She swooped past, then caught his hand as they changed direction. “Has someone else stepped on your toe?” she asked. “You look very dour.”
“I allow no one but you to tread on me,” he replied, smiling as they parted again.
Something was wrong with him. He knew she was up to no good: Nothing in the past six years led him to believe that she might suddenly forgive him for his duplicity and his abject stupidity. Yet there he was, glaring at the other males in the set as though he had some claim on her person. And he’d been ready to flatten Westbrook earlier just for complimenting her.
He turned to collect the hand of the next lady winding through the set, and blinked. “Amelia.”
“Lord Dare. You look well tonight.”
“Thank you.” She wasn’t angry with him? He hadn’t spared her a thought in nearly a week, and at last count had missed scheduling a picnic and a ride in Hyde Park. “And you look lovely.”
“Thank you.”
She was swept away in the tide of dancers, and Georgiana returned to his side. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked as though she was trying very hard not to laugh. “What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
That wouldn’t do. “What happened?” he repeated, holding her gaze as they took their turn circling the other dancers.
“If you must know,” she said, catching a breath, “Lord Raymond proposed to me.”
Tristan turned to find the old bastard arm in arm with some woman half his age. “Just now?”
“Yes. Don’t look so surprised. It happens all the time.”
“But I thought—”
The smile vanished from her face. “Don’t you dare,” she grated.
“You’ll have to enlighten me later, then.” This was damned confusing. She’d said she could never marry, yet now he found that men proposed to her all the time?
The dance ended, and he offered Georgiana his arm. To his surprise, she accepted. The aunties had joined a group of their friends beside the huge stone fireplace at one end of the room, and he headed in that direction.
“Explain,” he said, as the crowd around them thinned.
“Why should I?”
“Because you’re blaming me for something that—”
“I could marry someone who only wants my money in an instant,” she said in a low, tight voice. “I’ve already told you that I won’t marry for that reason. And I cannot marry for love.”
“Someone who loved you would understand.”
Stopping, her cheeks paling alarmingly, Georgiana snatched her hand from his grip. “I would never trust anyone who said he cared for me. I’ve heard it before.”
With that, she rejoined his aunts, leaving him standing alone by the refreshment table. Apparently he’d destroyed much more than her maidenhead. He’d destroyed her ability to trust her heart—or anyone else’s.
“I need a drink,” he muttered.
Dare looked very somber as he stepped up to the refreshment table and demanded a whiskey. Georgiana scowled. She’d meant only to flirt tonight, yet instead she’d argued with him again. She was so used to it by now that not fighting with him was difficult.
“You and Tristan make a lovely couple, my dear,” Edwina said, taking her arm and pulling her down onto one of the chairs beside the hearth. “I’m no meddler, of course, but now that you’re getting along, well, anything could happen.”
“Surely not,” she protested, forcing a disbelieving laugh and wishing they’d chosen a spot not quite so close to the oppressive heat. After the exertion of dancing, it was sweltering.
“Oh, I know you had that fight all those years ago, but you were just a child then, and he was so wild.”
“Very wicked, he was,” Milly joined in, “before Oliver died and left such a mess for him.”
“I…” Across the room, Amelia gestured to her. “Will you excuse me for just a moment?” Georgiana said quickly, rising again and doubly thankful for the distraction.
“Of course, dear. Go see your friends.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Glancing in Dare’s direction to make sure he wasn’t looking, she slipped around the edges of the room, following Amelia as the younger girl ducked into the hallway. Miss Johns had some sense, anyway. If the viscount caught the two of them together, he would suspect something. Georgiana couldn’t let that happen—not now, when she finally seemed to be making an impression in his thick skull.
“Miss Johns?”
“How is this helping me?” the girl asked, pouting as she pulled at one of her brunette curls. “He’s practically ignored me for a week.”
“I’m teaching him to realize that other people have feelings, too, and that he can’t just stomp on them whenever he chooses.” Georgiana stepped closer, lowering her voice. “When he saw you during the dance, did he act any differently than usual?”
“Well, he did look almost guilty for a moment. I have to admit, he’s never done that, before.”
“Then it’s working already. Trust me, Miss Johns. When I’m finished, he’ll want nothing more than to marry you and be a very pleasant husband.”
“All right,” the girl said slowly. “Perhaps you could look as though you weren’t having quite so much fun in his company, though.”
Georgiana blanched. Good heavens. She looked as though she were having fun? Something was terribly wrong, then. Or perhaps in her innocence, Amelia had misread what she saw. That must be it.
“I’ll do my best,” she agreed. With a quick squeeze of the girl’s hand, she returned to the ballroom.
Tristan looked as though he was halfway through his second whiskey. That would never do. She’d said too much, and she’d meant never to tell him how much he’d wounded her. She didn’t want him to know how much of her affections he’d owned. Squaring her shoulders, she strolled to the refreshment table. “My lord, I think your Aunt Milly is probably very tired after all the activities of the past few days,” she ventured.
He nodded, handing his glass to a footman. “I’ll see her home, then. Stay if you wish. Edwina and I will manage.”
