Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)

Chapter Four - Part One

The next day, Thorne found himself in front of a quaint townhome in the fashionable set of Mayfair in London. Clouds hovered above his head and billowed in gray bursts - the threat of rain making this month just like any other in England. In fact, Thorne wouldn't have known it was April at all if the Season was not just beginning, all of its hopeful inhabitants flocking to town like hibernating birds. 

Big, fanciful ones, Thorne mused, as he turned his head to watch the Ladies Blackwell pass in their carriage, their hairdo's looking nothing more than bird's nests with all their poofs, flounces and - if Thorne wasn't mistaken - one even had a few sticks in the plumes of her hat.

Odd, that.

A crisp wind bit his cheeks and lashed color beneath his skin. His greatcoat flapped behind him, and Thorne wondered if this was what it felt like to be a hero in a gothic novel.

He smiled. Not that Thorne would know that such heroes resided in these novels, of course, but considering the home before him was filled with women, the description, he knew, was apt.

After all, his sisters did so love the idea of those tales - a Radcliffe hero in the mountains or striding about the moors or a Byron spouting patent nonsense as he cast his puppy dog eyes above. His sisters, Thorne imagined, would watch from high above on the balcony while Byron would be on one knee with his skivvies in a cluster and drivel spouting from his flapping lips. 

In another year, the ton would have its hands full, indeed, with his twin sisters' comeout.

So help us, God.

Thorne sighed. If only this visit would be filled with their mindless prattle instead. Anything was preferable to his actual business this day at Lord Randall's estate - Thorne's future estate, in fact, if the rug hiding all of their secrets stayed covered in dust mites and shag.

More than anyone, however, Thorne knew what lay beneath it. How deceiving a simple ornamentation - like propriety or status - could be.

He tapped against the door, and Thorne waited a moment before he realized what he was doing. Scoffing - as if Thorne should give the man he was visiting any ounce of respect - he strode straight in and almost plowed into Percy, the butler.

Percy blinked once, a slow lowering of his lashes (the full extent of any and all facial expressions for the Butler, Thorne was sure), before he straightened and began speaking as if a grown lord hadn't nearly knobbed him in the nose with a door.

"My lord," he droned, "may I take your coat?"

Thorne smiled cheekily, as he breezed past, peering over his shoulder at the emotionless butler. "No need, my good man. I won't be staying long."

In fact, the only thing that kept Thorne from spinning on his heel and saying to hell with this meeting was knowing that in hours time, he would find himself within the company of Lady Georgianna. It shouldn't have filled him with anticipation, Thorne knew. Georgie was another man's betrothed, so for what purpose should he have any feelings towards her whatsoever?

And never this particular feeling.

The pounding of his pulse in his ears and the snap of sparks that sent a bolt of electricity throughout his body. It reminded him of a moment in his youth - the feeling as close to euphoria as he had ever know. It all began innocuously enough when he was younger - allowing a young Georgie to follow him about.

Over time, it was he who snuck Georgie from her lessons, dragging her along for whatever adventure of his and her brother, Greyson's. They had offered Georgie first taste of brandy and taught her the best method for pilfering sweet treats from the pantry. Then had come this incessant urge to tease. Thorne had pulled on the ends of her ponytail and hid her ribbons. One time even lacing a hole in the sugar jar so one dollop in her tea became a whole cupful.