The Duke Is Mine

Page 27

She must be moving on to the next phase in the testing process, Quin realized. The thought sent an icy chill down his spine.
Yes, Olivia was charming. She was certainly amusing and undeniably sensual in her appeal. It didn’t matter that she was betrothed to someone else. She was all wrong for him.
All wrong.
Quin snapped his head away and turned to Georgiana. Her eyes were clear, sweet, and a bit anxious. It couldn’t be easy, being Olivia’s twin.
Georgiana was an elegant piece of fine china, but in comparison Olivia beckoned like the promised land.
He wanted—no, he had to remember that he couldn’t trust what he wanted. What he wanted was all wrong. He had to remember the wrenching awfulness of nights when Evangeline didn’t come home, or the weary bitterness of listening to her scream at him, telling him of his manifest failures, his inability to satisfy her, to make her happy. . . .
He smiled down at Georgiana. “Now that I’ve bored all and sundry with my mathematical monologue, do tell me what pastimes you enjoy. That is,” he added, “if you have free time. I know how busy young ladies can be.”
She gave an odd little hiccup of laughter. “Tatting and sewing and the like.”
“I suppose.” Just beyond his left shoulder, her sister was laughing, and laughing made Olivia’s breasts—
He pulled his attention back in line. “Which do you enjoy most? Tatting?”
“Do you have any idea what tatting even is?”
“Of course,” Quin said, before he thought. “It’s . . . something.” He met her eyes, which were full of quiet amusement that brought a smile to his lips as well. “Sewing?” he offered.
“Tatting is a method of constructing a very sturdy kind of lace.”
“Sturdy lace,” Quin echoed. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“An oxymoron,” she agreed.
“I gather you don’t care for tatting.” She smiled again, a kind of fleeting sweetness that was night and day to her sister’s mischievous grin.
“Not as much as other things.”
“What do you like, then?” Quin asked, truly curious for the first time.
She hesitated, and then: “I like to read.”
“You’re a bluestocking?”
“I don’t think I deserve that label. I think of bluestockings as fiercely educated and extremely intelligent.”
“I would have no trouble believing that you are quite intelligent, though I cannot speak to your education.”
“I know your mother’s book by heart,” she offered.
He took her small, rather crooked smile and played it back to her. “The Mirror of Compliments is no substitute for Oxford University.”
“Which does not allow women inside its august doors.”
“That is true. So let me guess.” He looked her over. She was a perfect bundle of English femininity: demure, yet with an undeniable backbone. Her options were limited, as she did not look particularly rebellious. “You play the harp. When you are not reading books about travels along the Nile.”
Georgiana had a lovely calmness about her. He knew instinctively that she would never throw a scene, let alone china, even when she was irritated with him—as she was now. “I cannot play the harp. While I would quite enjoy reading about the Nile, I am happiest dabbling with what I believe you gentlemen call chemistry.”
“Chemistry?” He never would have thought of it.
“That is perhaps too formal a word for what I do,” she said, cocking her head to one side like a curious bird. “I like to mix potions. Olivia says that I am an apprentice witch.”
“What sort of things do you make?”
“I try to improve products that already exist,” she said. “Domestic products, for the most part. Duchesses have always—” She stopped, a lovely flush of rose sweeping up her cheeks.
“Duchesses?” he prompted.
She took a deep breath. “The ladies of great houses have always, of course, had more time and leisure than other women. So, many of them have given time to chemistry, for lack of a better word. Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle, is now considered the first female scientist. Actually, she’s the only woman scientist I know of, though she lived back in the seventeenth century.”
“Except for yourself,” Quin said.
“I’m nothing of the sort,” Georgiana said, looking faintly horrified. “I merely dabble.”
“Is your sister, Miss Lytton, also interested in science?” Quin inquired. “Is she also an apprentice witch?”
“Not at all,” Georgiana said. “Olivia has quite different skills than mine.”
“I suspect twins often define themselves in opposition to each other. Our local justice of the peace has two boys who are as dissimilar as they could possibly be.”
“Olivia and I would confirm your hypothesis. In fact, I am fascinated by concrete objects, whereas Olivia is much more interested by language.”
“Language? Do you mean the study of different languages?”
“We’ve studied several languages. But what Olivia truly enjoys is puns.” She looked at Quin with a rather aggressive light in her eyes. “These days, we think of language play as mere twaddle, but I am of the belief that it will be a serious subject of study in the future.”
“Puns,” Quin repeated. “Words that mean more than one thing?”
“Exactly.”
“Now that you say so, I noticed a distinct proclivity for puns during Miss Lytton’s conversation with Lord Justin.”
Georgiana colored again, to Quin’s interest. Perhaps she guessed the sort of limerick that Olivia had aired—to wit, the lady from Peedle and her needle.
But at that moment Quin’s mother cleared her throat. “I shall make final arrangements for the ball this afternoon, and I should be grateful if Miss Georgiana and Lady Althea would assist me in this matter.” She gave both girls a smile. “I am most desirous to hear your ideas for the entertainment.”
Test Number Two, Quin thought to himself.
While Lady Althea scrambled to assure the dowager that she was ready to help her in any way, Georgiana accepted in a far more dignified manner. In fact, Quin liked her.
Olivia, for her part, did not offer to help—not that her assistance had been requested nor, indeed, would be welcomed. She and Justin seemed to be making plans for some sort of excursion on horseback.
Notwithstanding the events of the night before, he had known Olivia Lytton for half an hour at the most, so it was obvious that he could not care for her. Not the way he had cared for Evangeline.
But Quin had never been any good at lying to himself. He did care.
For some inscrutable reason, he had taken one good look at Miss Lytton’s pale green eyes and her luscious body and the way she held her shoulders upright, even when she was soaking wet, and he wanted her.
She was witty, lovesome, beautiful . . . wild.
Utterly wrong for a duchess.
He leaned forward. “I have a mare in my stables that will be perfect for you,” he told her.
“Lord Justin has promised to teach me to fly a kite,” she exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to fly one, ever since I saw them in Hyde Park the first time. Lady Althea, Georgiana, would you like to join us on a kite-flying expedition?”