The Rake Page 2

  With the way his luck had been running lately, a herd of solicitors and dunners probably waited at the door to take him into custody for unpaid bills. “Yes?” he said, pulling it open. “What—”

  “Good morning, Lord Dare.” Lady Georgiana Halley curtsied, the skirt of her dark green morning dress flowing around her and a matching bonnet framing her sun golden hair.

  Tristan snapped his jaw shut. Ordinarily, a woman so lovely standing on his doorstep would be a good thing. There was nothing the least bit ordinary, however, about Georgiana Halley. “What the devil are you doing here?” he asked, noting that her maid waited a few steps behind her. “You’re not armed, are you?”

  “Only with my wits,” she returned.

  He’d been wounded by her wits on more than one occasion. “And I repeat, why are you here?”

  “Because I wish to call on your aunts. Please stand aside.” Gathering her skirt, she brushed past him into the foyer.

  Her skin smelled of lavender. “Won’t you come in?” he asked belatedly.

  “You’re a very poor butler, you know,” she said over her shoulder. “Show me to your aunts, if you please.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Tristan leaned against the doorframe. “Since I’m a poor butler, I suggest you go find them yourself.”

  In truth, he blazed with curiosity to discover why she had chosen to call at Carroway House. She’d known its location for years, yet today was the first time she’d deigned to darken his doorstep.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbearably rude?” she returned, facing him again.

  “Why, yes. You have on several occasions, as I recall. If you care to apologize for that, however, I’ll be happy to escort you wherever you wish to go.”

  A flush crept up her cheeks, coloring her delicate, ivory skin. “I will never apologize to you,” she snapped. “And you may go straight to Hades.”

  He hadn’t expected her to apologize, yet he couldn’t help suggesting it every so often. “Very well. Upstairs, first door on the left. I’ll be in Hades, if you should require my services.” Turning on his heel, Tristan exited the hallway for the breakfast room and his newspaper.

  As her footfalls receded up the stairs, he could hear her cursing him under her breath. He allowed himself a small smile as he sat back, the paper unopened before him. Georgiana Halley had come across Mayfair to call on his aunts, though she’d seen them at her own home less than a fortnight earlier, just before Aunt Milly’s latest attack of gout.

  “What the devil is she up to?” he murmured.

  Given their past, he didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Tristan stood again, leaving the remains of his breakfast on the table in case one of his servants should decide to make an appearance and clear it away. Damnation, where was everyone this morning?

  “Aunt Milly?” he called, topping the stairs and angling to the left. When he’d invited his aunts to live with him three years before, he’d given up the domain of the morning room, and they and every imaginable foot of bombazine and lace had taken full advantage of that fact. “Aunt Edwina?” He pushed into the bright, frilly room. “Why, I hadn’t realized you had a visitor this morning. And who might this charming young lady be?”

  “Oh, shut up.” Georgiana sniffed, and turned her back on him.

  Millicent Carroway, garbed in a frighteningly bright-colored version of an Oriental kimono that clashed with every other hue in the room, poked her walking cane in his direction. “You know very well who’s come to visit us. Why didn’t you tell me she’d sent her regards last night, you evil boy?”

  Tristan dodged the cane and swept in to kiss his aunt on her round, pale cheek. “Because you were asleep when I returned, and you informed Dawkins that I shouldn’t disturb you this morning, my bright butterfly.”

  Bubbling laughter issued from her ample chest. “So I did. Fetch me a biscuit, Edwina dear.”

  The angular shadow in the near corner rustled into motion. “Of course, sister. And you, Georgiana, have you taken breakfast yet?”

  “I have, Miss Edwina,” Georgie replied, with such warmth in her honeyed voice that Tristan was startled. He and she and warmth didn’t often appear together. “And please, stay where you are. I’ll see to Miss Milly.”

  “You are a treasure, Georgiana. I’ve often said so to your Aunt Frederica.”

