The Duke's Hellion

by Julia Sinclair

  She pulled up her skirts, hitching them until they barely fell to her knees, and then she toed off her slippers. Georgiana heaved herself out the window, standing up carefully on the ledge. The stonework was icy cold beneath her bare toes, but it felt as solid as it had when she was nineteen and sneaking out late at night to meet Tristan.

  Old memories all around me.

  She knew Fox Hall very well, and she knew Tristan's own suite was barely around the corner of the house from her room. The ledge around this wing of the house was wide enough for her to edge along it, with masonry protrusions for her to cling to as she went.

  There was one tricky bit where there was almost a dozen feet between hand-holds, but Georgiana remembered that as well. She navigated the section without looking down at the ground three stories below, and when she finally came to what she thought was Tristan's room, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The curtains of Tristan's room were pulled, but before Georgiana rapped on the glass, she noticed a slight gap where one curtain pulled away from the wall. She paused, and then, unable to help herself, she put her eye to the gap.

  Tristan's room was still lit, telling her he was still awake, and at first, Georgiana could not see the man himself. When he stepped into her view, the first thing that occurred to her was that he looked tired. He was still fully dressed, and he looked like a man who was preparing for the next in a series of long and sleepless nights.

  He's never slept all that well, and I can't imagine the past few days have helped at all.

  Now that she saw he was awake, she could knock on the window without fear, but then Tristan crossed over to the silver bowl, where the maid had left washing water. Georgiana watched as Tristan washed his face in the bowl, scrubbing harder than he had to, and then she stifled a gasp as he tugged off his shirt.

  Clothed, Tristan was an eminently respectable, entirely proper duke, an upstanding member of London society. Dressed only in a pair of well-worn breeches, his hair wet and a weary look in his eyes, he became something else, something dark and almost foreboding.

  Tristan was lithe with muscle, and Georgiana found she could not take her eyes from a slender dark trail of hair that went down his belly. Seeing him like this made her hungry and restless, and she had to shake her head to break whatever spell it was he had on her.

  Well, she had no time for any kind of spell or bewitchment. Making sure she kept her eyes averted, she rapped as briskly on the window as she would the door of a temperance society.

  From inside the room, there was silence, and then she thought she heard the shuffle of Tristan's steps. The window inched open, and then Tristan's horrified face appeared.

  "What in the name of all that is good do you think you are doing out there?"

  Georgiana started to tell Tristan that there was nothing to worry about, that she and Thomas had done this many times as children and teenagers. At least, that's what she would have said if the masonry underneath her hadn't taken that opportunity to crumble out from her foot.

  Georgiana uttered a soft cry as her weight started to tilt backward, and her hands shot out, seeking the handholds on the wall.

  Her memory was not as good as she had thought it was, however, and her grasping hands found nothing. Instead, there was only empty air and a long drop to the garden below.

  * * *

  Chapter 32

  Tristan had been thinking of nothing much when he heard that knock at the window. It was almost a pleasant break from thinking too much about everything that had come before, from blackmail to the renewed and apparently obvious feelings he had for Georgiana.

  Then there was a rap at the window, and the very person who had begun to bedevil his dreams as well as his waking life was there, hanging from the ledge as if she were a particularly well-dressed bat.

  When she had gone spinning out into thin air. Tristan's mind had emptied of everything but one thought: I will not lose her again.

  She was still a foot or more from his window. He had to lunge out at almost a diagonal angle to catch her by the arms, and her weight and momentum nearly pulled him from the window as well. Somehow, neither of them shouted, and instead, they hung in the new moon's light.

  There was one terrible moment where Tristan thought he would be pulled out of the window as well, and that at least they wouldn't need to worry about the blackmailer anymore. Then, with an enormous heave that seemed to drain all his energy, Tristan threw himself back, sending both of them thudding to the floor of his room and safety.

  The only thing that existed in his mind at that moment was the blank terror that he had almost lost her. He couldn't stop his brain from playing out what might have happened, how his grip might have slipped, or he might have been too slow. He couldn't bear to have her taken away from him, and his arms closed around her, holding her tight to his chest.

  "Tristan?"

  He supposed he must have made some kind of soft sound in response, but Georgiana was not satisfied.

  "Tristan? I appreciate the rescue, but you must let me go."

  "Until you learn not to hang off third-story windows, I am going to hold you just like this."

  "Well, this will certainly make going to balls an interesting problem."

  "I am sorry, but perhaps you should have thought of that before you went running around on the narrow window ledges."

  Georgiana huffed a laugh, poking him in the chest, and finally, with some reluctance, he let her go. Just as he opened his mouth, she held up her hand.

  "You should just save the lecture. I know very well how unsafe that was, and I do not have any intention of doing it again, do not worry. It was reckless, foolish, and unwise, and I would not have done it at all if I was not desperate."

  "I wasn't going to lecture you." That was a lie, but it wasn't as if Georgiana needed to know it. "I just wanted to know why you are at my window when I have a door you have used very easily before."

