“I couldn’t think of anything else that sounded innocent enough to lure you away from your guard.”
She felt her face warm. “You invited Aunt Frederica.”
“Because you wouldn’t have come without her.”
The paths through the Gardens, running between the boxes and the main gazebo, were dark and sheltered, with trees and bushes and flowers creeping up to the edge of the stone and leaning over it. Robert slowed, facing them.
“I’m going back to Carroway House,” he said. “Good night.”
“Bit,” she called after him, abruptly realizing that without him, she and Tristan would be completely, totally, alone. “Are you all right?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder at them. “Yes. Just too many people.”
In a moment, he had vanished. Though she could hear laughter and conversation from the other nearby boxes, no one was in sight.
She swallowed, glancing up at Tristan’s profile as they continued strolling toward the center of the complex. “Will he be all right?”
“As ever. I told you he was a sterling escort.”
Georgiana blew out her breath. Why couldn’t she feel this rush under her skin with Luxley, or Westbrook, or any of the other trout swimming after her? Why only Tristan, the most unsuitable of her supposed suitors?
“What do you see?” he murmured, still looking straight ahead.
“I wish I knew,” she said, belatedly looking away from him.
“Not a trout, I hope.”
“That depends. Would we still be playing this game if I were a pauper?”
Tristan stopped, tightening his arm against his side to bring her to a halt beside him. To her surprise he didn’t look angry, but very serious. “I don’t know. I would want to be. I…don’t want to see you with another man. Ever.”
“So it’s just jealousy? Preventive courting, to keep everyone else at arm’s length?”
“No.” He frowned, running a hand through his black hair. “I am in a certain situation. I won’t complain about it, but it is reality. And I won’t shirk my duty to my family. What I wish, though, is only for me to know.” He leaned closer, tilting her chin up so she had to look him in the eye. “Would you choose to be a pauper? Would you be any less suspicious of a suitor’s motives if you were poor and pretty?”
He’d never spoken with her like this before, and the honest curiosity in his voice was almost painful. “I…don’t know.”
“Then we won’t speculate on circumstances that aren’t real. Agreed?”
He was right. “Agreed.”
“Good.” With a quick glance down the path, he touched his mouth to hers.
Raw desire flooded her. Georgiana dug her fingers into his arm to keep from flinging her arms around his neck and pulling herself into him. She made herself stand rigid, frozen as a statue, but she couldn’t help molding her mouth to his, saying with her lips what she refused to say with her body.
Someone laughed, very close by. Tristan broke the kiss, moving her back to his side again, as a small party of men and ladies came into view ahead of them.
They continued down the path, passing through the other group with nods and greetings she could scarcely remember uttering. A few of them looked at her curiously, but she imagined it was only amazement at seeing her and Dare walking together without blood being spilled rather than speculation that something further might be going on.
He would have slowed again as soon as they were alone, but she refused, giving him the choice of keeping up with her brisk pace or being left behind. They were not going to end up naked in a clump of rhododendron. And if he kissed her like that again tonight that was absolutely what would happen.
“Why are we running?” he asked after a moment, laughter in his voice.
At least one of them was amused. “Because if you’re running, you can’t be putting your tongue into my mouth.”
“I probably could, if I put my mind to it.”
“It’s not your mind that concerns me.” She glanced up at him. “And quit laughing.”
“It’s funny.”
Well, he didn’t have to point it out, for heaven’s sake. “And you shouldn’t be kissing me, anyway.”
“Because you’ve taught me my lesson already?”
That stopped her in her tracks. “You needed to be taught a lesson, Dare, before you hurt someone else.”
“I’ve learned my lesson. And now I want to be inside you again.”
Good Lord. She hurried into a walk again. “If you’d learned your lesson,” she said as the vendor carts came into view, “you would have been escorting Amelia Johns here.”
“For the hundredth damned time, I don’t want Amelia Johns,” he whispered, running his cheek against her hair. “I want you. Everyone else be hanged.”
“That is not what was supposed—”
“You don’t get to dictate everything, Georgie. We’re even now, remember?”
He was not supposed to be using her own logic against her. She’d been so stupid to try to use her own weakness for him to try to teach him a lesson. And now it was too late, and she needed to figure out what he was planning before a worse disaster occurred. Until then, she needed to stall.
“Get the ices, why don’t you?”
With a slow, wicked smile at her, he ordered the ices. Handing half of them to Georgiana, he picked up the rest and they returned to the path. This was better. He couldn’t touch her or kiss her with his hands full. Not without the ice melting all over his handsome hunter green jacket and his crisp white cravat.
They returned to the box without incident, and though Frederica looked at her a little closely, Georgiana didn’t think anyone knew she’d let Dare kiss her. She really needed to stop doing that, however intoxicating his embraces were—both for Amelia’s sake and for her own. Because no matter what Tristan said, he couldn’t seriously be courting her.
“Where’s Robert?” Milly asked, looking past them.
