Olivia followed and caught her hand. “Georgie!”
“Yes?” Her sister’s eyes were cool.
“Are you angry at me?”
At that, they softened. “No, not in the least. I’m angry about the fact that I was trained to be the wife of a duke. Even if I had been trained to be the wife of a scientist, it wouldn’t be good enough.”
“You want to be the scientist.”
A jerky nod. “I enjoyed talking to the duke. But at the same time, I felt such resentment that I could have choked on it.”
Olivia leaned forward, kissed her cheek. “You could study anything you wish, Georgie.”
Her sister shrugged, an unrefined gesture that revealed more than words that she was on the verge of cracking under the strain.
“I mean it!” Olivia continued, closing the bedchamber door behind them. “What on earth do you need a university for? Everything is printed in books, and we can get whatever books you want to read.”
“You mean, you and Rupert?”
“Exactly. And we could ask a professor to come from Oxford, or Cambridge. We’ll pay him to teach you anything you can’t get from the books. You’ll learn like lightning, Georgie.”
“I could.” Her voice rose. “I really could.”
“After you marry Sconce, you can buy whatever books you wish, not to mention discussing the ideas with him. It hardly need be said that neither Rupert nor I can provide you with any sort of serious intellectual conversation.”
Georgiana started down the corridor but paused. “I know I told you he was perfect, Olivia, but he’s not. There’s no spark. None.”
“Perhaps, over time?” Olivia said, forcing the words out.
“I thought . . . I truly thought that when I met the ideal man I would feel something. A wish to be with him. Passion, love, whatever you want to call it. At first, I believed that’s what I was experiencing with Sconce. I do like talking to him. But I don’t wish to call him by that ridiculous short name of his, Quin.”
“You don’t like his name?”
Georgiana began walking down the stairway. “It sounds like a piece of fruit to me, a quince by any other name.”
Olivia stared at her back, pushing away the liquid, joyful feeling of relief that was flooding her entire body.
“And even if his appearance wasn’t a cross between a zebra and a quince,” Georgiana said over her shoulder, “he doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you.”
“He doesn’t . . .” Olivia said weakly.
Georgiana turned around at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m not stupid,” she pointed out, unnecessarily. “I may have wanted to marry Sconce before I came to know him better. But even if I did still wish to marry him, which I do not, I am not a bone you can throw to him simply because you feel too guilty to act on your own feelings.”
“I don’t think of you as a bone!”
Her sister’s eyes sharpened. “If you want him, Olivia Lytton, take him. He’s a duke, for goodness’ sake. You have a chance to make Mother and yourself happy. Rupert will come back one of these days, and his brain won’t be any more powerful than when he left this country. What on earth are you waiting for?”
“Rupert,” Olivia said weakly. “I can’t betray Rupert.”
“You would betray Rupert if you gave Lucy to a passing tinker. Personally, I think it’s unlikely that he would grieve for more than five minutes over the prospect of not marrying you.”
“I thought . . .” Olivia’s throat swelled. “I thought it would betray you.”
Georgiana’s smile was brilliant. “If I wanted him, I would have dueled you for him. Rapiers at dawn. But I don’t.”
Olivia snatched her into a hug, careful not to muss her hair, and said, “We’ll dower you, Georgie. You know that.”
“Yes,” Georgiana said. She looked happier than she had in years as they walked in the door of the ballroom. “You had better do that. Because in case you’re wondering, I am not going to step into your shoes and marry Rupert. I still feel queasy thinking about that scene in the library. I’d rather stay an old maid. If I can find enough books to read, I shall do just that.”
“You can do whatever you wish,” Olivia said, feverish heat racing over her body. “One of us sacrificed on the ducal altar is enough.”
Georgiana broke into a merry peal of laughter that made two gentlemen turn and look. “If you’re sacrificing yourself, then we should all be so lucky.”
Olivia felt her cheeks heating up. “I know . . .”
Her sister put a fleeting finger on her cheek. “You deserve it after all the kindnesses you’ve shown Rupert. We can find him a wife, you know. Not Althea, but someone with understanding and kindness.”
“And enough intelligence to run the estate,” Olivia said. “Do you really think . . .”
Georgiana grinned and then glanced to the side. “Dear me, it looks as if the duke is dancing with Annabel Trevelyan. Now she would love to become his duchess.”
Olivia spun; heard her sister’s chuckle; saw Quin leaning against the wall staring moodily at the dancers.
“He remains where he can see you,” Georgiana said into her ear. “And if you walked through the room and into the library . . . he would follow.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Olivia said, her heart in her throat.
“Is this the bravest woman I know?” Georgiana scoffed. “The woman who entered Father’s study with Rupert, knowing that the next few hours would include the most unpleasant experience any woman could endure? You have courage, Olivia. Use it.”
Olivia took a deep breath. At that moment, Quin turned his head. Georgiana was right: he was checking to see where she was.
He loved her. Or rather, to put it his way, he cared about her.
Rather blindly, she walked deeper into the room, trailed by the sound of Georgiana’s laughter. At just the right moment she looked at Quin and let an invitation speak through her eyes.
He straightened instantly and his eyes flared in response. So she moved on, weaving through the room, pausing to respond to greetings, extracting herself as soon as she could, declining to dance. It was like a game, the most thrilling game she had ever played.
Quin was surely behind her, following her. She would have wagered her life that he couldn’t resist the look she’d given him. Power was intoxicating . . . it sang in her blood, made her knees unsteady.
At the other end of the ballroom she went straight to the door that led into the library, opened it, and walked through.
The room was quiet, empty except for a footman. The duchess did not believe that her guests should be given the opportunity for dalliance, and to that end, posted servants in each room.
Olivia nodded to him. “Roberts. Are you having a quiet night?”
The footman relaxed his rigid pose, recognizing her. “Three couples so far,” he said, a grin splitting his face.
“Let me guess . . . the betting-book is in play?”
“For each room,” he said. “Tuppence a room. I wagered five couples would try for this one.”
The door behind her opened quietly. She didn’t have to turn; the air changed when he was near.