A hundred responses flashed through his mind, most of which would have landed him in Newgate Prison, charged with murder. “I suggest you return to me anything you might have stolen from my home, Amelia,” he said very quietly.
“Don’t you wish to know what I want in exchange for the return of Lady Georgiana’s very personal items?”
“You go too far,” he hissed, taking a step toward her. He could accept Newgate Prison, if it saved Georgiana any more pain.
“I will be happy to return them to you,” she said in the same calm tone, though her eyes darted toward the doorway, “to dispose of in any manner you wish.”
“Then do so at once.”
“Not until the day we are married, Lord Dare. I assure you, I will keep them safe in my chest of drawers until that day.”
By God, she was a devious little bitch. He needed a plan, and time enough to come up with one. “And what assurance do I have that you’ll do as you say?”
Her smile returned. “The assurance that I want to be Lady Dare.” She stood, smoothing her skirt. “Shall we tell my parents the happy news?”
Out of his limited patience, Tristan grabbed her arm and drew her up hard against him. “Do not presume too much, Amelia. I will cooperate to a point. But if you ruin her, I’ll ruin you. Is that clear?”
For the first time she looked less than serene. “We will be married,” she said, pulling her arm free, “and the betrothal will be announced. You may choose the timing, but we both know that you’ll need my money before the end of summer. I will give you three days, Lord Dare, to propose to me in a proper and flattering manner.”
Tristan turned on his heel and left. As he rode back to Carroway House, one thought kept roiling through his mind: Georgiana needed to know about this, yet he wouldn’t be able to stand seeing the pain in her eyes again.
He would make this right. He had to, for both of them.
Chapter 19
The course of true love never did run smooth…
—A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act I, Scene i
Sitting for half an hour with slices of cucumber over her eyes finally left Georgiana feeling that she could reemerge from her bedchamber without frightening small children. Her heart felt lighter as well, though Tristan’s intentions and her own response to what he might ask of her gave her an aching head and a craving for a large glass of spirits.
Since she’d returned to Hawthorne House she’d attempted to take up her usual tasks to assist her aunt, but she’d been woefully haphazard about it. That would have to stop. This late in the afternoon, the dowager duchess would be sorting through her correspondence and party invitations.
Georgiana found her aunt in the sitting room as she expected, but Frederica wasn’t doing her correspondence. Neither was she alone.
“Lord Westbrook,” she said, curtsying. “What a pleasant surprise.”
The marquis stood. “Lady Georgiana. Her Grace told me that you weren’t feeling quite the thing. I’m glad to see you’ve recovered.”
“Yes, I had a bit of a headache. What brings you here, this afternoon?”
“Actually, I came to see you, my lady.” Stepping forward, he took her hand and brought it to his lips.
Nodding, she ran her appointment book through her head, but she didn’t recall making any plans with the marquis for this afternoon. “May I offer you some tea, then? Or a glass of claret?”
“Claret would be splendid.”
Her aunt stood. “I’ll see to it. Excuse me, my lord.”
Georgiana frowned in suspicion, wiping the expression away with a smile as she met Westbrook’s gaze. Aunt Frederica acted like a mother bear when Tristan was anywhere in the vicinity, yet she volunteered to depart with Westbrook’s arrival.
“Her Grace is very generous, to share you with me,” the marquis said, smiling.
He still gripped her fingers. This was beginning to feel familiar, though she couldn’t place Westbrook in the same category as most of her other suitors. John didn’t need her money; and in a sense that made his presence much more problematic. Unless she was misreading his intentions, which was entirely possible. The havoc Dare created within her seemed proof enough that most of the time she had no idea what she was doing.
“Why did you want to see me, John?” she asked.
“Because I’m unable to resist doing so.” He squeezed her hand, then released her, an uncharacteristic sheepish look crossing his handsome features. “I’m not certain how to say this without sounding like a…nodcock, but I do need to say it.”
