Mary waited for them in the foyer, and they descended the front steps and turned toward Grosvenor Street. Georgiana rested her hand on Tristan’s arm, wishing she didn’t have to wear gloves and that they could hold hands. She liked to touch his bare skin, and the scent of soap and leather and cigars that he always seemed to have about him intoxicated her.
“What?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “What do you mean, ‘what?’”
“You’re leaning. I thought you wanted to tell me something.”
Georgiana blushed, straightening. “No.”
“Ah. Well, I want to tell you something.”
“Enlighten me,” she countered, hoping he couldn’t tell how very rousing she found his presence.
He gazed at her, his expression softening into a smile. “Edwina’s cat has taken over the household. This morning, Dragon killed the fleur on Bradshaw’s dress uniform hat and carried it into the aunties, as proud as if he’d killed an elephant.”
“Oh, no. What did Bradshaw do?”
“He doesn’t know, yet. Milly took one of the knickknacks off that gawdy ostrich hat of hers, cut it down, dyed it with ink, and sewed it to Bradshaw’s hat.”
Georgiana chuckled. “Are you going to tell him?”
“He’s the keen-sighted naval officer. If he doesn’t notice, it’s his own damned fault, as far as I’m concerned.”
“You’re terrible! What if one of his superiors should notice?”
Tristan shrugged. “Knowing Shaw, he’ll make it the new height of naval fashion. They’ll all be wearing women’s hats and baubles by autumn.”
He glanced away as a coach passed them, and she took the moment to study his profile. “Is that really what you wanted to tell me?” she asked.
“No. But I imagine you receive compliments on your emerald eyes and sun golden hair all the time. I’m trying to be more original than that.” He slid his eyes back to where Mary followed a few steps behind them. “Compliments about your fine breasts, though, probably won’t help my cause.”
Heat ran down her spine. “And what is your cause?” she asked in the same soft voice.
“I think you know what it is,” he answered, “but I’m still trying to gain an admission from you that you really do trust me.”
“I—”
“Dare!”
A jolly voice came from in front of them, and she started. Lord Bellefeld emerged from a clothiers to shake Tristan’s hand.
“I’ve heard the most extraordinary rumor,” the rotund marquis rumbled, bowing at her.
She thought Tristan stiffened. “And what rumor might that be?” he drawled. “I’m the object of so many of them.”
“Ha! Indeed you are, lad. The one I heard is that you’re in pursuit of this lovely young lady, here. Is it true?”
Tristan grinned at her, something in his eyes making her heart flip-flop. “Yes, it is true.”
“Excellent, lad! I’m off to put ten quid on Lady Georgiana, then. Good day.”
Her blood froze. Almost before she’d realized it, she’d ripped her hand from Tristan’s arm and grabbed the marquis by the shoulder. “What—” Her voice shook, and she had to start over. “What do you mean, you’re putting ten quid on me?”
Bellefeld didn’t look in the least perturbed. “Oh, there’s a board up at White’s over who Dare’ll end up married to. At the moment it’s two to one that he’ll be leg-shackled to that Amelia Johns female by the end of the Season. You’re longer odds, but now I have inside information.” He winked at her.
The blood drained from Georgiana’s face, and she clutched Bellefeld’s jacket to keep herself from collapsing in a dead faint. “Who…who else is on the board?” she managed.
“Eh? I don’t remember all the names. Some chit named Daubner, and a Smithee or something. Almost a half dozen, if I recall. Ain’t that right, Dare?”
