The Rake (2 page)

Tristan
Carroway
, Viscount Dare, looked up from the London
Times
as the brass knocker banged against his front door. The price of barley was falling again, just two months short of when Dare's summer crop would be ripe.

He sighed. The losses would probably wipe out the profit he'd managed to wring from the late-spring harvest. It was time for another meeting with his solicitor,
Beacham
, about selling to the American market.

The knocker sounded again. "Dawkins, the door," Tristan called, taking a swallow of hot, strong coffee. At least one good thing had come out of the Colonies. And with the prices he paid for their coffee and tobacco, they should be able to afford his damned barley.

As the rapping sounded once more, he folded the paper and stood. Dawkins's eccentricities were amusing, but the butler had best be polishing the silver somewhere and not sleeping in one of the sitting rooms, as the old fellow had an alarming tendency to do. As for the rest of the servants, they no doubt had their hands full with his entire family in residence. Either
that,
or they'd all fled without bothering to give notice.

With the way his luck had been running lately, a herd of solicitors and
dunners
probably waited at the door to take him into custody for unpaid bills.

"Yes?" he said, pulling it open. "What—"

"Good morning, Lord Dare." Lady Georgiana Halley curtsied, the skirt of her dark green morning dress flowing around her and a matching bonnet framing her sun golden hair.

Tristan snapped his jaw shut. Ordinarily, a woman so lovely standing on his doorstep would be a good thing. There was nothing the least bit ordinary, however, about Georgiana Halley. "What the devil are you doing here?" he asked, noting that her maid waited a few steps behind her. "You're not armed, are you?"

"Only with my wits," she returned.

He'd been wounded by her wits on more than one occasion. "And I repeat, why are you here?"

"Because I wish to call on your aunts.
Please stand aside." Gathering her skirt, she brushed past him into the foyer.

Her skin smelled of lavender. "Won't you come in?" he asked belatedly.

"You're a very poor butler, you know," she said over her shoulder. "Show me to your aunts, if you please."

Folding his arms across his chest, Tristan leaned
against the doorframe. "Since I'm a poor butler, I suggest you go find them yourself."

In truth, he blazed with curiosity to discover why she had chosen to call at
Carroway
House. She'd known its location for years, yet today was the first time she'd deigned to darken his doorstep.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're unbearably rude?" she returned, facing him again.

"Why, yes. You have on several occasions, as I recall. If you care to apologize for that, however, I'll be happy to escort you wherever you wish to go."

A flush crept up her cheeks, coloring her delicate, ivory skin. "I will never apologize to you," she snapped. "And you may go straight to Hades."

He hadn't expected her to apologize, yet he couldn't help suggesting it every so often.
"Very well.
Upstairs, first door on the left.
I'll be in Hades, if you should require my services." Turning on his heel, Tristan exited the hallway for the breakfast room and his newspaper.

As her footfalls receded up the stairs, he could hear her cursing him under her breath. He allowed himself a small smile as he sat back, the paper unopened before him. Georgiana Halley had come across Mayfair to call on his aunts, though she'd seen them at her own home less than a fortnight earlier, just before Aunt
Milly's
latest attack of gout.

"What the devil is she up to?" he murmured.

Given their past, he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. Tristan stood again, leaving the remains of his breakfast on the table in case one of his servants
should decide to make an appearance and clear it away. Damnation, where was everyone this morning?

"Aunt
Milly
?" he called, topping the stairs and angling to the left. When he'd invited his aunts to live with him three years before, he'd given up the domain of the morning room, and they and every imaginable foot of bombazine and lace had taken full advantage of that fact. "Aunt Edwina?" He pushed into the bright, frilly room. "Why, I hadn't realized you had a visitor this morning. And who might this charming young lady be?"

"Oh, shut up." Georgiana sniffed, and turned her back on him.

Millicent
Carroway
, garbed in a frighteningly bright-colored version of an Oriental kimono that clashed with every other hue in the room, poked her walking cane in his direction. "You know very well who's come to visit us. Why didn't you tell me she'd sent her regards last night, you evil boy?"

Tristan dodged the cane and swept in to kiss his aunt on her round, pale cheek.
"Because you were asleep when I returned, and you informed Dawkins that I shouldn't disturb you this morning, my bright butterfly."

Bubbling laughter issued from her ample chest. "So I did. Fetch me a biscuit, Edwina dear."

The angular shadow in the near corner rustled into motion.
"Of course, sister.
And you, Georgiana, have you taken breakfast yet?"

"I have, Miss Edwina,"
Georgie
replied, with such
warmth in her honeyed voice that Tristan was startled. He and she and warmth didn't often appear together. "And please, stay where you are. I'll see to Miss
Milly
."

"You are a treasure, Georgiana. I've often said so to your Aunt Frederica."

"You're too kind, Miss Edwina. If I were truly a treasure, I would have come to call on you before now, instead of making you travel across Mayfair to see Aunt Frederica and me." Georgiana rose, treading hard on Tristan's toe as she strolled to the tea tray for the plate of biscuits. "How do you take your tea, Miss
Milly
? Miss Edwina?"