  A troubled look stole across Georgiana's face, and silently, she pulled a now-familiar envelope out of her pocket. She handed it to him, and as he read, Tristan felt something inside him threatening to snap.

  If we find this man, I might not leave enough of him behind to turn over to the magistrates.

  "He's threatening you."

  "Very much so. He wants me to be afraid. But I wanted to tell you that if this is the case, then perhaps you are safe."

  Tristan scowled at Georgiana reflexively. "What in the world are you talking about?"

  "Well, I'm the only one he's threatening. I think that letter he was sending to the curate was the only piece of information that implicated you. That probably means that the other evidence he has involves me and John Watersley."

  Georgiana went to sit on his bed. In another gently-born woman of the ton, it would be a grave scandal. However, when it was Georgiana, there was simply something sweet and normal about it.

  "That means that if you no longer want to be a part of this, you can go. I free you from your obligation."

  "And your own piece of blackmail?"

  Georgiana made a face, shaking her head. "I'm truly, deeply sorry about that. I felt desperate, and as if I had nowhere to turn. That was why I turned to you."

  Tristan supposed a small part of him hoped more reasons than desperation drove her to seek him out. Hearing that there were none stung a little, but he shook it off.

  "And have those circumstances changed?"

  She smiled a little, lowering her eyes and shaking her head. There was nothing coy about it, no artifice at all.

  "No. I only realized finally how very wrong it was to drag you into this. I am just as wrong as the man who sent that letter. I thought I would be all right with that, but it turns out that I am not. Tristan, I am sorry. You can leave and return to your life. You can leave right now if you want to."

  Tristan came to sit on the bed next to her. They were both silent, and Tristan wondered what was going through Georgiana's mind. She was like bottled lightning, when he a
lways felt so slow in comparison.

  This entire time, he had managed to keep a shield between them by telling himself that he had to be there. She had blackmailed him; she was forcing him. However, her simple and brave declaration ripped that shield away from him. He couldn't pretend any longer. He realized he had been pretending for a long time that it was force that held him to her. He might have been pretending from the beginning.

  "No."

  She looked up at him in confusion, and Tristan smiled a little. He might not be as quick and as brilliant as Georgiana, but it was good to see that he could still surprise her from time to time.

  "I beg your pardon, Tristan?"

  "I said no. I'm not leaving you to face this alone. I refuse."

  She frowned at him. "What does that mean, then?"

  "That I'm staying with you. That I'm not going to abandon you just because you have given me leave to do so. You invited me in, and I am very much afraid that you cannot tell me to leave so easily."

  For a single terrible moment, Tristan thought she was going to cry. Then she grinned and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Tristan was so surprised by the onslaught that he tumbled on his back onto the bed.

  The part of his brain eternally concerned by the condemnation of Society shouted that if her sitting on his bed was disastrous, they would both be ruined by this.

  "Thank you, thank you," she whispered, hugging him tight.

  Refusing to think more about what he should do and Society's damned rules, he wrapped his arms around her. She felt good there, and at nearly the same time, they both realized that he was half-naked.

  "You should probably get off of me."

  "I probably should."

  Instead, somehow, their lips met. Tristan wasn't sure if he had moved or if she had, but suddenly, they were locked together, as hungry as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Tristan craved the taste of her, the sweetness, and before he was quite aware of what he was doing, he tumbled her underneath him, rising over her and pushing her down to the sheets.

  Instead of protesting, Georgiana pulled him down with her, tangling her hands in his hair and kissing him as fiercely as he kissed her. It reminded him slightly of the days years ago, when they had been desperate to the point of madness for each other, but those distant days felt like a bonfire compared to this.

  There was a moment where Tristan knew with acute certainty that they would be unable to resist each other, no matter what the consequences were. Somehow, just short of that moment, he pulled back, looking down at her.

  Georgiana was one of the great beauties of the ton, but Tristan realized that no matter what they thought of her at the routs and the galas, no matter what she wore or how beautifully she danced, they would never be able to touch her real beauty.

  Her lips were bruised red from their kisses, and her golden hair had come undone. Her eyes were nearly black with desire, and in that moment, Tristan would have given her anything she wanted.

  Instead, the reluctant words came out of his mouth. "We shouldn't."

  For a moment, it looked as if Georgiana were going to fight him on that, but then desire faded, and sanity asserted itself. She nodded reluctantly.

  "You are right. We can't."

  She stood up from the bed, not looking at him, as if she did not quite trust herself. "After all, we still need to think about what is to be done about this damned blackmailer."

  A few small puzzle pieces had started coming together in Tristan's mind, and with them, the germ of a plan.

  "I have an idea. We should speak about it while we figure out how to get you back to your room without sending you through a damned window."

  * * *

  Chapter 33

  To Tristan's pleasure, his luggage finally caught up with him the next day. He had been living, not in a Spartan fashion, certainly, but with less than he generally preferred to travel with at Fox Hall.

  "Are you sure you want all these things here, my lord, and not at the Carrow residence in town?"

  "Yes, Oxley. I'll be staying at Fox Hall for a little while yet."