“He uttered a complete sentence and retreated to recuperate,” Tristan drawled as he passed out the treats. “He nearly said two sentences. I think Georgie inspired him.” He dropped onto the seat beside her as she carved out the center of her lemon ice. “Enjoying yourself, I hope?” he asked.
“Yes, very much,” she answered, relieved to be able to give a straight answer. “Were you teasing about Bit being inspired by me?”
His expression darkened a little. “Why?”
“Jealous?”
“That depends on what you’re asking me.”
Georgiana grimaced. “Never mind. I thought I might be able to help, but if it means you beating your chest, forget it.”
Tristan tilted his head, eyeing her. “My apologies. I forget sometimes that you’re not as cynical as you pretend.”
“Tris—”
“If you can get him to talk, please do so. But be careful. He…”
“He’s been through a great deal,” she supplied.
“Yes.” Light blue eyes watched as she took another bite of the cold, bittersweet ice. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
He grinned. “Everything means something.”
Georgiana blushed. As soon as the conversation returned to themselves, her sensibilities turned to mush. “Well, how about ‘I still don’t trust you’? What does that mean?”
“You said ‘still,’ instead of ‘will never.’ Which means you could, one day.” He brushed a finger across the corner of her mouth, then put it to his lips. “Lemon.”
Aunt Frederica appeared, taking the seat beside her. From the look in her eyes, she had seen Tristan’s gesture. Georgiana sighed.
Her feelings were so tangled. She should hate him, or at the least be angry with him for thinking his pursuit might lead somewhere. Instead, every time she looked at him her pulse raced, and everything, including her resolve, seemed hopelessly muddled. If this had been the first time he’d pursued her rather than the second,
she would have ended up in his bed by now.
Georgiana frowned. She had ended up in his bed—again. Something was definitely wrong with her.
“Why the dour face?” he asked.
“I was thinking about you,” she answered, though if she’d had any sense she would have just shrugged. If there was one good thing about Dare, however, it was that she rarely needed to watch her tongue in his presence—except when it was trying to end up in his mouth.
“What were you thinking about me?”
“About how you never seem to realize when you’re not wanted.”
“I think it’s your skills at realization that should be called into question,” he said, licking the last bit of cherry ice off his thumb. “Not mine.”
“Hm. Well, you’re wrong.”
His answering chuckle made her pulse flutter. “I have always wondered why you—”
“Georgiana,” the duchess interrupted, standing, “I’m feeling quite fatigued this evening. Lord Dare, do you think you might have someone see us home?”
“I’ll be happy to do so myself, Your Grace.” He stood, offering Georgiana his hand.
She took it, feeling disappointed. They had been getting into their first good argument in several days, and she’d finally begun to relax a little.
“That’s not necessary, my lord. I’m sure you wish to remain here with your family. If you’ll just lend us your coach, that will suffice.”
He nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ll walk you to the carriages, then.”
They walked to the edge of the gardens, Tristan in the middle, and Aunt Frederica keeping up a stream of polished small talk. Clever and amusing though it was, it kept Tristan from even looking in Georgiana’s direction, much less from speaking with her. Whatever the duchess had seen, she obviously hadn’t liked it.
At Tristan’s whistle, his coach rolled out from the mass milling across the street and came to a stop before them. He helped Frederica in, then finally turned his attention back to Georgiana.
“I wish you could stay,” he murmured, taking her hand and bending over it.
“My aunt is tired.”
With a slight grimace, he straightened. “Yes, I know.” He handed her up into the coach, keeping hold of her fingers a moment longer than he needed to. “Have a good evening, Georgiana. And pleasant dreams.”
Humph. She’d be lucky if she slept a wink. Georgiana sat back as the coach rolled off again. “What was that about?” she asked her aunt. “You’re never fatigued this early in the evening.”
The duchess was pulling off her elbow-length gloves. “I shall summon Greydon in the morning and have him inform Lord Dare that his pursuit is unwanted, and that it will cease immediately.”
Georgiana’s blood went cold. “Please don’t,” she bit out.
“And why shouldn’t I? Dare obviously wants your money, and you’ve said all along how little you enjoy his company. We might as well end this unpleasantness without any further delay.”
“I don’t want to ruin Grey and Dare’s friendship,” she replied, trying to gather her thoughts enough to make a logical argument—a difficult prospect, when logic told her that Aunt Frederica was absolutely correct.
“I, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing it ruined. Dare is a poor influence. I pity his aunts.”
“He cares for his aunts a great deal—and for his brothers.” Now she sounded as though she was defending him, blast it. “Just let me take care of this myself. I won’t have anyone else fighting my battles for me. You know that.”
The duchess sighed. “Yes, I do. But Tristan Carroway is a rake and a gambler, and he’s been known to be very wicked. He may say he’s courting you, but I doubt he has any idea how even to go about it in the proper manner. For heaven’s sake, he was practically drooling on you. Anyone who passed by would know that he’s in pursuit. Hardly the way to conduct a proper courtship.”
“You knew about his supposed courtship before tonight,” she returned, suspicious. “Why are you suddenly so adamant?”
