Love’s Betrayal (28 page)

“No matter what you do, I shall always love and admire you, Gigi.”

Georgette gripped Marianne's small fingers. “You are my first real friend aside from my sister. Most women are spiteful and insincere, but you? Never.”

“You are good for me as well,” Marianne said.

A tall figure loomed over them. “Good evening, ladies.”

“Mr. LaTournay, how nice to see you back in the city! A good evening to you.” Marianne extended her hand in greeting. He bowed over it, then turned his gaze upon Georgette.

“I trust each of you ladies will honor me with a dance this evening.”

Georgette couldn't force herself to smile, but she managed to acknowledge his greeting with a nod before realizing he would interpret the movement as an agreement to dance. While she struggled to think of an excuse, one of Mrs. Weatherby's daughters settled at the piano and played the introduction to a reel.

“I should be honored, Mr. LaTournay,” Marianne answered after a brief silence. He took her hand and led her to line up with several other couples at one end of the crowded room.

LaTournay's claret-colored coat fit his shoulders perfectly. Georgette looked away, determined to find nothing admirable in the man. Dainty Marianne seemed a child beside that lanky scarecrow of a man, she decided.

Two figures blocked her view. “Georgette, this is Mr. Lester Pringle.” Her father indicated a smiling young man. “I hear from reliable sources that he is a fair dancer.”

Georgette stammered through a “Pleased to meet you.” Her father moved on, leaving Georgette alone with the attractive young man.

“If we hurry, we may join this dance. Will you?”

She nodded. He led her to the dance floor and bowed as the music began.

“I understand you are come to New York from England a year ago. If that is so, you have already endured one summer's killing heat,” he said as she rotated around him.

“And who spoke of me to you?”

Light sparkled in his eyes. “My friend LaTournay. It seems you have made a fair impression upon his sensibilities. He does not usually come to town early in the year, yet here we find him in April.”

Georgette's smile faded. “I have no wish to impress Mr. LaTournay.”

Mr. Pringle's brows lifted as he displayed healthy teeth in a grin. “Better and better.”

“Do you like dogs?” She tried to imagine Pringle cloaked in the dark.

He laughed. “Once I was presented with a harrier pup, but I gave it away. Dogs are bothersome creatures—especially lap dogs. Utterly useless. Horses are my passion. LaTournay rides a brown mare I would give my eyeteeth to own. Have you seen her?”

“No.”

He proceeded to wax eloquent on the finer points of this unknown horse. Georgette concentrated on her dance steps. The small floor seemed crowded with couples, and she noticed a stitch developing in her side. Mr. Pringle danced with more enthusiasm than grace.

“I see LaTournay observing us with something less than approbation,” he confided against her ear, pulling her so close that their bodies nearly touched. “Shall we make him burn with jealousy? Do you long for my kiss as I long for yours?”

“No.” Georgette jerked away in confusion. Again Mr. Pringle laughed aloud, causing stares of disapproval from nearby matrons. Georgette wished he had kept his mind on horses.

The ladies and men changed partners for a moment, and Georgette found herself curtsying to Mr. LaTournay. He took her hand. The room seemed uncomfortably warm. She was relieved to switch back to Pringle despite his impertinent behavior. For the duration of the dance, Georgette had trouble focusing on her partner due to her constant awareness of Marianne's partner.

When the dance ended, Pringle excused himself. Georgette caught the roguish twinkle in his eye as his hand brushed the length of her bare arm. Fanning her warm face, she settled upon a vacant chair. Another touch on her arm made her jump.

“Gigi, I saw you with Mr. Pringle. Does he dance like a dream?” Marianne's bright eyes begged for information.

“Mr. Pringle? He is pleasant enough, though forward. He laughs too loudly.” Georgette flicked her fan. “Did you enjoy dancing with Mr. LaTournay?”

“He was polite, although I think he would prefer you as a partner, Gigi. He asked many questions. I told him about your puppy, Caramel, about how you like to read novels, and I even told him about your accepting Jesus as your Savior last Christmastide. I hope you do not mind.”

Georgette sprang up. “My side aches. Would you care to stroll through the garden with me?”

Marianne laughed. “It is pouring rain out there, you goose! I may be warm, but I am not afire. I should think you would want to stay here where Mr. Pringle can ask you for another dance. At present, he is talking with Mr. LaTournay. I think his face expresses real depth of character.” Marianne looked dreamy-eyed. Perhaps her personality held a touch of romance after all.

Pringle turned, caught them watching him, and approached, smiling. “LaTournay tells me you are to dance the next with him, Miss Talbot. Since this is the case, I would be delighted to meet your friend.” He turned his gleaming smile upon Marianne.

Georgette made the proper introductions, and Mr. Pringle requested Marianne's next dance. “If you are available,” he added.

Color flooded the girl's face. “Yes, Mr. Pringle,” Marianne said. “I have no engagement.”

He bowed, winked at Georgette, and walked away. Stunned, the two girls exchanged looks. “Gigi, this is my fondest dream come true! Does my hair look well?” Marianne fanned herself until her curls flew about her face.

So I am to dance the next with Mr. LaTournay, am I?
Georgette brooded.
I shall show him.

The pianist concluded a minuet. Dancers left the floor, and Mr. Pringle arrived to claim Marianne. Georgette saw him trail a finger down Marianne's arm, bring her gloved hand to his chest, and look deeply into her eyes. Georgette shook her head. The man was far too confident of his own allure. Nothing like her mysterious rescuer.

“Miss Talbot.”

That stilted voice lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Mr. LaTournay offered his arm, and Georgette accepted it. In his presence, all thought of defying his wishes vanished. “Remarkable weather we are having,” she blurted.

