The Rake

by Suzanne Enoch

  Dragon leapt off Edwina’s lap to attack the nearest curtain. “Oh, why couldn’t it have been Georgiana?” she grumbled.

  Milly patted her on the knee. “He’s not married yet. I won’t say good-bye until the new Lady Dare throws me out the front door. So for now we’ll just have to hope for the best.”

  “And pray that no one breaks their neck,” Edwina added, summoning a smile.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Chapter 16

  Cudgel thy brains no more about it…

  —Hamlet, Act V, Scene i

  “And then she fainted, and he carried her in his arms all the way home to her aunt’s. He was so worried, he wouldn’t leave her bedside.” Cynthia Prentiss popped another chocolate into her mouth.

  Amelia Johns picked through the dessert tables’ delicacies, though with less enthusiasm than she’d had a few moments earlier. “Their families are very close. I should imagine he wished to make certain she was well. What’s so surprising about that?”

  “Hm,” Felicity mused from her other side, “when was the last time you went riding with Lord Dare, Amelia?”

  “We went out on a picnic just last week,” she reminded them, settling on the sugared orange peels. “And he was quite attentive.” He’d been so attentive, in fact, that she’d returned home ready to choose the material for her wedding gown. Since then, though, she hadn’t even seen him, much less received a letter or a bouquet.

  “They say he sent her a huge bouquet of flowers, too,” Cynthia said, confirming what Amelia had heard. “And that was before the riding incident.”

  Amelia forced a careless laugh. “You two will gossip about anything. Everyone knows Tristan and Lady Georgiana don’t even like one another. I’m sure he was just being kind, for the sake of her cousin, the Duke of Wycliffe.”

  It was true that the last few days hadn’t unfolded as she’d expected, but she knew how her viscount and Lady Georgiana felt about one another—he’d even made a few comments in her presence about the stubborn, tart nature of his adversary. Tristan was simply being taught a lesson that would make him fall madly in love with her, and she would be a viscountess before the end of the summer.

  “Well, I suppose you could be right,” Felicity said. “I mean, Lord Dare is handsome enough, of course, but everyone knows he has no money. All he has is his title, and Lady Georgiana is already a marquis’s daughter, and cousin to a duke. Why would she want to become a viscountess?”

  “Exactly. And everyone knows I receive three thousand a year, so I don’t see any further need to discuss this nonsense.”

  Tristan Carroway was going to marry her. He had begun courting her because of her money and because he found her charming, and he would marry her for the same reasons.

  “There he is,” Cynthia whispered. “Maybe you should remind him about your income.”

  Taking a breath, Amelia turned. Lord Dare had just strolled into the main room at Almack’s. He was alone, wearing a black, long-tailed evening jacket that looked molded to his broad shoulders. For a moment she just looked at him, admiring.

  With his tall, dark looks and her pretty, petite form, they would make a striking couple. Of course they belonged together—and her father had just last week offered her an additional fifty pounds a month pin money upon the announcement of their engagement. Lady Dare…yes, she would make a perfect viscountess.

  He seemed preoccupied with something, and so with a backward glance at her cynical friends, she strolled in the general direction of the orchestra, on a course that would bring her straight into his path. She was glad she’d worn her yellow satin gown with the white lace sleeves this evening; everyone said it made her eyes look the perfect blue of a china doll’s.

  At the last moment she turned to offer Cynthia a wave, and stepped backward straight into him. “Oh, my goodness,” she breathed, stumbling so that he would catch her under the arms.

  “Amelia, my apologies,” he drawled, smiling at her as he lifted her back upright. “I generally keep my eyes open when I walk. I seem to be rather distracted this evening.”

  “No apology is necessary, Tristan,” she said, smoothing the front of her gown so he would be certain to notice the low-cut bodice.

  His light blue gaze drifted down, and then back up to her face. “You look quite fetching this evening.”

