The Rake (34 page)

The rumors arrived before the milk. Danielle threw open the heavy curtains far too early, and Frederica
Brakenridge
sat up to glare at her personal maid. "What in the world is going on?" she demanded. "And you'd best say the French have invaded."

The maid curtsied, worry and nervousness in every line of her rotund body. "I'm not certain, Your Grace. I only know that Pascoe spoke with the vegetable girl a minute ago, and then he said I must go awaken Your Grace at once."

Pascoe wasn't known for frivolousness, so Frederica pushed the blanket aside and stood. "Then help me dress, Danielle."

Years of experience had taught her that any situation, no matter how dire, could be improved with proper attire. So, although she keenly wanted to know what had overset her stoic butler, she took her time with her hair and her morning toilette.

As she emerged from her private rooms Pascoe was waiting for her, and a great many of the household servants seemed to have found items in the hallway in need of dusting or polishing. Georgiana's bedchamber was only two doors down, and if the girl had managed a good night's sleep, she wasn't about to disturb it this early in the morning.

"Downstairs," she commanded, leading the way.

"Your Grace," the butler said, following on her heels, "I am truly sorry to have awakened you so early, but I have learned something which, whether factual or not, desperately needs your attention."

Frederica stopped just inside the morning room door, motioning the butler to accompany her. "What is it, then, that has upset everyone at this ungodly hour?"

The butler worked his jaw for a moment. "I have been informed, by a certain very unreliable source, that
.. .
something
occurred in the Johns household last evening."

She frowned.
"The Johns household?
What does that have to do with my waking early enough to view sunrise?"

"The, ah, something which occurred concerned Miss Amelia Johns being caught
en
flagrante
delicto
with Lord
Luxley
."

Frederica lifted an eyebrow.
"Really?"
Luxley
was one of Georgiana's most persistent suitors. As of now, however, he was officially out of the running.

"Yes,
Your
Grace."

"And?"

"And, ah, another couple was seen ... in the same room, though they immediately fled into the night."

A stone of dread hit the pit of Frederica's stomach. Dare had been absent from the soiree last night, as well. If he had betrayed Georgiana's trust
again ..
.
"Which other couple, Pascoe?
Out with it."

"Lord Dare and . . . and Lady Georgiana, Your Grace."

"What?"

Swallowing, the butler nodded. "This person also informed me that Lord Dare and Lady Georgiana were in a certain state of undress."

"Un—" For a moment, Frederica wished she didn't believe that fainting was for weak minds. "Georgiana!" she roared, heading for the stairs again. "Georgiana Elizabeth Halley!"

Georgiana forced open one eye. Someone was calling her name, she thought, though it might have been a dream. The call repeated, reverberating through the house.

"Uh-oh," she muttered, making the other eye open and sitting up. Aunt Frederica never yelled.

Her door burst open.
"Georgiana,"
Frederica
said,
her color high as she strode into the room, "tell me you've been here all night. Tell me at once!"

"What have you heard?" she asked, rather than answering.

"Oh, no, no, no," Frederica groaned, sinking down on the bed. "Georgiana, what in heaven's name happened?"

"Do you really want to know?" she asked quietly, her heart thumping with nervousness for the first time. She might not care any longer what the
ton
thought, but she cared about what her aunt would think.

"Yes, I really want to know."

"This is between us," Georgiana pressed. "You may not say anything to Grey, or to Tristan, or to anyone else."

"Stipulations, my dear, don't apply to family members."

"They do this time, or I'm not saying anything else."

Her aunt sighed.
"Very well."

She had almost hoped that Aunt Frederica wouldn't agree to her terms, so she would have an excuse not to explain anything. No doubt, however, her aunt had also anticipated that outcome.
"Very well.
Six years ago, I was the object of a wager," she began.

By the time she finished, Aunt Frederica looked as though she very much regretted agreeing to any conditions at all. "You should have told me earlier," she finally said, her jaw clenched. "I would have shot him myself."

"Aunt Frederica, you promised."

"Well, at least your antics will have made Lord Westbrook feel better. That's something, I suppose."

"I suppose so."

Her aunt stood. "You'd better get dressed, Georgiana. I won't be the only one hearing rumors today."

"I don't care," Georgiana said, lifting her chin.

"You've been well respected by all of Society, and sought after by all the eligible men. That will change."

"I still don't care."

"You will. Your Lord Dare doesn't have a promising tendency to stay about."

"He said he would be here this morning," she answered, a tremor making her fingers shake. He'd promised; he would come.

"It
is
morning.
Early, but morning.
Get dressed, my dear. The day will only get worse, and you need to look your best when you face it."

