Coaches and pedestrians passed by on the street below, but she barely noted the noise. She didn’t expect him to make his appearance early; he’d said one o’clock, and that was when he would arrive. She’d told her parents as much.
If anything, they had been more excited than she was, although they were of course careful not to mention what everyone expected to happen. Protocol was everything, and neither of her parents would utter the word “marriage” until Dare said it first. But they knew, as she did, that by the end of luncheon she would be a betrothed woman.
When someone scratched at her door just before one o’clock, Georgiana expected that it would be her Aunt Frederica with a cup of herb tea. “Please go away,” she said, rocking in the chair by the window, a throw pillow clutched to her chest. She’d probably have to get rid of it; it was soaking wet with tears.
“My lady,” Mary’s voice came, “Lord Dare and his brother are here to see you.”
Her heart jolted. “Tell Lord Dare that I do not wish to see him,” she managed, “ever again.” Even saying his name hurt.
“I’ll tell him, my lady.”
Avoiding him in London would be nearly impossible, since they traveled in the same circles. No, this time she would go home to Shropshire, as she should have done the moment she left his bed. She would never run across Dare there.
The scratching sounded again at her door. “My lady, he’s quite insistent that he and his brother speak with you.”
For a moment she wondered which brother he’d dragged here with him. Probably Edward, since he knew that she had a soft spot for the boy. He was not going to wear her down with adorable children, though. What he’d done this time was worse than inexcusable. “Tell him no, Mary.”
The maid hesitated. “Yes, my lady.”
This time when Mary reappeared at her door, her voice was agitated. “He won’t leave, Lady Georgiana. Shall I fetch Gilbert and Hanley?”
Part of her would enjoy seeing Dare removed from Hawthorne House by the burly stable hands, though it wouldn’t be as easy as Mary seemed to think. But telling him to his face to leave her alone and never call on her again might be even more satisfying. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Yes, my lady.” Mary sounded relieved.
Her body shook as she climbed to her feet. Lead seemed to fill her shoes, and every step took an effort. Concentrating on walking helped, and she kept her mind focused on putting one foot in front of the other as she left her room and went downstairs, Mary at her heels and looking exceedingly worried.
“Where are they?” she asked.
“The front sitting room, my lady. Pascoe wouldn’t let them any farther into the house.”
Good for Pascoe. Squaring her shoulders and hoping that her eyes weren’t as red and puffy as they felt, she pushed open the sitting room door, ready to say something devastating and final—and then forgot what it was.
Tristan, a bruise on the left side of his face, stood close to the doorway. Bradshaw was seated on the couch, one eye black and swollen almost shut, and his lip puffy and bruised. Neither man looked at the other as she entered.
“Georgiana,” Tristan said, his face deadly serious, “give me one minute, and then do what you will.”
“You’re assuming, Lord Dare,” she said, amazed that her voice sounded crisp and businesslike as she closed the door on Mary and Pascoe, “that I think you deserve one minute. I do not.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, nodding. “Very well. Then please give Bradshaw one minute.”
The look he sent his brother, dark and full of anger, surprised her. She’d never seen him express anything less than warmth and affection for all the members of his large family. “One minute.”
Bradshaw stood. “I placed a wager in the books at White’s yesterday,” he said in the same flat tone his brother had used, “about whom Tristan would end up marrying. I thought it would be amusing. He didn’t know anything about it. In fact,” he touched his fingers to his lip, “he was very unhappy when he learned what I’d done. I apologize, Georgiana, if I’ve done anything to hurt you. That was not my intention.”
A tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “Did he put you up to this?” she asked, refusing to look at Tristan.
“He made me accompany him here. He said if I didn’t, he would send me packing.” He slid his gaze sideways, sending Dare another angry look. “Other than that, no, he didn’t put me up to anything.”
“Georgiana,” Tristan said urgently, “I’ve been an idiot in the past, but I hope you know that I would never do anything like this—to you, or to anyone else. I have learned my lesson.”
He hadn’t said she should trust him, but that was what he meant. She reluctantly met his gaze. Blue eyes searched her face, his expression worried. Did it bother him that much that she might send him away for good? She was probably being a thrice-cursed fool, but she did trust him. She trusted him because she wanted to do so, and because it would hurt too much if she decided once and for all that she could not.
Slowly she nodded. “I believe you.”
As though released from invisible chains, Tristan strode forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She kissed him back, seeking the heat and comfort of his warm, lean body. If he had been planning a trick, this wasn’t it. And given his reaction, she began to think that perhaps he wasn’t playing, at all. If he wasn’t…
