Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)

Chapter 20

"Well, it seems as if I am on the arm of a notorious beauty. It's like having a walk with Beau Brummel himself!"

Thorne stumbled a step and gasped in mock outrage. "Excuse you, madame, but I have nothing in common with that self-righteous peacock, and you know it."

Miss Sophie Beaumonte's laughter rang in the crowded antechamber, drawing even more gazes towards their corner, as they shuffled along towards their seats for the opera. "Are you sure, my lord?" She made a point of surveying him. Glancing down, Thorne held his arms out to his sides and turned in a circle for her perusal. He had to say that he made quite a statement.

His waistcoat was done in gossamer satin, filled with pink and yellow vertical stripes and topped with a well-fitted, but garishly-colored sunshine gold, tailed jacket. Striking, to be sure.

"What's wrong with it?" He asked, a put-upon sigh in his tone. "Do you think it too plain?"

Thorne made a point of turning again, his vision planted on a spot one or two steps behind him, until he looked no more than a mangy mongrel trying to fetch his tail. Sophie's delighted laughter followed his action, and he grinned, watching the lady clap her hands in amusement.

"I am garbed in the height of fashion, at least that is what my tailor, Percy, told me." Kicking out a boot, Thorne drew his face upwards until the lights overhead bathed him in golden light, placing his fists on his hips and preening. "Likening me to Beau Brummell is an insult. Not only do I have the lean musculature of Adonis himself -"

Sophie snorted, and Thorne narrowed his eyes at her in a mock scowl.

"-but my virility is not to be questioned."

He heard a shocked gasp behind him, but his full attention was on Sophie who was his accomplice in crime this evening. Her hair was almost as golden as his own, but with strands of sandy colored hair. It reminded him of looking into the glass time measuring device as the strands shifted beneath the candle's glow. Sophie's cream-colored gown accentuated her waist and the tanned tone of her arms. When Sophie grinned, Thorne found himself answering it, some part of him acknowledging the playful spirit within her.

She winked. "I would never be so bold to assume otherwise, Sire."

Thorne bowed. Sophie curtsied in return.

As her giggle of delight trilled in the foyer and she straightened, he ignored the scathing glances sent their way. A few maidens, however, cast him twinkling eyes as their mother's glimmered with a hint of possession and scrutiny.

Like a mouse awaiting the talons of a descending hawk. Thorne suppressed a shudder.

"So, what is our game plan for the evening?"

Vincent noted that the line moved slowly, the denizens of the ton wishing for any opportunity to dance attendance upon themselves, before turning to Sophie's murmured question. Victory seemed so close, and Thorne knew that if all went as planned, he would leave a happy man, indeed.

He had done quite a bit of thinking since last afternoon in the carriage.

After leaving Georgie, the curves of her body imprinted in his hands, Thorne's steps had been purposeful. The crowd had parted for him, and Thorne knew most saw only the outside appearance - the charming grin and roguish wink - that they never expected the steel that underlined his actions when a decision had been made.

The plan revolved around his companion, and Thorne knew he could kill two birds with one stone. For one thing, Randall would detest his new choice for a suggested "bride." The only female he knew who would be up for a game of subterfuge was Miss Sophie.