“You too, then,” she returned, her soft hair brushing his cheek.
Tristan closed his eyes, breathing her in, then shook himself. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Taking a breath and holding it, he slowly turned the knob and inched the door open. The rooms would be unoccupied, but he didn’t want to risk a squeak alerting the upstairs servants.
The faint sent of lemon wafted toward him on the night air. “This is it,” he mouthed, lips against her ear.
He released her hand so he could feel his way inside. Luckily the curtains were slightly parted, letting a faint sliver of moonlight fall across the center of the floor. The wardrobe stood behind a vanity screen and a full-length dressing mirror, and he slipped behind them, Georgiana close on his heels.
Amelia had said she would keep the stockings safe in her dresser, and as he inched the heavy top drawer open, he sent up a silent prayer that she hadn’t been lying.
A light flared by the bed.
Tristan froze, his arm buried up to the elbow in the dresser drawer. Beside him Georgiana stood wide-eyed as she stared at him, not even breathing. The light dimmed, settling into the more even flicker of a lamp. His fingers touched the edge of a piece of parchment, and he gripped it, not daring to move any further in the deep silence of the room.
“Luxley?” Amelia’s sleepy voice came, barely more than a whisper.
He and Georgiana exchanged glances. “‘Luxley?’” she mouthed.
“You naughty boy, are you there? Where have you been?”
Sheets rustled, and at the sound Tristan yanked his hand free, pulling the stockings and the note with him, and pushed Georgiana into the corner beside the wardrobe. He crouched beside her, hoping the vanity screen and the mirror would keep them in deep enough shadows that Amelia wouldn’t be able to see them.
Bare feet padded to the window, and the curtains were pushed aside. Now would be their best chance to escape. Showing the stockings to Georgiana, he shoved them in a pocket and took her hand again.
The window rattled and opened.
“Amelia, my flower,” Lord Luxley’s melodious voice came, followed by a grunt and a heavier thumping sound as the baron entered the room. “Your groundskeeper needs to have a care about that trellis. I nearly broke my neck.”
The unmistakable sound of kissing followed, and Tristan glanced sideways at Georgiana. She met his gaze, her expression a mixture of horror and deep amusement.
“Close the curtains, Luxley, for heaven’s sake,” Amelia’s soft voice said, and bare feet padded back toward the bed.
Curtains shifted, and the room light yellowed again to the lamp’s glow as heavier footsteps made their way to the bed. More kissing sounds followed, together with some throaty groans from both parties. Good God, Tristan thought, settling down more comfortably in the corner and pulling Georgiana up against his shoulder. Unless Luxley lived up to his reputation for brevity, this might take a while.
“We can’t leave now,” she whispered into his ear.
“I know,” he replied, turning his head to return the favor. “We’ll have to wait until they settle down again, or get too busy to notice us.”
“Oh, dear,” she murmured back, then slowly and unmistakably licked the curve of his ear.
Tristan swallowed, surprised into stillness as the sound of boots hitting the floor and the bed creaking with additional weight came from beyond the screen. Clothes shuffled to the floor a moment later, followed by the unmistakable sound of muffled groaning and sucking.
He looked at Georgiana again, his amusement warring with something much deeper and more intense. Just seeing her aroused him. Tonight, the combination of darkness, danger, and the obvious sounds of sex were enough to put him over the edge. She sank against him, kissing him on the throat. Tristan took her face in his hands and captured her mouth, kissing her roughly.
Luxley was making small sounds of enjoyment on the bed, and Tristan didn’t need to see to know precisely who was servicing whom. And he’d thought Amelia a novice? Shaking himself, he tore his mouth from Georgiana’s and captured her hands, tucking them into his. They needed to concentrate, to wait for the moment they could escape.
The rest of him, though, particularly the lower part, was concentrating on the slender, curvaceous figure beside him and the sounds of sex just a few feet away. Georgiana looked both embarrassed and excited, her lips parted, begging for his further caress.
The figures on the bed shifted, accompanied by some very naughty words he’d never imagined Amelia would even know, much less utter aloud. Then a rhythmic thumping began, to the accompaniment of Amelia’s moans and Luxley’s grunts of effort. The baron didn’t seem to be much for small talk or foreplay.
Tristan kissed Georgiana again, hot and openmouthed. Somehow the fact that they couldn’t make any noise made their touching even more intense, and his fingers crept beneath the neckline of her tight bodice, cupping her breast and teasing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes closing, she leaned into his hand, running her fingers through his hair and pulling his face forward for another plundering kiss.
She intoxicated him, made him feel drunk with lifting, soaring emotions he hadn’t even known he possessed before he’d touched her the first time. Loosening the top buttons running down her back, he tugged the front of her dress down to catch her nipple in his mouth. Her body trembled against him, making him ache and yearn for more. She was his, and he wanted no one else, ever.
The sounds on the bed grew louder, the rhythmic thumping faster and harder, and Georgiana’s wandering, seeking hands found the fastening of his breeches. Unbuttoning them, she reached inside, fondling him as he fondled her breasts. His heart thundering, Tristan threw back his head, thunking it against the wardrobe.
