The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF

she’s cutting another tooth. But with this infernally cold, wet weather we’ve had all year—and because it so easy to catch something dreadful in autumn—I just thought it would be best if...” Helena clutched Georgie’s hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How inconsiderate of me to be blathering on so.”
    “It’s all right, Helena.” Georgie glanced briefly at Jonathon, but he was talking to Lord and Lady Rothsburgh and appeared not have noticed their line of conversation. Swallowing to ease the tight ache in her throat, she returned her gaze to her friend. “It is the season for it. And it never hurts to be careful. I pray that Phillipa is feeling better soon. Now, tell me all about how your charity work is going with The Widows of Waterloo Trust. I understand Elizabeth has now resumed her role as one of the patronesses.”
    As Georgie spent the next quarter of an hour chatting pleasantly to Helena and then Rothsburgh and Elizabeth—or Beth as Rothsburgh now called her—it was clear how in love the marquess and his new wife were. The way they looked at each other, shared smiles and touched, anyone could see they were absolutely smitten.
    Although she’d long ago sworn off the idea of ever finding love, Georgie couldn’t help but be a little envious of their happiness. But then, she’d had nine contented years being wed to the best friend one could ever hope to have, which was much more than others ever experienced in their married lives. She’d been fortunate—nay blessed—to have someone like Teddy in her life. She would always be grateful for what he’d done for her.
    “It seems that luck is still smiling on me tonight. We meet again, Your Grace.”
    Georgie started at the sound of Markham’s deep voice so close to her ear. Glancing about, she noticed—belatedly—that Jonathon had moved slightly away from the group and was now chatting with the Beau Brummel look-alike. Lady Rosemont had also drifted away and was conversing animatedly with another nearby group of gentlemen.
    Hell and damnation.
    “But not for long I’m afraid, Lord Markham,” Georgie managed to return with a falsely polite smile. “Jonathon and I were just about to leave.”
    “Oh no, we weren’t.” Jonathon leaned back toward their group. “I’ve just challenged Lord Farley here to a few rounds of vingt-et-un . We might be a while. You should join the others, dear sister, and have a dance or two.”
    The expletive that flashed through Georgie’s mind as she watched Jonathon and his new found friend depart, was much stronger than the last curse. Especially when she turned around to find Phillip and Rothsburgh escorting their respective wives out into the middle of the ballroom floor to ready for the next dance.
    It seemed there was another attempt afootto throw her and Markham together. She compressed her lips and clenched her fists, trying to stifle the uncharacteristic and unseemly urge to swear long and profusely at the whole lot of them.
    She felt Markham’s superfine clad shoulder imperceptibly brush against hers, but she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the dance floor. By the positions being assumed by all of the couples, it appeared the next dance was a turning waltz. The music swelled—definitely a waltz. And there was no way on earth she was going to waltz with Markham.
    “Would you care to dance, Your Grace?"
    Georgie kept her gaze dead ahead. “I don’t particularly like dancing.” Why wouldn’t the abominable man take the hint that she was not interested in furthering an acquaintance with him?
    “Well, I suspect another round of cards is out of the question.” Before she could even take another breath to respond, Markham gathered her into his arms and swept her onto the edge of the floor. “Or a good swiving.”
    A furious blush scorched Georgie’s whole face. How dare Markham haul her about like this and how dare he mention such a thing? “You were eavesdropping,” she accused, barely aware that Markham