“I confess,” she said, following him as he strode toward his aunts, “I’m quite ready to leave, myself.”
Tristan slowed. “Are you certain? I don’t want to ruin anything else for you, Georgiana.”
“Don’t be surly. I do as I please.”
“Surly. That’s a new one.”
If there was one thing about which she could compliment Lord Dare, it was that he always paid attention to what she was saying. “You know I hate to repeat myself.”
Milly seemed only too happy to depart the ball, and Georgiana swallowed a twinge of guilt. The aunts had never wronged her, and she needed to pay better attention to them. If they became merely an excuse, even for a moment, then she was as blackhearted as Dare.
At the front door she held the chair steady while Tristan lifted Milly out of it and carried her into the coach. Milly was not a small woman, yet the viscount never seemed to have any trouble carrying her about. And the way his muscles played beneath his tight-fitting black jacket…Georgiana drew a quick breath and looked away.
Obviously this evening had completely worn her out, as well. Otherwise, she would never have been thinking about his muscles, or the way his blue eyes had become so serious when she’d stupidly spoken about not trusting anyone.
“After you, my dear.”
Georgiana started as Edwina nudged her toward the coach’s open door. Tristan stepped back down, holding out his hand to her.
“Are you certain you don’t want to stay?” he murmured, curling his fingers around hers.
She nodded, alarm bells going off in her head. She’d seen that dark, seductive look in his eyes before. It was a very dangerous look; it had once slain her virginity. Seating herself in the corner of the coach, she folded her hands in her lap. Dare sat opposite her, beside Edwina. All the way back to Carroway House he was uncharacteristically quiet, and she could feel hi
s gaze on her, half-hidden in the dark.
What had she done to warrant so much of his attention, other than take her flirting up a notch and then lose her concentration and snap at him? He was supposed to be flattered, and his interactions with her were bound to become more pleasant. None of which explained why her mouth had gone dry, or why her heart beat so fast.
“I hope we didn’t tire you out too much, Aunt Milly,” he drawled, as they rolled to a stop outside Carroway House.
“Oh, a little, but I feel as if I’ve been shut up for years. This was wonderful.” She chuckled. “I’m certain you’ll all tire of me before I’m back on my feet.”
“Nonsense,” Georgiana said. “I want to see you dance again, remember?”
While the footmen set the wheeled chair at the top of the shallow steps, Tristan lifted Milly and carried her up. Georgiana helped Edwina into the house, but the elder Carroway sister balked at the foot of the stairs.
“I’m not at all tired,” she said. “Join me in the library, Georgiana. I’ll have Dawkins bring us some tea.”
That sounded better than hiding under her bed and hoping Tristan didn’t stop by. He would never broach any delicate subject in Edwina’s presence. “That’s a splendid idea. I’ll come down as soon as I help Milly.”
“No, you won’t,” Tristan’s other aunt said from over his shoulder. “I do employ a maid, dear. Have some tea. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night then.”
Georgiana and Edwina settled in the library, though it took several minutes for her to calm down enough to read the book she clutched in her hands. Tristan hadn’t said anything about joining them. More likely he would go out to one of his clubs for the rest of the evening. The hour was still early, by his standards. After he left, she could safely go upstairs without worrying about encountering him in the hallways.
Georgiana scowled. She was being silly. Everything was progressing exactly as she’d planned. He’d been nice tonight, and she simply wasn’t comfortable with it yet.
“I don’t think you’re reading.”
The voice was barely more than a warm whisper of air in her hair. Georgiana leapt out of her chair, a shriek catching in her throat as she twisted to face the viscount. “Don’t do that!”
“Shh, you’ll wake up Aunt Edwina.” Dare chuckled.
She whipped back around. Edwina was asleep, her head back and her mouth hanging open, a delicate snore emanating from her chest with each breath. Georgiana frowned. “You should go, then.”
“Why?” He came around the back of the chair toward her.
“Because our chaperone is asleep.”
“You need a chaperone? I thought you weren’t afraid of me any longer.”
“I was never afraid of you, Dare.”
Tristan folded his arms across his chest. “Good. Then we can chat.”
“I don’t want to chat,” she protested, backing toward the door. “I want to go to bed.”
“I am sorry, you know.”
She slowed her retreat, her heart pounding. “Sorry about what?”
“About misleading you. There were things I wasn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it. You’re six years too late, Tristan.”
“You wouldn’t have listened six years ago. And I was very stupid. So now I wanted to at least apologize. You don’t have to accept it; I really don’t expect you to.”
“Good.”
Georgiana turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. She’d barely gone two steps, though, when his hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her back around.
“What—”
He leaned down and touched his lips to hers, and then he was gone. Georgiana leaned back against the wall, then sank bonelessly to the floor, trying to rally her breath. Brief though the touch had been, she could still feel the warmth of his mouth on hers.
For some reason, she’d thought she would feel pain, physical pain, if he ever touched her like that again. But the kiss had felt…pleasant. Very pleasant. And she hadn’t been kissed in a very long time.