At the same time Georgiana gave a shuddering gasp, pushing closer against him. A vase on top of the wardrobe rocked and toppled, hitting the vanity screen and knocking it sideways. Tristan had an unforgettable view of Luxley’s buttocks pumping with Amelia’s delicate heels locked around them, before all hell broke loose.
Amelia screamed, Luxley bellowed, and Tristan extracted his hand from the front of Georgiana’s dress and yanked the material back up. Shooting to his feet despite an intense discomfort in his aroused nether regions, he pulled her up beside him and held his trousers closed.
“What the devil?” Luxley blustered, looking over his bare shoulder and clearly torn between finishing his work and defending his honor.
The door burst open, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Johns and a handful of servants. “What is—Amelia!”
Obviously the Johns family had either stayed home or had returned early. For some reason, the entire episode suddenly seemed hilarious. Tristan took Georgiana’s hand as she tried to hide behind him. “Run,” he gasped, and sprinted for the door.
They barreled past the Johnses and their startled staff and ran downstairs, Georgie holding up her sagging dress and he trying to button his trousers without falling and breaking his neck. The sitting room window was still open.
As lights and raised voices flared upstairs and in the servants’ quarters, Tristan lifted Georgiana so she could scoot out, then followed behind her, grabbing her hand again as they ran through the garden and emerged around the corner, out of sight of Johns House. Together they ducked into the shadows of a neighboring stable.
Breathing hard, he stopped, and Georgiana doubled over beside him. Alarmed, he knelt at her feet, looking up at her. “Are you all right?”
A strangled laugh answered him. “Did you see their faces?” she chortled, collapsing into his lap and throwing her arms around his shoulders. “‘Amelia!’ They were so shocked!”
He laughed, relieved as he cradled her against his chest. “I don’t suppose she wanted to be a baroness, but it’s a bit late for that now.” Of course, if they’d been recognized, Georgiana was thoroughly ruined, too, but he had the perfect solution for that.
“Oh, she’ll have to marry Luxley. He has no chance
of escape.”
“He wasn’t in any condition to escape. I almost wasn’t, either.” Still holding her close, he buttoned up her gown. Tonight was not the night to risk nudity in the middle of Mayfair.
“Do you think they saw us well enough to know who we are?” Brief concern touched her gaze again.
“I’m not sure. Amelia will figure it out, but the rest of them had, ah, several other things to occupy their attention.” That wasn’t quite true; in trying to defend her honor Amelia would of course identify them, and her parents would be desperate for someone else to share some of the blame and the gossip. He would take what steps he could to minimize the damage, so letting Georgiana worry about it tonight wouldn’t help anything.
“As much sympathy as I’d like to feel for her, I can’t help thinking she got what she deserved.”
“And Luxley, too,” he agreed, anger touching him, “for courting you and bedding her, the bastard.”
Lifting her head, she kissed him. It was a light kiss, full of laughter and affection, and it stopped his heart. “This was a very interesting evening,” she said, chuckling again.
“I love you,” Tristan whispered.
Her smile fading, she met his gaze. Then she touched his cheek. “I love you,” she said, in the same soft tone, as though neither of them dared to say it aloud.
“We’d best get you home, just in case all hell does break loose.” He helped her to her feet again. “How did you get here?”
“I hired a hack.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapping her hands around his arm with an easy intimacy that left him almost breathless. “It’s only a few blocks. Might we walk back?”
If she’d asked, he would have carried her across the Pyrenees in his arms. He had a pistol in one pocket, which would offer them ample protection against any ne’er-do-wells wandering Mayfair in the middle of the night. That, though, wasn’t what he was worried about.
“No. I want you back and safely in bed in case Johns rides to Hawthorne House demanding an explanation.”
The concerned look came into her eyes again. “Do you think he’ll do that?”
“Actually, I think he’ll be more concerned with Luxley, and then with my presence. You may come up in conversation eventually, though, so everything where you’re concerned must be as proper as possible.”
He whistled down a hack. “Take her to Hawthorne House,” he said, giving the direction as he handed her up and tossed the driver a few coins.
“Tristan…”
Reluctant to stop touching her, much less let her out of his sight, Tristan took her fingers and kissed them. “I will call on you in the morning, Georgiana. And then you and I will resolve some things.”
She smiled, then sat back in the dark as the coach lurched off into the night. Tristan looked after the hack until it turned the corner and passed out of sight. He took her smile as a very good sign. She must know what he meant, and she hadn’t objected. Whistling, he waved down another coach to return to Carroway House.
As he sat on the worn leather, the paper in his pocket crinkled. He pulled out her stockings and the note, and read it again. She’d given him her stockings and thought to be rid of him. Tomorrow he would return her stockings, and ask for her, instead.
And he prayed that she wouldn’t come to her senses and realize what a poor catch he was. If she didn’t say yes…Tristan couldn’t even contemplate that. Not if he wanted his heart to keep beating until he saw her again.
Chapter 23
Julia Your reason?
Lucetta I have no other but a woman’s reason:
I think him so, because I think him so.
—Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act I, Scene ii
The rumors arrived before the milk.