  “You’re too kind, Miss Edwina. If I were truly a treasure, I would have come to call on you before now, instead of making you travel across Mayfair to see Aunt Frederica and me.” Georgiana rose, treading hard on Tristan’s toe as she strolled to the tea tray for the plate of biscuits. “How do you take your tea, Miss Milly? Miss Edwina?”

  “Oh, do dispense with the miss this and miss that, if you please. I don’t need to be reminded that I’m an ancient spinster.” Milly chuckled again. “And poor Edwina is even more ancient.”

  “Nonsense,” Tristan interrupted with a smile, refraining from leaning down to rub his foot. Apparently Georgiana had taken to wearing iron-heeled walking shoes, for she couldn’t weigh more than eight stone, if that. She was tall but slender, with the rounded hips and pert breasts he was so partial to on a young lady. On her, in particular—which was what had gotten him into trouble with her in the first place. “You are both as young and as lovely as springtime.”

  “Lord Dare,” Georgiana began, sounding pleasant and polite as she distributed tea and biscuits, though she offered none to him, “I was under the impression that you had little wish to join us this morning.”

  So she wanted to be rid of him. All the more reason for him to stay, though he had no intention of allowing her to think he was the least bit interested in whatever she might be gossiping about. “I was looking for Bit and Bradshaw,” he improvised. “They’re to accompany me to Tattersall’s this morning.”

  “I thought I heard them in the ballroom earlier,” Edwina said. In her ever-present black clothes and seated in the one corner of the room the morning sun didn’t reach, she looked like one of Shakespeare’s infamous shades with spectacles. “For some reason all of the footmen were in there, as well.”

  “Hm. I hope Bradshaw’s not trying to blow something up again. If you’ll excuse me, ladies?”

  As she returned to her seat Georgiana tried to step on him again, but he was ready this time and backed out the door before she could connect. He had every intention of finding out why she wanted to chat with the aunties, but he would have a better chance of doing that later, after she’d gone. At the moment, he needed to inform his brothers that they would be accompanying him to the horse market.

  From the landing leading to the third floor, where the ballroom and the music room were located, the sound of applause reached his ears. That explained where the servants were, but didn’t alleviate his anxiety about what Bradshaw might be up to. He shoved the ballroom’s double doors open without ceremony—and nearly received an arrow through his skull.

  “Damnation!” he bellowed, ducking reflexively.

  “Jesus! Dare, are you all right?” Dropping a crossbow, Second Lieutenant Bradshaw Carroway of His Majesty’s Royal Navy strode across the wide, empty floor, shoving aside servants, and grabbed Tristan by the shoulder.

  Tristan threw him off. “Obviously,” he snarled, “when I said no lit gunpowder in the house, I neglected to explain that I also meant no deadly weapons in the ballroom.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the still figure sitting in one of the deep windowsills. “And you’d best not be laughing.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Good.” Movement caught his attention as the servants began fleeing out the other entries. “Dawkins!”

  The butler skidded to a halt. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Mind the front door. We have a guest, with the aunties.”

  He bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Who’s here?” Bradshaw asked, yanking the arrow out of the doorframe and inspecting the tip.

  “No one. Put your new toy somewhere the
Runt won’t find it and come along. We’re going to Tattersall’s.”

  “Are you going to buy me a pony?”

  “No, I’m going to buy Edward a pony.”

  “You can’t afford a pony.”

  “One must keep up appearances.” He faced the depths of the ballroom again. “You coming, Bit?”

  To no one’s surprise, the black-haired figure shook his head. “I’ve some correspondence with Maguire.”

  “At least go for a walk with Andrew this afternoon.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Or a ride.”

  “Maybe.”

  Tristan frowned as he padded downstairs beside Shaw. “How is he?”

  His brother shrugged. “You’re closer to him than I am. If he won’t talk to you, where do you think that leaves me?”

  “I keep hoping it’s something I’ve done, and that he’s chatty with everyone else.”

  Shaw shook his head. “He’s a Sphinx to everyone, as far as I know. I do think he smiled when I almost impaled you, if that helps.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.”

