The Rake (6 page)

They must have made quite a sight as they reached Hyde Park: three exceedingly handsome single gentlemen in the company of two younger lads, one of them on pony back, two elderly ladies, and one female companion. All that lacked was a dog that jumped through hoops and an elephant, and they would have been a circus.

"
Georgie
, do you have a horse?" Edward asked.

"Yes, I do."

"What's his name?"

"Her
name," she corrected, feeling the more females in this group, the better, "is—"

"Sheba. A grand black Arabian," Dare finished.

"Oh, smashing. Is she in London?"

Georgiana folded her arms and looked at Dare. "Ask your brother. He seems to be carrying on my part of the conversation quite well."

The viscount turned the chair up the path alongside Rotten Row. "Yes, Sheba is in town. She stables at
Brakenridge
House with the Duke of Wycliffe's beasts—though as long as you're staying here, you might as well move her in, too."

"Yes," Edward said enthusiastically, bouncing up and down in the saddle. "You can go riding, and I'll be your escort."

"And who will be
your
escort, stripling?"

"I don't need an escort. I'm a bruising rider."

Tristan's eyes danced. "Your bottom's going to be bruised if you keep bouncing around like that."

"Here," Bradshaw offered, stepping in, "let me shorten those stirrups. And anytime you wish to go riding, Georgiana, Edward and I will be happy to escort you."

She caught Tristan's scowl, quickly blanketed. "Yes, that would be lovely," he grumbled, "man, woman, and child, all riding together cozy as bedbugs. That won't start any rumors, I'm sure."

"Oh, just tow me along behind the horses,"
Milly
said, chortling. "I'll lend some respectability."

Georgiana couldn't help laughing at the image. "I appreciate your willingness to sacrifice yourself for propriety,
Milly
, but I am here to help you—not to put your life in danger."

Despite the general laughter, Georgiana was surprised at Dare's thought for her reputation. More likely, though, he simply didn't want his family entangled with her any more than was absolutely necessary. Well, she wasn't after his family; she
liked
them. Her entangling was aimed straight at him.

On the walk back from Hyde Park, Tristan watched Georgiana link arms with Aunt Edwina, chatting and laughing and smiling with his family. Over the past few years she always seemed determined not to be amused, at least in his presence. Today she radiated warmth and good humor.

He couldn't figure it out.
Last night, a waltz.
And today, when he'd thought to trap her into revealing something of her true purpose, his entire ramshackle family had invited
themselves
along and spoiled his plans.

If she was merely in search of a way to occupy herself, the
haut ton
boasted several elderly ladies more in need of voluntary companionship than his aunts. She couldn't possibly be comfortable or happy under his roof; she came from one of the wealthiest families in England, after all. His household still managed to be respectable, but lavish feasts and extravagant soirees had vanished with his father's death.

He decided to press his luck. "I almost forgot. The Marquis of St. Aubyn offered me his box at the opera tonight. I have four seats, if anyone would care to attend.
The Magic Flute,
I believe, is the piece."

Andrew snorted. "I can understand why Saint bowed out, but
you 're
going to the opera?
Voluntarily?"

"Did you lose a wager, or something?" Bradshaw contributed.

Damn Bradshaw for mentioning wagering in Georgiana's presence. "A show of hands, if you please."

As he expected, Bradshaw and Andrew lifted their hands, followed by Edwina and
Milly
. Georgiana didn't, though he knew she liked the opera. But she wasn't the only one who could play bluff-and-guess.

"All right, you four it is. Just don't behave too respectably, or you'll damage my reputation."

"Aren't you going?" Georgiana asked, understanding beginning to dawn in her eyes.

He lifted an eyebrow, relishing the thought that he'd outmaneuvered her. "Me?
At the opera?"

"But
Milly
will need
assis
—"

"Andrew and I will manage," Bradshaw said amiably. "We can drag her and the chair behind the coach."

"Oh, heavens!"
Milly
laughed again as they reached the foot of the short drive. "You boys will be the death of me."

Despite
Milly's
protests, her cheeks were rosy and her hazel eyes clear. It was the best she'd looked in weeks, and Tristan couldn't help smiling as he and Bradshaw lifted her out of the chair at the foot of the steps and carried her up to the morning room, Andrew and a footman following with the chair. The contraption was a damned good idea, and for that reason if no other, he was glad Georgiana had come to visit.

