The front door burst open. A heartbeat later the Duke of Wycliffe strode into the breakfast room, Pascoe on his heels and catching gloves, coat, and hat as her cousin flung them off.
“What in damnation is going on?” he demanded. “And where the hell is Dare?”
“Good morning, Greydon. Have some breakfast.”
He jabbed his finger in Georgiana’s face, angrier than she’d seen him since he’d rescued Emma from utter ruin. “He will marry you. If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him.”
“What if I don’t want to marry him?” she asked, thankful that her voice was steady. No one was going to dictate her future for her.
“You should have thought of that before you joined an…orgy in Amelia Johns’s bedchamber!”
She stood, shoving her chair backward and feeling red heat flood her face. “It was no such thing!”
“That is what everyone is saying. Good God, Georgie!”
“Oh, shut up!” she growled, stomping out of the room.
“Geor—”
“Greydon,” his mother’s stern voice came. “Stop bellowing.”
“I am not bellowing!”
Georgiana kept walking, hearing the argument continuing behind her, until she reached the morning room. She slammed the door closed and leaned back against it. Everything had been so clear last night. Hearing Amelia and Luxley had been…arousing, but even more so had been the sense they might be caught any moment, and the headiness of being trapped there with Tristan pressed up against her. She had literally been unable to keep her hands off him.
She always felt that way around Tristan. Even when she was angry with him, she needed to be touching him, if only by slapping her fan across his knuckles. She wanted to touch him badly at the moment. She wanted to feel the way she’d felt last night, when he’d held her and told her that he loved her. Where was he? He had to know the rumors were flying everywhere.
Someone knocked at the door, and she jumped. “Go away, Greydon,” she snapped.
“Truce,” he said, turning the handle and pushing.
She pushed back. “Why?”
He was much bigger and stronger than she was, but he only nudged at the door again. “Georgie, we’re family. I may want to wring your damned neck, but I’ll refrain from doing so.”
“Georgiana,” her aunt’s voice came, equally close, “we must present a united front.”
“Oh, very well.” She allowed them to enter. They were right; her disgrace would affect them, as well, though their titles and power would protect them from most of it. She had no such protection. If Tristan didn’t come…She paced by the window, clasping her hands together.
“What’s our story going to be?” Grey asked, watching her stalk back and forth.
“Obviously, it has to be that whatever those idiot Johnses and their servants think they saw, Georgiana was home with a cold. It was dark, and late, and they were distressed at seeing their daughter’s…indiscretion. Understandable, but for heaven’s sake, they should know better than to accuse anyone of good family of anything so atrocious.”
Georgiana stopped pacing. “No.”
Frederica looked over at her. “You don’t have much choice, dear.”
“Aunt Frederica, I will not use someone else’s error to improve my own situation. Not even if the someone is Amelia Johns.”
“Then you are ruined,” Frederica returned in a calm voice. “Do you understand that?”
A cold shiver of dread ran through her. “Yes, I do. I will accept that.”
“Just a damned minute,” Grey growled, standing. “You mean to say you actually did what they say you did?”
“Not the orgy part, no,” she retorted.
“I’ll kill him.”
“You will do no such th—”
The door opened just as he reached it. “Your Graces, Lady Georgiana,” the butler announced, “Lord D—”
Grey grabbed Tristan by the shoulder and yanked him into the room, slamming the door closed in Pascoe’s face.
“You son of a b—”
Using one hand, Tristan shoved Grey sideways. “I’m not here to see you,” he said, his face hard and set.
His gaze found Georgiana, frozen by the window, and she made herself breathe again. The reason he’d used one hand was that he gripped a bouquet of white lilies and a box wrapped with ribbon cradled in the other.
“Good morning,” he said in a softer voice, a small smile touching his sensuous mouth and darkening his sapphire eyes.
“Good morning,” she breathed, her heart skittering.
“Dare,” Grey growled, approaching again, “you are going to do the right thing. I will not tolerate your inexcusable behav—”
“Shut up, dear,” Frederica interrupted. Rising, she took her son by the arm and led him toward the door. “We’ll be in the breakfast room if you should require our presence,” she said, opening the door.
“I am not leaving them alone,” the duke growled.
“Yes, you are. They promise to remain fully clothed this time.”
“Aunt Frederica!” Georgiana exclaimed, flushing.
“Get on with it.” Sending her a brief, encouraging glance, the dowager duchess closed the door.
Georgiana and Tristan stood for a moment, gazing at one another in the sudden silence. “I hadn’t realized the news would spread this fast,” he said in a low voice, “or I would have been here earlier. Amelia and Luxley aren’t nearly as interesting to everyone as I’d thought they would be, obviously.”
“I was hoping everyone would be so occupied with talking about them that they would forget to mention us.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “I need to ask you a question. Two questions, actually.”
If her heart beat any faster, she was going to faint dead away. “I’m listening,” she replied, feigning calmness as best she could.