“So it must be, since you have remarked upon it.”

She swallowed hard and tried again. “Do you always come to town when the ships arrive from England?” She curtsied to begin the dance, thankful that her feet seemed to know the steps without her conscious direction.

“Usually. I also trade with the other colonies of course. But, as you know, many items can be obtained only from your homeland.”

“I wonder if Boston and Philadelphia are cities of culture and refinement. New York is rustic, in my opinion. We were surprised by the pigs that scavenge in the streets. I was told the beasts keep the streets cleaner, but I suspect my source spoke in jest. Pigs?” She winced. “Oh dear, do you raise pigs on your estate? Or was it sheep? I should think sheep would be cleaner beasts to have roaming the streets.”

Her nervous chatter held his attention, and she thought one side of his mustache twitched. She now realized that the raised mark just below his left cheekbone was a reddish birthmark, not a mole. “No doubt you are correct,” he replied, “but sheep prefer clean grass and fresh air to rubbish. I share their distaste for city life.”

“I should think a man of your refinement would find country life dull.” Unless he kept a collection of female admirers in the country as well.

“I have always before found town life dull, yet this spring I could scarcely wait to return. You have brought life to this dreary city, Miss Talbot. Perhaps someday I shall be privileged to show you the delights of rural living.”

She would prefer to have his penetrating eyes focused elsewhere. Was it fear that raised gooseflesh on her arms each time he touched her hand? It must be!

“You have traveled nowhere in America outside this city?” he inquired as they traversed a circle.

“Not as yet. My mother often speaks of seeing Boston, but Papa says this is not the time for travel. One cannot tell whom to trust these days; there are so many traitorous colonists terrorizing honest subjects of the king. I would like to travel more. I did attend school in France for a year.” They separated to dance with different partners for a moment, and she recalled telling him about her Paris schooling once before. He might find her company tedious and lose interest. All the better.

When the dance brought them together again, he spoke softly. “
C'est fort intéressant.
”

Without attempting to translate, she answered lightly, “I confess that I understand little French. Although I attended school in France, I never claim to have learned anything there. Have you traveled?”

“I have never been to Europe.”

Did he think her frivolous? For the first time, Georgette regretted her squandered opportunities. “New York is a British province. I mean, since you live here, you have been to England. Is that not true?”

“I am certain King George would find such sentiments gratifying,” he returned. When the dance ended, he bowed over her hand and kissed it, looking up at her with a quizzical challenge in his eyes. Georgette stared, openmouthed. Some extraordinary power emanated from the man. And those eyes …

“Miss Talbot,” he purred, holding her gaze and squeezing her fingers. “You know, do you not?”

“I have no idea of what you are speaking!” Georgette snatched her hand away and unfurled her fan.

He straightened, eyes widening. Lifting his brows, he averted his gaze, and she saw his mustache twitch as if he fought a smile. “My mistake.”

Georgette watched him walk across the room.

“Marianne, why is evil so alluring?” she demanded of her friend a few moments later.

The smaller girl allowed Georgette to maneuver her into an alcove. “Whatever prompts such a question, Gigi?”

Georgette's rapid fanning produced a gale. “That lord of the underworld. I want him to go away. I refuse to become one of his many conquests!”

“I thought you liked him. I tried to attract your attention while we danced just now, but you seemed absorbed in your partner.”

“I hate him!” Georgette blotted out the memory of her fiery response to his slightest advance. “He uses other men's wives for his own enjoyment. He probably considers matrimony now only to add respectability to his family line.”

Her other possible explanation was too humiliating to mention. Was she so undesirable that her father resorted to extortion to provide her with a husband?

“My father is acquainted with Mr. LaTournay,” Marianne said. “He came to dine at our house the other night, and I found him pleasant company. He associates with the leaders of our province and is respected by most if not all of them. Gigi, the man has no need to improve his status by marrying well.”

Georgette stifled a wave of jealousy. Mr. LaTournay dined with the Grenvilles? Had he transferred his interest to Marianne?

“I mean no offense,” Marianne continued, “but if the truth be known, I would not have thought he would consider you at all, Gigi. Yet even Mr. Pringle remarked while we danced tonight that you and Mr. LaTournay thought yourselves alone in the room.”

Georgette covered her hot cheeks with both hands. “No! Oh Marianne, did you not tell me I should seek a godly man to marry? I am far too easily beguiled by worldly men.” She attempted to draw a deep breath and nearly cried out at the sharp pain stabbing her side. Growing still, she waited for the discomfort to pass.

“You and I both know we may not be allowed to select our husbands. My parents will consider a man's religion before promising my hand, but I fear yours will not. You must be in prayer that God will guide their selection.”

“I shall pray,” Georgette agreed, nodding. “Have you seen my mother? I wish to go home. I can scarcely draw breath. Agnes laced me too tightly.”

Across the room, Pringle and LaTournay conferred. “You are correct: The blond in pink is a choice armful,” Pringle observed. “Keep your eyes half-closed, and she is
très belle.
The little one also has appeal, though she is freckled. Her hair is like moonbeams.”

“She is Howard Grenville's daughter.”

Pringle brightened. “The Long Island merchant and land owner? Miss Grenville's appeal multiplies beyond the tally of her freckles. She is the more comely of the two, in truth. Miss Talbot's mouth makes me think of a frog wearing lip rouge.”

“Her mouth is lovely,” LaTournay snapped.

“Ah!” A slow smile curved Pringle's lips, and his blue eyes twinkled.

LaTournay folded his arms. “Leave Miss Talbot to me. She is not your type.”

“She will soon bore you—she is no wit.”

“She amuses me.”

Pringle shrugged. “You have never before asked me to leave a woman alone. Will you dance with her again?”