“I was wondering if you would speak with my aunts for a moment, Lady Georgiana,” he said, his voice curt and his spine stiff. “They’re worried about you.”
“Of course.” Squaring her shoulders and pretending not to notice the concerned looks from her friends, she walked off with him.
He didn’t offer his arm, and she kept her hands folded behind her. She wanted to run, but then everyone would know that something had happened between them. Rumors were one thing, but if she or Tristan did anything to confirm them, she would have no choice about going back to Shropshire.
She sneaked a sideways glance at him. His jaw was clenched, but other than that he gave no outward sign of agitation. She was fairly shaking with it, but he didn’t round on her as she expected. Rather, he did as he’d said he would, and stopped beside his aunts.
“Oh, dear Georgie,” Edwina said, grabbing her arm and hugging her. “We were so worried about you! Just leaving like that without saying anything.”
“I’m so sorry,” she answered, squeezing the older woman’s hand. “I…had to leave, but I shouldn’t have done it without saying something first. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Is your aunt all right?” Milly asked, coming forward.
“Yes, she’s…” Georgiana looked at her for a moment, belatedly realizing that she didn’t have to look down at Tristan’s aunt. “You’re walking!”
“With the help of my cane, but yes. Now, what’s happened to you? Did Tristan say something to make you angry again?”
She felt his gaze on her face, but refused to look at him. “No. I just needed to go. And look at you! You don’t need me any longer.”
“We still enjoy your company, my dear.”
“And I enjoy yours. I’ll come to visit very soon. I promise.”
Tristan stirred. “Come, Georgiana, I’ll get you a glass of punch.”
“I really don’t—”
“Come with me,” he repeated, his voice lower.
This time he did offer his arm, and with his aunts watching, she didn’t dare refuse it. The muscles were tight as iron, and her fingers trembled on his sleeve.
“My lord, I—”
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked in the same quiet voice.
“Afraid? N…no. Of course not.”
He looked down at her. “Why not? You should be. I could ruin you in less than a second.”
“I’m not afraid, because you deserved it.”
Tristan leaned closer, a sneer pulling at his mouth. “What, exactly, did I deserve?”
Across the room Aunt Frederica was looking at them, her expression concerned. Grey stood beside her, his stance aggressive. Georgiana looked back up at Tristan. “We shouldn’t do this here.”
“You wouldn’t see me elsewhere. Answer the damned question. Was this just revenge?”
“Revenge? No. It…I…”
“You know what I think?” he said, still more quietly, his hand covering hers.
To their audience it no doubt looked like a gesture of affection; they couldn’t know his grip was steel, and that she couldn’t have broken away from him if she tried. “Tristan…”
“I think you are afraid,” he whispered, “because you enjoyed being with me.”
Oh, no. “That is not it. Let me go.”
He did so immediately. “You decided to hurt me before I could hurt you again.”
“Nonsense. I’m walking away now. Don’t follow me.”
“I won’t—if you’ll save a waltz for me.”
She stopped. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to go crawling off to Amelia Johns and be a good husband. She needed to be sure he understood that the lesson she’d dealt him wasn’t just about revenge. If that meant dancing with him tonight, so be it. “Fine.”
“Good.”
Chapter 12
Troilus You have bereft me of all words, lady.
Pandarus Words pay no debts, give her deeds.
—Troilus and Cressida, Act III, Scene ii
He’d expected gloating, or smugness, or aloof arrogance. Instead Georgiana had trembled. Beyond his anger at her presumption—she’d actually thought she could teach him a lesson—Tristan had to admit that the more entangled their lives became, the more interesting he found it all.
He watched as she rejoined her friends, studying her gestures, the way she held herself. She was hurt, which didn’t make sense, since he hadn’t left her and hadn’t asked her to leave. He’d been verging on asking her to marry him. It had seemed perfect: all of his money problems gone, and a woman he desired, in his bed. Obviously he’d missed something, and Georgie held all the answers.
He’d studied her short missive until he had every smudge, every swirl memorized. It all meant something, and he would figure out what.
“You look like you want to eat her,” Bradshaw muttered from behind him, “and not in a good way. For God’s sake, look at someone else.”
Tristan blinked. “Did I ask for your opinion? Go annoy an admiral or something.”
“You’re not helping anything.”
The viscount turned and looked at his younger brother. “What, precisely, am I supposed to be helping?” he snapped.
Bradshaw raised his hands. “Never mind. But if this explodes in your face, just remember that I warned you. Be more subtle, Dare.”
Before Tristan could reply, Shaw vanished toward the staircase. He took a deep breath, trying to relax the tense muscles across his back. His brother was right; six years ago he’d nearly killed himself keeping the rumors under control, and tonight he was stomping around like a bull in heat.
“Good evening, Tristan.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Amelia. Good evening.”
She curtsied, dainty and delicate in a blue gauze gown. “I have decided to be forward and ask you for a dance,” she said, dimpling.
“And I thank you, but I don’t intend to stay tonight. I have some…business to attend to.”
The excuse sounded pitiful but he wasn’t in the mood to come up with a better one, or to listen to her inane chatter. Instead he offered her a stiff bow and stalked off to shadow Georgiana.