  Concerned as he was about the middle Carroway brother’s continuing reticence, the presence of Georgiana Halley in his house was nearly as troubling. Something was going on, and he had the distinct feeling that the sooner he discovered what it was, the better it would be for him.

  At the moment, though, he needed to go purchase a pony for his youngest brother, with money he didn’t have to spare. But if his family had one proud tradition, it was their skill with horses, and he’d already put the Runt off longer than he wanted.

  “So who’s with the aunties?” Shaw asked again.

  He stifled a sigh. They would all find out, anyway. “Georgiana Halley.”

  “Geor…Oh. Why?”

  “I have no idea. But if she intends on burning the house to the ground, I’d rather be elsewhere.” An exaggeration, but the less discussion concerning Georgiana and himself, the better.

  Though she had long made a point of staying as far away from most of the Carroways as she could manage, Georgiana had always had a liking for Milly and Edwina. “So, with Greydon married,” she explained, “my aunt has no real need for a companion. She and her daughter-in-law Emma are getting on splendidly, and I don’t want to be in the way.”

  “You don’t mean to return to Shropshire, though, do you, dear? Not during the Season.”

  “Oh, no. My parents still have three other daughters waiting for their debuts. They hardly want me dragging back there to set a poor example. Even Helen is one female too many, and she’s married.”

  Edwina patted her arm. “You are not a poor example, Georgiana. Milly and I never married, and we have never suffered from the lack of a husband.”

  “Not that we ever lacked beaux, of course,” Milly broke in. “Just never found the right ones. I don’t miss marriage one bit. Though I admit that with this bad foot, I do miss dancing.”

  “That’s why I’m here, really.” Georgiana sat forward, taking a deep breath. This was it; the first move on the chessboard to begin the game. “I thought you might like having someone here to help you get about, and I would like to feel at least a little useful, so I—”

  “Oh, yes!” Edwina interrupted. “Another female in the house would be splendid! With all the Carroway boys in London until Midsummer’s Eve, believe you me, it would be a relief to have someone civilized to chat with.”

  Georgiana smiled, taking Milly’s hand. “So, Milly, what do you say?”

  “I’m sure you have better things to do than follow an old, gouty spinster about.”

  “Nonsense. I would make it my task to see you dancing again,” Georgiana answered firmly. “And it would be my pleasure.”

  “Oh, say yes, Milly. We’ll have such fun!”

  Milly Carroway smiled, color touching her pale cheeks. “Then I say yes.”

  Georgiana clapped her hands together, hiding her relief in enthusiasm. “Splendid!”

  Edwina stood. “I’ll have Dawkins prepare a room for you. I’m afraid with all the brothers in town, the west rooms are occupied. Do you mind the morning sun?”

  “Not at all. I rise early.” Not that she would do much sleeping, knowing that devil Tristan Carroway was under the same roof. She was insane, to do this. Yet if she didn’t do this, who would?

  While her sister bustled from the room, Milly remained in her well-cushioned chair amidst an imposing pile of overstuffed pillows, one foot bandaged and resting on an equally well padded stool. “I’m so pleased you’re coming to stay with us,” she said, sipping her tea. Dark eyes regarded Georgiana over the porcelain rim. “But I was under the distinct impression that you and Tristan didn’t get on well. Are you certain you wish to do this?”

  “Your nephew and I have had our differences, yes,” Georgiana admitted, choosing her words with great care. Dare would no doubt be after his aunts for information about her visit later, and she needed to begin spinning the threads of her trap. “That is no reason, though, for me to avoid spending time with you and Edwina.”

  “If you’re certain then, my dear.”

  “Yes, I’m certain. You’ve given me a purpose again. I hate feeling useless.”

  “Do I need to write your aunt to ask her permission for your change of address?”

  Georgiana drew a quick breath. “Oh, of course not. I am four-and-twenty, Milly. And she’ll be pleased to know I’ll be here with you and Edwina.” With a last smile, she stood. “In fact, I need to tell her, and to take care of a few things this morning. Do you wish me here this evening?”