Danielle threw open the heavy curtains far too early, and Frederica Brakenridge sat up to glare at her personal maid. “What in the world is going on?” she demanded. “And you’d best say the French have invaded.”
The maid curtsied, worry and nervousness in every line of her rotund body. “I’m not certain, Your Grace. I only know that Pascoe spoke with the vegetable girl a minute ago, and then he said I must go awaken Your Grace at once.”
Pascoe wasn’t known for frivolousness, so Frederica pushed the blanket aside and stood. “Then help me dress, Danielle.”
Years of experience had taught her that any situation, no matter how dire, could be improved with proper attire. So, although she keenly wanted to know what had overset her stoic butler, she took her time with her hair and her morning toilette.
As she emerged from her private rooms Pascoe was waiting for her, and a great many of the household servants seemed to have found items in the hallway in need of dusting or polishing. Georgiana’s bedchamber was only two doors down, and if the girl had managed a good night’s sleep, she wasn’t about to disturb it this early in the morning.
“Downstairs,” she commanded, leading the way.
“Your Grace,” the butler said, following on her heels, “I am truly sorry to have awakened you so early, but I have learned something which, whether factual or not, desperately needs your attention.”
Frederica stopped just inside the morning room door, motioning the butler to accompany her. “What is it, then, that has upset everyone at this ungodly hour?”
The butler worked his jaw for a moment. “I have been informed, by a certain very unreliable source, that…something occurred in the Johns household last evening.”
She frowned. “The Johns household? What does that have to do with my waking early enough to view sunrise?”
“The, ah, something which occurred concerned Miss Amelia Johns being caught en flagrante delicto with Lord Luxley.”
Frederica lifted an eyebrow. “Really?” Luxley was one of Georgiana’s most persistent suitors. As of now, however, he was officially out of the running.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And?”
“And, ah, another couple was seen…in the same room, though they immediately fled into the night.”
A stone of dread hit the pit of Frederica’s stomach. Dare had been absent from the soiree last night, as well. If he had betrayed Georgiana’s trust again…“Which other couple, Pascoe? Out with it.”
“Lord Dare and…and Lady Georgiana, Your Grace.”
“What?”
Swallowing, the butler nodded. “This person also informed me that Lord Dare and Lady Georgiana were in a certain state of undress.”
“Un—” For a moment, Frederica wished she didn’t believe that fainting was for weak minds. “Georgiana!” she roared, heading for the stairs again. “Georgiana Elizabeth Halley!”
Georgiana forced open one eye. Someone was calling her name, she thought, though it might have been a dream. The call repeated, reverberating through the house.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered, making the other eye open and sitting up. Aunt Frederica never yelled.
Her door burst open. “Georgiana,” Frederica said, her color high as she strode into the room, “tell me you’ve been here all night. Tell me at once!”
“What have you heard?” she asked, rather than answering.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Frederica groaned, sinking down on the bed. “Georgiana, what in heaven’s name happened?”
“Do you really want to know?” she asked quietly, her heart thumping with nervousness for the first time. She might not care any longer what the ton thought, but she cared about what her aunt would think.
“Yes, I really want to know.”
“This is between us,” Georgiana pressed. “You may not say anything to Grey, or to Tristan, or to anyone else.”
“Stipulations, my dear, don’t apply to family members.”
“They do this time, or I’m not saying anything else.”
Her aunt sighed. “Very well.”
She had almost hoped that Aunt Frederica wouldn’t agree to her terms, so she would have an excuse not to explain anything. No doubt, however, her aunt had also anticip
ated that outcome. “Very well. Six years ago, I was the object of a wager,” she began.
By the time she finished, Aunt Frederica looked as though she very much regretted agreeing to any conditions at all. “You should have told me earlier,” she finally said, her jaw clenched. “I would have shot him myself.”
“Aunt Frederica, you promised.”
“Well, at least your antics will have made Lord Westbrook feel better. That’s something, I suppose.”
“I suppose so.”
Her aunt stood. “You’d better get dressed, Georgiana. I won’t be the only one hearing rumors today.”
“I don’t care,” Georgiana said, lifting her chin.
“You’ve been well respected by all of Society, and sought after by all the eligible men. That will change.”
“I still don’t care.”
“You will. Your Lord Dare doesn’t have a promising tendency to stay about.”
“He said he would be here this morning,” she answered, a tremor making her fingers shake. He’d promised; he would come.
“It is morning. Early, but morning. Get dressed, my dear. The day will only get worse, and you need to look your best when you face it.”
The more Georgiana thought about it, the more nervous she became. Mary helped her dress in her most demure morning gown, of patterned yellow-and-green muslin, but if the news had already spread here, by midmorning everyone in London would know that she and Tristan had been seen, half-naked and with her hand down his trousers, in Amelia Johns’s bedchamber. A demure dress wouldn’t stop those rumors.
She and Frederica sat down for breakfast, but neither of them had much of an appetite. The servants were as precise and polite as always, but she knew quite well that they had been the first to hear, and that they had been the ones to pass the information on to her aunt. How many other servants were chattering to their employers this morning?
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