The ladies all retreated into their sitting room, and Tristan went down the hall to his office. He hated doing
accounts, but with his precarious position, he needed to be involved in every aspect of money management. Purchasing Edward's pony and reimbursing Georgiana for the wheeled chair represented the total amount of his incidental funds for the month—and it was only the seventh. The wool sales would help, but he couldn't expect to see that money for two or three months, at best.

He was stupid to have volunteered his stable for Georgiana's mare. He was already paying for feed for Edward's new pony, in addition to the four
coach
and carriage horses, and his and his brother's mounts. A feisty Arabian would eat twice as much as little Storm Cloud. "Blast," he muttered, penciling in the estimated expense.

This was why he'd finally listened to the aunties when they'd suggested he find a rich heiress looking for a title. This was why he'd been courting Amelia Johns despite his desperate wish to flee in the opposite direction.

Tristan scowled as he pushed away from his desk. He'd barely spoken to Amelia in the past few days, and the last time he'd done so was to inform her that under no circumstances would he attend her bloody vocal recital. He needed to be more attentive, before some cash-starved earl snatched her up and he had to begin the courting process all over again with some other, even more simpering, chit.

Dawkins scratched on the door. "The mail, my lord," he said, holding out a silver salver laden with correspondence.

"Thank you." As the butler exited, Tristan sorted through the large stack. Besides the usual flood of correspondence from Andrew's school chums, the estate manager at Dare Park had sent his weekly report, as had Tomlin at
Drewsbyrne
Abbey. Only two bills, both of which he'd already anticipated, thank
God,
and a perfumed letter for Georgiana.

Not perfume, he decided as he sniffed it again, more carefully.
Men's cologne.
What sort of dandy would scent his own correspondence? He flipped it
over,
the heavy scent making him sneeze, but the correspondent had omitted a return address.

He wasn't surprised that her acquaintances knew to send correspondence to
Carroway
House; after one evening the entire
ton
likely knew how much clothing she'd brought with her and what she'd had for breakfast. But he hadn't anticipated that he would be handing her letters from her male admirers.

"Dawkins!"
The butler, no doubt anticipating the summons, stuck his head back through the door. "Inform Andrew and Lady Georgiana that they have correspondence, if you please."

"Of course, my lord."

Andrew galloped in first,
then
vanished again with his stack of letters. Several minutes passed before Georgiana appeared. As she walked into the room, Tristan looked up from the accounts he'd been unable to concentrate on while he wondered who in damnation had sent her a letter.

If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to seem
interested, so he nudged at the smelly thing with his pencil and went back to scrawling figures. As she started out of the room, though, he looked up. "Who's it from?" he asked, trying to sound as if he didn't care whether it was from her brother or the president of the Americas.

"I don't know," she said, smiling.

"So open it."

"I will." With that, she exited again.

"Damnation," he grumbled, and erased the chicken scratches he'd put on the ledger.

Outside the doorway, Georgiana stifled a chuckle as she stuffed the smelly thing into her pocket. Sending letters to oneself was so ... juvenile—except in this case, it had worked.

By the time the household finished dinner and the quartet left for their evening at the opera, Georgiana was ready to reconsider her obligations to the Misses
Carroway
. She had no engagements this evening herself, feeling that her duties to
Milly
and Edwina should come before soirees and balls.

And now that she'd been abandoned by the aunties, she was left with an entire evening of nothing to do but think about being all but alone in a large house with Tristan
Carroway
.

He was an arrogant, impossible man; and the worst part was that she could still see how Amelia Johns could be enamored of him. If she could forget for a minute how awful he'd been to her, she could even imagine herself with him again, in his arms with his knowing hands and knowing mouth—

"
Georgie
," young Edward said, galloping into the library where she'd taken refuge, "do you know how to play
'
Vingt
-et-un?'
"

"Oh, goodness.
I haven't played that in years."

"Don't interrupt Lady Georgiana," Dare's deep drawl came from the doorway. "She's reading."

"But we need four players!"

She forced a smile, but could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. "But you and I only make two."

"No. Bit and Tristan and I make three. We need you."

"Yes, we need you," Tristan echoed.

