The Rake

by Suzanne Enoch

  She blinked, then sagged back against his chest. “Ouch.”

  “What hurts?”

  “My bottom. And my hip. Is Sheba all right?”

  The groom pounded up, hurrying to the mare. “I’ll see to ’er, my lady.”

  Tristan kept his attention on Georgiana. “You’ll be lucky if you didn’t crack your tailbone.”

  She gasped again. “Fix my dress. For heaven’s sake, it’s practically up to my neck.”

  Stifling a grin of relief, he reached across her and flipped her riding gown back down past her knees. “Can you sit up straight?”

  She flinched, but did so. “Yes.”

  “And your legs, and arms? Bend them. Make fists.”

  “I’m all right. Is Sheba hurt? John?”

  “Just tangled in the reins, Lady Georgie. My lord, I’d be grateful for a hand with her.”

  His heartbeat beginning to return to normal, Tristan kept his hand on Georgiana’s shoulder. He didn’t want to let go of her. “Just a moment. Georgiana, if you get up from this spot before I tell you to, I will make it my business to—”

  “I understand. I’ll stay right here.”

  Tristan stood, brushing dirt from his knees, then lay across Sheba’s neck to hold her steady so John could cut the tangled reins. That done, the mare plunged to her feet and stomped, shaking her head. He grabbed her bridle to keep her from taking off, and crouched to examine the foreleg that had rolled on the stone.

  Georgiana sat where he’d left her, her sleeve ripped and hair falling across her face. Dare turned the mare back over to John, then helped Georgie to her feet.

  “She’s got a strained knee,” he said, “but nothing’s broken. Both of you were damned lucky.”

  Limping, Georgiana made her way over to Sheba and rubbed the mare’s nose. “I’m sorry, my sweet one.”

  She stumbled, wincing, and Tristan caught her arm. “I’m taking you home,” he stated, and turned to the groom. “Follow with Sheba.”

  “I am not leaving my horse.”

  “You can’t ride her, and you’re not walking all the way back. John will walk her home. It’ll be good for her knee, anyway.”

  “But—”

  “For once, you’re going to do as I say. John, will you hand Lady Georgiana up?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Reluctantly releasing her again, Tristan swung back up onto Charlemagne. Leaning down, he lifted Georgiana under her arms as John boosted her from below. In a moment she was seated across his legs, one arm around his neck for balance. Things were looking up, after all.

  She kept her gaze trained over his shoulder, watching her horse, until they entered the trees. “That was so stupid,” she muttered. “I should have known better.”

  “I bring out the worst in you, Georgie. It’s not your fault.”

  With a sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  He resisted the urge to lower his face to her hair. “You scared me, chit.”

  She looked up at him. “Did I?”

  Hardly daring to breathe, he bent down a little and kissed her. “I’m sorry you hurt your bottom, my lady. I’ll rub it for you, if you like.”

  “Stop it,” she protested, squirming. “Someone will see.”

  “No one’s awake but the milkmaids.”

  Georgiana settled back again. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Heaven knows you’re not a milkmaid.”

  “I felt like taking the morning air.”

  “At the Ladies’ Mile.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were looking for me, weren’t you?”

  “I like seeing you in the morning. It doesn’t happen as often as I would wish.”

  She shifted sideways, her warm, lithe body against his making it very difficult to concentrate. With almost no one in the park, any secluded glade would give them all the privacy they would need.

  “Ouch,” she muttered, shifting again.

  Shaking himself out of his lust, he tugged her a little closer against his chest, taking more of her weight on his shoulders. “When we get you home, take a long, hot bath. As long and as hot as you can stand it.”

  “So you’re an expert in horse-related injuries?” she asked, her voice softer.

  “I’ve been thrown a few times myself.”

  Her free hand touched his jacket just below his shoulder, where the scar was. “I remember.” Slowly her hand traveled up along his face and tangled into his hair. “You looked so worried,” she murmured, and pulled his face down to kiss him.

