The night had actually gone rather well, considering. He’d found a strategy that seemed to work. She did want him, which made the next step that much easier.
Would he have walked away, if she hadn’t grabbed his arm? Georgiana hadn’t meant to stop him, but the moment he had released her, she hadn’t been able to keep from reaching out for him. And he hadn’t left, and now she’d agreed to go walking with him. She still kept him close by, supposedly in case she fell, but in truth because she craved the heat and the wanting he caused in her. Just hearing him say those things aloud left her hot and trembling for him.
Even worse, the entire assembly at Almack’s had seen them deep in conversation for an extended time. They had seen her smile and his smile and the way she’d blushed like a complete nodcock. If she hadn’t agreed to go walking with him, though, she had the distinct feeling that he would have dragged her off to the nearest empty alcove, pulled her gown off, and ravished her—and even with her sore bottom, she would have enjoyed that far too much for her own good.
Twelve men had proposed to her over the last two years, and she reacted to none of them as she reacted to him. Since their second foolish night together, she’d even tried to imagine herself naked and impassioned with any of her other suitors. After all, if she married one of them, she would be required to share his bed on occasion.
But all those imaginings had given her was a faint feeling of disgust. Some of the gentlemen were pleasant enough to look at and several, like Luxley and Westbrook, were quite handsome. However, nothing she tried worked. She couldn’t tolerate even the idea of one of them touching her and kissing her, much less putting their—
“My lady,” the Earl of Drasten said, striding up to her, “I beg you to give me this dance.”
Beside her, Tristan stiffened, the muscles in his arm tensing. She forced a polite smile. No one was going to brawl over her, and certainly not at Almack’s. She’d be banned for life. “I’m not dancing this evening, my lord.”
“That’s simply too cruel,” the dark-haired earl protested, favoring Dare with an unfriendly glance. “You cannot deprive us of your company in favor of this rake.”
She could feel the force of Tristan’s sudden, dark anger flowing around her. “Are you deaf, Dr—”
“Lord Drasten,” she interrupted, before Tristan could challenge the idiot earl to a duel, “I was injured in a riding accident the day before yesterday, and I am not up to dancing tonight. I would be pleased, though, to receive a chocolate.”
Drasten held out his arm. “I shall escort you, then.”
Tristan looked at him. “No, you won’t.”
“Go find some other heiress, Dare. This one doesn’t even like you.”
Gasping, Georgiana stepped between them, shoving at Tristan’s chest before he could unleash the fist he’d coiled. Her push didn’t even budge him, but neither did he strike. “No,” she said, catching his gaze.
The blue eyes that met hers were narrow and angry, but she didn’t release her grip on his lapels. After a long moment, he let out his breath and grimaced. “I haven’t killed anyone all month,” he murmured, slight humor returning to his gaze. “No one will miss just one earl.”
“I say, Dare, you can’t talk—”
Moving with that deceptive speed of his, Tristan stepped around her and up to the earl. Grabbing the surprised Drasten’s hand and shaking it, he leaned closer. “Go away,” he murmured, very quietly. “Now.”
The earl must have seen the same thing in Tristan’s eyes as she did, because with a small nod he backed away and suddenly found another group of cronies to talk to. Georgiana drew a long breath. She sometimes forgot that when they’d first met, Tristan had had a reputation for hard drinking and harder wagering, and being a deadly shot. He had changed, and she wondered whether it was partly because of her.
“My apologies,” he said, putting his warm hand over hers.
And now he was the easy, self-controlled Tristan again. For a moment Georgiana wondered if that wasn’t the most significant change in him of all; he’d learned that his actions had ramifications not just for himself, but for others, and he let that knowledge guide him—for the most part.
“I’m glad to be rid of him,” she returned, wondering whether he could feel the fast rush of her pulse. All he needed to do, apparently, was mention their being naked together and then threaten someone with bodily harm on her behalf, and her knees went weak. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
She could feel the charged air between them, the sensation that not touching him and kissing him right then and there would cause physical pain. He seemed to sense it as well, and cast a look about the room as though he wished the rest of Almack’s guests would disappear. Perhaps he wasn’t as controlled as she’d thought.
“Georgiana,” he said in a low voice.
“Will you please walk me…somewhere?” She could scarcely seem to breathe, she wanted him so badly.
“The coatroom?” he suggested. “You look chilled.”
She was burning up. “Yes, exactly.”
Considering that she wanted to run, they made their way across the crowded room in a fairly dignified manner. A footman stood watch at the coatroom door. As they approached, Tristan shrugged free of her grip on his arm, and put his hands behind his back.
“Would you please…” He trailed off. “Blast it, I’ve forgotten my gloves. Would you please find my brother, Bradshaw, and fetch them for me?” he requested.
The servant nodded. “At once, my lord.”
