The Rake (5 page)

He lifted an eyebrow. "Let's leave that question rhetorical, shall we?" he drawled.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Georgiana was in high spirits. On any other occasion he would have enjoyed the exchange, but since he intended on spending the evening convincing himself that he could tolerate the peach known as Amelia Johns, he didn't want to expend the energy necessary to keep up with his tormentor.

"Why don't we continue the amusement later?" he suggested, patting Aunt
Milly
on the shoulder.
"If you'll excuse me, ladies?"

Tristan made his way toward the herd of waiting females. Several heiresses were among them, ready and willing to trade their dowries in order to bring a title into the family. Amelia Johns seemed the least offensive of the lot, though they all shared a simpering mediocrity.

"My lord."

He stopped short at the sound of the female voice behind him. "Lady Georgiana," he said, facing her.

"I, ah, recall from several years ago that there was one thing you did quite well," she said quietly, a blush touching her smooth cheeks.

She couldn't be discussing what he thought she was discussing. "Beg pardon?" he asked, which seemed safer than risking his knuckles again.

"Your waltz," she
said,
her voice clipped and abrupt, and her color deepening. "I recall that you waltz well."

Tristan tilted his head at her, trying to read her expression. "Are you suggesting that I ask you to dance?"

"For your aunts' sake, I think we should at least appear to be friends."

This was unexpected, but for the moment he was willing to play along. "At the risk of being turned down then, Lady Georgiana, will you waltz with me?"

"I will, my lord."

As he held out his hand, he noted that her fingers shook. "Would you prefer to wait for a quadrille? We'll look just as friendly."

"Of course not.
I am not afraid of you."

With that she gripped his fingers and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Tristan hesitated as he faced her, taking her hand more firmly in his and sliding his arm with slow care around her waist. She shivered again, but lifted her free hand to his shoulder.

"If you're not afraid," he murmured, swaying her into the dance, "then why do you tremble?"

"Because I don't like you, remember?"

"You haven't allowed me to forget."

For a moment she met his gaze,
then
looked down at his cravat again. Across the room he caught sight of her cousin, the Duke of Wycliffe, looking at the two of them in obvious amazement, but he had no answer except to shrug.

"I think Wycliffe may faint," he offered, to have something to say to her.

"I said we should dance to reassure your aunts of our
ability to get along," she returned. "That doesn't mean you have to converse with me."

If they couldn't converse, at least he did enjoy dancing with her; she was lithe and graceful, as much a pleasure to waltz with as she had been six years before. That was part of the problem with having her in his house now—he'd never fallen completely out of lust with her. She had been eager and willing and passionate, and he was perversely pleased to have been her first, even with the eternity of torture she seemed determined to inflict upon him because of it.

"If we're being friendly, allow me to recommend that you not close your lips so tightly," he murmured.

"Do not look at my lips," she ordered, glaring at him.

"Shall I look at your eyes, then, or your nose?
Your lovely bosom?"

She flushed scarlet,
then
lifted her chin. "My left ear," she stated.

Tristan chuckled.
"Very well.
It's a nice ear, I have to admit. And fairly level with the right one.
All in all, quite acceptable."

Her lips twitched, though he pretended not to notice. After all, he was gazing at her ear. And though he wasn't looking at the rest of her, he could certainly feel her. Her azure skirt swirled against his legs, the fingers of her hand clenched and unclenched against his, and as he turned her, their hips brushed.

"Don't hold me so closely," she muttered, her fingers tightening in his again.

"Sorry," he said, putting the proper distance between them once more.
"Old habit."

"We haven't waltzed for six years, my lord."

"You're difficult to forget."

Emerald ice looked into his eyes again. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Good Lord, he was going to get himself killed. "No.
A statement of fact.
Since our ... parting of ways, you have broken seventeen fans on me, and now left me with two crushed toes. That is difficult to forget."

The waltz ended, and she quickly pulled away. "That was friendly enough for one evening," she said, and with a curtsy glided away.

Tristan watched the sway of her hips as she left. Friendly enough or not, she'd managed to make him forget he was to dance the first waltz of the evening with Amelia. Now that silly chit would probably ignore him for the rest of the evening.

He gazed at her until she vanished behind the next set of dancers. Only one crashed toe and a waltz this evening. And if his suspicions were correct, the mayhem had only just begun.

Georgiana's friends pounced on her as soon as she reached the edge of the dance floor.

"So it's true!"

"I heard that—"

"You actually did it,
Georgie
? I can't believe—"

"Please," Georgiana said, "I need to get some air."

Together, Lucinda and Evelyn practically dragged her over to the nearest window. Pushing it open, she pulled in a deep breath of fresh night air.

