Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)

Chapter Three

"What was that about?"

Georgie tilted her head upwards, shielding her eyes from the sun - while mentally berating herself when she noticed her gloveless hands - as she met Burkeley's gaze.

The duke, Sebastian Bartholomew Stuart to be precise, was uncommonly tall, and against her own unusual 5 feet 8 inches, he still managed to make Georgie feel like a delicate English blossom.. It didn't help that he was equally brawny while still being tailored to perfection. His dark chocolate-colored hair was scraped back, his cheekbones rigid against the shadow of his stubble.

"What was what about?"

Georgie cringed at her blasé response. As if she didn't know.

Back in the shop with the two magpies and then later, with Lord Thorne, was the closest Georgie had come to a spectacle since her return one month prior. It was a most disastrous thing to be - under the minutiae of London's ever watchful eye.

The duke's disbelieving brown eyes clashed with hers and while Georgie was many things, oblivious and a diverter wasn't one of them.

He wanted to know about Thorne.

The cords of her corset seemed to tauten until she could barely draw breath. While Georgie did not wish to give the blighter another second of her time, she was realizing how useless resistance seemed to be wherever Viscount Thorne was concerned.

The dratted man was, in fact, a frequent visitor in her dreams.

Still.

After all these years and even after the way things had been left.

So, yes, Georgie knew exactly to whom the duke referred.

"Come, Lady Georgianna. You know precisely what I mean."

Was this man privy to her thoughts as well?

Allowing the duke to lead her forward, Georgie released a sigh.

Georgie sidestepped a lad as he brushed past her skirts, his hand clutching something greedily. Various hawkers milled about in the streets, transporting their wares and shouting with their fine selections of fashion, oddities and delicacies. It gave Georgie the beginnings of a megrim pounding in her temples.

What she wouldn't give for her brother's country manor, Huntington, right now - the quiet murmurs of stable hands going about their daily tasks, the nickering of the horses and the whistling wind as it rushed through the eaves.

Her voice was almost lost amongst the chaos as she murmured, "Thorne has been Greyson's companion since Eton. He's known me since I was a little girl." One who wasn't ruined, she knew. So, the viscount is simply..." Georgie searched for the proper word. She licked her dry lips and finished, "protective of me."

The snort was so uncharacteristic of the usually unflappable Burkeley that Georgie stumbled at the sound. The duke's grip tightened on her hand as she righted herself.

"I wager he is much more than merely protective of you, my lady. He looked nigh on ready to chew off my arm."

Georgie laughed at that.

For one, If, in fact, the duke was speaking of some sort of jealousy on Thorne's part - for any purpose and with any personal regard for her - the very idea of it was preposterous. And two, for the most ridiculous image of the cultivated duke walking about with a gentleman latched onto his coat.

"If so, it was only because Thorne happened into the shop around the time some...ladies were conversing. He rose to my defense because he truly is," she smiled, wryly, "a close family friend. He defended the Claymore name, and that was the extent of it."