“Aunt Frederica. Milly and Edwina aren’t attending, and I can’t very well make an appearance in the company of Tristan and Bradshaw.”
“A few weeks ago, you only referred to him as Dare. He has a Christian name again.”
“I’m pretending to woo him, remember? Or to let him woo me. I have to be nice.”
“What’s Tristan’s favorite color?”
“Green. Why does that…” Georgiana looked down at her new gown as Lucinda buttoned the back. The silk shimmered in emerald washed with lighter shades of green, the skirt and sleeves covered with a fine green gauze. The neckline was lower cut than she’d worn in some time, but as she twirled before the mirror, she felt beautiful. And her new yellow and white fan would be perfect with it. “I like green.”
“Mm hm.”
Georgiana stopped twirling. “I know what I’m doing, Luce. You may have thought our lists were just a silly way to pass an afternoon, but every time I think of poor Amelia Johns and how much Dare could hurt her with his stupid insensitivity, believe me, I am very serious.”
Lucinda stepped back, taking in Georgiana and the gown. “I believe you. But this is to teach him, Georgie, not to ruin you.”
“I won’t let that happen. Once burned, twice shy.” She smiled, twirling again. “I think this is the one.”
“You’ll catch his attention, that’s for certain.”
Positive as Lucinda was, Georgiana paced and fretted in her bedchamber for half an hour after her friend left. Alone, it was more difficult to tell herself that she remained unaffected by Tristan. When she’d been eighteen, his attention, charm, and good looks had overwhelmed her. Thanks a great deal to him, she wasn’t that same girl any longer.
Even so, the less logical part of her still felt drawn to him. Six years later, he seemed more…thoughtful, more conscious of those around him, and more mature than before. And she’d never expected the open warmth and affection he showed for his family. In perhaps the most telling change of all, he’d apologized to her. Twice now, and almost as though he understood how much damage he’d done and genuinely regretted it—or, at least, as if he wanted her to think that.
At half past eight a footman scratched at her door. “My lady, your coach is here.”
“Thank you.” With a deep breath, she exited her room and made her way downstairs.
Bradshaw, dressed in his naval finest of deep, rich blue and white, stood in the foyer shrugging into his greatcoat. He looked up as she entered, and froze. “Sweet…Georgie, please don’t let Admiral Penrose see you before I speak with him. He’ll never pay me any notice once he catches sight of you.”
Feeling slightly reassured, she smiled. “I’ll do my best. You look very fine yourself, though.”
He grinned back at her, sketching a salute. “It’s not quite the same thing, but thank you.”
The air stirred behind her. Resisting the urge to smooth her skirt, Georgiana turned around. Dare had donned a charcoal gray jacket, his trousers black as midnight and his cravat frothing white at the neck over a buff waistcoat. He wore no ornamentation at all, but he didn’t need any. Dark hair curled at his collar, and his light blue eyes glittered like sapphires as he took her in from head to toe and back again.
Warmth crept up the backs of her legs to her scalp. She hadn’t expected to react to him physically. Yes, she still enjoyed his kisses, but she’d thought herself immune to his compelling masculinity. To cover her discomfiture, she curtsied. “Good evening.”
Tristan wanted to wet his lips. Instead, he nodded, unable to keep from running his gaze down her slender figure once more. She shimmered, the gauze picking up the dim lamplight and turning it to emeralds. In the well-lighted ballroom, he could only imagine the effect. The low-cut neckline heaved with her deep breath, the round, creamy curve of her breasts beckoning and tantalizing him.
A blush swept up her cheeks, and he shook himself. Idiot. He needed to say something. “You look stunning.”
Georgiana inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Dawkins cleared his throat, offering Georgiana an ivory lace shawl. Tristan swept in, snatching the garment from the butler’s surprised fingers. “Allow me.” Her eyes followed him as he moved closer, and Tristan took a slow breath. “Turn around,” he murmured.
With a start, as though waking from a dream, Georgiana did so. The gown left her shoulders and most of her shoulder blades bare. Tristan wanted to run his hands along her skin, to know if she was as warm and smooth as he remembered. Instead, he draped the shawl across her shoulders, stepping back hastily as she took the ends from him to clasp over her breast. A curl of soft golden hair brushed his cheek as she faced him again.
“My coach is here,” she said unnecessarily.
“I’ll see you out.”
He offered his arm as Dawkins pulled open the front door. Georgiana wrapped her fingers around his sleeve, and even through the heavy superfine of his jacket, he could feel her trembling as he led her down the shallow steps to the waiting coach.
“Georgiana, Lord Dare,” a female voice said from the depths of the vehicle. “I was beginning to think you’d murdered one another.”
He bowed. “Your Grace, my apologies. I hadn’t realized you were waiting out here.”
“I hadn’t either, Aunt Frederica,” Georgiana chimed in, flushing as she freed her hand and stepped up into the coach. “I would never have kept you waiting.”
