Oh, God! What mischiefs work the wicked ones,
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby.
—Henry VI, Part II, Act II, Scene i
As Tristan went downstairs for dinner, the house seemed uncommonly quiet. True, his family was gathered in the dining room to eat, but the silence didn’t seem to be the usual chaos-removed calm. Rather, it almost felt as if Carroway House was holding its breath.
Or more likely, he decided as he straightened his coat and pushed open the dining room door, Lady Georgiana Halley’s visit had set his perceptions out of kilter. He stepped inside the room—and stopped.
She sat there, at his table, chuckling at something Bradshaw had said. The surprise must have shown on his face, because Georgiana lifted an eyebrow as she met his gaze.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, her smile unaltered, though her green eyes cooled.
He doubted anyone but he had even noticed the change. Tristan snapped his jaw closed. “Lady Georgiana.”
“You’re late for dinner,” his youngest brother, Edward, piped up. “And Georgie says that’s rude.”
The Runt had never met the chit before today, yet they were already on a first-name basis. Tristan took his seat at the head of the table, noting that some idiot had placed Georgiana just to his right. “So is staying for dinner without being invited.”
“She was invited,” Milly stated.
As she spoke, he realized that both his aunts were present for the first time in days. Cursing Georgiana under his breath for taking his attention away from his family, he stood again. “Aunt Milly. Welcome back to the chaos.” He rounded the table to kiss her on the cheek. “But you should have called for me. I would have been happy to carry you in here.”
Blushing, his aunt flipped a hand at him. “Oh, nonsense. Georgiana came back with that wheeled contraption over there, so she and Dawkins just rolled me into the dining room. It was quite fun.”
He straightened, returning his gaze to Georgiana. “‘Came back?’” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “I’m moving in.”
His mouth started to fall open again, and he clenched his jaw against it. “No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’re n—”
“She is,” Edwina interrupted. “She’s come to help Milly, so be quiet and sit down, Tristan Michael Carroway.”
Ignoring the snickers from his younger brethren, Tristan slid his gaze back to Georgiana. The minx smiled at him again.
Evidently, the evil that he’d done in his life was so excessive that his eternal punishment was getting started early. Eternity simply wasn’t long enough in his case. Pasting an uncaring smile on his face, he dropped into his chair again. “I see. If you think she can truly be of assistance to you, Aunt Milly, then I have no objection.”
Georgiana scowled. “You have no objection? No one asked—”
“I would like to point out, though, Lady Georgiana,” he continued, “that you have decided to stay in a household with five single gentlemen, three of them adults.”
“Four,” Andrew broke in, coloring. “I’m seventeen. That’s older than Romeo was when he married Juliet.”
“And it’s younger than I am, which is what counts,” Tristan countered, sending his brother a stern look. The lack of discipline usually didn’t bother him, but damn it all, Georgiana didn’t need any more ammunition to use against him. She’d already collected bucketfuls.
“Don’t worry over my reputation, Lord Dare,” Georgiana said, though he noted that she avoided his gaze. “The presence of your aunts provides me with all the respectability I require.”
For some damned reason, she was determined to stay. He’d figure out why later, when he didn’t have a half dozen people hanging on every word he and Georgiana exchanged. “Then stay.” He sent her a dark look. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Though he was far from immune to Georgiana’s considerable charms, he had developed the talent of appearing to be unmoved. Bradshaw, two years younger and with a reputation vying for the blackness of his own, wasn’t nearly as skilled. On the other side of the spectrum, Robert, twenty-six, might have been dining alone for all the response he made. Andrew simply drooled, while Edward suddenly seemed fascinated with learning table manners.
Tristan made it through dinner without suffering an apoplexy, then escaped to the billiards room to smoke and curse. Anything between himself and Georgiana was finished; she’d made that abundantly and repeatedly clear. Whatever in damnation was going on, he didn’t like it. And he liked even less that he was going to have to go to Georgiana to get his answers—unless he could pry them from Milly and Edwina, who had no doubt succumbed to the chit’s charms as well, and had no idea what she might be up to.
“She’s gone up to bed.”