“First,” he began, handing her the bouquet, “do you trust me?”
“I couldn’t believe you remembered that I liked lilies,” she said, holding on to them so she would have something to do with her hands.
“I remember everything, Georgiana. I remember how you looked the first time we met, and I remember the look in your eyes when I betrayed your trust.”
“But you didn’t, really,” she returned. “You hurt me, but no one else ever knew. How did you keep it quiet, with a wager resting on the outcome?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Creativity. Georgiana, do you—”
“Yes,” she interrupted, meeting his gaze. “I trust you.”
If he’d been waiting for a moment to get his revenge, this was it. She’d spoken the truth, though. She did trust him, and just as importantly, she liked him. She loved him.
“Well, then,” he said, as though he hadn’t been certain what her answer would be, “this is for you, too.”
He held out the box. The size of a box of cigars, it was bound with a single silver ribbon, tied in a bow at the top. Swallowing, Georgiana set aside the lilies and took it in her hands. It was lighter than she expected.
“It’s not another fan, is it?” she asked, trying to joke.
“Open it and find out,” he replied.
She thought he looked nervous, and it made her feel a bit sturdier to realize that he wasn’t invulnerable. She tugged on one end of the ribbon, and it fell away. With a swift breath, she flipped open the lid.
Her stockings lay neatly folded side by side, the rolled-up note in between them. She started to thank him, then noticed what held the missive in its tight coil. A ring. Tristan’s signet ring.
“Oh, my,” she whispered, a tear running down her cheek.
“And now for my second question,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “Some people will say that I’m asking you this because of your wealth. And I do need what you have in order to save Dare. Other people will say it’s because I have no choice, and that I am obligated to save your reputation. We both know there’s far more to it than that. I need you. Even m
ore than your money, Georgiana, I need you. Will you marry me?”
“You know,” she said, wiping another tear away and torn between laughing and crying, “when this first began, I only meant to teach you a lesson about the consequences of breaking someone’s heart. What I didn’t realize was that you had something to teach me, as well—about how people can change, and about how sometimes you can trust your heart. My heart’s been in love with you for a very long time, Tristan.”
Tristan took the box from her and set it on the table. Removing the ring from the parchment, he reached for her hand. “Then answer my question, Georgiana. Please, before I expire from the suspense.”
She gave a teary chuckle. “Yes, Tristan. I will marry you.”
He slipped the ring on her finger, then pulled her up against him, touching his lips to hers. “You’ve saved me,” he murmured.
“I’m happy my money can help with Dare,” she said. “I always knew that would be part of any arrangement I entered.”
Sapphire eyes held hers. “No, Georgiana. You’ve saved me. I kept wondering how I could even think of marrying someone else, when I compared every female I met with you. But I knew you hated me, and—”
“I don’t anymore.” She sighed. “I’m not certain I ever did.”
Tristan kissed her again. “I love you, Georgie—so much that it frightens me a little. I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a while, but I wasn’t certain you would ever believe me.”
She’d worried about the same thing. “I believe you now. And I love you.”
He took her hand, looking down at the overlarge ring on her finger. “I suppose we should tell your family, before they shoot me.” His eyes met hers again. “And please, tell me you’re through with lessons.”
Georgiana chuckled again. “No promises. I may feel the need to continue your education later.”
“Heaven help us both, then,” he whispered with a smile, and kissed her.
Why, man, she is mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
—Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act II, Scene iv
THE END
About the Author
A native and current resident of Southern California, SUZANNE ENOCH loves movies almost as much as she loves books. She once appeared on an E! special, Star Wars Is Back, as an expert on the romance in the Star Wars movies. Other highlights include winning her third grade spelling bee, receiving an E.T. poster and T-shirt in an alien-inspired poetry contest, and submitting a script for The A-Team (which was not why the series was cancelled).
When she is not busily working on her next novel, Suzanne likes to contemplate interesting phenomena, like how the three guppies in her aquarium became 161 guppies in five months. Suzanne loves to hear from her readers, and may be reached at:
c/o Lowenstein-Yost Associates
121 W. 27th Street, Suite 601
New York, New York 10001
Or send her an e-mail at [email protected].
Visit her website at www.suzanneenoch.com.
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By Suzanne Enoch
SOMETHING SINFUL
DON’T LOOK DOWN
AN INVITATION TO SIN
FLIRTING WITH DANGER
SIN AND SENSIBILITY
ENGLAND’S PERFECT HERO
LONDON’S PERFECT SCOUNDREL
THE RAKE
A MATTER OF SCANDAL
MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT
REFORMING A RAKE
TAMING RAFE
BY LOVE UNDONE
STOLEN KISSES
LADY ROGUE
Coming in November 2006
The Exciting Contemporary Romance
BILLIONAIRES PREFER BLONDES
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE RAKE. Copyright © 2006 by Suzanne Enoch. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition September 2006 ISBN 9780061751936
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