Page 48 of The Mistletoe Dare

“I did not mean that you were a wallflower,” Matilda said with a tut. “You ought to be fighting the invitations off with a stick. Still, it seems you have an… agreeable partner,” she added after a moment’s hesitation, giving Rochford an assessing gaze and glancing at her husband to gauge his reaction.

Montagu was watching Matilda, though, a soft look in his eyes. “You find the most interesting creatures hiding among the wallflowers. If those boys have a lick of sense, it’s the first place they’ll go.”

Matilda laughed, taking her husband’s arm. “Well, it worked out nicely for me, I’ll admit.”

“Are you in town long?” Montagu asked Rochford.

Georgie found her attention was far too riveted on the answer, though she was returning to Scotland after Christmas, so she supposed it did not much matter what the duke’s plans were.

“I return to Mulcaster on the twenty-seventh,” Rochford replied.

Montagu nodded. “If you have time before then, look me up. We’ll go to my club.”

Rochford looked taken aback by the invitation, but nodded. “Thank you.”

The orchestra struck up for the next dance, and Matilda looked at her husband expectantly.

“I find… I am not in the mood to dance,” Montagu murmured, but offered his arm to her.

To Georgie’s surprise, Matilda blushed. “Me either,” she said, taking his arm.

“If you will excuse us,” Montagu said, and guided his wife out of the ballroom.

Georgie smothered a chuckle.

“What?” Rochford asked.

She turned back to him and shook her head. “Don’t tell me you never read their story? I thought the entire world had.” He still looked blank. Georgie rolled her eyes. “The one Aunt Prue wrote about them. The Eagle and the Lamb? They had an interesting encounter at this very ball some years ago. Not that she detailed everything that happened, far too scandalous.”

Rochford shook his head. “Of course. I had forgotten the duchess was a celebrated novelist. She writes romance, I collect,” he said, looking vaguely nauseated.

Georgie sighed. “Yes, Rochford, romance. Have you never read one?”

He shook his head, watching her. “Ought I?”

She gave an indelicate snort. “I never knew a man who ought to more,” she said, and then hesitated, wondering how he would react to her teasing. To her delight, his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Is that so? And what would I learn, were I to read one?”

Georgie took his arm again, trying not to let the play of heavy muscle beneath her fingertips distract her. “Perhaps that we all deserve a happy ending.”

“Even the villains?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

“That depends on the villain,” she said, staring up at him. “Not if he is truly wicked, but if there is goodness in him, if perhaps his actions were driven by circumstance, then yes, even the villain. In fact, those stories are often the best of all.”

Rochford shook his head at her. “You’ve a soft heart. I keep warning you, you must guard it more carefully.”

“Why?” she asked, laughing, though her laughter caught in her throat as she saw the look in his eyes.

“Because some villain might try to steal it from you,” he said, his voice low.

Georgie stared at him, entranced by the softness of his expression, so at odds with his fierce appearance.

“You’re no villain,” she said.

He smiled. “Perhaps not, but my intentions might be the same.”

“Rochford?” she said, feeling panic fluttering in her chest as something far hotter and more demanding flared to life inside her.