The Rake (15 page)

"To speak with you.
That's all he would say to me." Her aunt stayed by the door, no doubt to intercept a maid before she could barge into the room with the tea and witness the duchess's niece looking like an escapee from Bedlam. "Except for one thing he asked me to tell you."

Oh, no.
If he was angry enough, he would be quite capable of ruining her. "
What.
. . what was that?"

"He said to tell you that he'd received and understood your message."

She straightened a little from her fetal curl in the chair, nearly ill with relief. "That was it?"

"That was it."

The tea arrived, and the duchess went into the hallway to get it herself. Georgiana took a deep, sniffling
breath. He hadn't ruined her. He hadn't brought her stockings back and flung them to the ground and shouted that he'd bedded Lady Georgiana Halley twice now and that she was a hoyden and a
lightskirt
.

"Oh, and he said he wouldn't be returning here today. He emphasized 'today,' which I took to mean that he would be calling at a future date."

Georgiana tried to pull her thoughts together, still too relieved with the present to let the future frighten her. "Thank you for seeing him."

The duchess poured a cup of tea, dropped two lumps of sugar and a large measure of cream into it, and brought it over to her.
"Drink."

It smelled bitter, but the cream and sugar smoothed the taste, and Georgiana took two large swallows. Warmth spread from her stomach out to her fingers and toes, and she took another drink.

"Better?"

"Better."

Her aunt sat in the deep windowsill, far enough back that Georgiana didn't have to look at her if she didn't want to. If Frederica
Brakenridge
was one thing, it was intuitive.

"I must say, I haven't seen you in hysterics for... six years, it must be. Dare had something to do with that, as well, if I recall correctly."

"He just upsets me."

"I can see that. Why associate with him, then?"

Georgiana looked into the tea, at the slow swirls of
cream in the delicate china cup. "I... I was teaching him a lesson."

"He seems to have understood it."

Georgiana managed to summon a degree of indignation. "Well, I should hope so."

"So why are you crying, my sweet?"

Because I'm not sure he deserved it, and because I really don't hate him, and now he hates me.
"I'm just tired. And mad at him, of course."

"Of course."
The duchess stood. "I'm going to send my Danielle in to get you into your nightgown. Finish your tea, and get some sleep."

"But it's morning."

"Just barely.
And you have nothing to do today, no obligations, no appointments—nothing to do but sleep."

"But—"

"Sleep."

The herb tea was definitely doing something, because her eyes were drooping shut. "Yes, Aunt Frederica."

Frederica
Brakenridge
sat in her office, addressing her correspondence, when the door opened.

"What the devil is going on?" a deep voice snapped.

She finished the letter and lifted a paper to begin her next missive. "Good afternoon,
Greydon
."

She felt her son's large form hesitate, and then cross the room to her. Tawny hair entered the corner of her vision as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Good afternoon. What's going on?"

"What have you heard?"

With a sigh he dropped into the overstuffed chair behind her. "I ran across Bradshaw
Carroway
at Gentleman Jackson's. When I inquired about Georgiana, Shaw told me she'd left to return here, and that Tristan was rabid about it—or about something, anyway."

"Bradshaw didn't say?"

"He said he couldn't say, because Tristan wouldn't say."

Frederica continued with her letter. "That's just about all I know, as well."

"It's the 'just about' I want to hear from you, Mother."

"No."

"Fine."
Material rustled as he stood. "I'll ask Tristan."

Hiding a frown, Frederica turned in her chair to face him. "No, you won't."

"And why is that?"

"Stay out of it. Whatever it is, it's between them. Not us."

Grey didn't bother hiding his scowl. "Where's
Georgie
, then?"

The duchess hesitated. She disliked not knowing all the facts; it made treading through the mess all the more difficult—and delicate.
"Sleeping."

"It's nearly two in the afternoon."

"She was upset."

Greydon
met her gaze. "How upset?"

"Very."

The duke turned for the door. "That's it. I'm going to beat the answers out of Dare."

"You aren't going to do any such thing. From what I saw of him this morning, he's itching to beat something, himself. You will lose his friendship over this, if you interfere."

"Bloody . . . Then what am I supp—"

"Don't do anything. Be patient. That's what I'm doing. "

He tilted his head at her. "You really aren't certain what's going on, are you? You're not just keeping it from me on principle."

"No, I don't know everything, despite my reputation to the contrary. Go home. Emma will probably have heard the rumors by now, too, and I don't want to have to go through this again."

"I don't like it, but all right.
For now."

"That's all I ever ask."

"Like hell it is." With a brief, concerned smile, he left the room.

Frederica bent her head over her letter again,
then
sat back, sighing. Whatever was going on, it was serious. She'd thought that Georgiana had begun to forgive Tristan for the equally mysterious misstep he'd made before. Now, she wasn't certain. She would have allowed
Greydon
to interfere if Georgiana had been the only one hurt this time. She would have insisted on it, in fact. But Dare had been in pain, himself.
Deep and obvious pain.
And so she would wait and see what happened next.

"I really don't want to go out tonight," Georgiana said, as her aunt reached the first floor.

"I know you don't. That's why we're going to dinner with Lydia and James. It'll be a small gathering, and an early evening."

Frowning, Georgiana joined the duchess at the front door. "It's not that I'm afraid to see him or anything."

"That's none of my affair," her aunt answered. "I'm just glad you're
back
home."