  Milly chuckled. “I still wonder if you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into, but yes, this evening will be lovely. I’ll inform Mrs. Goodwin to lay another place at table.”

  “Thank you.”

  Georgiana collected her maid and made her way back to her aunt’s coach.

  Milly Carroway hobbled to the window to watch the dowager duchess’s carriage depart.

  “Sit down, Millicent!” Edwina exclaimed, as she slipped back into the room. “You’ll ruin everything.”

  “Don’t worry, Winna. Georgie’s gone to get her things, and Tristan’s at Tattersall’s.”

  “I can’t believe it was so simple.”

  Resuming her seat in the cushioned chair, Milly couldn’t help smiling at the pleased, eager look on her sister’s face, despite her own reservations. “Well, she’s saved us the trouble of going to Frederica and asking to borrow her for the Season, but try not to get your hopes up.”

  “Oh, nonsense. That fight Georgie and Tristan had was six years ago. Would you rather he settled for one of those simpering debutantes? Those two are a perfect match.”

  “Yes, like a flame and gunpowder.”

  “Ha. You’ll see, Milly. You’ll see.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  That had gone so smoothly, Georgiana could scarcely believe she’d actually done it. She’d barely suggested that she’d move in; then they’d done the rest for her. As she returned to Hawthorne House, however, reality began to seep back in.

  She’d agreed to become a resident for an indefinite stay at Carroway House, where she’d see Tristan every day. And she’d put into motion a plan that she wasn’t entirely certain she would have the courage to see through to its end. A plan to put Dare in his place and to teach him the consequences of breaking hearts.

  “Well, no one deserves it more than he does,” she muttered.

  Her maid, seated on the opposite side of the coach, blinked. “My lady?”

  “Nothing, Mary. Just thinking aloud. You don’t mind a change of residence for a while, do you?”

  “No, my lady. It’ll be an adventure.”

  Getting her maid to acquiesce to her plan was one thing; however, convincing her aunt would be another entirely.

  “Georgiana, you’ve gone mad.” Frederica Brakenridge, the Dowager Duchess of Wycliffe, set down her cup of tea so hard the steaming liquid sloshed
over the rim.

  “I thought you were fond of Milly and Edwina Carroway,” Georgiana protested, trying to maintain her expression of innocent surprise.

  “I am. I thought you were distinctly not fond of Lord Dare. For six years you’ve been complaining about how he stole that kiss from you to win a wager, or some such nonsense.”

  It took all of the control Georgiana had not to blush. “That seems rather trivial after all this time, don’t you think?” she said lightly. “And besides, you have no need of me, and my parents have even less need of me. Miss Milly could use a companion.”

  Aunt Frederica sighed. “Whether I need you or not, Georgiana, I enjoy your company. I’d hoped to lose your companionship to marriage; with your income, there’s no reason for you to go from one old lady to the next until you’re infirm enough to need a companion yourself.”

  There was a powerful reason for that—but it was not one she intended to disclose to anyone. Ever. “I don’t wish to marry, and I can’t very well join the army or the priesthood. Leisure doesn’t sit well with me. Being a companion to a friend seems the most tolerable occupation—at least until I’m of an age where Society will accept that I truly have no desire to marry and intend to devote my time and money to charitable works.”

  “Well, you seem to have it all planned. Who am I to interfere?” Frederica asked, with a wave of her fingers. “Go, then, and give my best to Milly and Edwina.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Frederica.”

  To her surprise, her aunt grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You know you’re welcome here whenever you wish to return. Please remember that.”

  Georgiana stood and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “I will. Thank you.”

  She still needed to speak with Amelia Johns at the Ibbottson ball on Thursday. But in the meantime, she had a plan to put into motion.

  Chapter 3

  Oh, God! What mischiefs work the wicked ones,

  Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby.

  —Henry VI, Part II, Act II, Scene i