Free One Night of Passion by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

own appearances to keep up, and being a fashion wastrel is one of them.” He fluffed his hand over his own onerously tied cravat and perfectly cut coat. “Your charity case is wearing a French gown at least twenty years out of fashion. Something that well made that hasn’t been redone ten times over means she didn’t buy it from some rag dealer in Petticoat Lane.
    “Therefore, I would surmise that she inherited it—which means she is either following in the household trade or the family is in dun territory and she is their only way out.” Temple shuddered. “To think she is the family salvation. Lord have mercy on the lot of them. They’ll starve before that poor wren makes enough to keep the creditors at bay.”
    Colin shook his head. “And you got all that in one quick glance?”
    “Yes.” Temple shrugged. “Years of experience. Years of observation and experience.”
    He didn’t quite agree with Temple. There was more to Georgie’s story than such a simplistic explanation.
    Colin glanced again in her direction, but the crowd was now too thick to find her. “So, based on your years of experience, what will happen to her?”
    Temple shook his head. “Better that you don’t know. Just try to remember her clumsy manners and cherish the bruise on your foot.”
    He did a double take and stared at his cousin. “How did you know about my foot?”
    “The large, telling print atop your boot.”
    Georgie had restrained herself from looking about the room for Colin for a good hour, but she could no longer resist and searched the crowd high and low until she spied him and his cousin engaged in conversation with a pair of gorgeous Cyprians.
    Real Cyprians, she thought, glancing down at her own gown, the one she’d thought so lovely when she’d pulled it from her trunk. Now she realized how hopelessly out of date it truly was. Against the fine, sleek gowns of the ladies around her, their hair and jewels so perfectly arranged, and their faces made more enticing with touches of kohl and rouge, it was obvious she didn’t belong here.
    How right Colin had been to point that out. And how foolish she was to think a man that handsome would find her intriguing enough to take her to his bed. Not that she’d done anything to recommend herself to him.
    She cringed to remember.
    Demmed. She’d said demmed not once, but twice. No wonder he’d told her she didn’t belong there. Cursing like some rough sailor, she probably seemed more fit for strolling about the docks.
    And if it wasn’t her wayward tongue, then most likely her foot tromping had been enough to frighten him off.
    Still, she wouldn’t have minded so terribly much being bedded by him.
    If only he had found her enticing as well. She thought she’d caught him glancing at her, his green eyes glowing with a hot passion that said he knew exactly what she looked like without her dress on—and how to get her out of it—but she was probably just kidding herself.
    For despite his reassurances that he was a terrible rake, Georgie knew that whatever transgressions had earmarked him as a scoundrel and brought out the animosity of those officers, it was undeserved.
    Well, almost.
    When he hadn’t let go of her for such a long time while they stood entangled at the top of the stairs, she’d have sworn she felt sparks running between them—as if their bodies already knew how well they fit together.
    Yet it hadn’t been enough to keep him.
    She glanced at the ladies around her, some fluttering fans with the grace of butterflies, catching a man’s attentions with their artful movements, others able to entertain their admirers with their witty remarks.
    Georgie cursed silently again. What did she know about flirtation? What did she know about any of the arts of luring a man?
    Little to nothing.
    That humbling insight was only made worse by the realization that now she’d have to search in earnest . . . or give up and go home. As she glanced at the rather desolate