The Rake (31 page)

Taking a short breath, Georgiana nodded. "The items are a pair of stockings and a letter. The person who took them is Amelia Johns."

"I thought Dare intended on marrying her, anyway."

"He thought about it, at one time."

"But now he wants to marry
you."

When Lucinda said it, the statement seemed to carry even more significance. He
did
want to marry her. He'd truly wanted
her.
"Yes. That's what he said, anyway."

"And when did this happen?"

"Twenty minutes ago." Georgiana could sympathize with her friend's confusion. "Do try to keep up, Luce," she said, with a small smile.

"I'm attempting to. But other than Amelia Johns trying to blackmail Dare with your things, which doesn't quite make sense at this point, you
would
marry him?"

"My heart wants to," Georgiana whispered, her eyes filling again. "My mind isn't certain yet."

"So marry him, and then whatever Amelia does won't really matter."

"It's not that simple. Several years ago, Tristan participated in a wager that... hurt me. Somehow we managed to keep anyone from gossiping about it, but I'm afraid to
tr
—"

"To trust him," Luce finished. "Do you think he would use your things against you?"

"No. He would never do that. But until this is resolved, I can't trust that any decision either of us makes would be the right one."

"So get your stockings back,
Georgie
."

"Amelia won't return them. Not until she and Tristan are safely married."

"And I repeat—get them back."

Georgiana sat back, looking at her friend. The idea of sneaking into someone's home and stealing them... Of course, they were hers in the first place. And if she had them back, and misplaced guilt truly wasn't the reason Tristan had proposed to her, perhaps he would propose again. And then she could say yes—though that would take even more courage on her part than sneaking about strange houses. At any rate, she wanted her stockings back.

"Do you want help?" Lucinda asked.

"No. Any problem that arises is going to be
mine
alone, Luce. And so will the decision to do it—or not do it."

They finished their tea, chatting about other, more normal things. Lucinda was trying to calm her down, and she was grateful for the effort, but the entire time, she was mulling over what she would do about Amelia Johns.

It was easy enough to say she would storm Johns House and take back what belonged to her. But deciding whether she could make herself do it was something else entirely. She would be saving Tristan from a marriage he didn't want, and she would be saving herself from scandal. At the same time, she would be sending a clear message to Tristan that she wanted to marry him. If he still bore any thoughts of revenge, he could easily take that moment to destroy her heart.

Stronger than her fear and uneasiness, though, she wanted to hear Tristan propose to her not because he felt obligated to do so, but because he wanted to.

As she returned to Hawthorne House, she made up her mind. The next evening would be the
Everston
soiree, and Amelia was sure to attend. She, on the other hand, would be making a detour to Miss
Johns's
home, to retrieve her stockings and her letter.

The first thing to do in preparation, Georgiana decided, was to find the appropriate clothing. She rummaged through her wardrobe until she found an old muslin gown of dull brown and gray that she'd worn to the funeral of a friend's distant relation. It still fit, though it was rather tight across the bosom. As Tristan had reminded her, she was curvier now than she'd been before.

Georgiana smiled at the memory,
then
caught sight of herself in her dressing mirror. That smile was the look of someone in love. How she'd come so far in a few short weeks she had no idea, but she couldn't deny how she felt.

The true test, she supposed, would be when she presented Tristan with the stockings and the letter. She would either be proved a great fool, or he would propose to her again—and she would decide once and for all whether she could trust her heart to him, or not.

Mary appeared in the doorway, and she flung the old gown back into the wardrobe. "What is it?"

"Lord Westbrook is here to see you, my lady."

Oh, no.
She'd been so concerned with Tristan and her stockings that she hadn't even taken the time to think about Westbrook's proposal. "Blast. I'll be right down."

When she reached the sitting room, she paused in the open doorway. Westbrook sat at one end of the couch, a bouquet of roses in his hands and his gaze on the fire crackling in the fireplace. That could be her future: calm, serene, and peaceful. They would keep separate bedchambers, of course, and give just the right number of dinner parties each Season for just the right people. In the evenings he would do paperwork and she would embroider, and he would tell her nothing of his day which might upset her delicate sensibilities.

Georgiana shuddered. She wanted passionate nights, and laughter, and having discussions about prices and politics and nonsense just because she found them interesting.
If that came with anger and arguments, so much the better.

She watched him for another moment, but he didn't even fidget. Tristan couldn't keep from pacing while he waited for her. Georgiana cleared her throat.

"Georgiana," he said, rising as she entered. "You look well."

"Thank you. I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"No need."

"May I offer you some tea?"

"Thank you, no. I... wonder
,
have you considered my offer?"

"I have. John, I'm not quite sure how to say this."

A slight frown crossed his face, then cleared again as he lowered the bouquet. "You're refusing me."

