Page 42 of The Mistletoe Dare

“Because after your last tantrum you burnt your boats and didn’t have any other options, and neither did I,” Rochford said dryly. “We’re not exactly well behaved, either of us.”

Joe sighed. “True enough. It doesn’t make you any less of an idiot where the fairer sex is concerned. Truly, Rochford, Blackwood is right. It’s high time you married and got that witch of a mother off your back. It would certainly make my life easier.”

“And that’s my job, is it? To make your life easier?” Rochford shot back, knowing he was being an obnoxious arse, but doing it anyway. He was a duke, after all. If he wanted to be insufferable, he could be.

He sighed, despondent. He wanted Georgie to call him an obnoxious arse again, and a pompous fool, and a horrid creature, and whatever the hell else she wished to call him. So long as she did it to his face, he didn’t care.

He glanced back at Joe, who was watching him with a knowing expression. Grumbling furiously under his breath, he went and sat his backside down and had his beard trimmed.

“Good heavens, Evie!” Georgie said, staring at her friend in wonder.

“Oh, dear. It’s too much, isn’t it?” Evie fretted, covering her cleavage with her gloved hands. “I knew I ought not to have listened to… to my sister.” She flushed and bit her lip.

Georgie shook her head vigorously. “No! No, that’s not what I meant at all. I mean… you look beautiful. Splendid. My word, that gown. Wherever did you get it?”

Evie mumbled something Georgie didn’t hear, but took her arm, hurrying down the corridor to the stairs. “You’re sure? I don’t want to make a spectacle of myself.”

“I’m quite sure. You’ve never looked better. Truly.”

Evie returned a pleased smile. “Thank you, Georgie. I think I needed to hear that tonight. You look stunning too, you know, but then you always do.”

Georgie smiled, but her stomach was in knots. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, for tonight she would be with her friends and that was enough for her to enjoy herself. So what if no eligible men ever asked her to dance? Well, not any with the slightest interest of finding a prospective bride, anyway. So what if people sniggered at her and called her a giantess? It was only words. She had people who loved her. Just no man who wasn’t a friend or relation who wanted to dance with her. It was nothing new and there was no point lamenting it all over again. Yet, that one dance she shared with Rochford had opened her eyes to how it could be, to dance with a man who didn’t feel awkward to be with you, or made you feel awkward in return.

She’d felt at home in her own skin, which only ever happened when she was at home with her family. That was it, she realised then. That was the reason he drew her to him. She could be entirely herself, without trying to shrink or watching her tongue. Well, it was one of the reasons, the others being a physique that made her mouth go dry, and the suspicion that something soft and lovable lurked under that uncompromising exterior. Except, if it did, it was dashed well hidden. The big lout.

Georgie and Evie made a circuit of the ballroom, greeting friends and accepting invitations to dance. These they noted on pretty mother-of-pearl fans which served as dance cards. So far, Georgie had invitations from the Duke of Bedwin, Jules, Nicolas Alexandre Demarteau, and the one she’d already gained from his half-brother, the comte. She’d not seen the Comte de Villen yet, though he must be here somewhere. You could hide a herd of elephants in this crush. The Duchess of Bedwin’s annual Christmas ball was the event of the festive season and anyone who was anyone was here.

The sound of sniggering and the sensation of Evie stiffening beside her gained Georgie’s attention, and she turned to see a group of five pretty debutantes, giggling and whispering behind their fans. That she and Evie were at the centre of their amusement, she did not doubt. She supposed they made an odd pair, with her towering over diminutive Evie.

“No, no, Goliath and his fat pony,” said the nearest girl, not bothering to lower her voice as the others went off into peals of laughter.

“Oh, I know,” said another, bouncing on her toes. “Lofty and Dumpling.”

“Just ignore them,” Evie said with a sigh, cheeks blazing.

Suddenly, the whispering and giggling subsided, and an awed hush fell over the girls. Georgie looked to see what had taken their attention and saw the Comte de Villen moving purposely through the crowd. Though—and despite scolding herself soundly for it—she’d been hoping to see the less elegant figure of the Duke of Rochford heading towards her, Georgie’s breath still caught. Heavens, but he was beautiful. He looked like a young god moving among mere mortals. Everyone turned to look at him as he passed, their gazes drawn to him whether or not they wanted to be.

The debutantes sighed and batted their eyelashes as well as their fans, trying to gain his notice, and he ignored them utterly. The comte’s gaze seemed fixed on Evie, his expression intent.

“Lady Georgina, Miss Knight. May I say how lovely you both look this evening,” he said, giving them a very formal bow. He barely glanced at Georgie, his gaze lingering on Evie a touch longer than it ought, apparently taking in every detail of the gown she wore.

They curtsied, and Georgie returned a wry smile. “Thank you, monsieur. I’m afraid the young ladies did not agree with you. What was it, Evie? Lofty and Dumpling?”

The comte’s face darkened, and he turned to regard the young women, his expression cool. “Silly children,” he remarked, a comment nicely designed to set them down a peg whilst doing no harm to their reputations. “I hope you will heed my opinion over theirs. You are both exceptionally lovely.”

The cluster of young women gasped, flushing with embarrassment, and one let out a sob of mortification as they all hurried away.

“Thank you, Louis,” Evie whispered.

His gaze shot back to hers. “Monsieur le Comte,” he reminded her, his voice hard.

Evie flushed at the reprimand, and his expression softened. “Will you dance with me, Miss Knight?”

Evie relaxed, smiling up at him. “Oh, of course. I’d love to.”

Georgie gave Evie a little wave as she walked off on the comte’s arm. Sighing a little, she stood back to watch the dancing, and nearly leapt out of her skin as someone spoke directly into her ear.

“Lady Georgina.”