“Just remember that you aren’t the only one in pursuit, my boy. She’s quite the heiress.”
“Hence my persistence in the chase.” Tristan frowned. “If my father had managed to die two or three years earlier, I might have been able to pull the family out of this muck without resorting to something as heroic and tragic as self-sacrifice.”
St. Aubyn chuckled, glancing up from his artwork. “You might try selling off your brothers.”
“I’ve thought about that. But who would buy Bradshaw?”
“Good point.”
“What are you doing here anyway, Saint?” he pursued, looking for anything that would distract him from thoughts of Georgiana’s lithe body. “Parliament isn’t exactly your usual haunt.”
“I registered to vote at the beginning of the Session. If I don’t appear every so often, they try to declare me dead and confiscate my property. It gets to be annoying.”
“I’m off to Gentleman Jackson’s this afternoon,” Wycliffe cut in again. “Care to join me?”
Tristan shook his head. “I’ve been attempting to ask Amelia out on a picnic for a week. I thought I’d give it another try today.”
“What’s the difficulty?”
Georgiana. “Lingering thoughts of self-preservation.”
“If you’re that skittish about her, you’d best proceed with less recklessness than usual. If you compromise her, you’ll have to marry her. No escape possible.”
“I’m not likely to forget that.”
Wycliffe looked at him a bit strangely, but if there was one person Tristan never intended to tell about his true relationship with Georgiana, it was her mountain-sized, boxing aficionado cousin. How odd that it hadn’t worked out that way with her, though. She’d been so angry when she’d learned about the wager that all he’d thought of was keeping the tale quiet. Otherwise he and Georgiana might be married now. Of course, she would also have shot or poisoned him well before today, so the point was a moot one.
As soon as the morning session ended, he stopped by Bond Street and then returned home to have a picnic packed. No doubt he wasn’t the only bachelor thinking of dining in the park today. Dawkins pulled open the front door for him, and after only five knocks. Leave it to the Carroway butler to lock the door during the day and to neglect to do so at night.
“Is everyone home?” he asked, pulling off his hat and gloves. He wasn’t concerned about “everyone’s” presence, but he couldn’t inquire if Georgiana was about without raising even Dawkins’s thick eyebrows.
“Masters Bradshaw, Andrew, and Edward have gone riding,” the butler said. “Everyone else is present.”
And the best rider among them remained holed up in the bowels of the house. Robert would come around in his own time, though. Hopefully. “Splendid. Have Mrs. Goodwin prepare a picnic luncheon for two, will you?”
“Of course, my lord.”
He pounded upstairs to change. As he emerged from his room, he nearly ran into Georgiana, heading down the hallway. “Good morning,” he said, putting out a hand to keep from knocking her into the wall.
“Good morning.”
Unless he was mistaken, her color was high, and her green eyes focused on his mouth. Good God, had she enjoyed the kiss? He couldn’t think of anything else, either. The fan he’d bought her as a peace offering bumped in his pocket. He hadn’t expected that he wouldn’t need it. “Were you looking for me?”
She cleared her throat, taking a belated step backward. “Actually, yes, I was. I spoke with Milly this morning, and she would like to attempt a walk in the park. I thought perhaps a picnic there to celebrate her efforts would be…appropriate.”
Tristan scowled, then wiped the expression away before she could notice. “What made you think of a picnic?”
“It’s just so lovely today.”
He met her gaze, and after a moment she looked toward the vase on the side table. She’d always been a terrible prevaricator. “So this suggestion of yours has nothing to do with the fact that I was already planning a picnic with someone?” he pursued.
Georgiana lifted an eyebrow. “Heavens, no. I hadn’t realized. If you have an engagement with someone more important to you than your aunt, by all means go. I will supply a picnic for those of us who give a damn.”
“Very subtle. Are you thinking of my aunts, or are you trying to keep me away from Amelia Johns?”
“Am…So that’s who you’re after, the poor girl. Do as you please, Dare.” She turned on her heel, striding for the staircase. “You always do.”
Hm. That had been fairly obvious. And uncharacteristic of Georgiana. She had to know by now whom he was courting; everyone else in London did. Perhaps she was trying to keep him away from Amelia. Knowing her, she would consider it her duty to protect the chit from his evil attentions. On the other hand, perhaps—just perhaps—she was jealous.
