The Duke's Hellion (Hart and Arrow) (A Regency Romance Book) Read online

  Regency Romance :The Duke's Hellion

  Hart and Arrow

  A Regency Romance Book

  Julia Sinclair

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Epilogue

  Preview of Next Book

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  Publishers Notes

  Copyright © 2018 by

  Julia Sinclair

  All Rights reserved.

  Cover designed by Sanja Gombar www.bookcoverforyou.com

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  d E D I C A T I O N

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  Chapter 1

  “ In England, they say that it is more likely for lions to lie down with wolves than it is for Carrows and Martins to come to an accord. The two ancient houses have been at each others' throats since the Renaissance, and though the cause of the quarrel has been lost to time, the enmity certainly hasn’t.”

  Hart and Arrow : Referring to the crests of the Martins and the Carrows respectively.

  * * *

  London,

  1796

  “And, of course, dear, you must come out and visit us in Devon when the season is over. Perhaps you'll come to stay with us for a little while, long enough, surely, to attend one of the Graverlys' balls.”

  “Well, that sounds utterly lovely, and the moment I grow bored with London, I will be sure to do exactly that, Lady Winston.”

  Before Lady Winston could figure out that there was no way in the entire world that Georgiana Martin was ever going to get bored with London, Georgiana pretended that she saw someone she absolutely needed to meet across the room and ducked away. The Marbelles' crush was meant to be the event of the season, but right then, all Georgiana could see was one more overcrowded gathering of people who were all desperate for her time and attention.

  The woman is hungrier for social fame than a pig is for slops. It feels as if I have been invited to every single event between now and doomsday

  Before she could make her way to the drawing room set aside for ladies looking to recover from the exertions of dancing and socializing, Lindsay Darinnforth came up and linked arms with her. She was small and dark where Georgiana herself was blonde and statuesque, and the Marquess of Wellbury's daughter was one of the few people in the entire building who did not get on her nerves.

  “How are you doing, Lindsay? Are you ready to leave yet?”

  Lindsay made a moue of disappointment. “So tired already? I feared that when my parents agreed to squire you to this crush that you might want to keep us all on the dance floor too late, but here you are flagging before it is even midnight.”

  Georgiana endeavored to keep a smile on her face. She was a veteran of the Society balls of the London season. It was only lately that she had started to find them dull and repetitive. Lindsay was three years younger than Georgiana's twenty-four, and apparently, she had not wearied of them yet.

  Georgiana squeezed her friend's hand. “I'm sorry. I am sure that I will perk up once I have had some water or perhaps some punch. How have you been finding the company?”

  Georgiana half listened as Lindsay talked about the various foibles and follies of the ton, but then she said a name that made Georgiana's head snap around.

  “The Duke of Parrington? Did you say the Duke of Parrington was here?”

  Lindsay blinked at Georgiana's vehemence.

  “Yes, did you miss them announcing him?”

  “Lindsay, I cannot be expected to keep track of all of the comings and goings of—never mind. But are you telling me that Tristan Carrow is here tonight?”

  Lindsay blinked owlishly at Georgiana's words. Georgiana knew that she sounded fraught. Most of the ton knew her as the gay and lighthearted Martin girl, the daughter of the elderly Duke of Southerly and the sister of the daringly dangerous Marquess of Amory. Society had been set on its ear the previous winter when her brother Thomas ran off Blythe Dennings, the Carrows' former pious charity case.

  As it had worked out, Blythe turned out to be one of the season's richest heiresses, and after a rather shocking amount of danger and kidnapping, she and Thomas had married in one of the most talked-about love matches of the decade. There was a great deal of talk of how the heir to the Southerly dukedom had found for a bride a formerly poor orphan, but as it turned out, Thomas and Blythe had skipped most of the sensationalism and left for the Continent as soon as they were properly wed.

  Georgiana had had her own small part to play in that utterly mad adventure, and though she would support her brother Thomas in all things, and she had even found a kindred soul in her new sister-in-law, she had not been pleased to see Tristan Carrow again.

  Lindsay eyed her nervously. “Georgiana, he's the Duke of Parrington. There's no doubt that his presence here is a coup for the hostess, given how reclusive the Carrows have always been. You are not going to ruin things, are you?”

  Now that Georgiana was regaining some of her composure, she only smiled at Lindsay.

  “Of course not, Lindsay. I am merely going to go over and say hello.”