"Oh, do dispense with the miss this and miss that, if you please. I don't need to be reminded that I'm an ancient spinster."
Milly
chuckled again. "And poor Edwina is even more ancient."

"Nonsense," Tristan interrupted with a smile, refraining from leaning down to rub his foot. Apparently Georgiana had taken to wearing iron-heeled walking shoes, for she couldn't weigh more than eight stone, if that. She was tall but slender, with the rounded hips and pert breasts he was so partial to on a young lady. On her, in particular—which was what had gotten him into trouble with her in the first place. "You are both as young and as lovely as springtime."

"Lord Dare," Georgiana began, sounding pleasant and polite as she distributed tea and biscuits, though she offered none to him, "I was under the impression that you had little wish to join us this morning."

So she wanted to be rid of him. All the more reason
for him to stay, though he had no intention of allowing her to think he was the least bit interested in whatever she might be gossiping about. "I was looking for Bit and Bradshaw," he improvised. "They're to accompany me to
Tattersall's
this morning."

"I thought I heard them in the ballroom earlier," Edwina said. In her ever-present black clothes and seated in the one corner of the room the morning sun didn't reach, she looked like one of Shakespeare's infamous shades with spectacles. "For some reason all of the footmen were in there, as well."

"
Hm
.
I hope Bradshaw's not trying to blow something up again.
If you'll excuse me, ladies?"

As she returned to her seat Georgiana tried to step on him again, but he was ready this time and backed out the door before she could connect. He had every intention of finding out why she wanted to chat with the aunties, but he would have a better chance of doing that later, after she'd gone. At the moment, he needed to inform his brothers that they would be accompanying him to the horse market.

From the landing leading to the third floor, where the ballroom and the music room were located, the sound of applause reached his ears. That explained where the servants were, but didn't alleviate his anxiety about what Bradshaw might be up to. He shoved the ballroom's double doors open without ceremony—and nearly received an arrow through his skull.

"Damnation!" he bellowed, ducking reflexively.

"Jesus! Dare, are you all right?" Dropping a crossbow, Second Lieutenant Bradshaw
Carroway
of His Majesty's Royal Navy strode across the wide, empty floor, shoving aside servants, and grabbed Tristan by the shoulder.

Tristan threw him off. "Obviously," he snarled, "when I said no lit gunpowder in the house, I neglected to explain that I also meant no deadly weapons in the ballroom." He jabbed a finger in the direction of the still figure sitting in one of the deep windowsills. "And you'd best not be laughing."

"I'm not."

"Good." Movement caught his attention as the servants began fleeing out the other entries.
"Dawkins!"

The butler skidded to a halt. "Yes, my lord?"

"Mind the front door. We have a guest, with the aunties."

He bowed. "Yes, my lord."

"Who's here?" Bradshaw asked, yanking the arrow out of the doorframe and inspecting the tip.

"No one.
Put your new toy somewhere the Runt won't find it and come along. We're going to
Tattersall's
."

"Are you going to buy me a pony?"

"No, I'm going to buy Edward a pony."

"You can't afford a pony."

"One must keep up appearances." He faced the depths of the ballroom again. "You coming, Bit?"

To no one's surprise, the black-haired figure shook his head. "I've some correspondence with Maguire."

"At least go for a walk with Andrew this afternoon."

"Probably not."

"Or a ride."

"Maybe."

Tristan frowned as he padded downstairs beside Shaw. "How is he?"

His brother shrugged. "You're closer to him than I am. If he won't talk to you, where do you think that leaves me?"

"I keep hoping it's something I've done, and that he's chatty with everyone else."

Shaw shook his head. "He's a Sphinx to everyone, as far as I know. I do think he smiled when I almost impaled you, if that helps."

"That's something, I suppose."

Concerned as he was about the middle
Carroway
brother's continuing reticence, the presence of Georgiana Halley in his house was nearly as troubling. Something was going on, and he had the distinct feeling that the sooner he discovered what it was, the better it would be for him.

At the moment, though, he needed to go purchase a pony for his youngest brother, with money he didn't have to spare. But if his family had one proud tradition, it was their skill with horses, and he'd already put the Runt off longer than he wanted.

"So who's with the aunties?" Shaw asked again.

He stifled a sigh. They would all find out, anyway. "Georgiana Halley."

"
Geor
... Oh. Why?"

"I have no idea. But if she intends on burning the
house to the ground, I'd rather be elsewhere."
An exaggeration, but the less discussion concerning Georgiana and himself, the better.

Though she had long made a point of staying as far away from most of the
Carroways
as she could manage, Georgiana had always had a liking for
Milly
and Edwina. "So, with
Greydon
married," she explained, "my aunt has no real need for a companion. She and her daughter-in-law Emma are getting on splendidly, and I don't want to be in the way."

"You don't mean to return to
Shropshire
, though, do you, dear? Not during the Season."

"Oh, no.
My parents still have three other daughters waiting for their debuts. They hardly want me dragging back there to set a poor example. Even Helen is one female too many, and she's married."