Aunt Agatha was eyeing George through her lorgnette. She indicated with a jerk of her head that she should go with the duke. So she was in on this, whatever “this” was. All for the duke, was Aunt Agatha.

For a second it occurred to her that perhaps Aunt Agatha had lied the other day when she said the duke had rejected George as a possible bride. However he wasn’t acting the slightest bit suitorlike. And he must know from his friends that she had no interest in marriage. No, he probably only intended to make her another offer for Sultan.

“Lady Georgiana?” he reminded her. “The library.”

George gave him a long cool look. “Very well.” She would show the duke to the library and then, finally, she would escape.

Chapter Seven

Heaven forbid!—That would be the greatest misfortune of all!—To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!—Do not wish me such an evil.

—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

Hart opened the door to the library—it was empty—and held the door for her. “Just a quick word,” he said. She gave him a narrow, suspicious look, but stepped inside. He followed her in and closed the door.

Her smooth complexion was delicately flushed—temper, he assumed. She hadn’t liked being given no choice about going with him. Just as she hadn’t liked being forced to dance with him, and going in to supper with him.

He didn’t think it was an act either. At the opera he’d wondered whether her outrageous comments were designed to attract his attention—he was inured to the things women would do to make him notice them. But she’d made no attempt to follow them up or to engage his interest at any future point.

His friends seemed to think that was just how Lady George was—unconventional and outspoken. But they liked her anyway. No doubt because they’d all swallowed the nonsense about her planning never to marry and felt perfectly safe with her.

Hart wasn’t convinced. Of course she might have an aversion to men as a gender, and if that were the case, he had no use for her. But he didn’t think that was so.

At the opera, and in the conservatory he’d been aware of an undercurrent of sexual attraction between them. He’d certainly felt it, and he didn’t think it was one-sided.

His mouth dried each time he watched her cross the room, with that coltish yet oddly graceful, long-legged gait of hers. And her gaiety as she’d danced with her friends, sprightly and slender, laughing unselfconsciously—it was quite . . . appealing.

Just one question remained in his mind.

“So, what do you want?” she demanded. A few tiny crystals of sugar glittered at the corner of her mouth. Hart couldn’t take his eyes off them.