  And here for a moment, I thought that I was going to be bored.

  * * *

  She saw the crowd around Tristan Carrow, Duke of Parrington and holder of a ridiculously high number of other titles, before she actually saw the man himself. The crowd parted for her as it always did, and then she was confronted with a man who, despite all of her best efforts, still made her heart beat faster.

  Tristan was tall and lean with hair as black as charcoal and
eyes that were somehow darker still. There was something stern about his bearing, as if he would sooner set himself on fire than yield a single thing, and his easy athletic grace spoke of countless hours on horseback. For all that Tristan was considered one of the most handsome men in London, there was something cold about him, or at least there was until he laid eyes on Georgiana.

  She saw him at what passed for ease as she came up beside him, and then when he turned to see who had arrived, he stiffened. They had seen each other just over a year ago, when Thomas and Blythe had wed, and they hadn't laid eyes on each other since.

  For just a moment, Georgiana saw something soften in Tristan's eyes, something almost warm in those black depths, and then he frowned at her, walling himself back off from her again. Deep inside, where she had locked the feelings she once had for him, something cried out, but she pushed it back with a dazzling smile.

  Custom dictated that he take her hand and at least bow, and when he did so, he raised his eyes to meet hers. There was something dangerous about the way he met her gaze, something distinctly un-Carrow-like, and almost against her will, Georgiana felt sparks leap down her spine.

  “Good evening, Lady Georgiana. I hope it is finding you well.”

  “I'm startled it finds you at all, my lord. I had not heard that you were in London.

  Tristan shrugged, apparently massively unconcerned that they were the focus of all the attention in their immediate vicinity. “The season is almost over, but there are a few votes in Parliament yet for me to attend.”

  “Ah, yes, duty. A Carrow never fails to perform his duty, does he?”

  “No more than a Martin will ever miss a chance for hedonism, I would say.”

  Tristan offered the statement blandly, so unconcerned that most would not have heard the burn in his voice. Another girl might have slunk away at Tristan's knock against her family, but Georgiana was willing to bet that Tristan only wanted to rile her. Instead of slinking away or getting angry, she instead painted a bright smile on her face.

  “Well, if a Martin will always be for fun, and a Carrow will always be for duty, where does this leave us?”

  Tristan studied her for a moment, and then to her surprise, he smiled a little. He was a handsome man even when he was scowling as if the entire world displeased him, but when he smiled, even her heart fluttered faster.

  “I think that leaves us at one of the finest parties in London. Shall we take advantage of it by dancing?”

  Georgiana almost showed her surprise. Around her, the crowd twittered and fluttered like little birds. The Martin-Carrow feud went back centuries, and this was unexpected, to say the least. Georgiana wondered if Tristan thought she would back down or run away with her tail between her legs.

  If he thinks that, then he never knew me very well at all. I do not back down to Carrows, no matter how much they like throwing their weight around.

  “I'm afraid my dance card is rather full, my lord, but perhaps if you are willing to unbend a little?”

  “Speak plainly, Georgiana, if you would speak at all.”

  Ah, there was the growling bear dressed up as a London gentleman she knew.

  “I'm afraid that the only dance I have free is the waltz. I'm not so certain that your proclivities allow for it.”

  The waltz was still a matter of some contention in the London galas. The Marbelles were bold to have included it on the set list at all, given some of the anti-Continental sentiment that had been current for the past few years. The waltz was a barely-respectable dance that would make any conservative member of the ton balk, and the Duke of Parrington was certainly one of that number.

  To Georgiana's surprise, however, Tristan only inclined his head at her again.

  “The waltz it is. I shall come find you.”

  Georgiana was still reeling from his agreement when an older man with military honors fastened to his jacket requested his attention. She didn't come rightly to herself until Lindsey tugged at her arm.

  “You got a dance with the Duke of Parrington. I didn't think he danced, ever.”

  “I didn't think he did either.”

  Even as she allowed Lindsey to tug her away, Georgiana knew that that was a lie. There was a time when Tristan had danced quite often, if only with her.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Tristan told himself he had no idea why he even went to the Marbelles' crush that evening. There had been dozens of invitations piling up on his desk for weeks, all society parties that would love to have the recently-reclusive Duke of Parrington attend their event. The London season was winding down, and the events were getting bigger and showier in anticipation of the time when the fashionable ton would retreat to the country.

