lips that never seemed to stop smiling, but Georgina knew she had to have more willpower than that.
‘I cannot disappoint Mr Wilcox,’ she said, pulling away.
‘Even though you want to?’
Before she could stop him, Mr Robertson had pulled her into his arms and manoeuvred them into a free spot on the dance floor among the other couples getting ready to dance the waltz. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Mr Wilcox striding towards them, stopping as he saw Georgina in the arms of another man, taking her first steps as the music began.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Georgina hissed.
‘Dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.’
‘I told you I was engaged for this dance. With someone else.’
Mr Robertson shrugged, managing to complete the movement and continue to hold her in the correct position without missing a step.
‘I wanted to dance with you, Lady Georgina, and I find not much is achieved in this world if you are content to stand back and wait your turn.’ Normally she would shy away from a man with quite so much self-assurance, but it suited the man in front of her and she found herself pulled in by his easy manner and strong arms in equal measure.
He was a good dancer, certainly not a natural, but managed to twirl her round with a practised ease. She wondered how a proficiency at dancing a waltz fitted in to any of the rumours about his origins, but then as he gripped her a little tighter all thoughts of corsairs and French spies left her mind.
‘You’re a good dancer,’ he said as he executed a turn, taking the opportunity to pull her in another inch closer.
‘I’m an adequate dancer,’ she corrected. It was true, she could remember the steps, seldom stomped on her partner’s toes and was able to keep a conversation going throughout the less energetic dances, but she would never be one of those debutantes. The ones who sailed across the dance floor with barely any effort and looked as though they were skating across ice, their movements so smooth.
‘You’re a difficult woman to compliment,’ he murmured, silencing her protest with a stern look. ‘Not because it is difficult to find things to compliment you on, but you do argue back rather a lot.’
‘Not normally,’ Georgina said under her breath. Normally she accepted compliments with a small smile and a demure downcasting of her eyes. Her many suitors often extolled the beauty of her hair, her eyes, the curve of her mouth, and Georgina found it all rather ridiculous, but normally it was easier just to accept the compliment rather than get into a discussion about why her eyes weren’t like two shimmering emeralds.
‘You owe me,’ Georgina said, hastily changing the subject.
‘I owe you?’
‘Now I will have to find a way to make it up to Mr Wilcox for missing his dance.’
‘Lucky Mr Wilcox.’
Georgina ignored the provocative remark and pushed on. ‘So as my reward I want to know the truth about you.’
‘Whether I’m a French spy or an evil criminal?’
‘Exactly. Who are you, Mr Robertson?’
He leant in closer, far too close for propriety, but Georgina couldn’t bring herself to pull away. All eyes would be on them, and she knew by midday tomorrow her mother would be aware that Georgina had danced a little too closely with an unsuitable gentleman, but still she let his breath tickle her ear.
‘If I tell you, that would ruin the intrigue,’ he whispered, ‘and then you’d have no reason to want to see me again.’
Georgina felt a shiver of anticipation run down her spine. Mr Robertson was hardly a suitable suitor, her parents might not even allow him to come to call on her, but he was refreshingly different. And different was alluring when you’d been courted by most of the eligible bachelors in London and still found them hard to distinguish from one another.
The music stopped and Mr Robertson held on to her for just a moment longer than was proper, then leaving her feeling bereft, pulled away and bowed formally.
‘I think someone is trying to get your attention,’ he said, indicating into the crowd of guests.
‘Lady Yaxley, my chaperon for the evening.’
‘No doubt to scold you on your choice of company.’
‘It has been a pleasure, Mr Robertson, but now I must take my leave.’
‘Until next time, Lady Georgina. I hope it will not be too long an interval.’
‘Georgina, you must be more careful in the company you keep,’ Lady Yaxley scolded her as they took a slow walk around the ballroom. ‘And running off and abandoning those nice gentlemen like that. Your poor mother would have a seizure if she knew.’
Georgina had to stifle a smile as Caroline peered over her mother’s head and rolled her eyes. When Lady Yaxley got started on the subject of propriety and good manners it was best to let her scold until she ran out of steam.
‘The rumours about that man, Mr Robertson, you would not believe. It is entirely inappropriate for you to ever speak to him again. Perhaps if you keep your distance now the damage will be minimised.’
‘Mama...’ Caroline groaned.
‘You’re no better, young lady. Don’t think I didn’t noticed you crossing nice Mr Fielding off your dance card. That is unacceptable.’
‘His breath is worse than a pile of manure,’ Caroline informed Georgina over her mother’s head.
‘This is no laughing matter. Three seasons you girls have been out and neither one of you married off.’
‘Not from lack of proposals on Georgina’s part,’ Caroline teased.
‘Yes, your father has been rather indulgent,’ Lady Yaxley said disapprovingly.
Georgina had known the Yaxleys for her entire life. Born just days apart, she and Caroline had been destined to be friends. Their families lived on bordering estates and there were no other titled families for forty miles in each direction. It had been luck that meant they were perfectly suited to one another and from the age of five had been inseparable. Lady Yaxley was more like family than merely her friend’s mother, but that did mean Georgina was scolded by the older woman as if she were another errant daughter.
‘Mother, isn’t that Lord Westcott trying to get your attention?’ Caroline said, nodding to the other side of the ballroom.
Watching in amazement, Georgina smiled as her friend caught the Baron’s eye and raised a hand in greeting, directing her mother’s gaze just as the Baron returned the gesture, making it seem as though he was the one who initiated the contact.
‘I need a trip to the retiring room,’ Georgina
