Page 13 of One Night with a Rake

“What is it?”

“It’s come to my attention that someone may be trying to sabotage Georgette’s chances with the Duke of Cambridge.”

The hair on the back of Nate’s neck rose. The marquis was very well informed indeed.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Do you have any idea who might dare that?”

“Not yet,” he acknowledged. “But I will keep digging. In the meantime, that is another danger from which Georgette needs protection. Can I count on you?”

Part of Nate wanted to confess all, then and there, to tell the man who would have been his father-in-law about Alcock’s plot. But if he did, his own family was sure to suffer. Alcock would make certain of it.

What a perfectly wicked little circle.

“Yes, sir.” Nathaniel stood and nodded correctly to the man he was deceiving. “I’ll protect Lady Georgette from whatever outside threats might assail her.”

Of course, no one will protect her from the inside threat—me.

Six

The second-floor ballroom wasn’t Georgette’s favorite place in Yorkingham House. She liked dancing well enough, but only if there wasn’t anyone there to see her do it. The music room, with its butterfly-style grand, held little charm for her since it could not be said that she played the piano. It was more as if she pounded the keys into submission.

No, Georgette’s favorite place in her family’s spacious home was the library on the ground floor. The walls, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves, held more books than she could read in a lifetime.

Her secret haunt was a darling little windowed alcove fitted with a banquette of tufted cushions. She could slip into that lovely corner with an apple and a couple travel books and be off to Zanzibar or South America or the frozen land of the czars. Or she could lose herself in a Sir Walter Scott poem and weep into her lacy handkerchief for his unhappy lovers who must only adore each other from afar.

Her father seemed to have forgotten about coming to finish railing at her. So after taking a luncheon tray in her room, she slipped out. With any luck at all, Georgette would have the library to herself all afternoon. She pushed through the tall double doors with hope in her heart and an apple in her pocket.

But the library was not empty. Nathaniel Colton had spread out one of her father’s detailed maps of the city on one of the large tables. He was leaning over it, tracing the winding streets with his finger.

He must not have heard her, for he didn’t look up. Instead he frowned down at the map. The years since she’d seen him last had scraped all excess boyishness from his face, leaving him lean and hard.

He’d always been a bit of a peacock, even when he was betrothed to her sister, dressing in tasteful, elegant lines. The cut of his jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and if she were close enough, Georgette was certain she’d see her reflection in his tall, gleaming Hessians.

Not that I wish to be that close to Nathaniel Colton.

“Come in if you wish, Lady Georgette,” he said without a glance toward her.

She blinked in surprise. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your scent. Even if two ladies are wearing the same perfume, every woman creates her own distinctive fragrance. Something to do with the oils in her skin, I’m told.” He slanted his gaze at her. “You wear that violet water well. I find some perfumes a bit overpowering, but yours is just sweet enough to catch a man’s nose.”

A little tingle crept down her neck, wiggled along her spine, and stayed to torment the small of her back.

He could smell her. There was something a tad indecent about that. It seemed far too intimate a thing for a man to tell a woman in a library.

“I have no wish to catch anything about you,” she said with a sniff. “Least of all your nose.”

“Then perhaps you should confine your toilette to carbolic soap.”

The man had no sense of boundaries whatsoever. “My toilette is none of your concern, and you will keep your nose to yourself.”

“You forbid me to smell your perfume?” He laughed. “I’d have to be a bit of a wizard to do that. A man may avert his gaze or stop his ears, but short of holding my nose whenever you’re around, which would undoubtedly occasion much comment, I can’t help but smell you.”

A frisson of irritation replaced the tantalizing tingle at the small of her back.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded.

He smiled at her as though her tone was welcoming. She’d made sure it wasn’t, but Nathaniel seemed impervious to her snubs.