Read Online Mayhem in Bath by Sandra Heath - Free Book Online Page B

was a splendidly elegant place, with harmonious and restful pale blue walls and exquisite cream-and-gold decorations. Great Ionic columns soared up to the high ceiling, and there were curved recesses at either end, in one of which stood a fine longcase Tompion clock that had been made especially for the premises. There was a clatter of crockery at the numerous little tables, and above the babble of polite conversations the small orchestra in the gallery could just be heard. A flower woman was selling the little herbal nosegays that were all the vogue this year, and which she had successfully pressed upon most of the gathering.
    The famous water, which had an unpalatably rusty taste, was served at a counter by a young woman in a crisply starched mob-cap and apron, who had pyramids of gleaming glasses arranged before her. It was expected of everyone that they should drink three glasses of the water, and then take tea while endeavoring to appreciate the daily concert on the gallery. It was a dreadful press of chattering groups, both large and small, a sizable number of unfortunates in wheelchairs, and numerous hobbling persons on walking sticks and crutches, all of whom made Dominic’s progress quite hazardous as he threaded his way around in search of Georgiana.
    Suddenly he saw her. She and her uniformed dukeling were at the water counter, receiving their first glasses. Transfixed, Dominic gazed adoringly at the object of his affections. How breathtaking she was, with her raven hair, melting dark eyes, and matchless profile. As was the latest vogue, she had fixed false white curls to her coiffure, and they looked perfect beneath the wide brim of her stylish orange silk hat. Her silk pelisse and gown were orange too, and there were pearls at her creamy throat. She was engaged upon the subtle art of flirtation, employing a nosegay to tickle Lord Algernon Lofty’s receding chin, which fond attention was doing very little for his allergy to flowers.
    Dominic’s expression soured as he looked at the future Duke of Grandcastle. The twenty-six year old Marquess of Hightower was a tall, exceedingly thin young man, with straight mouse-colored hair, small brown eyes, and a receding chin. When not in uniform, he possessed a taste in fashion that verged on the theatrical on account of his delight in vivid colors. His partiality for a fearsome shade of mauve was often much discussed, but Bath was being spared today, for he was in uniform. However, the regimentals of the Duke of York’s Own Light Dragoons, while splendid on the likes of Harry Dashingham, somehow contrived to make Hightower seem more lanky and chinless than ever. The duke-to-be was not a pretty sight, and his claim to intelligence was questionable to say the least, but Georgiana—at her most kittenish—treated him as if he were the most handsome, romantic and witty fellow in the world.
    Jealousy washed hotly through Dominic as his rival’s sneezes rang out above the general racket of the room. Hightower was a fool, and grand title or not, surely Georgiana must realize by now how desperately unhappy she would be with such an article. Or was ambition truly her be-all and end-all? It was time to let her see what she was throwing away in favor of his future dukedom!
    Taking a deep breath, Dominic pushed his way toward his goal, and Georgiana turned, almost as if she sensed his approach. Her dark eyes flickered, and her lips parted, then she seized Hightower’s arm so violently that his glass of water splashed over his uniform. Her intention was to hurry him away in the opposite direction, but all she achieved was his yelp of horror as he hastily drew out a lace-edged handkerchief to mop his elaborately braided blue jacket.
    In that second Dominic was upon them both, sweeping a gallant bow, before drawing her little brown-gloved hand to his lips. “Lady Georgiana, what an unexpected pleasure.” He straightened and nodded coolly at her companion. “Hightower.”
    Lord