She seemed to be making every effort to stay away from him, huddling with her friends at the far end of the room and now and then giving a nervous laugh as though to convince everyone that she was enjoying herself. He knew better.
Finally, Lady Hortensia called for the orchestra, and the scattered pockets of conversation migrated toward the dance floor. Tristan didn’t know whether anyone else had asked a dance of Georgiana, though he would assume so. He didn’t care, except that the first waltz was his.
He had to wait through two quadrilles and a country dance, watching her twirl about the room with Lord Luxley—apparently forgiven for his accident with the orange cart—and Francis Henning and then Grey. The only positive note was that Westbrook had yet to make an appearance.
When the orchestra launched into a waltz she was standing with her cousin and his bride, Emma. Tristan made himself stroll at a normal pace to her side.
“This is our dance, I believe,” he drawled, holding his hand out to her and trying not to look as though he was contemplating dragging her off and demanding an explanation.
Grey scowled. “Georgiana’s tired. You don’t mind if—”
“Yes, I do mind.” He kept his gaze on Georgiana, though he sensed the duke looming beside him. If Grey wanted a fight, he was definitely in the mood to accommodate him. “Georgiana?”
“It’s all right, Grey. I promised him.”
“That doesn’t matter, if you don’t want—”
“I appreciate your chivalry, cousin,” she interrupted, her voice sharper, “but please allow me to speak for myself.”
With a curt nod, Greydon took his wife’s hand to lead her to the dance floor. “As if I could stop you,” he muttered.
Tristan ignored their departure; all of his attention was on Georgiana. “Shall we?”
Georgiana took his hand. Ke
enly reminded of their half-naked waltz in his bedchamber, Tristan slid his arm around her waist and stepped into the dance.
She did everything she could to avoid his gaze, looking at his cravat, the other dancers, the orchestra, and the decorations along the far wall. He kept his silence, trying to decide how best to broach his questions without losing any more ground, and angry enough to be satisfied at her discomfiture.
Finally, she gave a heavy sigh and looked up at him. She seemed tired, fine lines around her eyes dimming their sparkle. “This was supposed to make you leave me alone.”
“You encouraged me, and then you insulted me. What made you think I wouldn’t want an explanation?”
“You told my aunt you’d understood the message. I don’t think you did. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be dancing with me.”
“Explain it to me, then.” He lowered his head, brushing his cheek against her ear. The lavender scent of her made him swallow. Angry or not, he wanted her again. Badly. “I felt passion, Georgiana. And so did you. So please, explain to me why you left the way you did.”
A slow blush crept up her cheeks. “Fine. You were supposed to be courting Amelia Johns; you said so yourself. And yet you couldn’t wait to seduce me. I wanted you to know how it felt to expect something from someone and then have them snatch it away. To teach you that you can’t go about breaking hearts just because it suits you to do so.”
“You did as much seducing as I did, my dear.”
“Yes, to teach you a lesson.” She paused, glancing at the nearest dancers, too far away to hear their quiet conversation. “It just so happened that this lesson had the added bonus of making us even.”
“Even,” he repeated, anger and desire creeping intermingled along his veins.
“Yes—you hurt me, and I hurt you. The lesson is over. Go back to Amelia and behave like a gentleman, if you can.”
For a long moment he looked down at her. They were even now, except for one thing. “You’re right.”
“So go get married and be a good husband.”
“I meant that you’re right about us being even—with one small difference.”
She eyed him warily. “What difference?”
“You ran last time, and I let you go. I have no intention of doing so, this time.”
“What…what are you talking about? What about Amelia? She expects a proposal.”
“If we’re even,” he returned, ignoring her interruption, “then there’s no reason we can’t begin again. A clean slate between us, as it were.”
Her jaw fell open. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am perfectly serious. You interest me much more than Amelia Johns ever could. To be blunt, and because you’ll throw it in my face anyway, you also happen to be an heiress, and everyone knows that I need to marry an heiress.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped, jerking her hand free from his. “You can’t stand losing, so you’re embarking on another game you think you can win, and at my expense. I will not participate.”
“It’s no game, Georgiana,” he growled, grabbing her hand again.
She pulled backward, freeing herself from his grip and nearly causing the Earl of Montrose and his partner to fall over both of them. “Then prove it, Dare.”
Tristan smiled grimly. He loved a challenge, and the higher the stakes, the better. “I will.” Before she could stomp away, he took her hand once more, placing a kiss on her knuckles. “Believe you me, I will.”
The next day Georgiana sat with her aunt in the morning room, halfheartedly working on some embroidery. She was contemplating how nice it would be to escape the house and the quiet, incessant ticking of the mantel clock when Pascoe scratched on the door.
“You have a caller, Lady Georgiana.”
“Who is it?”
“Lord Dare, my lady.”
Her heart jumped into her throat, and with effort she swallowed it down again. “I’m not receiving callers this morning, Pascoe.”
“Very good, my lady.” The butler vanished.
“Greydon has offered to speak to Dare, if you want this settled,” Aunt Frederica said in the careful voice she’d been using since Georgiana’s return, as if she were afraid her niece would become hysterical again if she said the wrong thing.