“Because you were blushing, Georgiana. And smiling.”
“What? I was being polite!”
“To Dare?”
“His aunts were present. And I…will take care of this myself,” she said, shoving aside her own growing doubts. “Please promise me that you won’t involve Grey.”
Frederica was silent for a long moment. “You and I are going to have to have a serious chat very soon.”
“Is that an agreement?”
“Yes. For now.”
Her aunt had offered to dispose of Tristan in a way that meant she wouldn’t have to say anything at all to him, and she’d declined. She needed to have a serious chat with herself.
When she came downstairs in the morning after another night of Tristan-scented dreams, half the staff stood gathered around the hallway table, chattering to wake the dead. “What’s happened?” she asked.
The crowd parted. A bouquet of a dozen yellow lilies, wrapped with delicate yellow and blue ribbons, occupied the center of the table. For a moment all she could do was stand and look at it. Lilies.
“It’s lovely,” she said finally, before the servants could begin their muttering speculation again.
“There’s a card for you,” Mary said, dimpling.
She knew who they were from without looking. Only one man had ever asked her what her favorite flower was, and that had been a long time ago. Her heart raced as she lifted the card out of the leaves and ribbons.
Her name was scrawled on the outside, in a hand she recognized. Trying to keep her fingers steady, she unfolded the small card. “Entwined,” was all it said, with a “T” written beneath it.
“Oh, my,” she breathed. This was becoming very complicated, indeed.
Chapter 15
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
—All’s Well That Ends Well, Act IV, Scene iii
Georgiana liked to ride early on Mondays. With that in mind, Tristan dragged himself out of bed at half past five, threw on his riding clothes, and went downstairs to have Charlemagne saddled.
If nothing else, his pursuit of Georgie was keeping him out of the clubs and gaming hells he used to haunt. He’d also received several notes, as annoyingly perfumed as the ones to her had been, from ladies expressing their displeasure at his recent absence from their bed chambers. Still, he had no desire to find relief from his frustration elsewhere.
Six years ago, he hadn’t taken a single step out of his way to woo her. She’d come, wide-eyed and practically panting, to him. It wasn’t until after he’d taken her that his life had become irreversibly and permanently knotted.
The look in her eyes the next night when he’d approached her at the Ashton ball was something he would never forget. And it was something for which he would never forgive himself. She had known then that he’d only been amusing himself; and what had been an act of desire and pleasure instantly became base and deceitful. Whatever she thought to do to him, whatever lesson she thought he deserved, they would never be even.
But for the first time, he thought he might be able to gain her forgiveness. He wanted that from her, and for the first time, he wanted more. He wasn’t certain what, but when he gazed at her, and even more when he held her in his arms, something felt right.
He caught up to her halfway down the Ladies’ Mile in Hyde Park. She wore his favorite riding dress—a deep, brushed green that made her eyes look like emeralds. Her breath and Sheba’s clouded in the chilly dawn air as they galloped down the path, her groom falling farther back with each step. She was glorious.
With a kick to Charlemagne’s ribs, he went pounding after her. Leaning low to duck the wind, he and the bay slowly began to gain ground. Sheba was fast, but Charlemagne was bigger. She could probably beat him in the turns, but on a straight track and flat ground, the mare didn’t
have a chance. Georgiana glanced over her shoulder, obviously hearing their approach, and urged her mare on. It wasn’t enough.
“Good morning,” he said, as they drew even.
She grinned at him, the mare’s mane whipping up into her face and tangling dark hair with her golden curls. “I’ll race you to the bridge and back,” she said breathlessly.
“I’ll win.”
“Maybe.” With a snap of her reins, she sent Sheba into a dead run.
Racing was forbidden in Hyde Park; they would be fined if they were caught. Hearing her throaty laugh floating back to him as she pulled ahead, he didn’t care how much it might cost.
He kicked the impatient bay in the ribs again, and they lunged forward. By the time they reached the bridge that spanned one of the park’s narrow streams they’d caught up again, and she tried to crowd Sheba into them. Tristan had no intention of ending up in the water a second time, and he sent Charlemagne into a wide turn, avoiding her.
Obviously seeing her chance to pull ahead once more, she used her crop to send Sheba into an even tighter turn back toward the track. Tristan saw the stone just as the mare’s foot caught the edge of it, and his heart stopped. “Georgiana!”
Sheba’s foot rolled, and the mare went down headfirst, pulling the reins from Georgiana’s hands and throwing her to the damp ground. Swearing, Tristan yanked the gelding to a halt and jumped from the saddle. He ran to Georgie as she lay in a tumbled heap on the ground, the mare thrashing and whinnying a few feet away.
He flung himself down beside her. “Georgiana? Can you hear me?” Her hat had come off, her golden hair splayed across her face. His fingers shaking, Tristan gently brushed the curls aside. “Georgiana?”
With a great gasp, she opened her eyes and sat up. “Sheba!”
Tristan grabbed her shoulder. “Sit still and make sure nothing’s broken,” he ordered.
“But—”
“Are you all right?” he demanded again.
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