The Duke's Hellion (Hart and Arrow) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Julia Sinclair

  He laid down the note and looked at the tense woman sitting across from him. “What are you going to do about this, Georgiana?”

  “I suppose that depends on what you want.”

  Tristan drew back as if she had slapped him. The rage that had curdled in him upon reading it flamed up, mingled with a kind of hurt that he didn't care to look at.

  “Are you serious? Did you come here seriously thinking that I had written this tripe?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Tristan!”

  “I know that we have not... been on the best terms in the last few years, Georgiana. I know that. But to believe that I would stoop to such foul tricks—”

  “Tristan, stop!”

  She was out of her chair and on her feet. Another gently-reared girl brought up with the manners of the ton would have flinched away from Tristan's wrath, but she crossed the floor to stand in front of him, taking his hand impulsively in hers. The sheer familiarity of her touch calmed him, and he stopped to look at her, glaring even as she looked up at him with defiance in her eyes.

  “Well?”

  “I don't think that you sent this. Not even for a moment.” A slight smile quirked her lips. “You never would. Not your style.”

  “It's not?”

  She laughed a little. “Not even a little bit. When you want to destroy someone, for better or worse, you will do it directly. Nothing mean or dirty about it.”

  “Thank you, I suppose.”

  She let go of his hand, and he flexed it unconsciously. He suddenly felt cold without her touch, and he went to the window. Tristan decided that having a certain amount of space between himself and Georgiana was going to be better for his peace of mind. He tried not to think the word safer.

  “I received that note with my mail last night. I suppose I should think of myself as lucky that I did. Sometimes my correspondence goes awry. Who knows what would have happened if I had missed it.”

  “And now what are you going to do.”

  Georgiana took a deep breath, as if she were bracing herself for something unpleasant.

  “Now I need to find out who did send this.”

  Tristan scowled, turning back to look at her.

  “That's not the right answer. You need to go to the constables, or perhaps to hire a private investigator. You should also hire more footmen for your place on Park Lane. Someone like this might be dangerous.”

  She smiled a little, and Tristan was reminded horribly of a fish with a hook caught in the corner of its mouth. She wasn't smiling because something was funny. She was smiling because something was awful.

  “Georgiana?”

  “You're going to help me.”

  Tristan's voice was utterly flat. “What?”

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Georgiana almost wanted to laugh when Tristan started speaking about constables and investigators. It was what he knew best, and of course, he thought that one could deal with a blackmailer like one would deal with a dishonest solicitor. She knew better.

  “I want you to help me. I cannot risk going to the constables and having a loose tongue wagging about my business all over London.”

  Tristan slouched back on one leg, arms crossed over his broad chest. He could freeze the fires of hell when he looked at her like that. “I had not thought that your reputation was something you held in such high regard.”

  Georgiana refused to back down from him. Instead, she lifted her chin and met his gaze squarely. “Then you do not know me or London society as well as you think you do, Tristan. Do you really think I could go to the constables or hire a magistrate on my own?”

  Tristan looked at her, and she was gratified to see a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. Tristan had never been unreasonable, she thought. Far from it.

  “You are afraid of scandal.”

  “Of course, I am. What Society woman isn't? But more to the point, do you think they would even talk to me?”

  “Of course, they would...”

  “Of course, they won't. They will want to know where my guardian is and why he is not the one handling it. They may even refuse to speak to me. It's been known to happen.”

  Tristan scowled. “That is not right.”

  “We are not talking about right or wrong right now, Tristan. We're talking about what will happen. I would go to Thomas for this kind of help ordinarily, but you and I both know he is away. And my father... I would rather not involve my father in this.”

  “Because you are afraid he might cut your allowance?”

  She had forgotten how incredibly infuriating the man could be. She could feel her face flush red over his cruel and careless words, and she stopped herself from slapping him only with difficulty.

  “Because my father is ill, damn you! Because he is an old man, and he has been in delicate health for years. I do not want to tell a man in his sick bed that he must get out and make a report with some constables!”

  Tristan stared at her, and to her shock, he reached for her gently. She was so surprised that ever-proper Tristan Carrow would do such a thing that she allowed it. She allowed him to fold her into his arms, to rub her back gently as if she were a child who had awakened from a terrible nightmare.

  With a start, she wondered how long it had been since she was held like this. It made something in her belt, and she realized even as she pressed her forehead against the sturdy fabric of his jacket that it was something she could ill-afford. It took more strength than she would have thought, but she took a step back from him, composing herself as best she could.

  “My father, as I said, is sick. And you may be right that I get away with far more than I ought because he has been sick for such a long time, but that does not mean that I want to make his condition worse.”

  “Have you considered not running so wild?”

  “Have you considered taking back everything you've done over the last three years?”

  Tristan sighed. “You're right, neither of us can change the past, no matter how much we might want to do so.”