  “Thank you.” Smiling, she offered a shallow curtsy which exposed even more of her bosom to his gaze. For all of Lady Georgiana’s talk of elaborate lessons, sometimes men were very easy to figure out. “If you continue talking so sweetly, I shall have to save you a waltz tonight.”

  “If you keep being so generous, I shall ask you for one.” With a slight bow, he took a step away from her. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak to.”

  “Of course. We can chat later.”

  His smile deepened. “Or sooner.”

  Ah, success. He never used to be so polite. The smile of triumph she sent back to her silly friends faded though as she turned to see with whom he’d gone to converse. Lady Georgiana Halley stood between the Duke of Wycliffe, and his wife. She had to admire Emma Brakenridge, though in going from a girls’ school headmistress to a duchess, she had perhaps reached a little high.

  Amelia sighed. She only wanted to move up from being an earl’s brother’s granddaughter to a viscountess—and now even that didn’t appear to be as promising as it once had. The look Tristan gave Lady Georgiana was one he’d never had for her.

  It was best to face facts as they were. Lady Georgiana might think she was helping, or she might only be saying that when she intended something else, but it was obviously going to be up to Amelia to set Tristan in the right direction. And given what she knew of men, she had a very good idea just how to do it.

  Grey didn’t look very happy to see him, but Tristan was more concerned with the presence of Luxley, Paltridge, and to a lesser degree, Francis Henning, hovering about Georgiana. After the fright she’d given him yesterday, he didn’t like even the idea of another man looking in her direction.

  “Georgiana,” he said, elbowing Henning aside to take her hand, then bringing it to his lips. “The sparkle is back in your eye. Are you feeling better?”

  “Much,” she said, smiling, “though I’m not quite up for dancing.”

  He thought that comment was probably aimed at her other suitors, but none of them took the hint and wandered off. Instead, they favored her with a squawking chorus of sympathy and compliments that made him scowl. If her warning was for his benefit, well, he wasn’t going anywhere. Before he could encourage the buffoons to go hunting elsewhere, Emma took his arm.

  “You very nearly sounded like a hero, yesterday,” she said, her warm hazel eyes dancing.

  With an irritated glance at the pack, he left the circle of Georgiana’s admirers. “Yes, I suppose I reacted before my wiser nature could take hold and shake me out of it.”

  The duchess chuckled. “I don’t believe that,” she said in a lower voice. “I’ve seen your good heart, Tristan.”

  “I would appreciate if you didn’t bandy that about. A good heart and empty pockets make Dare a very lonely lad.” He glanced in Georgie’s direction. “Especially when certain other females don’t believe that ‘good heart’ bit.”

  “Well, you’ll have to convince her. I, for one, am on your side.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And how does the mighty Wycliffe feel about that?”

  “He’s more protective of Georgiana. I advise being patient yet utterly relentless.”

  “Your advice, dear Em, will probably get me killed.” Tristan kissed her on the cheek to soften the words. “But I do appreciate it.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you,” Grey rumbled, approaching with Georgiana on his arm, thank God, “to keep your lips off my wife?”

  “You won’t let me kiss you,” Tristan drawled, “so I have no other options.”

  “How about escorting me to the refreshment table, instead?” Georgi
ana held out her hand to him.

  That had been good of Wycliffe, to separate her from the wolf pack. “With pleasure. Your Graces, if you’ll pardon us?”

  “Oh, bugger off,” Grey said. “But keep an eye on her. She nearly fell coming down from the coach.”

  “I tripped on my dress,” Georgie protested, flushing.

  “I shall guard her with my life.”

  She looked up at him, and despite the obvious skepticism in her expression, he was surprised to realize that he meant it. Letting someone else have Georgiana was out of the question. Whatever it took, he would make her his. Permanently.

  “So how did I win out over your other suitors?” Tristan asked, guiding her around the less crowded side of the room.

  “I can’t tell them to go to the devil if they annoy me,” she answered easily. “You, I don’t mind saying it to.”

  “I suppose I have built up a tolerance for your insults, over the years,” he agreed. “How is your bottom?”

