The Rake (19 page)

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, Georgians.
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.

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.

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.