  He was so clearly referring to the time that they had passed together in Devon that she wanted to scratch his eyes out. I was difficult to remember that she had had so many warm feelings for him just a few moments ago.

  “No, we can't at that. All we can do is move forward, and if I want to move forward, if I want to have any kind of life, I need to make sure that this blackmailer is stopped. I will not allow someone who won't even show his face to break my life in half. I will not allow him to make me the shame of my family.”

  For a moment, she thought that Tristan would say that she had shamed them enough on her own, and she didn't know what she might do if he said that. Probably something tremendously unwise, but it wasn't as if she had ever been so very wise where Tristan was concerned.

  Instead, Tristan only nodded. “All right. So, you want me to help because there's no one else you can go to.”

  It stung to hear him say that, but he wasn't wrong. “Yes. And if you do not help me, I am going to ruin you.”

  Tristan stared at her. Some part of her was still pleased that she could shock him. Carrows were notoriously difficult to please, and yet somehow, she had managed to do it many times throughout their time together.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Oh, I know that voice. That's the tone you use when you're giving someone the chance to back out of whatever foolish thing they've said before you make them very sorry.”

  “You know me so well, and yet still, here we are. Georgiana, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “If you are not willing to help me, I won't go to the constables, but I will go to the newspapers. I will weep and cry and tell them all about how desperately you seduced me and then abandoned me years ago when we were both in Devon. My reputation will go up in flames, but it's going to do that anyway if the blackmailer gets his way. The only difference, Tristan, is that your reputation will go up with mine.”

  “You're being ridiculous.”


  “Are you willing to bet on that? The Dukes of Parrington have always been such paragons of perfection and staid responsibility. Believe me when I say that most of the ton would be beyond eager to see you involved in a scandal the likes of the one I could brew up.”

  For a long moment, Tristan simply looked at her. Georgiana did her best to hold his eyes, even if it was difficult. The rest of the ton might think that the Carrows were predictable and staid, but she knew better. There was a streak of wildness in the entire lot, from Blythe, who fooled everyone with a missionary's pious sweetness, to Ned, who had proven himself a hero twice over in the wars with France. Tristan was never as predictable as people thought he was, and she knew that no matter what she threatened, there was a chance he would simply dig in his heels and tell her to go to hell.

  “You are playing a very dangerous game, Georgiana.”

  “I am desperate, Tristan. I have no other options. If I go to the constables, they will not take me seriously. My brother is off somewhere in the world with your cousin, and my father is barely able to get out of bed at this point. I do not have anywhere to turn.”

  Tristan looked at her with a rising fury on his face. Georgiana didn't care. It wasn't as if she had never dealt with his fury before.

  “How like a woman to drag a man into her mess.”

  “If I was my father's son instead of his daughter, believe me when I say that I would be handling this myself. And I will also say that if I were his son instead of his daughter, I would not be in this mess in the first place.”

  “So, here we stand. You will either walk out of here with my help, or you are going to go to the papers and ruin us both.”

  “I do not like either option, but yes.”

  “Then it seems I have no choice. All right.”

  Georgiana let out the breath she had been holding. She felt almost lightheaded. “Thank you, Tristan, I can't tell you...”

  She gasped as he crossed the floor toward her in two long strides. His hand shot out and clamped with an unforgiving strength around her upper arm. He wasn't hurting her, but it was damned clear that unless he let her go, she was not going anywhere.

  “Don't. Do not thank me for something that you are forcing me to do, and believe me, Georgiana, you are forcing me into this. There is nothing I want in being near you, and nothing you could do to convince me otherwise.”

  He held her gaze for another moment, and then he let her go. Georgiana felt a wellspring of hurt rising up inside her, and she pushed it back. She had no right to feel like that, and after all, everything that Tristan was saying was true.

  “If you think that I have any interest in being with you for any reason, you are very wrong. I'm just doing this because I have to.”

  Tristan nodded brusquely. “We are agreed then. I will help you with your blackmailer, and then we are quits.”

  “Of course.”

  They agreed to go to the meeting place in Covent Gardens together, traveling separately, and on her ride home, Georgiana wondered all over again if she was making the right choice. No matter how dangerous the blackmailer was, Tristan was dangerous as well. They shared enough secrets that he could be incredibly damaging to her.

  I told him the truth, however. It's not as if I have any choice.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  “Are you sure you want to wear the gray, Lady Georgiana? It's lovely, but it's so very plain. I've not even been able to do any fancy stitch work on it.”

  “I'm sure, Honey. After all, I'm going to a literary salon, not any sort of real party.”

  “I suppose not.”

  Most of the ton wouldn't have recognized Georgiana out of her brilliant and universally expensive gowns. When she normally went out, she liked to be decked out in signature blue and gold, or perhaps green and gold. Tonight, she was wearing a lilac gray walking gown with just a bit of black bombazine at the edges. To someone with a skilled eye, it was an expensive and beautifully tailored gown, but to most, it would be completely unremarkable.