That was the problem,
Georgie
reflected. She
wasn't
back
home. She really didn't have a home. Her parents were in
Shropshire
with her sisters, her brother was in Scotland, Helen and her husband Geoffrey were in York, and she was welcome to stay with Frederica or even with Grey and Emma, if she wished it.
Where she had most enjoyed staying, however, had been at
Carroway
House, spending afternoons chatting with the aunts and playing Commerce with Edward and talking about faraway lands with Bradshaw.
And, of course, seeing Tristan.

"Georgiana, are you coming?"

"Yes."

Despite her aunt's assurances, she was on edge all night. If Tristan had been as angry as Frederica had intimated, he wouldn't just let this go.
She
hadn't, when he'd hurt her before. She had been awful, saying things to him that other people probably found amusing, but that he had to know meant she hated and despised him. Would he do the same thing to her?

For the next two days she stayed close to the house, and he didn't
come
calling or send her a note. She wondered whether he'd gone to call on Amelia Johns, but quickly pushed the thought away. If he had, then
good
. That had been the reason for all this mess, anyway.

She was supposed to attend the Glenview soiree with Lucinda and Evelyn, and while she didn't want to go, neither did she want to become a hermit. The wisest thing to do would have been to return to
Shropshire
, as she'd initially planned. That would mean that she was a complete coward, though. Besides, she had nothing to run from. He hadn't retaliated, and she hadn't done anything wrong, anyway. Well, she had, but no one but Tristan knew that, and he deserved what had happened.

"
Georgie
," Lucinda said, hurrying across the room and grasping her hands. "I heard you'd returned to your aunt's. Is everything all right?"

Georgie
kissed her friend on the cheek. "Yes.
Fine."

"You did it, didn't you? You delivered your lesson."

Swallowing, her gaze on the crowd beyond Lucinda's shoulder, she nodded. "I did. How did you know?"

"You wouldn't have left
Carroway
House, otherwise. You were very determined."

"I suppose I was."

Evelyn approached them from the music room. "Everyone's saying that you and Dare fought again."

"Yes, I would have to say that we did." Though since she hadn't set eyes on him in three days, she didn't
know how anyone could know they were fighting.
Possibly because they were
always
fighting.

"Well, then you should probably know
th
—"

"Good evening, ladies."

"That he's here,"
Evie
finished in a whisper.

Georgiana froze. With all of her being, she didn't want to turn around. Yet she couldn't keep herself from doing so. Tristan was just a few feet away, close enough to touch. She couldn't read his expression, but his face was pale, and his eyes glittered.

"Lord Dare," she
said,
her voice not quite steady.

"I was wondering if you would speak with my aunts for a moment, Lady Georgiana," he said, his voice curt and his spine stiff. "They're worried about you."

"Of course."
Squaring her shoulders and pretending not to notice the concerned looks from her friends, she walked off with him.

He didn't offer his arm, and she kept her hands folded behind her. She wanted to run, but then everyone would know that something had happened between them. Rumors were one thing, but if she or Tristan did anything to confirm them, she would have no choice about going back to
Shropshire
.

She sneaked a sideways glance at him. His jaw was clenched, but other than that he gave no outward sign of agitation. She was fairly shaking with it, but he didn't round on her as she expected. Rather, he did as he'd said he would, and stopped beside his aunts.

"Oh, dear
Georgie
," Edwina said, grabbing her arm
and hugging her. "We were so worried about you! Just leaving like that without saying anything."

"I'm so sorry," she answered, squeezing the older woman's hand. "I... had to leave, but I shouldn't have done it without saying something first. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Is your aunt all right?"
Milly
asked, coming forward.

"Yes,
she's .
.." Georgiana looked at her for a moment, belatedly realizing that she didn't have to look down at Tristan's aunt. "You're walking!"

"With the help of my cane, but yes.
Now, what's happened to you? Did Tristan say something to make you angry again?"

She felt his gaze on her face, but refused to look at him. "No. I just needed to go. And look at you! You don't need me any longer."

"We still enjoy your company, my dear."

"And I enjoy yours. I'll come to visit very soon. I promise."

Tristan stirred. "Come, Georgiana, I'll get you a glass of punch."

"I really don't—"

"Come with me," he repeated, his voice lower.

This time he did offer his arm, and with his aunts watching, she didn't dare refuse it. The muscles were tight as iron, and her fingers trembled on his sleeve.

"My lord, I—"

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked in the same quiet voice.

"Afraid?
N ... no.
Of course not."

He looked down at her.
"Why not?
You should be. I could ruin you in less than a second."

"I'm not afraid, because you deserved it."

Tristan leaned closer, a sneer pulling at his mouth. "What, exactly, did I deserve?"

Across the room Aunt Frederica was looking at them, her expression concerned. Grey stood beside her, his stance aggressive. Georgiana looked back up at Tristan. "We shouldn't do this here."

"You wouldn't see me elsewhere. Answer the damned question. Was this just revenge?"

"Revenge?
No. It... I..."

"You know what I think?" he said, still more quietly, his hand covering hers.

To their audience it no doubt looked like a gesture of affection; they couldn't know his grip was steel, and that she couldn't have broken away from him if she tried. "Tristan
.. ."

"I think you
are
afraid," he whispered, "because you enjoyed being with me."

Oh, no.
"That is
not
it. Let me go."

He did so immediately. "You decided to hurt me before I could hurt you again."

"Nonsense.
I'm walking away now. Don't follow me."

"I won't—if you'll save a waltz for me."

She stopped. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to go crawling off to Amelia Johns and be a good husband. She needed to be sure he understood that the lesson she'd dealt him wasn't just about revenge. If that meant dancing with him tonight, so be it.
"Fine."

"Good."