Chapter Ten

October 7, 1812

"And is it true that you are courting a Miss Loughty?"

"What business is it of—"

"Courting a woman?"

"Miss Loughty? I've never heard of her! Who is—"

"I am not courting Miss Loughty—I'm not courting anyone."

Now George came to think about it, if he saw someone swanning about Bath after a woman like he was swanning over Miss Dodo Loughty, well… he would come to the same conclusion.

That he was… involved.

It was vitally important he not give that impression. And not just because the woman could not produce a chaperone if asked. Better no one took note of them together. After all, only bad things could come of it. He would not wish to raise hopes where hopes could not be raised.

It wasn't as though he was—well. Going to offer marriage, or anything. He'd never considered marriage in his life. Why would he?

And that was precisely why George decided, when he woke up the morning after taking Dodo—taking Miss Loughty to the races—not to see her that day. Or the day after. He knew he had been reckless with Miss Loughty's reputation to begin with, just being seen with her without a chaperone present. But he'd been so eager for her to experience what he loved about the races, he'd gotten too lax.

Far too lax.

He could stay away.

After all, he was fully in control of himself, wasn't he? He was a man, and a man near the age of thirty, and what's more, a man with a title, education, wealth. All the requirements of a sensible chap. All he had to do was not see Dodo. Not write to her, not happen by McBarland's, not accidently-on-purpose meander to the direction where he knew she was staying…

Simple. Stay away from Miss Dodo—Miss Doris Loughty.

By the evening of the third day, though, he was waiting outside the Assembly Rooms nervously, checking his pocket watch.

"She's late," George muttered, heart hammering.

It had been a foolish thing to do. The moment, however, his brother Aylesbury had mentioned in passing when they'd met at the stables that a concert was tonight, he had known what he would do.

Even after all of his stern agreements with himself that morning.

After all, his sister-in-law would be present. At a glance, their party might appear most respectable. Though he wasn't actually sure they would see his brother and his wife tonight, considering he had not told them of his plans.

But if anyone asked, he was not here alone with an unmarried lady. His sister-in-law had extended the invitation to a new friend.

There. That would do it. No need to explain his brother's wife had yet to meet this new friend.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the white stone of Bath a splashy, orange color. It looked beautiful, and perhaps George would have appreciated it, if it had not been for the growing noise behind him in the Assembly Rooms.

The place was packed. The two tickets he had managed to purchase were pressed in his pocket, and if she did not hurry up soon, there would be little opportunity for them to claim the best seats. There would be naught but the very back—though he supposed that wasn't the end of the world.

The end of the world, George was rapidly discovering, was not seeing—

"This really isn't my thing, you know," said an austere voice behind him.

George whirled around, a grin across his face. "I think you'll find it will… will be."

And that was all he could manage. After that, his breath was taken away and he was forced to simply stare.

Dodo was frowning. Perhaps on another woman, that would ruin her beauty, but for some reason, it merely enhanced what was already there.

Elegant, black hair, piled up with pins, a single curl falling on the left hand. Brilliant, dark-brown eyes, flashing with amusement or irritation—he couldn't tell which. A gown that was—

George swallowed. A gown that surely should not have been allowed, not in polite circles. Not that he had any complaints. The thing was a picture of sophistication, sweeping over Dodo's soft skin and making it all the more difficult to keep his hands to himself.

The picture was completed by a single chain of gold around her neck that fell into her—

George swallowed again—hard. Good God, man, hold yourself together!

"I don't think I will like it," said Dodo, her expression wary. "A concert?"

He nodded, not yet trusting his voice.

Because the thing was, George knew, it wasn't merely Dodo's beauty that held him captivated. It didn't hurt, certainly, but it was no longer what drew him in.

What was drawing him in, he couldn't precisely put his finger on. He knew what he wanted to put his finger on, but—

Come on, you rake!

"I can't stay away from you," George said simply. "I had to see you."