She tried to read his expression to see whether he was being anything less than innocent, so she could retaliate, but she couldn't tell what he might be thinking behind those light blue eyes.

If she declined Edward's invitation, she would look like a coward and a snob; even worse, Dare would be sure to call her one or both names, since he had no inclination to be a proper gentleman. One of them would have to rise to the occasion, and better
she
than he. "Very well," she said, closing her book and standing. "I would love to play."

She ended up in the drawing room seated between Edward and Robert, which meant that she had to face Dare's knowing gaze all evening.

As Edward dealt the cards she turned to Robert, mostly to avoid looking at Tristan. She knew little of the middle
Carroway
brother, except that years ago Robert had been talkative and witty and very funny. Everyone knew he had nearly been killed in the war, and she had seen him in public only rarely since his return. Except for a slight limp, though, he looked as fit as he ever had.

"How did you manage to get talked into this?" she asked with a smile.

"Luck."

"If you don't mind my asking,"
she
pressed, despite his uncommunicative response, "how did you get your nickname? Bit, isn't it?"

"
I
named him Bit," Edward said, setting down the remainder of the deck and examining his cards. "When I was a baby that's how I said his name."

Young Edward must think her and his brothers ancient. "Do you have nicknames for any of your other brothers?"

The youngster
squinted
his dark gray eyes in concentration. "Well, Tristan is Dare, and sometimes he's
Tris
; and Bradshaw is Shaw; and sometimes we call Andrew, Drew, but he doesn't like that very much."

"Why not?"

"He says it's a girls' name, and then Shaw calls him Drusilla."

She tried not to laugh. "I see."

"And they call me the Runt."

"That's awful!" Georgiana glared at Tristan. How typical, that he would use such a demeaning name on a member of his own family.

"But I am the runt! I like it!" Edward squirmed upright, sitting on his folded legs to give him more height in comparison to his tall brothers.

"He likes it," Tristan drawled, drawing another card
from the pile at the center of the table and setting it before her.

"I can't imagine why," she sniffed.

"
Vingt
-et-un,"
Bit said, spreading out his cards for their view.

Tristan scowled at his brother, light blue eyes dancing. "Never trust the quiet ones."

There it was again, that fond look with which he favored his family members from time to time. Georgiana cleared her throat, surprised to find that the intimacy and ease among the brothers could make her feel awkward—and annoyed at Dare for appearing to possess those kinder qualities.

In a strange way, it made him more ... enticing. She was the seducer, she reminded herself. She was not there to be seduced. "I'm surprised you're not at one of your clubs tonight, my lord. Surely your skill with cards could be put to better use there."

He shrugged. "This is more fun."

Apparently playing cards with an eight-year-old and a near mute was also more fun than attending the opera or going to Vauxhall Gardens or visiting one of his mistresses, or any of the other ways he typically spent his nights. If he was trying to impress her with his domesticity, though, it was a wasted effort. Nothing he did for the rest of his life would ever impress her, because she knew precisely what kind of man he truly was.

"So are you ever going to confess who sent you that letter this afternoon?" he asked, when they'd been playing for over an hour.

"It was unsigned," she said, gathering the deck for her deal.

"A mystery, then," he returned, leaning forward for his glass of brandy.
"Any suspects?"

"I... have my suspicions," she hedged, as she dealt them each two cards,
faceup
. For heaven's sake, she'd only meant to plant the idea that she might have determined suitors willing to breach the masculine stronghold of
Carroway
House; she hadn't expected the Spanish Inquisition.

"Who?"
Tristan leaned his chin on his hand, gazing at her, while Robert signaled for an additional card.

Georgiana's first instinct was to remind him that her business was none of his. The purpose of this exercise, though, was to make him fall in love with her. That being the case, she really needed to stop insulting him with every breath. "I wouldn't wish to falsely implicate anyone," she said, trying not to sound arch. "I will therefore reserve my response until further evidence should appear."

" 'Further
evidence,' " he repeated. "You mean the man himself? By all means, have him call on us."

She scowled. "He wouldn't be calling on
you,
for heaven's s—"

"
Vingt
-et-un
!"
Edward shouted, bouncing up and down. "You two are never going to win if you keep making moony eyes at each other all night."

Robert made a choking sound.

