Westbrook didn’t bat an eye. “Then I’ll only place my confidence in you.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes at the smooth reply. The marquis had to know of the wager involving himself and Georgiana; everyone knew of it. So he’d made his little faux pas deliberately.
“Thank you, Lord Westbrook.”
“John, please.”
Georgiana’s lips curved upward. “Thank you, John,” she amended.
They seemed to have forgotten Tristan was even there. He loosened the reins in his fingers and shifted his right foot. Charlemagne sidestepped in that direction, crowding Westbrook’s gray.
“Beg pardon,” he said, as the gray stumbled.
“Control your animal, Dare,” the marquis said in an annoyed tone, wrenching his mount back around.
“I don’t think Charlemagne liked you saying my Sheba could beat him,” Georgiana said. When she glanced at Tristan, he had little doubt that she knew what he’d done. Yet she hadn’t given him away.
“Charlemagne doesn’t like transparent flattery,” Tristan amended, turning his gaze to Westbrook.
“Your mount should be reminded that he’s a horse. Animals should know their place.”
Ah, battle, Tristan thought, his blood heating at the insult. “Charlemagne does know his place, as Lady Georgiana indicated. First, I believe.”
“And I believe Lady Georgiana was only being polite. She no doubt recognizes the inferior quality of the animal involved.”
“If you don’t mind, Lord Westbrook,” Georgiana said, “I prefer to supply my own dialogue.”
Poor fellow, already back from John to Lord Westbrook. Tristan would have pursued his victory, but he didn’t want Georgiana angry at him, too. When the marquis glared at him, realizing that he’d been outmaneuvered, Tristan only grinned. As soon as Georgiana glanced in his direction, he wiped the expression away.
“My apologies, Lady Georgiana,” the marquis said. “It was not my intention to offend.”
“Of course it wasn’t. Lord Dare frequently has an adverse effect on others.”
“That’s true,” Tristan agreed. The description was the mildest he’d ever heard her give on his behalf.
She looked sideways at him again, then turned her attention back to Westbrook. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I need to return to Carroway House. Lord Dare’s aunts will be rising shortly.”
“I shall take my leave, then. Good day, my lady. Dare.”
“Westbrook.”
As soon as the marquis vanished from view, Georgie turned Sheba toward the edge of the park. “What was that for?” she asked, her gaze on the path.
“I’m evil.”
Her lips twitched. “Obviously.”
Chapter 6
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
—Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene v
“No one’s been killed yet? I’m astonished.” The Duke of Wycliffe stood to one side of an artistic grouping of potted palms.
Tristan glanced toward Wycliffe’s petite bride, engaged in a country dance with the Earl of Resdin’s son, Thomas. “Emma looks well,” he said. “I assume she and your mother are reconciled?”
“They were reconciled the moment my mother realized I intended to marry,” the duke said in his low drawl. “Don’t change the subject. What the devil is Georgiana doing at Carroway House?”
