Charles owns the Place now.” Georgiana hesitated.
“I’m slightly acquainted with Charles Hartley, if that’s any help. I might add that I would not consider him a fit person for a young lady such as yourself to share a roof with.”
His cool, impersonal tone brought a blush to Georgiana’s cheek.
Seeing it, Dominic knew he had struck close to the truth.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the empty fireplace, Georgiana struggled on. “I’m afraid…that is to say, Charles seems to have developed a fixation. In short,” she continued, desperation lending her words, “he has been trying to force me to marry him. I left the house this morning, very early.”
She glanced up and, to her surprise, found no difficulty in meeting his lordship’s blue gaze. “I’ve no one in England I can turn to, my lord. I was hoping to ask your wife for advice as to what I should do.”
Dominic’s gaze rested on the heart-shaped face and large honey-gold eyes turned so trustingly towards him. For some perverse reason, he knew he was going to help her. Ignoring the inner voice which whispered he was mad even to contemplate such a thing, he asked, “Have you any particular course of action in mind?”
“Well, I did think of going to London. I thought perhaps I could become a companion to some lady.”
Dominic forcibly repressed a shudder. Such a glorious creature would have no luck in finding that sort of employment. She was flexing her fingers, her attention momentarily distracted. His eyes slid gently over her figure. The grey dress she wore fitted well, outlining a pair of enticingly sweet breasts, young and firm and high. Her skin was perfect—peaches and cream. As she was seated, he had no way of judging her legs, although, by the evidence of her slender feet, he suspected they would prove to be long and slim. Her waist was hidden by the fall of her dress, but the swell of her hips was unmistakable. If Georgiana Hartley became stranded in London, he could guess where she’d end. Which, all things considered, would be a great shame. Her candid gaze returned to his face.
“I have my own maid and coachman. I thought that might help.”
Help? A companion with her own maid and coachman? Dominic managed to keep his face impassive. There was no point in telling her how ludicrous her ideas were, for she wasn’t going to hire out as a companion. Not if he had anything to say in the matter. The wretched life most paid companions led, neither servant nor family, stranded in limbo between stairs, was not for Miss Hartley.
“I will have to think of what’s best to be done. Instant solutions are likely to come unstuck. I’ve always found it much more useful to consider carefully before committing any irrevocable act.”
Listen to yourself! screamed his inner voice.
Dominic smiled sweetly. “I suggest you spend an hour or so with my housekeeper, while I consider the alternatives.” The smile broadened. “Believe me, there are alternatives.”
Georgiana blinked. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. She hoped she hadn’t jumped from the frying-pan into the fire. But he was turning her over to the care of his housekeeper, which hardly fitted with the image revolving in her mind. There was another problem. “Charles might follow me.”
“I can assure you this is one place Charles will never look. And I doubt he’d pursue you to London. You’re perfectly safe here.” Dominic turned and tugged the bell-pull. Then he swung back to face Georgiana and smiled reassuringly. “Charles and I don’t exactly get on, you see.”
A pause ensued. While Miss Hartley studied her hands, Dominic studied Miss Hartley. She was a sweetly turned piece, but too gentle and demure for his taste. A damsel in distress—Duckett had been right there. Clearly, it behoved him to help her. The cost would be negligible; it would hardly take up much of his time and might even afford him some amusement. Aside from anything else, it would presumably annoy Charles Hartley, and that was a good enough reason in itself. He determinedly quashed his inner voice, that advocate of self-protection at all costs, and returned to his agreeable contemplation of Miss Hartley.
The door opened, and Georgiana came slowly to her feet.
“My lord?”
Dominic turned. “Duckett, please ask Mrs Landy to attend us.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Duckett bowed himself from the room, a smile of quiet satisfaction on his face.
AFTER A PLEASANT and reassuring hour spent with Mrs Landy, Georgiana was conducted back to the drawing-room. The motherly housekeeper had been shocked to learn of Georgiana’s plight and even more moved when she discovered she had missed her breakfast. Now, fortified with muffins and jam and steaming coffee, and having been assured her two servants had been similarly supplied, Georgiana faced the prospect of her interview with Lord Alton with renewed confidence. No gentleman who possessed a housekeeper like Mrs Landy could be a villain.
She smiled sweetly at the butler, who seemed much less intimidating now, and passed through the door he held open for her. Lord Alton was standing by the fireplace. He looked up as she entered, and smiled. Georgiana was struck anew by his handsomeness and the subtle aura of a deeper attractiveness that owed nothing to his elegant attire, but derived more from the quality of his smile and the lights that danced in those wonderful eyes.
He inclined his head politely in response to her curtsy and, still smiling, waved her to the wing-chair. Georgiana seated herself and settled her skirts, thankful she had this morning donned one of her more modish gowns, a grey kerseymere with a fine white linen fichu, edged with expensive Italian lace. Comfortable, she raised expectant eyes to his lordship’s dark-browed face.
For a full minute, he seemed to be looking at her and thinking of something else. Then, abruptly, he cleared his throat.
“How old are you, Miss Hartley?”
Georgiana answered readily, assuming him to be considering what employment might best suit her years. “Eighteen, my lord.”
Eighteen. Good. He was thirty-two. She was too young, thank God. It must just be his gentlemanly instincts that were driving him to help her. At thirty-two, one was surely beyond the stage of lusting after schoolroom chits. Dominic smiled his practised smile.
“In light of your years, I think you’ll find it will take some time to discover a suitable position. Such opportunities don’t grow on trees, you know.” He kept his manner determinedly avuncular. “I’ve been thinking of what lady of my acquaintance would be most useful in helping you. My sister, Lady Winsmere, is often telling me she pines for distraction.” That, at least, was the truth. If he knew Bella, she would leap at the opportunity for untold distraction that he intended to offer her in the charming person of Miss Georgiana Hartley.
Georgiana watched Lord Alton’s face intently. Thus far, his measured statements made perfect sense, but his patronising tone niggled. She was hardly a child.
“I have written a letter to her,” Dominic continued, pausing to draw a folded parchment from his coat, “in which I’ve explained your predicament.” His lips involuntarily twitched as he imagined what Bella would make of his disclosures. “I suggest you take it and deliver it in person to Lady Winsmere in Green Street.” He smiled into Miss Hartley’s warmed honey eyes. “Bella, despite her occasional flights of fancy, is quite remarkably sane and will know precisely how you should go on. I’ve asked her to supervise you in your search for employment, for you will be sadly out of touch with the way things are done. You may place
