Memory came, dark and unbidden. Georgiana leaned back on the desk, her golden hair floating down behind her to brush the hard oak. Her breasts high for him. Her thighs parted. Her gaze on him.
She’d given herself over to him, physically, yes – to his kiss and touch – but more than that, she’d given herself to him in a myriad of other ways. She’d entrusted him with her pleasure, with her secrets.
Most of her secrets.
Except it was not hers, the one for which he asked. Chase’s identity had nothing to do with her. And yet she remained beholden to the man, refusing to give up the only thing that could protect Duncan.
There was a nobility in her actions – a loyalty that he could not help but respect even as he hated it. Even as he envied it.
Even as he wanted it for himself.
Just as he wanted her.
Just as he loved her.
He looked up, mere yards from his offices, only to discover a pretty chestnut tied to a hitching post outside the entrance to the building. It was a familiar horse, but either because of the day or his frustration, he could not place it. He climbed the stone steps and let himself inside, nearly walking past the building’s receiving room before realizing that there was a woman seated inside, reading the latest issue of The Scandal Sheet.
A young woman.
A very young woman.
He removed his hat and cleared his throat. “Miss Pearson.”
Caroline put the paper down immediately and stood. “Mr. West.”
He raised his brows in her direction. “May I help you?”
She smiled, and he marveled at the way the expression turned her into a younger version of her mother. “I came to see you.”
“So I gathered.” He supposed he should send a note to Georgiana, apprising her of her daughter’s location, but instead he said, “I happen to be free for the next quarter of an hour. May I interest you in tea?”
“You have tea here?”
His lips twitched. “You seem surprised.”
“I am. Tea seems so…” She paused. “… civilized.”
“We even serve it in cups.”
She seemed to consider that. “All right, then. Yes.”
He led her into his office, indicating to Baker that they required food. “And speaking of civilized,” he added as he waved the girl into a chair, “where is your chaperone?”
Caroline smiled. “I lost her.”
He allowed his surprise to show. “You lost her.”
She nodded. “We went for a ride. She did not keep up.”
“Is it possible that she was not certain where you were going?”
The smile was back. “Anything is possible.”
“And you simply turn up here?”
Caroline lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “We established that I read your newspapers; the address is right on the page.” She paused, then added, “And I am not here to visit. I am here for business.”
He tried not to smile. “I see.”
Her brow furrowed in an expression that he’d seen a dozen times on her mother. “You think I jest.”
“I apologize.”
He was saved from saying more by the arrival of tea, along with scones and clotted cream and a pile of cakes that surprised even Duncan. But perhaps the most rewarding part of the tea service was the way that Caroline came to the edge of her seat, considering the sweets with wide eyes befitting her age. She was unsettlingly beyond her years most of the time – a younger, more forthright version of her mother – but right now, the nine-year-old wanted cake.
And that was something that Duncan could manage. “Help yourself,” he said as Baker set a pile of letters on the desk and took his leave.
Caroline immediately went for a fondant-covered oval at the top of the pile and had it halfway to her mouth when she froze, looked at him, and said, “I am supposed to pour.”
He waved her on. “I don’t need tea.”
She did not care for that answer. “No. I’m supposed to pour.”
With great control, she set her cake on a plate and stood to lift the heavy teapot, pouring steaming liquid into one of the cups. When it was full, she said, “Milk? Sugar?”
He shook his head. “As it is.” It was bad enough he was going to have to force down a cup of the stuff, but the girl seemed so proud of herself as she offered him the teacup, rattling in its saucer, that he did as any decent man would do, and drank the damn tea.
“Cake?” she asked, and he heard the yearning in her young voice.
“No, thank you. Please, sit.”
She did. He did not miss the fact that she did not pour a cup for herself. “You don’t want tea?”
Her mouth was full of sweets, so she shook her head, swallowing before saying, “I don’t like it.”
“You asked for it.”
That shoulder lifted again. “You offered. It would have been rude to say no. That, and I hoped there would be cake.”
It was precisely the kind of thing Georgiana would say. Mother and daughter might not have spent the lion’s share of the years together, but there was no question that they were connected – clever, quick-witted, and with a smile that would win over an army.
She would no doubt be exceedingly dangerous when she came of age.
“What can I do for you, Miss Pearson?”
“I came to ask you to stop helping to get my mother married.”
It appeared she was exceedingly dangerous now.