  She must have been delirious. He hadn’t checked her for head injuries. Even so, Tristan couldn’t resist kissing her back, uttering a soft moan as her tongue flicked along his teeth. Charlemagne came to a halt, swinging his head around to look at them as Tristan relaxed the reins and enfolded Georgiana in his arms, deepening the embrace of their mouths.

  “My lord, is Lady Georgiana all right?”

  His spine stiffened, and he whipped his head around as John came up behind them, Sheba in tow. “Yes, she’s fine now. She lost consciousness for a moment, and I was worried she’d stopped breathing.”

  Georgiana buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

  The groom looked alarmed. “Should I ride ahead for help?”

  “Yes, I think you should. I’ll take Sheba.”

  “That isn’t necess—” Georgie began.

  “Be quiet,” he murmured, keeping her face close to his chest. The groom handed over Sheba’s cut reins and pounded off in the direction of Hawthorne House.

  “He’ll frighten my aunt half to death,” Georgiana complained as he released her.

  “Yes, but I will look very impressive, my dear.”

  She chuckled again. Perhaps her brains were addled. He urged Charlemagne into a walk again, Sheba limping behind them.

  “Is she really all right? I feel like such an idiot.”

  “Don’t. I promise I’ll take a look at her again when we get back, and make up a compress. She’s not complaining, though, and it doesn’t look badly swollen. She’ll be fine, my love.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m more concerned about you. Did you know your elbow is bleeding?”

  She looked down. “No, I didn’t. Oh, you’ve blood all over your jacket. I’m sorr—”

  “Stop that, Georgiana. I urged you into a race, and you fell. Hush and kiss me again.”

  To his surprise, she did so. By the time he lifted his head to take a breath, he was ready to begin looking for a secluded glade. It didn’t help that she’d noticed his discomfiture and was wriggling again.

  “You’re doing that on purpose,” he muttered.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Well, stop it. Your groom’s back.”

  John galloped back up the path, three of his fellows behind him. Tristan didn’t know what four servants intended to do with one horse, but whatever they had in mind, he wasn’t relinquishing Georgiana to any of them.

  “My lord,” John said, panting, “Bradley here is to fetch a physician, if one is necessary.”

  Tristan looked down at Georgiana again. She was in all likelihood fine, but if she wouldn’t let him look at her bottom, someone needed to. He nodded. “Do so.”

  “Tris—”

  “You may have cracked something. Don’t argue.”

  That left three grooms hovering around them. Charlemagne began tossing his head and stomping, and Tristan wrenched him back under control. The last thing he wanted was for Georgie to be thrown to the ground again.

  “See to Sheba,” he ordered, handing the mare’s reins back to John. “The rest of you, keep back, for Lucifer’s sake.”

  With a chorus of “yes, my lords,” they did so. By the time they reached Hawthorne House, Tristan felt like the drum major of a parade. The dowager duchess hurried out to the front portico as they arrived, and he had the feeling that things were going to get worse again.

  “What in
the world happened?” she demanded, coming down the steps to grip one of Georgiana’s feet. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Georgiana said, turning so Tristan could hand her down. “There’s no need for hysterics.”

  Her knees buckled as she touched the ground, and she grabbed the stirrup to keep from falling. Tristan jumped down and caught her up in his arms once more. “Allow me.”

  “This way,” the duchess instructed, clearing the hallway of gawking servants.

  He was fairly certain that he knew which bedchamber to enter, but allowed Frederica to lead the way. No sense ruining things now, just when they were beginning to look mendable. Carefully, he set Georgiana on the bed, noting her wince as her backside contacted the soft coverlet.

  “Thank you, Lord Dare,” the duchess said. “Now, if you will kindly leave so I can tend to my niece?”

  As he nodded, Georgiana reached out and grabbed his hand.

  “You promised you’d look after Sheba,” she said.

  Tristan smiled. “And I will.”

  Georgiana watched him as he slipped out her door, closing it softly behind him. He’d never promised her anything before, and something about that seemed significant. So did the way he’d looked so worried, and the way his hands had shaken when he first held her after her fall.