"Better?" Evelyn asked.

"Nearly.
Give me a moment."

"Take several moments. I need one or two myself, after seeing you waltzing with Dare. He actually
smiled
at you, you know."

"I saw it, too. Is he in love with you yet?"

"Hush," Georgiana cautioned, closing the window again and taking a seat beneath it.
"And no, of course
not.
I'm still laying the trap to catch his attention."

"I almost didn't believe it when Donna Bentley told me you'd moved into
Carroway
House. You said you'd tell us what you had planned."

Georgiana heard the reproach in Lucinda's voice, but she couldn't do much to remedy it. "I know, but it happened more quickly than I expected," she said.

"No doubt.
But what about the rumors?"

"His aunts are dear friends of the duchess," Georgiana countered. "I'm helping Miss
Milly
while she recovers from the gout."

"It does make perfect sense, when you put it that way,"
Evie
said, looking relieved. "And I haven't heard anything different."

Lucinda sat beside her. "
Georgie
, are you certain you want to go through with this? I know we made those lists, but now this is very real."

"And besides, everyone knows you hate Lord Dare."

And everyone thought it was merely because he had kissed her and then she'd found out that he'd done it to try to win a wager. No one knew differently: not her aunt, not her friends, not the noblemen of the
haut ton
—no one but Tristan
Carroway
. And she intended to keep it that way.

"Don't you think that's all the more reason for me to teach him a lesson?" she asked.

"I suppose so, but this could be dangerous, Georgiana. He is a viscount, with several large properties. And he also has a certain reputation."

"And I am cousin to the Duke of Wycliffe, and the daughter of the Marquis of
Harkley
."

Dare had had the opportunity to hurt her reputation six years ago, and he hadn't done it. Revenge after he discovered her present plan, though, was something else entirely. Georgiana shuddered. If Dare had any notion of fair play at all, nothing would happen.

"I have to admit," Evelyn said, taking her hand, "it's exciting, in a way.
To know about your plan, when no one else does."

"And no one else
can
know,
Evie
," Lucinda said, glancing over her shoulder as though she feared they were being overheard even now. "If anyone realizes this is a game, Georgiana could be ruined."

"I would never say anything," Evelyn protested. "You know that."

Georgiana squeezed back. "I'm not worried about that. You are my dearest friends."

"It's just that subterfuge is so unlike us," Evelyn continued.

She was right about that. Georgiana grinned. "Just don't forget, you two have to do this next."

"I'm waiting to see whether you survive or not," Lucinda said, her dark eyes serious despite her smile. "Just be careful,
Georgie
."

"I will be."

"Lady Georgiana."

The gentleman who emerged from the salon next door was Dare's polar opposite, thank goodness. She
wasn't up for another sparring match yet. "Lord Westbrook," she said, relief making her smile.

The marquis sketched a bow. "Good evening. Miss Barrett, Miss
Ruddick
, greetings to you both."

"Lord Westbrook."

"I see you've taken on another task for yourself," he said, returning his calm brown gaze to Georgiana. "The
Carroways
must be grateful for your assistance."

"It's mutual, I assure you."

"Am I being too optimistic in thinking you might have a space left on your dance card for me?"

She gazed at the handsome, chestnut-haired marquis for a moment. Since Dare was supposed to fall in love with her, she would have to pretend to be somewhat enamored of him, but she liked John Blair, Lord Westbrook. He was more of a gentleman than most of her other suitors—and far more of one than the blackguard Viscount Dare. "I happen to have the next quadrille free," she said.

He smiled. "I'll return for you in a few moments, then.
My apologies, ladies, for interrupting your conversation."

"Now that man," Lucinda said, gazing after him as he disappeared into the crowd, "doesn't need any lessons."

"Why is he still unmarried, then, do you think?" Evelyn asked.

Lucinda glanced at Georgiana. "Perhaps he's set his sights on someone in particular, and he's just waiting for her to come around."

"Oh, nonsense," Georgiana said, rising to go find
Milly
and Edwina.

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm not." And besides, Westbrook didn't need her money. So without that enticement he might decide she was markedly less appealing if he were to find out about her indiscretion with Dare. "Come with me and chat with Miss
Milly
and Miss Edwina. They say they're in dire need of some civilized female conversation."

"Ah, our specialty," Lucinda said, taking her arm.

"Where are you going?"

Georgiana tried not to jump as she settled
Milly
into the wheeled chair the next morning. Footmen on either side of her panted from the exertion of bringing
Milly
and the chair down the curving staircase to the main floor. She finished tucking the blanket around her charge's hips and her bad foot,
then
straightened to face the viscount.

