Free Rogue Grooms by AMANDA MCCABE

away from England for so long; he doesn’t know anyone else yet.”
    “That is not it at all, and you know it!” said Elizabeth. “He obviously likes you. He probably wants to marry you.”
    “No!” said Georgina firmly. “I am hardly suitable.”
    “You are the most suitable! He could do no better. I think that he ...”
    “Ladies, please!” Nicholas interrupted. “Who is this new admirer that has the two most unflappable women I know in such an uproar?”
    “Alexander Kenton,” said Georgina. “The new Duke of Wayland.”
    Nicholas’s dark brows shot up. “Hotspur Kenton?”
    “You know him?” Georgina asked hopefully.
    “I knew of him, in Spain. Everyone knew of Colonel Kenton of the Sixteenth. He was absolutely fearless, but an excellent leader; never asked his men to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. I had heard that Damian had finally stuck his spoon in the wall.” He grinned at Georgina. “So he is your new suitor, Georgie? Should I have a talk with him, find out his intentions?”
    Before Georgina could respond to this bit of nonsense, the knocker at the front door sounded, and Elizabeth jumped out of her chair.
    “The guests are arriving!” she cried. “Does everything look quite all right?”
    “Perfect, darling,” said Nicholas. “Now, I will go upstairs and change my clothes before I disgrace you.” He paused to kiss Georgina’s cheek. “See you later, Duchess.”
    Georgina smacked him on the shoulder.
     
    The salon was proving to be a rousing success.
    Painters, poets, musicians, patrons of the arts, and even politicians stood in groups large and small across the drawing room. They spilled out onto the small terrace, and flowed into the dining room where the refreshments beckoned. The mushroom tarts were consumed; the champagne was drunk; the harp and the pianoforte were played. Elizabeth was glowing with pleasure at her success, and the two paintings of Georgina’s that were displayed were greatly admired.
    In short, it was looking to be a rather perfect evening, aside from one small flaw.
    Well, a rather large flaw, actually. Alex had not yet appeared.
    Every time the drawing room opened to admit a new flood of guests, Georgina would turn eagerly, searching their faces, only to be disappointed.
    What was wrong with her, behaving like a silly schoolgirl when she was all of thirty years of age? Men handsomer than Alex Kenton had taken her driving before, had escorted her to balls and routs. They had been charming, pleasant company, enjoyable to flirt and dance with. And she had forgotten them almost as soon as they were out of her sight.
    Why should this man be any different?
    Because, she admitted to herself with a rueful sigh, he was different! She had so wanted him to see her paintings, to see how admired they were, that she had a talent. That she was not a mere empty-headed Society matron, dabbling in watercolors.
    Because she wanted him to admire her, blast it! To be intrigued by her.
    As she admired him. And was intrigued by him.
    But how could she win his admiration if he was not even here!
    “... do so love this one, Mrs. Beaumont!”
    Georgina turned her attention from the door to smile at the woman beside her, a small, blonde viscountess who had been examining her paintings. Georgina could not, unfortunately, remember which viscountess she was.
    “Oh, yes?” she said helpfully.
    “Yes!” The viscountess gestured with her glass of champagne at an informal study Georgina had done of Elizabeth, Nicholas, Lady Kate, Isabella, and Elizabeth’s brother and sister-in-law, Peter and Carmen, the Earl and Countess of Clifton. They were gathered around a tea table on a country house terrace, a scene of domestic harmony and great friendship, much laughter and love.
    Georgina smiled to recall that particular golden afternoon at Evanstone Park, when she had been sketching away to capture the scene.
    “I would vow I was there!” the viscountess—was it Lady