The more Georgiana thought about it, the more nervous she became. Mary helped her dress in her most demure morning gown, of patterned yellow-and-green muslin, but if the news had already spread here, by midmorning everyone in London would know that she and Tristan had been seen, half-naked and with her hand down his trousers, in Amelia
Johns's
bedchamber. A demure dress wouldn't stop those rumors.

She and Frederica sat down for breakfast, but neither of them had much of an appetite. The servants were as precise and polite as always, but she knew quite well that they had been the first to hear, and that they had been the ones to pass the information on to her aunt. How many other servants were chattering to their employers this morning?

The front door burst open. A heartbeat later the Duke of Wycliffe strode into the breakfast room, Pascoe on his heels and catching gloves, coat, and hat as her cousin flung them off.

"What in damnation is going on?" he demanded. "And where the hell is
Dare
?"

"Good morning,
Greydon
. Have some breakfast."

He jabbed his finger in Georgiana's face, angrier than she'd seen him since he'd rescued Emma from utter ruin. "He
will
marry you. If he doesn't, I'll kill him."

"What if I don't want to marry him?" she asked, thankful that her voice was steady. No one was going to dictate her future for her.

"You should have thought of that before you joined
an
... orgy in Amelia
Johns's
bedchamber!"

She stood, shoving her chair backward and feeling red heat flood her face. "It was no such thing!"

"That is what everyone is saying. Good God,
Georgie
!"

"Oh, shut up!" she growled, stomping out of the room.

"
Geor
—"

"
Greydon
," his mother's stern voice came. "Stop bellowing."

"I am not bellowing!"

Georgiana kept walking, hearing the argument continuing behind her, until she reached the morning room. She slammed the door closed and leaned back against it. Everything had been so clear last night. Hearing Amelia and
Luxley
had been ... arousing, but even more so had been the sense they might be caught any moment, and the headiness of being trapped there with Tristan pressed up against her. She had literally been unable to keep her hands off him.

She always felt that way around Tristan. Even when she was angry with him, she needed to be touching him, if only by slapping her fan across his knuckles. She wanted to touch him badly at the moment. She wanted to feel the way she'd felt last night, when he'd held her and told her that he loved her. Where was he? He had to know the rumors were flying everywhere.

Someone knocked at the door, and she jumped. "Go away,
Greydon
," she snapped.

"Truce," he said, turning the handle and pushing.

She pushed back. "Why?"

He was much bigger and stronger than she was, but he only nudged at the door again. "
Georgie
, we're family. I may want to wring your damned neck, but I'll refrain from doing so."

"Georgiana," her aunt's voice came, equally close, "we must present a united front."

"Oh, very well."
She allowed them to enter. They were right; her disgrace would affect them, as well, though their titles and power would protect them from most of it. She had no such protection. If Tristan didn't
come .
.. She paced by the window, clasping her hands together.

"What's our story going to be?" Grey asked, watching her stalk back and forth.

"Obviously, it has to be that whatever those idiot
Johnses
and their servants think they saw, Georgiana was home with a cold. It was dark, and late, and they were distressed at seeing their daughter's ... indiscretion. Understandable, but for heaven's sake, they should know better than to accuse anyone of good family of anything so atrocious."

Georgiana stopped pacing. "No."

Frederica looked over at her. "You don't have much choice, dear."

"Aunt Frederica, I will not use someone else's error to improve my own situation. Not even if
the someone
is Amelia Johns."

"Then you are ruined," Frederica returned in a calm voice. "Do you understand that?"

A cold shiver of dread ran through her. "Yes, I do. I will accept that."

"Just a damned minute," Grey growled, standing. "You mean to say you actually
did
what they say you did?"

"Not the orgy part, no," she retorted.

"I'll kill him."

"You will do no such
th
—"

The door opened just as he reached it. "
Your
Graces, Lady Georgiana," the butler announced, "Lord D—"

Grey grabbed Tristan by the shoulder and yanked him into the room, slamming the door closed in Pascoe's face.

"You son of a b—"

Using one hand, Tristan shoved Grey sideways. "I'm not here to see you," he said, his face hard and set.

His gaze found Georgiana, frozen by the window, and she made herself breathe again. The reason he'd used one hand was that he gripped a bouquet of white lilies and a box wrapped with ribbon cradled in the other.

"Good morning," he said in a softer voice, a small smile touching his sensuous mouth and darkening his sapphire eyes.

"Good morning," she
breathed,
her heart skittering.

"Dare," Grey growled, approaching again, "you are going to do the right thing. I will not tolerate your inexcusable
behav
—"

"Shut up, dear," Frederica interrupted. Rising, she took her son by the arm and led him toward the door. "We'll be in the breakfast room if you should require our presence," she said, opening the door.

"I am
not
leaving them alone," the duke growled.