Courting The Forbidden Debutante. Laura Martin

himself that wasn’t what he was here for. His purpose was to somehow get close to her father and he had to remember Lady Georgina was part of that mission. Allowing anything more, even too much of a friendship to develop, would only serve to hurt her in the long run.

      Still, he felt himself being pulled towards her, towards that captivating smile and the sense that underneath her perfectly honed public persona was a woman with hidden depths just crying to get out. He could see it in the way she asked so many questions about Australia, in the wistful, dreamy expression that filled her face when they discussed how their worlds differed. For a moment he wished he could take her there, show her the country he had come to love so much, but he knew that was impossible. Even the overwhelming desire he had to simply take her hand, to brush his fingers against hers, would be too much. Somehow he had to suppress the attraction he felt for the woman in front of him and focus his mind on the reason he’d returned to England.

      ‘Signor Ratavelli will be starting again in a few minutes,’ Lady Georgina said, a slight catch to her voice Sam hadn’t heard before. ‘Shall we take one more turn about the terrace?’

      Offering her his arm, they walked side by side down the length of the terrace. Most of the guests had returned back inside, but a few still lingered, talking quietly in groups and enjoying the fresh, cold air.

      At the end of the terrace they paused as Lady Georgina stumbled, gasped softly, then laughed.

      ‘Sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I have a stone in my shoe, nothing more.’

      Without thinking Sam led her a few feet off the terrace and over to an ornate bench no more than ten steps onto the grass. Pressing her to sit, he crouched in front of her and lifted the hem of her dress to reveal a completely impractical shoe. It was all fabric and decoration, with hardly any substance to it. Definitely not a shoe that would survive five minutes in Australia.

      Shaking the shoe, he saw a small stone drop out and on to the grass. Before he could stop himself he had placed the shoe on the ground and ran his hand over the bottom of Lady Georgina’s stocking. It was an instinctive move, something Sam would do to himself if he got a stone in his shoe, a way to check nothing more would disrupt his comfort, but as soon as his fingers touched the silky material of her stockings Sam knew it was completely inappropriate.

      Lady Georgina inhaled sharply, but Sam noticed she didn’t pull away. He was frozen in place, too, unable to move his hands off her foot, but also equally incapable of stopping his fingers in their slow backwards and forward motion.

      ‘Lady Georgina,’ a loud voice rang out through the crisp night air.

      They jumped apart guiltily and Lady Georgina fumbled to put her own shoe back on.

      ‘Take your hands off her.’

      A wholly unnecessary command. By time the words had crossed the man’s lips Sam was standing at least three feet away. The comment was designed to draw attention from the assembled guests inside the house and it had the desired effect within seconds.

      ‘Are you harmed, Lady Georgina?’ the man asked, his voice thick with concern.

      ‘What happened?’ This was from their hostess of the evening, eager to install herself in the middle of any gossip-worthy scandal.

      ‘I found this scoundrel out here all alone with Lady Georgina, with his hands all over her.’

      ‘It wasn’t anything like that, Mr Hemmingate,’ Lady Georgina said with remarkable composure.

      Sam risked a glance at her and saw her cheeks suffused with colour, although whether from embarrassment or anger he could not tell.

      ‘I was simply—’ he started to say, but was cut off by a sharp jab in the ribs.

      ‘Mr Robertson was simply escorting myself and Lady Georgina for a turn about the garden,’ Lady Winston said.

      Sam turned to her, trying to hide his incredulity. No one was going to believe that, Lady Winston had arrived outside along with everyone else.

      ‘You were in the ballroom,’ Mr Hemmingate said, his voice and manner indignant.

      ‘Are you calling me a liar, Mr Hemmingate?’ Lady Winston said, fixing him with a penetrating stare.

      ‘Well, no. But you weren’t—’

      ‘Mr Robertson was kind enough to escort an old lady around the garden and we stopped to talk to Lady Georgina for a moment. Nothing scandalous. Nothing to see.’

      The assembled guests murmured and glanced from the stuttering Mr Hemmingate to the confident Lady Winston.

      ‘Now, I trust no one here will be nasty enough to spread untruths about what happened this evening,’ Lady Winston said, ensuring she caught everyone’s eye in turn. ‘Good. Nothing I dislike more than unkind words.’