"We're going for a walk in the park," she said, nodding her thanks to the servants and turning the chair toward the door. Dressed in her ever-present black, Edwina accepted a black shawl and parasol from Dawkins and prepared to join them. "And I thought we'd discussed your not spying on me at every moment."

His gaze slipped the length of her to her feet and back again, swift but thorough, as though he couldn't quite quell his all-too-male instincts enough to keep his eyes on her face.

"Here," he said after a moment, digging into his coat pocket and producing a long, thin box. "This is for you."

She knew what it was; he'd been giving them to her for nearly six years. "Are you certain it's wise to keep arming me?" she asked, careful not to touch his fingers as she took the box and opened it. The fan was a soft blue, with a dove appearing on the delicate rice paper as she opened it out. It bothered her that he always knew what she would like.

"At least this way I know what'll be coming at me," he returned, glancing at his aunts and back again. "Speaking of which, wouldn't you rather take the barouche this morning?"

"We wish to exercise ourselves, not your horses."

"We could exercise together."

Georgiana blushed scarlet. With his aunts present she didn't dare hand him the retort he deserved—and he knew it, dash it all. "You might get hurt, in that case," was the best she could muster, scowling as she snapped the fan open and closed.

"I might be willing to risk it." He leaned in the morning room doorway, his light blue eyes amused. "And you may receive more exercise than you intend, anyway, pushing that contraption through Hyde Park."

"Thank you for your concern," she said, "but it's not necessary." She needed to try to be pleasant to him, she reminded herself.

The viscount pushed upright. "I'll go with you. The fact that it's not necessary simply reflects to my credit."

"No, it doesn't—"

Dare's eight-year-old brother, Edward, pounded down the stairs. "If you're going to Hyde Park, so am I. I want to ride my new horse."

A muscle in Dare's cheek twitched. "We'll do that later, Edward. I can't give riding lessons and push Aunt
Milly
at the same time."

"I'll give riding lessons," Bradshaw interrupted from the landing above.

"I thought you'd joined the navy, not the cavalry."

"Only because I already know everything there is to know about horses."

Dare began to look irritated, and so Georgiana gave him a genuine smile. "The more, the merrier, I always say." She stepped aside, motioning him to the back of the chair.

By the time they made it down the shallow front steps and onto the drive to join Edward, his horse, and Bradshaw, they were a party of eight, including all five of the
Carroway
brothers. Tristan looked over his shoulder as his brother Andrew hopped down to the drive, Robert following behind him at a slight limp.

"Bradshaw's giving riding lessons," he grumbled, pushing his aunt out to the
cobblestoned
street, "but why are you lot here?"

"I'm assisting Bradshaw," Andrew said cheerfully, taking up position on the other side of Edward.

"And you, Bit?"

The middle
Carroway
brother kept his position at the back of the group. "I'm walking."

"Oh, this is so nice,"
Milly
said, clapping her hands together.
"The whole family out for a walk together, just like when you were all naughty little boys."

"I'm not naughty," Edward stated from aboard his gray pony. "And neither is Prince George."

"There are some who would disagree with you, Edward," Tristan said with a slight smile, "but I'm sure
Prinny
appreciates the gesture of
confi
—"

"Prince George is the name of my horse, Tristan," the youngest
Carroway
clarified.

"You may want to reconsider that.
Perhaps simply 'George.'
"

"But—"

"You might call him Tristan," Georgiana suggested, trying not to laugh at the exchange. "Is he a gelding?"

Bradshaw made a choking sound.
"Dare's right, Edward.
Naming animals after present and future monarch is generally frowned upon."

"But what shall I call him, then?"

"King?"
Andrew suggested.

"Demon?" came from Bradshaw.

"Storm Cloud," Georgiana contributed. "He is gray, after all."

"Oh, yes. And it sounds like an Indian name, from the Colonies. I like Storm Cloud."

"You would," Dare said, under his breath.

Georgiana's spirits improving, she leaned down to tuck
Milly's
blanket back into place. "Are you comfortable?"

"More than any of you."
Milly
chuckled. "Heavens, I may just take a nap."

"No, I insist that you enjoy yourself out here," Tristan said, leaning forward to kiss his aunt on the cheek. "The sunlight and fresh air will do you good. Sleep is for laggards."

Georgie
studied the viscount's profile for a long moment. He did that without thinking, kissing and teasing with his old aunts. She hadn't expected such easy affection from him, hadn't thought he was ever anything but arrogant and cynical and self-absorbed. It didn't make sense. If he had feelings and compassion, he would never have used her as shamefully as he had. The idea that he'd changed, though, was even more absurd than believing he had a heart to begin with.