"Well," she squeaked, feeling even less eloquent
than Bit, "you've left me no hope of winning, Edward. I think I shall retire for the evening, gentlemen."

The men stood when she did, Tristan nodding stiffly as she made what she hoped was a dignified exit. Once in the hallway, she gathered her skirt in her fists and fled up the stairs.

"Georgiana!"

Tristan's deep voice stopped her on the landing.

"Well." She faced him, determined to make light of Edward's comment. "That was a surprise, wasn't it?"

"He's only eight," Dare said flatly as he climbed toward her. "And if this keeps up, he won't see nine. Don't let an infant's prattling upset you."

"I... I..." She cleared her throat. "As I said, it just surprised me. I'm not upset.
Really."

"You're not upset," he repeated, gazing at her skeptically.

"No."

"Good." Grimacing, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, a gesture she had once found very attractive.
"Because it's not true.
I want you to know that."

At his serious tone, she leaned against the railing. "You want me to know what, my lord?"

"That I'm not mooning after you. I'm thinking of getting married, in fact."

Ah-ha.
"You are? Who is she? I'll tender my congratulations."

"Don't do that," he said, too quickly, his expression deepening to a scowl.

Georgiana stifled a smile.
"
Whyever
not?"

"I haven't—quite—exactly—proposed to her yet."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad we got this straightened out, anyway. Good night, my lord."

As she continued up the stairs, she could feel his gaze on her back.
Poor Amelia Johns.
A broken heart would do Tristan
Carroway
considerable
good
, if only to teach him not to toy with other people's dreams and hearts.

When she reached her room, she dashed off another letter to Lucinda and enclosed a second letter, in a harsher hand and written with a different pen, addressed back to herself. She hoped Lucinda would be a bit more conservative with the cologne. The scent of the first one still lingered in the air, and she could swear that it had turned the flames blue when she threw it in the fireplace.

Georgiana rose early. Thankfully for her exercise regimen, both
Milly
and Edwina tended to sleep late. After a night at the opera, no doubt she wouldn't see them before noon. Summoning Mary and donning her riding dress, she hurried downstairs. Her cousin's groom stood waiting outside, Sheba saddled and ready beside him.

"Good morning, John," she said, smiling as he helped her into the saddle.

"Good morning, Lady Georgiana," he answered, remounting his gray gelding. "Sheba's up for a good gallop this morning, I think."

"Glad to hear it, because Charlemagne feels the
same way."
Dare, mounted on his splendid, rangy bay, clattered around the corner of the house to stop beside her.
"And so do I. Good morning, John."

"Lord Dare."

Despite her annoyance, she had to admit that he looked very compelling. She could practically see her reflection in his black Hessians, and with his dark coloring and light blue eyes, his rust coat gave him an almost medieval grandeur. His black breeches didn't have a wrinkle in them, and he sat Charlemagne as though he'd been born on horseback. There were rumors that that was where he'd been conceived.

"You're awake early this morning." Blast
it,
she wanted some fresh air to clear her head. Dare and a clear head were incompatible.

"I couldn't sleep, so I gave up the attempt. Shall we?
Regent's Park, perhaps."

"John will escort me. I don't need your assistance."

"John will escort me, as well. We don't want me falling out of the saddle and breaking my neck, do we?"

She burned to hand him a cutting response, but the longer they argued, the shorter her ride would be.
"Oh, very well.
If you insist on coming along, let's go."

Sweeping a deep bow from the saddle, he clucked to Charlemagne. "How could I refuse that invitation?"

They set out at a trot for Regent's Park, the two of them side by side and John a few yards behind.
Flirt,
she reminded herself.
Say something nice.
Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. "Does Bradshaw intend to continue his naval career?" she finally asked.

"He says he does, but he's already itching to be made captain of his own ship. If that doesn't happen soon, we all assume he'll become a pirate and steal a vessel."

He said it in so mild a voice that she blurted a laugh before she could stop herself. "Have you informed him of your theory?"

"Edward has. The Runt wants to be first mate."

"And will Robert go back to the army?"

His lean face became bleak for a moment. "No. I won't allow it."

His uncharacteristic tone and choice of words left her silent. Reconciling the two sides of Tristan
Carroway
was becoming confusing: He seemed so caring about his brothers and his old aunts, and yet when it came to women like Amelia, he behaved like a heartless rake.