  The coachman nodded, going to help a pair of footmen wrestle Tristan's trunk from the cart. Above, Tristan glimpsed a curtain moving slightly as someone who had been watching stepped back. Was it the master of Fox Hall, grimly put out now that it seemed a Carrow was coming to stay properly? Was it the blackmailer himself, wondering what was going on?

  Well, watch then, and we shall see what you make of things.

  Georgiana was in town doing some shopping with Tabi. There was a dinner that evening at the house of Sir and Lady Barclay, and they would be meeting there.

  Tristan wondered again if this mad plan of his would work, but at the end of the day, they were running out of options. There was only a week left before the blackmailer made good on his threat.

  There was a chance, of course, that the man had no proof at all, but Tristan was not willing to wager Georgiana's reputation on it.

  He had to admit though, that at this point, it was also a personal issue as well. He still wasn't sure whether the man had information on him or on Watersley or some confused combination of the two, but the idea of being spied upon while he was that vulnerable could bring him to the point of rage.

  Tristan put away that information, shoving it into the back of his mind. After all, he was meant to be in love.

  * * *

  The Barclays lived a short distance away from Fox Hall, and when Tristan arrived that evening, their home was lit up and the other guests were arriving. Tristan had never spent all that much time in the country doing the endless round of visiting favored by the ton when the season was over, but he liked the look of the house, as well as Sir Barclay himself, a bluff older man who was deeply impressed to have a duke at his affair.

  Before dinner, there was time to mix in the large drawing room. When Tristan entered the room, heads turned toward him, which was all to the good. As much as he disliked social events, there was at least a reason for this one. He greeted the host's wife, dutifully made the acquaintance of their half-grown daughters, and finally located Georgiana.

  He had intended to go straight to her side, but he paused for a moment, taking in her beauty. Georgiana at a social gathering was Georgiana in her element, and tonight, she gleamed.

  She wore a demure dress of deep blue silk, trimmed with a deep and lovely green. With every move, she glimmered, and her hair looked like spun gold in the candlelight. She hadn't seen him yet. She was trading words with some man in a rather foppish cravat.

  That man was certainly leaning a little too close to Georgiana as far as Tristan was concerned, and Tristan had to stifle a wave of angry frustration.

  He crossed the room to her, and the moment she saw him approaching, Georgiana's eyes lit up. It was as if she had forgotten everyone else in the room when he appeared, and she stepped forward almost shyly.

  "Miss Martin. I was hoping to see you tonight."

  "My lord, you are too kind."

  He knew they were putting on an act for the Barclays and all their guests. He knew this was a sham. However, there was still something in the soft words she spoke and the way she peeked up at him through her eyelashes that made his heart beat faster.

  She offered him her hand, and he bowed over it, far deeper than was required by etiquette. Before he let it go, he brought her hand to his mouth, brushing a tender kiss across her knuckles before releasing her.

  "You must tell me how you have spent your day. You look quite dashing, my lord..." She took his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to do, and he happily squired her off to a divan where they could chat in soft and amused voices.

  It was probably an exaggeration to say that all of the eyes in the room were on them, but not much of one.

  Somehow, when the dinner gong rang, Tristan was barely aware of the passage of time at all. Normally, he hated being on display for his peers, but when he was doing it with Georgia
na, everything was cast in a different light. She walked in a golden glow all her own, and when she turned her attention to him, he felt warm, as if he were walking in the sun.

  Lady Barclay, perhaps responding to some of the rumors that had always circulated about Georgiana, made it a point to seat them next to each other, and during dinner that night, Georgiana only had eyes for him. The dinner conversation ebbed and flowed like the tide, a delightful event, but afterward, the only thing Tristan remembered was Georgiana and how she laughed, how she tilted her head one way or the other.

  They had been in love so long ago, but that doomed affair had been carried out in the darkest edges of the world. They met in the forests and exchanged tormented kisses by the edge of the river. They had run like wild things at night.

  This was entirely different. Here they were looking into each other's eyes in front of the entire world, and Tristan felt a deep, deep longing in his heart and mind.

  This is the way we were meant to be. It was always supposed to be like this.

  By the end of the night, everyone at the dinner party was certain they were besotted with one another. He went back to Fox Hall on his own, with Georgiana and Tabi taking the hall's barouche. As the miles dropped away beneath his carriage's wheels, Tristan could barely think of the evening without a smile.

  Of course, that smile dropped away entirely when Georgiana met him for a walk in the Fox Hall gardens the next morning. They had decided that speaking out of doors, where they could at least see anyone approaching, was safe enough.

  She was dressed in a peach walking gown that made her skin look impossibly soft, and there was a pleased smile on her face.

  "Well, I think that was a brilliant act."

  For a moment, Tristan had to remind himself what it was they were doing. It came so close to not being an act at all that he felt a brief pang of panic.

  "Was it?"

  "Oh, yes, very much so. I have to admit that Carrow reputation for staidness and reliability comes in handy. When you act like a love-struck fool, everyone notices, and everyone believes it."