"You are a wonderful, thoughtful man, and any lady would be lucky to have you as a husband. I—"

"Please, Georgiana. You've made a decision; please do me the courtesy of not explaining why one or the other of us is deficient. Just leave it as a refusal, and I'll be on my way. Good day, my lady."

Still looking nothing but calm, he stepped past her, collected his hat, and left. Georgiana sat on the couch. That had been so easy that it actually left her feeling better. He'd been a perfect gentleman, bloodless and correct. He couldn't have been remotely in love with her, much less madly so.

And so she was back where she started: hungering for a man with an old but tarnished title, a black reputation, no money, and a delight in chaos and mischief. Only this time, perhaps he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

That evening she played whist with her aunt and composed a letter to her mother that mentioned nothing of Tristan or multiple marriage proposals or anything but the latest fashions of the Season. With three other daughters to marry off, one beginning next Season, her mother had several times mentioned that fashion was the most essential information Georgiana could provide her. Thankfully Lady
Harkley
seemed convinced, as most of the
ton
was,
that her second daughter would never wed, and she'd stopped pestering
Georgie
about it.

"Are you all right, dear?" Frederica asked.

Georgiana shook herself. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"You've barely won a hand all evening, and we both know you're a more calculating player than I am. Your mind seems to be elsewhere."

"I'm trying to lure you into a trap," she answered, making a renewed effort to concentrate on the game.

"Georgiana," her aunt continued, placing a hand over hers and stopping her shuffle, "you are a daughter to me. You know that. Tell me anything you wish, and I will do what I can to help."

"You are a mother to me," Georgiana replied, her voice breaking. "But I have found that there are some things I need to take care of on my own."

"People are talking about you and
Dare
, you know. They're saying that the old enemies appear to have reconciled."

"He has changed in a great many ways," she said, dealing out the cards.

Frederica nodded. "I have noticed some changes. But don't forget, some things don't change. That entire family is in dire financial straits, my dear. I would hate to think that you're being manipulated into thinking a certain way about things simply because he wants your money."

"As I said," Georgiana
countered,
the muscles across her back stiffening despite her effort to remain relaxed, "I will take care of this on my own." She knew money was involved; that was one thing he'd never dissembled about. And thank goodness for his honesty, or the additional doubts would have been enough to topple her resolve.

"Just as you took care of Lord Westbrook."

"I told you I didn't love him."

"And I told you that you might consider security and comfort over your heart."

"I'm trying to."

"Try harder."

Aunt Frederica finally relented, and they played the rest of the game with amiable chatter. When she excused herself to go up to bed, though, tension spread its fingers across Georgiana's shoulders again. Tomorrow night she would have to take matters into her own hands. And if she acted in as transparent a manner as she had tonight, anyone would know that something was afoot.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," she muttered to herself. If she continued driving herself toward hysteria, the Johns family would find her passed out in a dead faint on their front steps.

That made her smile. It would certainly cause Amelia a moment or two of difficulty, anyway.

The next day she met Evelyn and Lucinda for luncheon at their favorite street corner cafe, and though Luce tried several times to discover whether she'd come to a decision or not, Georgiana thought she deflected the inquiries quite well. Evie's curiosity was much more difficult to turn aside.

"All I'm saying,"
her
friend mused, slicing a peach, "is that I thought the lesson you were going to teach Lord Dare had to do with the danger of trifling with ladies' hearts."

"That's precisely what it was, my dear."

"Then why is everyone saying he's pursuing you?"

She blushed. "That is not—"

"
Evie
," Lucinda interrupted, "I heard your brother would be returning from India before the end of the year. Is that true?"

Their dark-haired friend smiled. "Yes. I have to admit, I've actually missed Victor,
despite
his annoying habit of thinking he knows everything. All of his stories have been so romantic. Did I show you the scarf he sent me from Delhi?"

"Yes," she and Luce answered in unison, then laughed. "It's lovely. You should wear it for his homecoming," Georgiana continued.

Surprisingly, that elicited a frown from Evelyn. "My mother wants me to choose a husband before he returns," she said glumly. "She thinks Victor will never approve of any of my suitors, so if I've made a match before he can naysay it, it'll be too late for him to do anything."

"That's awful! Please say you won't settle just to please your mother," Lucinda said, taking Evelyn's hand.

"I don't want to, but you know how she can be. How both of them can be."
Evie
shuddered.

A waiter approached with more lemonade, and Georgiana smiled fondly at her two dearest friends. More than anyone else, she could rely on them to pull her out of the doldrums, and not to pursue questions she didn't wish to answer.

"
Georgie
," Lucinda whispered urgently, "behind you. It's D—"

"Good afternoon, ladies." Tristan's low drawl curled deliciously down her spine.

Without waiting for an invitation, he took the fourth seat at their table. He was wearing the light gray jacket that made his blue gaze deep as twilight.

"Good afternoon, Lord Dare," Lucinda replied, offering him a cucumber sandwich.