Maybe Dodo had expected a long speech about the importance of music, how delightful it was to listen to it played well, the chance to be seen at one of Bath's most prestigious environs—well, for gentlemen and ladies with chaperones, in any case.

Instead, she flushed.

And that is why , George thought to himself. Staying away from Dodo was impossible, even when he wished to. Not that he could recall wishing to for a long time.

There was something about her, about the way she saw the world, which was quite different to anyone else he had ever met. The mathematical mind in her was something… well, not unique. She would undoubtedly have something to say about the probability of finding someone on the whole planet who was like her.

But still. They wouldn't be Dodo.

"I thought you were busy," Dodo said, taking George's arm so naturally, it brought a lump to his throat. "You said, at the racecourse, you would have to spend a great deal of time there."

George hesitated as they stepped into the splashing light of the Assembly Rooms hall.

He had said that. And he had meant it—he did need to spend more time at the racecourse. Perhaps then he would be able to track down the leak.

It had been Cothrom who had spotted it, of course. The man had a mind like a Peeler, always looking for the worst in a situation, always expecting a traitor. It was one of the traits George disliked about his oldest brother, though he had to admit it was useful.

"You must have noticed," William had said only last night.

And George had shaken his head, mystified that he had not.

"You may be looking too much into this," said William's wife, Alice, with furrowed brows directed toward her husband. "You do not wish to work up your brother, make him suspect—"

"But Cothrom's right—it is very fishy," said Aylesbury with a frown, pointing with his fork. "I mean how else could this person, whoever it is, bet against you so thoroughly?"

"They c-could j-just know a g-great deal ab-bout racehorses," pointed out his wife, Florence.

George had glanced at her. Florence Chance, the new Marchioness of Aylesbury. John had chosen the woman he had said he couldn't live without. He couldn't see it. Aylesbury and he had been the scoundrels, the two Chance brothers who had bought wine and cards and women, and had an altogether delicious time.

Seeing him like this… a husband… and with a wife who was so shy, so insipid—

"The Arabian b-bloodline of Heart of Fire, and her m-mother, have been disp-proven by the 1807 investigation into f-false docum-mentation in Rome," said Florence softly, taking a sip from her wine glass. "I hope you knew th-that."

Her husband laughed. Only then did George realize his mouth was open.

Good heavens. Well, that would explain some of Aylesbury's attraction.

"So who could it be?" asked Aylesbury curiously.

George bit his lip. "Well, I'd hate to think any of my servants were capable of… but then, I have had so many complaints about Northrup—"

"Your butler?"

He nodded his assent to Alice's question. "He's a rather taciturn man, and to be honest, I've presumed that my footmen's dislike of him was the typical sort of a superior being disliked merely for giving orders. But now…"

He hesitated. It wasn't his place to slander a man's character, but someone was certainly betraying him. Who could it have been?

"What does Pernrith think about this?" asked Cothrom. "Where is he, anyway?"

The table fell silent. All eyes turned to George.

He knew they would and had his answer ready. It was simple. "He was not invited."

Cothrom frowned at his reproach.

"Ah," said Alice lightly.

"But he's always invited to our family luncheons—" began Aylesbury.

"I suppose he is, when Cothrom is issuing the invitations," George had said curtly, heat rising. Why, even when he wasn't here, was Pernrith able to sow such discord between himself and his brothers? The blaggard! "Look, forget about him."

"But—"

"The point is, someone is leaking information about my horses—Honor of Guinevere and Scandal of Lancelot—and they're damned well betting against me!"

And it was infuriating. George had never spotted the pattern, but of course now Cothrom had mentioned it, it was impossible not to. Despite the changes he'd made to his steeds' feed, exercise, training—nothing seemed to matter. There was always some man out there who knew better.

The following day, he had attempted to delicately inquire around the stable yard at the racecourse, but any hint of suspicion was vehemently denied.

Naturally, no one would admit it. After a very awkward conversation with the stablemaster, and an even more awkward conversation with his own jockey, George had been forced to throw his hands up in the air and—

"George?"