  Her blush deepened. “Black-and-blue, but better. Thankfully most everyone seems to think I merely wrenched my knee, and my bottom has remained out of the conversation.”

  Tristan nodded. In the past he might have claimed the credit he deserved for encouraging the wrong rumor to spread, but he felt so bad about her being hurt that he didn’t want any thanks. “I’m glad you came this evening,” he said, to have something to say.

  She searched his eyes for a moment. “So am I. Tristan—”

  “There you are,” Lucinda Barrett said, hurrying up to grasp Georgie’s free hand. “I was hoping you felt well enough to attend tonight.”

  Stifling his annoyance, Tristan nodded a greeting to the auburn-haired chit. “I myself would have faked illness to avoid Almack’s.”

  Georgiana looked at him in obvious disbelief. “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because you’re here.”

  “Hush,” she ordered. “You’ll have everyone talking about us.”

  “Everyone already is,” Lucinda said, grinning. “The two of you are the talk of London.”

  For the first time, Tristan looked around the room. They did seem to be the object of conversation. Well, so be it. She wasn’t going to escape him again, either because of his folly or her stubbornness. And this kind of rumor could only help his chances.

  “Don’t be silly, Luce. He only wants my money.”

  Lucinda paled, her eyes darting in his direction. “Georgie, you shouldn’t say such things.”

  Tristan clamped down his sudden anger. He’d heard such talk before, of course; once he’d even overheard several ladies discussing whether his services in the bedchamber could be bought. That had been quite the evening.

  But Georgiana had never mentioned his finances to anyone, that he knew of—and even if she was joking, he didn’t appreciate it one damned bit.

  Carefully he extracted his arm from her grip. “Miss Barrett, if you would tend to Lady Georgiana, I’ve promised a dance to Miss Johns.” He sketched a shallow bow. “Ladies.”

  Before he could move away, Georgie gripped his sleeve again. “Dare.”

  He stopped, looking down at her coolly. “Yes?”

  “Luce, go away,” Georgiana murmured.

  Miss Barrett complied, looking relieved to escape unscathed. The mutterings around them grew louder, but he didn’t give a damn about that. People would talk; the only thing he could do was to make certain they had nothing more serious than an argument to speculate over. He and Georgiana argued all the time, anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t serious, and it was mean.”

  He forced a careless shrug. “It was true—partly. But money’s not all I want from you, Georgiana, and you know it.”

  “I know what you tell me, but I don’t know what I believe. You’ve tricked me before.”

  “And you’ve tricked me, haven’t you?” he returned in a low voice. “So how shall I prove it to you?”

  As he spoke, he realized that this may have been just what she was waiting for: to force him to declare his intentions toward and affection for her before the world, so she could laugh at him and humiliate him in public. And because he couldn’t resist being near her, touching her, he’d fallen right into her trap.

  She sighed. “I don’t know what to think, sometimes.”

  Tristan made his shoulders relax. “Don’t think so much. I never do.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Drat, I don’t have a fan. If my bottom felt better, I would kick you.”

  A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “If your bottom felt better, I would suggest several far more pleasant things for us to do together.” Looking down at her, he just barely resisted running a finger along her cheek. “I want you,” he murmured. “Badly.”

  Georgiana swallowed. “You’re just trying to make me blush. It won’t work, so stop it.”

  “I don’t want you to blush,” he continued in the same low voice. “I want you to call out my name, and come for me.”

  “Shut up,” she enunciated unsteadily. “You’re obviously mad.”

  His smile deepened. This seemed to be working well, though he was becoming rather uncomfortable. “Say you’ll go for a walk with me tomorrow in Covent Garden, and I’ll stop.”

  “I’m having tea with Lu—”

  “And I want to feel your warm skin under my fingers, and your body beneath mine, my Georgi—”

  “All right!” Blushing deep red, she yanked him toward the refreshment table. “Be by at ten sharp, or I will kick you the next time I set eyes on you.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough.”

