The Rake (27 page)

She felt the eyes of all the room's occupants on her back as she and Tristan exited the drawing room, but no one said anything. She wondered how much they really knew about her convoluted relationship with Lord Dare. By now they had at least to suspect.

Her heart began thumping even harder when Tristan led her into Grey's billiards room and latched the door behind them. "Please tell me what's happened before I have an apoplexy," she asked, trying to read his expression.

He strode up to her and took both her shoulders in his hands.

"What—"

Tristan leaned down and kissed her, tilting her head back with the ferocity of his embrace. Her hips went back against the edge of the billiards table, reminding her that she'd been thrown from a horse recently, but she didn't want him to stop. No one but Tristan made her feel so ... possessed, and made her enjoy the sensation so much.

He devoured her, left her breathless and weak-kneed, as though he'd embraced her with his entire being instead of just his mouth. When he finally drew back, she leaned into his chest, wrapping her fingers into his lapels. "My goodness," she breathed. "And I thought all your secrecy meant something ill was afoot."

"Something ill
is
afoot," he said quietly. "You won't like it, or me, after I tell you, and I wanted to kiss you this one last time, at least."

"Now I'm worried," she said, still clutching him. Dread wrapped cold fingers around her heart. "Tell me."

Tristan drew in a deep breath. "I had a visitor last night.
Early this morning, actually."

"A visitor?"

"In my bedchamber."

"Oh." He'd found another lover. Deep, sharp jealousy stung her, and she let him go. "Thank you for telling me. At least you did it in private, which is more than I exp—"

"
Wh
... No! No. That's not. . ." He took another breath. "It was Amelia Johns,
Georgie
. She pounced on me while I was dead asleep."

"Amelia? I can't believe that! She's just a child."

"No, she isn't."

"But—"

"Trust me—I can lay that misconception to rest. She's very much full-grown." He ran his fingers along the neckline of her gown, as though he couldn't stop touching her, as if he didn't even realize he was doing it.

"What happened, then?"

"I shrieked in a very ungentlemanly manner and threw her out of the house."

Thank God.
Georgiana tugged him forward, touching her lips to his. "Good." She'd never felt she had much in common with Amelia, other than Tristan, and found she didn't like the girl very much at all. She wondered how
he
would react, if she told him about Westbrook's proposal.

"It doesn't end there. She took something from my room."

Georgie
shook him, though she might as easily have moved a mountain. "What, for heaven's sake?"

"Your letter.
And your stockings."

"My . . ." She blinked, a sudden roaring in her ears so loud she couldn't hear, couldn't think. Her knees buckled.

Cursing, Tristan caught her up against him, lifting her so she sat on the edge of the table. "Georgiana," he whispered urgently, "don't faint. Please don't faint."

Resting her head against his shoulder, she drew in a shaking breath. "I won't. Oh, no.
Oh, no.
Why would she do that, Tristan?"

"Because she wants me to marry her."

Georgiana looked up, light-headed and dizzy and beginning to think that safe, dull love might have some advantages, after all. "I don't understand."

"Who would have thought I was such a desirable catch?" he asked with a grim half smile. "She intends to reveal your—and my—indiscretion to the world unless I make her Lady Dare."

"Why would she think she had to threaten you—
me—
like that?"

"Probably because I told her that I have no intention of marrying her." He kissed her again, soft and slow, as though the embrace was something precious.
"How could I tell her anything else, when you and I... when ... I don't want to ruin this?"

Tears welled in her eyes. She had her answer for Westbrook now.

"I have three days before I give her an answer, but you needed to know," he continued.

Georgiana shook her head, searching madly for any logical reason that would mean this wasn't happening. "She knows I was trying to help her. Even if you've changed your mind about her, she has to know that I didn't intend for any such thing to happen."

"I don't think she cares about that,
Georgie
."

"Of course she does," she insisted. "You probably threatened her or something, didn't you?"

He frowned. "Not at first."

"You see, you just frightened her. She must have felt she had to keep
those .
..
items
to protect herself from further injury by you."

Tristan began to look annoyed. "I did not—"

"I'll go see her, and explain that they don't mean anything, but that I need them back to protect myself from scandal."

"They don't mean anything?" he repeated, tilting her chin up so she had to meet his glittering gaze.

Georgiana swallowed. "That's what I'll tell her. She's a female; she'll understand."

"She's closer to a dragon than a female, but I don't suppose I can talk you out of this."

"No, you can't."

He kissed her again.
My goodness.
She could become very used to having him touching her and holding her. Sighing, she kissed him back, sliding her hands around his waist, under his jacket.

"You're not angry with me?" he asked, kissing her again, more deeply.

"I'm not happy with this, of course, but I'm not mad at you. And I have something to tell you, too."

"What?"