George blinked.

How on earth had they gotten here?

"You were completely away with the fairies," said Dodo quietly. "What you were you thinking about?"

About all this damned money I'm losing , George wanted to say. But he didn't. He'd become so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed they'd walked the length of the Assembly Rooms hallway and were now waiting in line to show their tickets to the footman standing solemnly by the door.

He was here with Dodo Loughty, he tried to remind himself. Be present!

But it was difficult. Thoughts of liars and thieves, traitors in his own midst, and what on earth he would have to do to catch them in the act all flittered through his mind as George wordlessly offered out his tickets to the footman.

Who bowed. "My lord, Miss Loughty."

"We're meeting my brother and his wife inside," George said quickly, ignoring the way Dodo cocked his head up at him. "My sister-in-law invited Miss Loughty."

As his smile never wavered, the footman didn't seem to care, though it was not only for his benefit that George had spoken so loudly.

"Please." With a gesture, the footman welcomed them into the Assembly Rooms.

"Your brother and his wife?" Dodo whispered. "She invited me?"

"Your chaperone for the evening," George said without moving his lips much. "I didn't actually tell them we were coming. We probably won't actually see them."

"Oh. Good idea. I should have thought—" Dodo gasped as they stepped forward, staring about her as though she'd never seen anything so wonderful.

Which, George thought with relish, could possibly be true. Mayhap he was giving Dodo her first taste of… well, what Cothrom put as "how the other half lived." Which was a trite phrase, and it would never catch on.

The initial impression one was given was of space and light. Candles glittered from the remarkable chandelier that glittered above them, and from the candelabra built into the wall scones all around the room. The barreled ceiling allowed the noise of the place to gently echo, resounding much as it would do a cathedral. The best of Bath Society were mingling about as musicians sat arranging music on stands, and there was a presence, a sort of reverence in the way that people were looking around them.

"It's magnificent," said Dodo softly as they walked toward the mass of chairs that had been set out.

George swelled with pride, as though it were his very own Assembly Room. "Yes, the marble columns are—"

"I couldn't give a fig for your columns—look at that!"

Confused, George halted and stared up where she was pointing. At … the chandelier?

"It's a chandelier," he said, feeling foolish.

"It's designed around the cascading formula of the Fibonacci sequence," she said in a hushed tone.

George blinked. He looked at Dodo for a moment, her eyes wide and a smile lilting her lips, then back at the chandelier.

It was… a chandelier. Crystals and metal, with candles that flickered as the door closed to the hall. The concert was about to start, they hadn't found their pair of seats, and Dodo was interested in a chandelier because of some Italian man?

"We need to find seats," he hissed.

"But it's a marvel. How did they do it?" wondered Dodo, still staring at the chandelier as George attempted to shepherd her to empty seats near the back. "The complexity alone…"

He glanced at her with a wry expression as they took their seats, her words continuing in a thrumming murmur to his left.

Only Dodo could come to such an exalted place as the Bath Assembly Rooms and notice not the spectacular orchestra, or the impressive people in attendance, or even , a small voice wondered, himself …

No. It was the chandelier. Because of mathematics.

What a shame he cared for her so.

"—idea why everyone is looking at us?"

George blinked. "I beg your pardon."

"Everyone here," Dodo said, lowering her voice to naught but a whisper as the musicians straightened up and gentle applause echoed around the room. "Even with the conductor now here, people aren't looking at them. They're looking at us."

Opening his mouth to immediately disabuse her of that notion, George glanced about to settle for himself just how incorrect she was.

He closed his mouth. I really needed to get more accustomed to Dodo being right about these things , he thought with a chuckle.

"Geor—Lord Lindow!" she whispered.

"Ouch!"

She had grasped his arm too tightly for his liking, but any reprimand that may have poured from his mouth was halted by the uncomfortable expression on her face.

"Everyone is staring."

George shifted in his seat. "Not every—"

Dodo raised an eyebrow, cutting him short without a word.