“Grey is Dare’s friend. That shouldn’t change just because of this.”
“My lady?” Pascoe reappeared in the doorway.
“Yes, Pascoe?”
“Lord Dare has returned your horse. He wishes to know if you would care to go riding, and to discuss the return of the remainder of your personal items to Hawthorne House.”
If Tristan had said that, he was making a great effort to be diplomatic. “Please thank Lord Dare, but—”
“Ah, I’m also to inform you that the…Runt is here as well, and would like to ride with you.”
“Pascoe, she has said no. Please do not—”
That devious blackguard. Georgiana set aside her embroidery and stood. “I should at least say hello to Edward. I’m certain he has no idea why I vanished as I did.”
“Neither do I,” her aunt muttered, but Georgiana pretended not to hear that as she left the room.
“Georgie!” Edward shrieked, hurling himself at her as soon as she entered the sitting room.
“Edward,” Tristan said sharply, and the boy skidded to a halt. “Decorum.”
With a frown, the lad nodded and swept a bow. “Good morning, Lady Georgiana. I’ve missed you very much, and so has Storm Cloud.”
“I’ve missed you, too. I’m so pleased you’ve come by.”
“Are you going riding with us? It’ll be smashing. No one has to hold the reins for me any longer.”
She looked into the boy’s eager gray eyes and smiled. “I would love to go riding with you.”
“Hurray!”
“I will have to change, first.”
“We’ll wait,” Tristan drawled, lifting an eyebrow when she glared over his brother’s head at him.
When she returned downstairs a few minutes later, both the Carroway brothers were out on the front drive, waiting for her. As she appeared, Tristan lifted Edward onto Storm Cloud’s back, then strolled over to help her up onto Sheba.
“You are a cheat,” she hissed, standing her foot harder than she needed to in his cupped hands. “And a sneak.”
“Yes, I am. And clever, too. The Runt’s an excuse and a chaperone, all in one.” Grasping her ankle, he slid her foot into the single stirrup.
“What about our appearance? Man, woman, and child. Wasn’t that your objection to Bradshaw’s escorting me anywhere?”
“My objections to Bradshaw are many and varied. If one works to keep him somewhere else and me here, I will use it.”
“What do you think you’re doing here, anyway?” she asked. She’d have to be careful about what she said with Edward present, blast it all.
“I’m calling on you.” He stepped back. “Is Hyde Park acceptable?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s fine.”
He swung into Charlemagne’s saddle, and the three of them trotted toward the nearby park. She watched as he leaned sideways, correcting his brother’s hold on the reins. Tristan was a born horseman, and even when she’d hated him, she’d enjoyed watching him ride. Now, though, it wasn’t his horsemanship as much as his seat that she was admiring.
“Just so you know,” he said as he returned to her side, “I don’t intend to do or say anything the least bit unpleasant today. I’m beginning a courtship. But I’ll only behave for as long as you do.”
She kept her gaze between Sheba’s ears as they entered the park. “I don’t understand, Tristan,” she said slowly, unsure of how much she should be saying aloud. “Why take the risk? You have an heiress already in your pocket.”
“I have never made anything even resembling a promise of marriage to Amelia Johns,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Put her out of your mind; this is about us, and about how much I want you again.”
“So a
re you courting me, or seducing me?” She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice.
“I’m courting you. The next night we share, neither of us will be fleeing.”
Georgiana blushed. She’d supposedly just broken his heart, and he was already planning their next naked rendezvous. Perhaps he didn’t have a heart. “You’re very sure of yourself.”
“It’s one of my better traits.”
Obviously she’d miscalculated somewhere. Now he thought he could dictate when and how they met, and what it should mean. She narrowed her eyes. If they were even, then she had an equal right to decide just how much she would let him get away with. And whom she wished to see.
“Please take me back now,” she said, turning Sheba as she spoke.
“We only just got here.”
“I know, but I’m to go on a picnic with Lord Westbrook in an hour, and I need to change and freshen up.”
His expression darkened. “You don’t have any such thing planned. You just made that up.”
“I did not. Wait until he arrives, if you wish, but you’ll look even more foolish than you do now, paying attention to a woman who is known to despise you.”
Tristan’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line. “That is not how this is going to proceed.”
“Yes, it is. I’m not needed by your aunts, any longer, and I have therefore accepted invitations from several gentlemen. You’re only one of them.”
He urged Charlemagne closer. “You said you had no intention of ever marrying,” he said, in so low a voice it was almost a growl.
“Yes, and I’ve been thinking about that. It was you, as I recall, who pointed out that I could marry anyone who needed my dowry. And given how much money that is, I could marry just about anyone.”
“Reconsider. Westbrook’s a bore, and he doesn’t need your money.”
“And because he doesn’t, I presume that he likes my company and my conversation. You said if a man loved me, he would forgive that he wasn’t my…first. You give sound advice, Tristan.”
“Reconsider. Spend the day with me.”
It annoyed her that for a bare moment she was tempted. “No. We are even, Dare, and therefore you have no more right to my time than anyone else in the world.”
The Rake Page 14
