you are quite alone in the world, are you not?” Mrs. Hawthorne asked. “Such tragedy in your short life.”
Georgiana waved one hand in dismissal of the unwanted sympathy. “I only want to clear my name and reputation. And if my husbands were murdered, I want to find out who is behind it and obtain justice for them. That is the least I can do.”
Lady Annica clapped her hands. “Justice. The very thing we stand for, Mrs. Huffington—Georgiana, if I may? We are all on first names here.”
“We must ask you to think carefully about our next question, Georgiana,” Lady Sarah warned. “How closely do you want to be involved in the investigation?”
“Very 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.
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