He still had possession of it, then. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d hoped that he’d kept it. It had always worried her, that he might have given the stocking to someone else or discarded it where someone could find it, and because of the wager they would realize whose it was. She’d lived with the fear of being ruined in everyone’s eyes for years, never knowing when it might happen. “Show me.”
Lifting the lamp in one hand, Tristan motioned her to follow him. He headed down the hallway toward the west wing of the house, and she hesitated. His private rooms and his bedchamber lay in that direction. But if he thought she might forgive him, then perhaps he could fall in love with her in time to help Amelia. She followed his quiet footsteps as if this midnight escapade didn’t unsettle her in the least.
They stopped before a closed door. With a backward glance at her, as though to make certain she was still there, he opened it and stepped inside. Squaring her shoulders, she entered behind him.
“This is your bedchamber,” she said, swallowing as he closed and latched the door behind them.
Without answering her, he walked to the chest of drawers at one end of the large, dark room and opened the top drawer. “Here,” he said, facing her again.
He held a small wooden box in his hand, nearly the same size as her fan boxes. Frowning, she crossed to him and lifted the engraved mahogany lid. Her stocking, neatly folded, lay inside. She knew it was hers, because she had embroidered the flowers along the top of it herself.
She looked up to find his gaze steadily on her face, assessing her expression. “You did lose the wager, then,” she whispered.
“I lost more than that.” Setting the box back in the drawer, he gently took her face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Georgiana,” he murmured. “Not for what I did that night, because I still wouldn’t change that, but for everything it’s done to you since then. I’d make it right, if I could.”
Before she could answer, he touched his lips to hers. Heat seared through her, but he didn’t deepen the kiss as she’d expected, and wanted. Instead, his hand swept down her back to her waist, while his other slid down her arm to her fingers.
“And now,” he said, smiling again, “I owe you a waltz.”
Tightening his grip around her waist, he swept her in a slow circle around his bed and in front of the glowing fireplace at its foot. Georgiana had never thought she would be dancing in the half dark silence of any man’s bedchamber, much less his. As a giddy breathlessness filled her, she knew that with no man but Tristan would she dare be so bold.
He turned her again, moving to a silent waltz she seemed to feel beating in her heart. Her skirt rustled around his legs while he held her far too closely for propriety. In here, though, they could do as they liked. No one would know.
“Wait,” she whispered.
He slowed and stopped, not questioning, as she leaned against him and twisted sideways. Slipping out of one slipper, and then the other, she nudged them toward the fireplace.
“Much better.”
His low chuckle started warmth deep between her legs. “When was the last time you waltzed barefoot?” he asked.
“When I was ten, in the drawing room at Harkley. Gray was teaching me the steps, and he insisted that I take off my shoes if I was going to trample him like an elephant. Mother was appalled.” She leaned her cheek against his chest as they moved in a slow circle again. His heart beat hard and fast, in time with hers. “I think at the time she fancied the idea of Grey marrying me. As if I would ever marry someone so mean.”
“He used to talk about you, at Oxford,” Tristan’s low drawl mused as they danced.
She closed her eyes, listening to his heart and to the rhythm of his voice. “Nothing nice, I suppose.”
“He mentioned tossing you in the Wycliffe duck pond when you wouldn’t stop following him about the estate.”
“Yes, headfirst. I surfaced with a leech attached to my nose. For days after that, he insisted that it had sucked out my brains. I was six, and he was fourteen, and for a while I believed him, until Aunt Frederica made him stick a leech on his head to prove he was lying.”
His laugh deepened. “He always spoke of you very affectionately, mostly tales about how stubborn and bright and self-assured you were. I had always imagined you striding about in breeches with a cheroot clamped between your teeth, for some reason. When I first set eyes on you…” He was silent for a long moment as they slowly twirled about the room. “You took my breath away.”
He had done the same to her. Georgiana leaned back, letting her hips sway to the beckoning silence of the waltz. Tristan leaned in, running his lips down the base of her jaw to her throat. With her hips against his, she became aware of his arousal as they stepped and turned. It should have made her angry to think he would dare try to convince her to join him in bed again, after what had happened the last time.
In her deep excitement, though, she didn’t have room to be angry. It had been so long since she’d been in his arms, and she had missed his touch so much it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
“Let your hair down, why don’t you?” he suggested in a controlled, husky voice. “You’ll be even more comfortable.”
If she had any sense remaining, she would flee as fast as her stockinged feet could carry her. But then he would have to stop kissing her, and she didn’t want him to stop. She freed her hands and lifted them to her head, pulling pins and clips and dropping them to the floor. Her hair cascaded down her back, golden and curling in the candlelight.
The waltz slowed and then stopped before the fireplace. “My God, Georgiana. My God.”
His hand shaking a little, he curled his fingers into her hair, drawing it forward over her shoulder. Before she could lose her nerve she wove her hands through his hair and pulled his face forward to kiss him. “Just promise me one thing,” she said, her own voice unsteady as she buried her face in his neck. He smelled faintly of soap and cigar smoke. The combination was intoxicating.
“What?” he asked, his sure hands trailing and tugging down her back. Her gown slipped to the floor almost before she was aware of what he was doing.
She swallowed. My goodness. She was remembering other things about that night. About how good it had felt to be in his embrace. “Promise me that you won’t promise me anything.”