Stomach lurching, he tried not to think about the multitude of eyes that kept turning to stare at him. At them.

His brother and his wife weren't among them, not as far as he could see. Had Florence changed her mind about the concert? What would their excuse be for Dodo's chaperone now?

"And is it true that you are courting a Miss Loughty?"

Well, he'd known this would happen. Mistakes would be made, after all, and it appeared the whole of the ton was about to make another one. After all, he was most definitely not courting Dodo. Miss Loughty. Damn .

Because these feelings weren't love. They were… admiration. Yes, that was it—he admired her.

Admired her beauty. And her mind. And her cleverness. The way she teased him, sending jolts of desire mingled with need, with a spice of—

Dodo moved to slip her hand free of George's arm, and he instinctively caught it, holding her tight.

"No."

"But everyone—"

"That isn't going to stop the gossip, not now. It's too late," he said quietly as the musicians tuned their instruments. "We shall just hope enough of them heard me say you're here as my sister-in-law's guest. We'll only cause more of a scandal if it looks as though we have fallen out—or I have offended you."

Dodo's eyebrow was still raised. "And that is likely to help, is it?"

George grinned. "Perhaps not."

And discovered… he did not care.

It was a strange sensation. Oh, not a lack of care. George had spent most of his life moving through the world not caring a jot about the consequences of his actions. Mostly because there rarely were some—who would argue with an earl?—but also because his oldest brother, Cothrom, usually tidied things up for him nicely.

Until William had married, of course. That had been a blasted nuisance.

But this was completely different to the disgrace he'd managed to get himself twisted up in over the years. Somehow, having all this gossip centered around himself and Dodo did not vex him in the slightest.

In a way… he rather enjoyed it.

So long as no one questioned the lady's reputation. He would need to continue to be careful about that.

Not at the sacrifice of no longer seeing her, though.

The musicians halted and George looked over to them. The conductor was standing before the orchestra—at least, he was half-certain it was an orchestra. It looked like an orchestra. How many instruments did you need to make an orchestra?

"Where are your brother and his wife?" Dodo asked quietly, her gaze darting about the room.

George shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

The conductor tapped his baton on the music stand before him and all the musicians prepared themselves. Violins were placed on shoulders, flutes were positioned just below mouths, and a man holding two tiny bells frowned hard at the music before him.

And then it began.

It was beautiful, in its way. George had always liked music, but he didn't love it like—

Dear God, he'd almost thought of Pernrith there.

Still, he could appreciate a well-scored piece of music when he heard it, and he knew a poor set of musicians when he heard them. And these were good. It wasn't long before his foot was tapping, his head swaying to the beat of the—

"I told you," hissed a delicate voice in his ear. "Music simply isn't my thing."

George glanced at Dodo. There was the glare again. It matched the one she'd arrived with, but he was starting to read Dodo Loughty far better than he had when they had first met.

And this wasn't a glare. Not really. This was her sense of inadequacy, he knew it. She felt out of her depth—certainly not a position his Dodo wanted to be in.

George's stomach lurched. His Dodo?

"I should be at McBarland's, earning more money."

Guilt seared through where mere worry had been before. "You should?"

Of course she should. How could he be so blind—had she not intimated to him, much against her inclinations it had appeared, just why she needed so much coin?

"I … I am sending money home. To my parents. They … They are sick."

George's chest constricted as contrition continued to pour through it. He was a selfish brigand and no mistake. Here he was, demanding her company greedily, crafting an elaborate ruse to excuse her lack of chaperone, at great risk to her reputation, because he was desperate to see her—he could admit that in the privacy of his own mind, even if nowhere else—and here she was, worrying about others.

"I mean… I suppose I had such luck on the horses that I do not need to tonight," Dodo admitted on her exhale. "But still. I may not be so lucky next week. I need to take every opportunity I—"

"There's an outside chance you won't need to," said George foolishly.

She met his gaze. "Why?"

He hesitated.

