Tristan fastened his trousers and tucked his shirt back in. Making love—on Grey’s damned billiards table, yet—had been unwise in the extreme, but he couldn’t regret it. He would never regret being with Georgiana, whatever the consequences.
She spun a slow circle, trying to look at the back side of her dress. “How do I look?”
“You look beautiful.”
Deeper color touched her cheeks, already flushed from their lovemaking. “That’s not what I meant. Am I put back together?”
“Quite well, Georgiana,” he murmured. Even now he wanted her again, though at the moment it felt more like the need to protect her. Giving in to the urge, he pulled her into his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder.
She sighed, relaxing against him and settling her arms around his waist. “I’m glad you told me,” she said. “If you hadn’t, I—”
“You would never have trusted me again,” he finished. “And why did you tell me about Westbrook?”
“For the same reason, I suppose.”
The next step was a simple and obvious one: He needed to ask Georgiana to marry him. But he didn’t want her to think that he was simply jealous, or trying to escape from Amelia and using her as the most convenient method to do so.
So, with deep regret, he released her. “We should get back, or we’ll miss cake and strawberries. I find myself quite famished.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Yes, you do seem to have an appetite.”
“Only around you, these days.”
At least he’d made her forget for a few moments that someone else now possessed her stockings and her letter, but as she took his arm and they exited the gaming room, the sated amusement in her eyes faded, replaced by the ill-concealed worry that he so often saw there. He knew that, because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her as they rejoined the others, and she went to check on the progress of Bradshaw’s ship.
He wanted to see that look of worry leave her eyes once and for all. And he wanted to wake up in the morning with her beside him, and to be able to touch her and kiss her without having to drag her into coatrooms to do so.
“Is everything all right?” Grey asked from behind him.
Tristan turned around, pasting a look of jaded amusement on his face. “Nothing a glass of whiskey couldn’t cure,” he drawled. “Why?”
“Because you and Shaw look like someone’s beaten you half to death, and you’ve been banned from White’s. Not exactly your usual day.”
“Hm. It’s been fairly uneventful, I thought.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me, then. But just know,” the duke said, taking a step closer and lowering his voice, “that if you hurt Georgiana again, you will regret it.”
After what Tristan had been through that day to avoid just that, he’d had enough. “I assure you,” he said in the same hard tone, “that I am taking all of this very seriously. And if you ever threaten me again, you’d best do so over a pistol.”
Grey nodded. “Just so we understand one another.”
“I think we do.”
With a faint scent of lavender, Georgiana appeared between the two of them. “My goodness,” she said, “you two are stomping and snorting like bulls. Do behave, or take your little battle out to the pasture, won’t you?”
“Snort,” Grey said, and strolled over to rejoin his wife.
“I was going to say that,” Tristan protested, unable to keep from taking her fingers in his. “Worried about me?”
“Emma just had this room refurnished. I didn’t want you to break anything.”
Her eyes warmed, and the sudden dryness in his throat made him swallow. No one but Georgiana could make him feel like a green schoolboy.
“Come and see the galleon Edward’s drawn,” she continued, tugging on his hand. “He’s going to be the cabin boy, you know.”
“And we’ll all join the crew as pirates, no doubt.”
Edward popped to his feet. “Could we?”