  “Please let the household know that I will be arriving home late and that I will not be needing anything after their regular duties. That includes you, Honey. I do not need you to stay up and light the candle for me.”

  “Oh, but...”

  “I mean it. Get some sleep, I've worked you very hard this season, and I imagine you need it.”

  “Yes, Lady Georgiana. Only do ring if you need something.”

  “I will, never fear.”

  Of course, she wasn't going to a literary salon that night. Instead, a hired hack picked Georgiana up at her home and with a look askance, dropped her off at Covent Garden.

  “Are you sure this is where you are meant to be, my lady?”

  Georgiana spoke with a confidence she did not feel. “It is. Remember, you only receive your pay when I have been dropped off back home.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  I could honestly wish that Society had the discretion and restraint of the average London hack driver. He probably wouldn't care a whit if I stepped in to do a spot of murder and needed to get out again.

  Covent Garden by day was a busy and prosperous marketplace, loud with all manner of vendors crying their wares. When evening fell, however, the large piazza was a different place entirely. It was still loud and raucous, especially after the theater crowd got out from a lively performance, but there were plenty of people doing far darker things in the shadows as well.

  Even as she entered the area, she saw a man trying to find directions to an opium den, and across from her were three men in dignified clothing, no doubt in from the country, all consulting the notorious Harris's List, which cataloged the women of ill-repute of the area. The flicker of oil lamps from on high showed London at its most venal, and Georgiana knew that plenty of the faces that would be so civilized at a gala were even now red with lewdness and debauchery in the street.

  Maybe this is why they want young girls to marry as soon as they can. If a woman knew about this side of things, would she marry at all?

  The mysterious blackmailer had said he would find her, and she wondered if she should sit down and wait for him. However, the few benches were taken up with women with overly painted faces trying to grab the attention of all the men passing by, and the ones that weren't held drunks, sleeping off their excess or just getting started.

  Georgiana stayed on her feet and started walking. She kept her face stern and her head high, and though she could feel eyes on her from time to time, she was largely left alone. Tristan had said that he would be at Covent Garden watching her and keeping an eye out for her, but she had not seen him yet. Despite that, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was there somewhere.

  A Carrow never goes back on his word. That's always been money you could take to the bank.

  Georgiana yelped when a man grabbed her hand, dragging her arm through his. For a moment, she thought this must be the blackmailer, but when he turned to her, she got a face full of gin fumes.

  “You're a fine girl, ain't you? Are you Miss Lottie Perkins, then, or are you Birdie Lynn? You can't be Helena Frost; your hair ain't pale enough.”

  For a moment, Georgiana was forcibly reminded of how awkward some men could be when they were trying to claim acquaintance at the balls she attended, and then when he pulled her close with an arm around her waist, she was forcibly reminded that the situation was rather direr than that.

  “Get off of me!”

  “Now, don't be like that. Look, I have all the rates here in this little book.”

  Before he could show her what her price should be, another man loomed out of the darkness, taking him firmly by the shoulder and pulling him away.

  “Get your own girl, this one's mine.”

  The speaker had a thick Southern accent, rough and as if he had come straight from the docks, and even as Georgiana got her feet well underneath her to kick or run, she realized she recognized that voice.

  “Tristan?!”


  Tristan gave her a wry look as he pulled her close. “You can't seem to stay out of trouble even if you try, can you? I've been following you for a bit now, and unfortunately, now anyone watching knows that.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I figure you should struggle, I'll hang on to you for moment, and then you should slap me or something like that and run. I'll keep following you, and then you can meet with that damned blackmailer of yours.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  It was, and hopefully, it would throw the blackmailer off the trail if he was worried they were being watched. Of course, that plan didn't take into account how good Tristan felt when he pulled her hard against him. Everyone in the ton would probably agree that Tristan was a handsome man, but she realized that few of them would ever realize how strong he was, how his body was hard with muscle when he pulled her against him.

  “Damn it, struggle more than that.”

  “I might if you actually looked as if you were taking liberties and not simply bored while you were doing your accounts.”

  Tristan made an irritated noise, and then his large hand came up to cup the back of her neck. For one moment, she thought that he was going to try throttling her, and then he was bending his face down, his lips meeting hers.

  The kiss was new and old at once. She had kissed him before, but that felt as if it had been a lifetime ago. They were different people now, more grownup and worldlier, and the heat that sprang up immediately between them was blindingly hot. He tasted good to her, hot and demanding, and when she opened her mouth in shock, his tongue swept in, claiming her mouth utterly.

  Georgiana wanted to give herself up to it, but then she remembered that she was meant to be fighting him. She nipped his tongue sharply with her teeth, and when he pulled back with a growl of pretended fury—she hoped—Georgiana brought her hand up to slap him hard on the jaw. She swung rather harder than she thought, and the impact traveled from her palm up to her shoulder.

  “Bastard, never touch me again!”