"Lord Westbrook proposed to me."

His expression darkened.
"Today?"

"This afternoon."

"And you turned him down."

"
Tris
—"

He kissed her again. "And you turned him down," he repeated, again making it a statement rather than a question. "Tell me."

He'd told her about Amelia, and she had to be equally honest. "He didn't want an answer. He wanted me to think about it."

"And will you?"

Georgiana swallowed. "I have a few other things to worry over, at the moment."

He smiled a little grimly. "You're right, of course. I still don't like it."

"And yet no threats of violence.
You almost sound like a proper gentleman."

Tristan chuckled. "We'll have to remedy that." He pushed her knees apart and stepped in close against her. Everyone was just two doors down the hall, but as he slid her long skirt up past her knees, there was no mistaking his intentions.

"Someone will hear," she said, gasping as his warm hands caressed the insides of her thighs.

"Not if we're quiet." He grinned.
"And quick.
The
door's
locked. See how cautious I am now?"

"This is not caution. This is—"

"A very good idea."

She wasn't so certain of that and would have protested again, mostly because she didn't want to have to hurry. As she opened her mouth, though, his knowing fingers dipped between her thighs and inside her. She arched her back, her protest becoming a barely stifled moan.

"You want me," he murmured, his voice shaking a little.

"I can't help myself."

She hadn't meant to say that, it seemed like such an admission of weakness. Tristan only chuckled, reaching around her shoulders to unbutton the top fastenings of her gown.

"I don't know if it's the sex, or just touching you," he said, tugging the front of her dress forward so he could slide his left hand into her bodice and fondle her breast. "You'll be the death of me, Georgiana Elizabeth."

She couldn't breathe any longer. "Hurry," she gasped, unbuttoning his breeches.

Kissing her openmouthed, Tristan freed himself, drew her forward again, and entered her. She threw her head back, the sensation of him filling her so extraordinarily satisfying that it stole her breath away. Flinging her arms back behind her to keep her balance, she sent billiards balls rolling across the table.

"Ah, yes," she moaned, wrapping her ankles behind his hips.
"Oh, Tristan."

"
Shh
," he said, holding her thighs as he pumped his hips strongly into her.
"Oh, God."
His eyes caught and held hers as she spiraled into release.

He followed with a deep groan, and bowed his head against her shoulder. Shaking, Georgiana sat up straighter again. "Good heavens," she sighed, twining her fingers through his hair.

"I told you we could be quick," he said against her shoulder, his voice deep and rich with amusement. "And you play a fair game of billiards, as well."

"Quick is nice," she agreed. "But we have been gone from the others for quite a while."

"Not that long." He cupped his fingers around her breasts again.

"We can't," she said regretfully. It was difficult to be firm when all she could think of was how good he felt.

"Right."
He pulled away from her,
rebuttoning
her gown and slipping her skirt back down. "We'll tell them we've been arguing."

Tristan fastened his trousers and tucked his shirt back in. Making love—on Grey's damned billiards table, yet—had been unwise in the extreme, but he couldn't regret it. He would never regret being with Georgiana, whatever the consequences.

She spun a slow circle, trying to look at the back side of her dress. "How do I look?"

"You look beautiful."

Deeper color touched her cheeks, already flushed from their lovemaking. "That's not what I meant. Am I put back together?"

"Quite well, Georgiana," he murmured. Even now he wanted her again, though at the moment it felt more like the need to protect her. Giving in to the urge, he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder.

She sighed, relaxing against him and settling her arms around his waist. "I'm glad you told me," she said. "If you hadn't, I—"

"You would never have trusted me again," he finished. "And why did you tell me about Westbrook?"

"For the same reason, I suppose."

The next step was a simple and obvious one: He needed to ask Georgiana to marry him. But he didn't want her to think that he was simply jealous, or trying to escape from Amelia and using her as the most convenient method to do so.

So, with deep regret, he released her. "We should get back, or we'll miss cake and strawberries. I find myself quite famished."

Her eyes twinkled. "Yes, you do seem to have an appetite."

"Only around you, these days."

At least he'd made her forget for a few moments that someone else now possessed her stockings and her letter, but as she took his arm and they exited the gaming room, the sated amusement in her eyes faded, replaced by the ill-concealed worry that he so often saw there. He knew that, because he couldn't keep his eyes off her as they rejoined the others, and she went to check on the progress of Bradshaw's ship.

He wanted to see that look of worry leave her eyes once and for all. And he wanted to wake up in the morning with her beside him, and to be able to touch her and kiss her without having to drag her into coatrooms to do so.

"Is everything all right?" Grey asked from behind him.

Tristan turned around, pasting a look of jaded amusement on his face.
"Nothing a glass of whiskey couldn't cure,"
he drawled. "Why?"