Because I don't want you going there any more , he wanted to say . Because it's dangerous. Because I worry about you.

Foolish things to say. Far better to say, "I can give you money, if you—"

"I will not be bought," Dodo said fiercely.

"Shh!" muttered several people in the Assembly Room's audience.

George's cheeks were burning at the misunderstanding. "I didn't mean—"

"Shhhhhh!"

He subsided, hating that he had created such a situation. Surely, Dodo could not think… He would never treat her as a—

"Music is completely alien to me," murmured Dodo in his ear as though they had not so recently been shushed. She leaned close and made it difficult, as her breath blossomed over his neck, for him to concentrate on her actual words. "I mean, who can understand this?"

"Ah, but what if you don't think of it as music?"

Dodo stared, her frown deepening. "You… You want me to ignore the concert you've brought me to?"

George stifled a laugh as his pulse skipped a beat. "Not exactly."

It had felt like an excellent idea at the time, but now they were here, he wasn't sure. It had felt so obvious—so logical. But now…

Well, it was so much harder to think, wasn't it? Sitting here with Dodo pressed up against him, her hand in his arm, breathing her in…

Oh, dear. Something discomforting and most inappropriate to happen in a public place was, most unfortunately, happening in a public place.

George attempted to shift his breeches to make the protrusion less obvious, but that merely earned him a glare from the gentleman seated on his other side.

Damned manhood, never behaving when he needed it to!

"Instead of thinking of it as music, don't," he said quietly, taking his turn to whisper into Dodo's ear and relishing the opportunity to get close. "Think of it as mathematics."

Now that got her attention. Dodo's frown disappeared, replaced with a look of curiosity he knew well. "Mathematics?"

George marveled at the way he could transfix this woman—though admittedly, only through the promise of numbers and figures. What would it take for someone to capture Dodo's attention with the same depth of feeling on any other topic? What must a man do, for example, to make her smile like that when the calculations she'd worked on came out perfectly?

What, in short, would it take to make this woman love me?

He pushed the thought aside as swiftly as it had arrived. Nonsense. He couldn't think that way!

"Yes, mathematics," George whispered, earning the glare of the woman seated before them but completely ignoring her. "Thirds, eighths. Half notes that split a chord perfectly into two. Music made of numbers that are harmonious together—like a… a multiplication table."

He was scrambling a tad here. Mathematics was not something the master at Eton had relished teaching him, mostly because George had the natural ability with numbers as a goat did with French.

Still. He must have gotten something right, because Dodo's eyes had widened and a look of curious interest had spread across her face.

"I've never thought about it like that before," she whispered.

George watched, transfixed by her own attentiveness as she turned back to the musicians and slowly allowed her eyes to close. Her lips moved silently, as though calculating something complex in her mind.

The music faded. At least, it faded as far as George was concerned. How could he listen to a concerto when something far more spectacular was occurring right beside him?

Dodo was smiling.

Admittedly, she was almost certainly smiling at the numbers the music suggested instead of the emotions the melody was supposed to stir—but she was smiling.

Affection poured through George. He'd never experienced anything like this before: joy from her joy, happiness from seeing someone he cared about being happy.

Had anyone else discovered this, he wondered? Was it possible he was the first person in the world to have unearthed that giving one's partner something that would make them extraordinarily happy was, in a way, far better than being pleased oneself?

Partner , a small voice in the back of his head pointed out. Did you just consider Dodo your partner?

Dance partner , George thought hastily.

You're not dancing now , came the irritatingly unhelpful thought. You and she never have danced.

That was true. But over the last few weeks, it had become impossible to go a few days without seeing Dodo. Without experiencing her company.

Dear God, he was in far more danger than he'd thought.

"I like this," Dodo said quietly, slipping her hand into his and entwining her fingers with his own, as if there were no reason to fear prying eyes at all.

George grinned inanely. The intimacy was not lost on him, and nor was the sensuality of having her so enmeshed within him, even if it was only through his fingers.

In great danger, indeed.