Free The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 by Amy Rose Bennett Page B

tables. Say something clever and amusing.
    But what? She suddenly felt as caper-witted as a kitten. To her added chagrin, Markham spoke first. “I was sorry to hear from Lady Maxwell that you have been... indisposed following the ball last week,” he said in a low voice clearly meant for her ears only. A lover’s voice.
    A flush warmed Georgie’s cheeks. Curse the man’s confidence. But she mustn’t show any more weakness. He was the one who was supposed to be thrown off balance tonight, not her. She tossed her curls and drew in a deep breath, yet again drawing Markham’s attention to her chest. “Just a tiresome cold, but I am now fully recovered.” She smiled and looked up at him through her eyelashes just as Helena had suggested. “I must thank you for the roses you sent. They were both beautiful... and pleasurable. As you intended.”
    Markham’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before he quickly recovered his composure. He inclined his head, amusement sparking in his eyes. “My male pride is appeased, Your Grace.”
    Georgie’s breath snagged in her throat. Dear Lord. The man was too handsome for words, even with his facial scars. They marked him as a man of action—a man who quite possibly, was too much for her to handle. What madness had possessed her to make her think she could actually flirt with him like this? Let alone gain the upper hand? She was clearly out of her depth. Somehow, with a great effort of will, she made her voice work. “I’m glad.”
    Markham smiled but then his gaze slid from her face and began to wander about the room. He suddenly seemed withdrawn. Preoccupied. Unexpected panic gripped Georgie’s chest as an awkward silence descended between them. Surely he couldn’t have lost interest in her already? But what if he had? What if he was seeking out another diversion—or someone else like Lord Farley’s sister, the very pretty Lady Lucinda Tisdale—to entertain him? What if her utterly ridiculous plan to vanquish Markham in this underhanded way was all for naught?
    But then, how arrogant it was of her to assume she would be able to retain Markham’s undivided attention. He was a rake after all .
    The thought stung her feminine pride, more than she cared to admit. She should feel beautiful and desirable and powerful in this couture version of a Cyprian’s gown but instead she suddenly felt like a shabby fraud—someone undeserving of Markham’s admiration. Perhaps she should make her excuses and go before she embarrassed herself further. She couldn’t continue this farce of pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
    Beneath the cover of her burgundy silk skirts, Georgie clutched the edge of the velvet seat as a surge of bitterness she thought was long-buried, rose up inside her. Damn Lord Craven to the hottest corner of Hades for all eternity for making me feel less than I ought to be. That I’m somehow lacking as a woman.
    But why in God’s name was she even thinking about that contemptible excuse for a man right now?
    Closing her eyes, she desperately tried to ignore the familiar swirl of anguish and anger in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of him; tried again to crush the insidious memory of him to dust and scatter it like ashes in the wind.
    Markham was not like him. She had to believe that.
    And she was the Duchess of Darby. The ghost of her own self-doubt be damned as well. She was worth Markham’s—indeed any man’s—attention. And tonight she intended to have it.
    “Are you all right, Your Grace?”
    Georgie’s eyes flew open. Markham watched her, concern creasing his brow.
    She sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to smile. “Yes. Of course,” she replied with false brightness. She took a moment to smooth her skirts then somehow rose with studied grace from her seat. “I think perhaps it is a little too warm by the fire. Perhaps we could take a turn about the room... or play cards?”
    She quickly scanned the drawing room as Markham had done. By