  The night had actually gone rather well, considering. He’d found a strategy that seemed to work. She did want him, which made the next step that much easier.

  Would he have walked away, if she hadn’t grabbed his arm? Georgiana hadn’t meant to stop him, but the moment he had released her, she hadn’t been able to keep from reaching out for him. And he hadn’t left, and now she’d agreed to go walking with him. She still kept him close by, supposedly in case she fell, but in truth because she craved the heat and the wanting he caused in her. Just hearing him say those things aloud left her hot and trembling for him.

  Even worse, the entire assembly at Almack’s had seen them deep in conversation for an extended time. They had seen her smile and his smile and the way she’d blushed like a complete nodcock. If she hadn’t agreed to go walking with him, though, she had the distinct feeling that he would have dragged her off to the nearest empty alcove, pulled her gown off, and ravished her—and even with her sore bottom, she would have enjoyed that far too much for her own good.

  Twelve men had proposed to her over the last two years, and she reacted to none of them as she reacted to him. Since their second foolish night together, she’d even tried to imagine herself naked and impassioned with any of her other suitors. After all, if she married one of them, she would be required to share his bed on occasion.

  But all those imaginings had given her was a faint feeling of disgust. Some of the gentlemen were pleasant enough to look at and several, like Luxley and Westbrook, were quite handsome. However, nothing she tried worked. She couldn’t tolerate even the idea of one of them touching her and kissing her, much less putting their—

  “My lady,” the Earl of Drasten said, striding up to her, “I beg you to give me this dance.”

  Beside her, Tristan stiffened, the muscles in his arm tensing. She forced a polite smile. No one was going to brawl over her, and certainly not at Almack’s. She’d be banned for life. “I’m not dancing this evening, my lord.”

  “That’s simply too cruel,” the dark-haired earl protested, favoring Dare with an unfriendly glance. “You cannot deprive us of your company in favor of this rake.”

  She could feel the force of Tristan’s sudden, dark anger flowing around her. “Are you deaf, Dr—”

  “Lord Drasten,” she interrupted, before Tristan could challenge the idiot earl to a duel, “I wa
s injured in a riding accident the day before yesterday, and I am not up to dancing tonight. I would be pleased, though, to receive a chocolate.”

  Drasten held out his arm. “I shall escort you, then.”

  Tristan looked at him. “No, you won’t.”

  “Go find some other heiress, Dare. This one doesn’t even like you.”

  Gasping, Georgiana stepped between them, shoving at Tristan’s chest before he could unleash the fist he’d coiled. Her push didn’t even budge him, but neither did he strike. “No,” she said, catching his gaze.

  The blue eyes that met hers were narrow and angry, but she didn’t release her grip on his lapels. After a long moment, he let out his breath and grimaced. “I haven’t killed anyone all month,” he murmured, slight humor returning to his gaze. “No one will miss just one earl.”

  “I say, Dare, you can’t talk—”

  Moving with that deceptive speed of his, Tristan stepped around her and up to the earl. Grabbing the surprised Drasten’s hand and shaking it, he leaned closer. “Go away,” he murmured, very quietly. “Now.”

  The earl must have seen the same thing in Tristan’s eyes as she did, because with a small nod he backed away and suddenly found another group of cronies to talk to. Georgiana drew a long breath. She sometimes forgot that when they’d first met, Tristan had had a reputation for hard drinking and harder wagering, and being a deadly shot. He had changed, and she wondered whether it was partly because of her.

  “My apologies,” he said, putting his warm hand over hers.

  And now he was the easy, self-controlled Tristan again. For a moment Georgiana wondered if that wasn’t the most significant change in him of all; he’d learned that his actions had ramifications not just for himself, but for others, and he let that knowledge guide him—for the most part.

  “I’m glad to be rid of him,” she returned, wondering whether he could feel the fast rush of her pulse. All he needed to do, apparently, was mention their being naked together and then threaten someone with bodily harm on her behalf, and her knees went weak. “Thank you.”