  “Let’s get you out of that dress,” her aunt said, pulling her out of her daydream.

  “It’s really not that bad. I just landed rather hard.”

  “Your elbow’s bleeding.”

  “Yes, I know. It stings. Serves me right, though, for racing against Dare. No one ever beats him.”

  Her aunt stopped moving. “You were racing Lord Dare? Why is that?”

  “Because I wanted to. No one else was about, and I thought it would be fun.” And it had been fun—exhilarating fun—until Sheba threw her.

  “Was this ‘fun’ his idea?”

  “No, it was mine.” Georgiana slid to the edge of the bed, wincing again and trying to keep her weight on her left haunch, so she could shed her shoes. “And I think I nearly scared him to death when I fell, so don’t go yelling at him for it.”

  “I don’t understand you,” Frederica said, going to work on the buttons of her riding dress. “You hate him, and then you go to live in his house. You run from there, and then you go riding with him.”

  “Ouch. I don’t understand it myself, Aunt.”

  “Where are you hurt?”

  “Mostly my bottom. Tristan thinks I might have cracked my tailbone.”

  Her aunt’s fingers paused again. “You told Lord Dare that you hurt your bottom?” she asked, very slowly.

  A blush crept up Georgie’s cheeks. “It was fairly obvious.”

  “Oh, heavens. I hope he doesn’t go telling everyone about this, Georgiana. Really, you used to know better.”

  “He won’t tell anyone.”

  Frederica continued to gaze at her with a quizzical expression, but Georgiana feigned light-headedness so she wouldn’t have to talk until the physician arrived.

  One thing seemed certain: Tristan truly did bear her some affection. And she was beginning to care for him more than she felt comfortable admitting. If she knew anything for certain, though, it was that caring for Tristan Carroway was a sure way to a broken heart.

  Thankfully, the physician decided that having her take a hot bath and lie on her stomach for the next day would take care of the worst of her injuries. She didn’t know how he could be so certain, considering that he wouldn’t even lift her shift to take a look at her injured bottom, but Tristan had said the same thing.

  Once the physician had gone she took her bath, letting the hot water relax the sore muscles and clean the scraped skin of her backside and elbow. Then with Mary’s help she climbed into bed and propped her chin on her folded arms.

  Her aunt entered the room again. “He’s still here, and he wants to see you.”

  “Please have him come up, then, if you don’t mind.”

  “Only to the doorway.”

  Drat. She was going to ruin herself, if she wasn’t more careful. “Of course only to the doorway.”

  “I’ll tell him,” Frederica muttered, leaving again.

  A moment later another knock sounded at her door. “Georgiana?” Tristan’s deep voice came. He pushed open the door, but stopped before she could order him to do so. Evidently, he’d already been warned. “I really don’t think your aunt likes me at all,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe.

  She chuckled. “How’s Sheba?”

  “As I thought, it’s a muscle strain. John and I put a compress on it, and he’s to walk her twice a day for a week. After that you might try riding her, but no galloping for a month or so.”

  “I won’t be ready to gallop for at least that long,” she said ruefully.

  He glanced at Mary, hovering unobtrusively to one side of the room. “I’m just thankful you didn’t break any bones.”

  “So am I.”

  Light blue eyes studied her face for a long moment before he stirred. “I need to go,” he said, pushing upright. “I was supposed to be in Parliament an hour ago.” He stood there, still looking at her, then visibly shook himself. “I’ll come see you this evening.”

  There he went, dictating again. “If you’re courting me, you must ask my permission to come calling.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Very well. May I come by to see you this evening?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, trying to cover the low flutter in her stomach. “By then I’ll be grateful even for your company, I imagine.”

  “One can only hope.”

  She actually had more visitors than she’d expected. Before noon, Lucinda and Evelyn came to call. “Heavens,” Lucinda said, closing the door as Mary exited, “I half expected to see you covered in bandages from head to toe.”

  Georgiana frowned. “It was just a little fall. And how did you know about it, anyway?”

  “Mrs. Grawtham’s maid was at the milliner’s at the same time as Dr. Barlow’s daughter.”

