“I’ll call on you at one o’clock.”
She stepped up into the hack. “I’ll be waiting.”
Tristan slipped back inside the house and shut the front door. With a long exhalation, he leaned back against the sturdy oak and threw the bolt. That had been too damned close.
But Amelia’s sudden appearance had answered a question that had been knocking about in his skull. She was still the logical choice for a wife; young, compliant—though not as compliant as he’d originally thought—and wealthy. And he absolutely didn’t want to marry her.
With a slight smile, he pushed upright and headed for the stairs. He wondered what Georgiana would say if he simply proposed tomorrow. After she regained consciousness, that was.
And he and Georgiana would be married. She might very well be setting the stage for another humiliation for him, and if so, he would have to outmaneuver her. As long as she said yes, he could deal with the rest.
A dark form moved at the top of the stairs, and he tensed, fists coiling. If it was any other female besides Georgiana, he was going to throw himself off the balcony.
“Are you marrying her?” Bit’s quiet, low voice came.
He relaxed. “Thank God it’s you. And no, I’m not.”
“Good.” He turned on his heel and vanished back into the shadows. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Whatever Robert had seen or heard, he obviously wasn’t going to say anything. Tristan slipped back inside his room and fastened the latch on his door, then as an afterthought dragged a chair over to block the doorway. No more visitors before dawn. He had some thinking to do.
When Tristan arrived at Hawthorne House the next morning at precisely ten o’clock, he was dressed in a conservative blue coat and gray trousers, an elaborate cravat, and polished Hessian boots. Georgiana watched through her window as he came up the drive and rapped on the front door.
She still couldn’t quite believe that he was there to call on her. Even when she’d hated and despised him, the sight of those blue eyes and that dark, curling hair just brushing his collar had made her heart beat faster. She’d told herself it was anger, and that she’d sought him out on every occasion to insult and injure him for the same reason. Now, she wasn’t quite so certain.
What did that say about her, though, if she could remain attracted to a man who’d hurt and humiliated her? Did she only think he’d changed, or had he really done so? Was his calling on her another trick that would leave her heartbroken forever this time, or was he sincere?
“My lady, Lord Dare is here to see you,” Pascoe said, from her sitting room doorway.
She turned to the butler. “Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Pulling on her gloves and retrieving her parasol, she took a last look at herself in her dressing mirror and made her way downstairs. Tristan was in the morning room, pacing as he always seemed to do in her aunt’s house.
“Good morning.”
He stopped. “Good morning.”
As their eyes met, that familiar heat ran through her veins, and it was only with difficulty that she kept from striding up to him and pulling his face down for a kiss. That was new; in the past after her blood heated, she had wanted to stride up and put a fan across his skull. Perhaps that was part of the attraction: Wanting Tristan Carroway was dangerous. Liking him was even more hazardous.
“How is your…” He glanced behind her, at where Pascoe was lurking. “How are your injuries?” he amended.
“Much better. I’m only a little stiff, and a few interesting colors in some places.”
Tristan grinned. “Glad to hear you’re feeling better. Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Mary will accompany us.”
“Very well. Are we to have an armed guard, as well?”
“Not if you behave.”
His smile deepened. “Then perhaps you should send for one now.”
Her pulse fluttered. “Oh, stop it. Let’s go.”