  The truth was, however, Tristan knew exactly why he had come to the Marbelles' event. She had blond hair, blue eyes, a figure made of lush curves, and poison dripping from her pretty mouth.

  The fact that she had sought him out was something of a balm, but it stung at the same time. It didn't seem fair that after all this time, he should still be affected by her smile and her bright blue eyes. She was impudent, reckless, feckless, and wild, possibly even more of a Martin than her damned brother was. By all rights, he should hate her.

  Of course, despite all of his accomplishments and all of his successes, he had never succeeded at that. There were nights when he couldn't get her out of his head. There were days where he cursed ever laying eyes on her all those years ago. However, none of that had ever translated to hate, and now at the age of twenty-seven, Tristan did not think it ever would.

  If he were an intelligent man, he thought, fending off attempts by society matrons to show off their daughters, nieces, and granddaughters, he would have retired to the country weeks ago. His vote in Parliament could be conducted by proxy if necessary, and he would be free of the temptation of... whatever in the hell he was doing now.

  Instead, he had had his valet brush off his midnight-black formal attire, had his hair trimmed, and now at one of the last bashes of the season, he was going to dance with Georgiana.

  Correction: he was going to waltz with her.

  When “Fiddler's Took” ended, he was true to his word and went to look for her. She was still breathless from her last dance with some tiresome fop, and the young man pulled back with haste when Tristan approached.

  Georgiana shot him a wry look. "I see you are terrifying your way through London society. It seems to work for you."

  "And you are still allowing yourself to be admired by veritable idiots rather than waiting for something that would truly suit you. Are we done insulting each other?"

  Georgiana's veneer of sweet civility cracked just a touch, and Tristan felt something deep inside him rejoice to see it. They were baiting each other, never their finest feature, but Tristan thought he would rather bait her and send her into a frenzy rather than let her think she could palm him off with the same weak platitudes she fed to everyone else.

  "Quite done. Are you sure you still want to dance with someone so admired by 'veritable idiots?'"

  In response, Tristan offered her his hand and led her onto the dance floor. The floor had cleared out, with only a handful of couples left on it. Tristan looked around with a shade of dark amusement as the musicians shuffled their music.

  "I see the waltz is still considered a scandal this season. Are you sure your reputation can bear it?"

  "My reputation is what it ever has been. If there is someone who has to worry about how well his reputation will bear scandal, I believe it is you, my lord."

  The music struck up the first notes, and Tristan pulled Georgiana close, so close that if he leaned forward, he could kiss her. For one mad moment, he was tempted to do it, to kiss her while the fools of the ton stood around them and gaped. He could still remember how she tasted, and that thought was like a fire in his mind, his heart. Then he looked into her eyes and saw instead of joy or passion, cool indifference, and the fire in him returned to a smoldering fury instea
d.

  "I hope you know this dance well, my lord. I shouldn't like to be embarrassed in front of all my friends."

  "What friends?"

  The words slipped out, acerbic and harsh as they took their first few steps, and Tristan realized that perhaps Georgiana was not as indifferent as she seemed. No one else would have noticed, even if they were watching them closely. She stepped off a little slowly, leaned a little too hard into the first step. Georgiana was grace incarnate on the dance floor, and he realized his words had struck home.

  He felt a hot flood of shame at speaking such a thing, but now Georgiana was looking up at him with her blue eyes flashing. It wasn't the warmth or the joy that some secret part of him still craved, but it was far better than the stony indifference that had been there before.

  "You are not allowed to speak about friends to me when you almost forced your ward to marry you out of desperation."

  Tristan winced at that even as they treaded the elegant figure of the waltz. That wound was still fresh, and he knew that even if he apologized to Blythe a dozen times, it would never be enough.

  "You don't have all of the information on that."

  "Don't I? Remember, I was there. I managed to stop my brother from calling you out."

  "And what did it feel like to think of me marrying Blythe? Why would you care?"

  Georgiana tossed her head, and her smile was brilliant. For a moment, he almost fooled himself into thinking that it was just for him, blinding and bright and sweet, but then he realized it was for the people around them, who would wag their tongues until the end of the world if they witnessed the newest iteration of the Carrow-Martin feud.

  "It would have broken my brother's heart, for all that mattered to you, and Blythe's as well. She's dear to me, you know. She writes to me, and from the things she says, Tristan, I am shocked that you ever thought her a pious little missionary."