  “Oh, no.” Georgiana buried her face in her pillow. “Mrs. Grawtham couldn’t keep a secret about herself.”

  “Anyway,” Evie said, sitting on the edge of the bed, “everyone’s talking about how your horse threw you and Lord Dare carried you home.”

  That wasn’t too awful. “Well, I suppose it’s true,” she said, emerging from the soft pillow so she could breathe.

  “And about how Dare was so worried that he wouldn’t leave your bedside until Dr. Barlow swore that you would be all right and the duchess said she would send word to him if anything at all changed.”

  “That didn’t—”

  “Everyone’s saying that he’s in love with you,” Lucinda took up, her dark brown eyes serious. “Georgiana, I thought you were teaching him a lesson. Now it’s gotten you injured. If you’re still intent on leading Dare on, this could be very dangerous.”

  “I’m not leading him on, and he’s most certainly not in love with me. We don’t even like each other, remember?”

  “That’s why everyone thinks it’s romantic.” Evelyn looked rather worried herself. “You swore never to wed, and never, ever to Dare, and now he’s courting you, and you’re bound to change your mind.”

  “Oh, good heavens!” She kicked her feet under the blankets, which only made her backside ache again. “I never swore anything, and I’m not changing my mind, and—damnation!”

  Lucinda and Evelyn looked at one another. “I’m not choosing anyone to teach a lesson to, if this is what’s going to happen,” Evelyn said.

  “Nothing is going to happen,” Georgiana stated, beginning to wonder whom she was trying to convince.

  “What about Dare’s escorting you to Vauxhall Gardens, the other night?” Lucinda leaned her chin in one hand. “And you must have been riding with him, if he carried you home.”

  “He says he’s courting me, but he doesn’t mean it,” she protested. “For heaven’s sake, he’s only trying
to get even for my getting even.”

  Evelyn looked even more confused, but Lucinda’s expression darkened. “Wait just a moment,” she said, leaning forward. “He says he’s courting you? You mean he is courting you, Georgie. And everyone already knows it.”

  Georgiana buried her face again. “Go away. I don’t know what I mean.”

  Lucinda patted her on the arm. “Well, you’d better figure it out soon, my dear. Because we aren’t the only ones asking the questions, and we’re the nice ones.”

  Less than an hour after they left, someone scratched on the door. When Mary opened it, Josephine, a downstairs maid, curtsied.

  “Lady Georgiana, I’m to tell you that Lord Westbrook is downstairs, come to call on you.”

  “My goodness, I forgot. We were to go walking. Please have Pascoe explain that I’ve been injured, and have him give the marquis my apologies.”

  Josephine curtsied again. “Yes, my lady.”

  A few minutes later the maid returned. “Lord Westbrook expresses distress at hearing of your injury, and says that he will write you a letter.”

  “Thank you, Josephine.”

  Afterward Georgie lay on her bed for a long time, thinking. The world at large thought Tristan was courting her, and that she welcomed his attentions. The problem was, she did. She couldn’t help looking forward to each and every encounter; and her entire being reacted to his voice and to his touch.

  What if this wasn’t part of a game? What if he was sincere? And what if he actually did ask her to marry him?

  Georgiana groaned, wishing she could stand up and stalk about the room. She always thought better when she could pace. This was a disaster, and the worst part of it all was that it was entirely of her own making.

  “Oh, I give up,” Edwina said, leaning down to capture Dragon and cuddle him in her lap. “I have to admit, you were right about their combustibility.”

  Milly wished she could find some satisfaction in Edwina finally admitting she was right about something. “It’s such a pity. For a few moments they actually seemed to want to patch things up.”

  Her sister sighed. “Do you suppose it’ll be Miss Johns, then?”

  “Probably, dash it all. She’s wealthy enough, but she seems far too stiff to be Carroway material. And once they’re married, it’ll be back to Essex for us. We may as well say good-bye to the boys now; I doubt we’ll see them except at Christmas, once we’re banished back to the cottage.”