Slowly, she pushed back upright and climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Somehow she hadn’t realized that her scheme would have such an effect on her. Thank goodness she knew better than to trust her heart over her head. Especially where Tristan Carroway was concerned.
Even so, she locked her bedchamber door before she crawled into bed. A minute later, she rose again and pushed one of the heavy overstuffed chairs against the door. “Much better,” she muttered, and climbed back under the covers.
In the library, Edwina waited until everything quieted upstairs. Once she felt assured that Georgiana had gone safely to bed, she sat up straight and resumed reading.
Milly might have reservations about matching Tristan with Georgie, but she had none. They all enjoyed Georgiana’s company, and she was warm, witty, and kind—much better than those simpering young things Tristan felt obligated to pursue.
Edwina gave in to a smile. Whatever had happened between the two of them all those years ago, they seemed to be resolving it, thank goodness. If Milly could manage to stay in her wheeled chair for another few days, they might very well succeed in making a match that pleased everyone.
Chapter 7
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us.
—King Lear, Act V, Scene iii
Despite his reputation, Tristan always enjoyed attending the sessions of the House of Lords. It was somewhat reassuring to see that, careless as he’d been in his private life before he’d inherited the title, in public and politics he stood up well against some of the abject idiots helping determine the course of the country.
This morning, though, as he took his seat between the Duke of Wycliffe and the rarely present Marquis of St. Aubyn, he couldn’t even concentrate enough to remember which country they were voting to raise tariffs against. He hoped it wasn’t America, since he was attempting to sell them his wool. He raised his hand and said “aye” when Wycliffe nudged him in the ribs, but other than that his thoughts were on Georgiana.
He’d thought before of simply walking up to her and kissing her, but better sense had always prevailed. Last night, though, the memory of her taste, of her sweet, soft mouth, had been overwhelming. And so he’d kissed her, for the first time in six years. Even more surprising, she had let him do it.
“How goes your pursuit of Miss Johns?” Wycliffe murmured, sitting back as the Tories began arguing over trade alliances, and St. Aubyn began sketching the blustering old Duke of Huntford in his wife’s favorite evening gown.
“I keep hoping she’ll suddenly turn interesting,” he said, sighing. She hadn’t seemed so bland when he’d first met her. Now, though, every female seemed…lifeless. Except for one. Perhaps that was the problem; he needed to stop comparing poor Amelia to Georgiana. Naturally the naive, polite chit would pale in comparison.
“Just remember that you aren’t the only one in pursuit, my boy. She’s quite the heiress.”
“Hence my persistence in the chase.” Tristan frowned. “If my father had managed to die two or three years earlier, I might have been able to pull the family out of this muck without resorting to something as heroic and tragic as self-sacrifice.”
St. Aubyn chuckled, glancing up from his artwork. “You might try selling off your brothers.”
“I’ve thought about that. But who would buy Bradshaw?”
“Good point.”
“What are you doing here anyway, Saint?” he pursued, looking for anything that would distract him from thoughts of Georgiana’s lithe body. “Parliament isn’t exactly your usual haunt.”
“I registered to vote at the beginning of the Session. If I don’t appear every so often, they try to declare me dead and confiscate my property. It gets to be annoying.”
“I’m off to Gentleman Jackson’s this afternoon,” Wycliffe cut in again. “Care to join me?”
Tristan shook his head. “I’ve
been attempting to ask Amelia out on a picnic for a week. I thought I’d give it another try today.”
“What’s the difficulty?”
Georgiana. “Lingering thoughts of self-preservation.”
“If you’re that skittish about her, you’d best proceed with less recklessness than usual. If you compromise her, you’ll have to marry her. No escape possible.”
“I’m not likely to forget that.”
Wycliffe looked at him a bit strangely, but if there was one person Tristan never intended to tell about his true relationship with Georgiana, it was her mountain-sized, boxing aficionado cousin. How odd that it hadn’t worked out that way with her, though. She’d been so angry when she’d learned about the wager that all he’d thought of was keeping the tale quiet. Otherwise he and Georgiana might be married now. Of course, she would also have shot or poisoned him well before today, so the point was a moot one.
As soon as the morning session ended, he stopped by Bond Street and then returned home to have a picnic packed. No doubt he wasn’t the only bachelor thinking of dining in the park today. Dawkins pulled open the front door for him, and after only five knocks. Leave it to the Carroway butler to lock the door during the day and to neglect to do so at night.
“Is everyone home?” he asked, pulling off his hat and gloves. He wasn’t concerned about “everyone’s” presence, but he couldn’t inquire if Georgiana was about without raising even Dawkins’s thick eyebrows.
“Masters Bradshaw, Andrew, and Edward have gone riding,” the butler said. “Everyone else is present.”
And the best rider among them remained holed up in the bowels of the house. Robert would come around in his own time, though. Hopefully. “Splendid. Have Mrs. Goodwin prepare a picnic luncheon for two, will you?”
“Of course, my lord.”
He pounded upstairs to change. As he emerged from his room, he nearly ran into Georgiana, heading down the hallway. “Good morning,” he said, putting out a hand to keep from knocking her into the wall.
“Good morning.”
The Rake Page 7