. Charles Hunter, she was told, was a rake—the sort who liked the chase more than the capture. Had the kiss been his capture? Humiliated, she’d begun to avoid him, too.

      Now? Well, he was Lady Sarah’s brother, and she would likely be encountering him on occasion. But she was seven years older and wiser. She could hold her own with a man like Mr. Hunter. His subtle challenge and the ever-so-slight insult this afternoon aside, she could be as polite as he. Yes, warm and polite on the surface, cool and distant beneath—that was the way to deal with a man of his mettle. Surely ignoring his little barbs would be easy for her now that she had some measure of sophistication and experience.

      The mantel clock struck the hour of eleven just as a knock sounded on her door. Sanders, her footman, entered carrying a small silver tray bearing two letters. “Mr. Hathaway said these came for you a bit ago, madam. I think one is from that solicitor fellow.”

      Her solicitor? Oh, pray he had found time for her in his schedule. “Why did he not bring it to me when it arrived?”

      “Mr. Hathaway was on his way out to fetch blacking for the stove and andirons, madam. He left them in the foyer and Clara told me to bring them up.” Sanders placed the little tray on her night table.

      Blacking? Where would her butler find blacking so late at night? Georgiana sighed as she realized her household had become used to functioning by itself during her mourning. It might take her a while to get matters back in hand.

      Sanders added wood to the fireplace and turned to Georgiana. “Will that be all for tonight, madam?”

      “Yes, thank you. Please send Clara up.”

      He gave a crisp bow before leaving her alone in her room. She looked around and sighed. In London three days, СКАЧАТЬ