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

  The events of Blythe Carrow Dennings' marriage to Thomas Martin still rankled, for all that Tristan had given his blessing. To hear Georgiana bring up one of his darkest moments, to have had her there to witness it, made him want to stalk out of London society and never return, but instead, he shrugged.

  "I was startled to see you when those events occurred."

  "Did it curdle your milk and make you feel as if you'd been poisoned, seeing me roaming the world?"

  Tristan already knew that coming to the Marbelles' crush that night was a poor idea. For a moment, he thought about salvaging it, but then a self-destructive streak in him asked why he should? In for a penny, in for a pound, he had always been taught, and if tonight was going to be a disaster, let it be one.

  "I'd missed you."

  She didn't miss a step then, but she looked up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted in surprise. In some ways, it was a greater misstep than faltering in the waltz. She never let her true emotions show like this when she was in public. She looked even more like the girl he had met all those years ago, and his heart beat harder.

  "Tristan."

  "I don't like it when you call me 'my lord,' you know. It doesn't suit you."

  "We're not doing this now." Her voice sounded as if she had put pure iron into it. "We can't. This isn't us, anymore. You were the one who decided that."

  The vulnerability was gone, leaving Tristan with nothing but an old and terrible ache. He shrugged, because after all, it was a pain he had lived with for years now. "And you were the one who decided that there could be no going back."

  "You will never forget that, will you, Tristan?"

  "No more than you will forget the fact that I did my duty."

  "No. No, I won't."

  They were silent as the waltz played on. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tristan thought about how strange it was, what they were doing now. They were closer than they had been in years, in each other's arms. She looked as if she could scratch his eyes out, and all around them were the gawkers and fools of the ton, waiting with hungry eyes to see what new mischief might befall a duke and a duke's daughter.

  The waltz seemed to last forever. It was over too soon.

  Tristan bowed over Georgiana's hand, and he started to escort her to the sidelines. Instead, she tugged her hand away from his, bright red flags on her cheeks and her blue eyes sparkling sapphires.

  "I think I can attend myself, my lord."

  Tristan watched as she stalked away unescorted, and all around them, people murmured of her rejection. It was not the cut indirect, but they were kissing cousins, perhaps.

  Tristan winced as he strode off the dance floor in the opposite direction. Kissing was the last thing he should be thinking of when it came to Georgiana.

  Despite the absolute disaster it had been, he could still feel her body pressed against his and her small hand in his. A part of him still loved her, and it ached.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Lindsey and her mother stayed close to Georgiana after her fateful dance with the Duke of Parrington, though whether they wanted to hear what she had made of him or whether they wanted to prevent her from doing anything particularly Martin-like and reckless, it was unclear.

  Georgiana had always liked Lindsey well enough, but the girl earned her grateful thanks when she turned to her mother and told her that she and Georgiana would be heading home sooner rather than later.

  "But the gala is barely more than half done!"

  "Well, it will hardly do us any favors to be seen wilting, will it, Mother?"

  Her mother could hardly argue with that, and before Georgiana could actually snap and shout everything she really thought at the assembled ton, Lindsey hurried her into the coach.

  "Thank you. I thought I might go mad in there."

  "Well, I hardly thought that would do either of us any favors, so home it is."

  Georgiana smiled at the other girl, who looked so young to her. "Thank you, though. I really do mean it."

  Lindsey grinned at her. "I am sure you do. And besides, you gave me an excellent excuse to leave the ball entirely. I was done myself."

  "No use for dances and watery punch?"

  "Not when there are stars calling my name."

  Georgiana started to ask Lindsey what she meant by that, but then the coach pulled up to the Martin residence on Park Lane.

  "I'll try to call upon you before you leave London after the season ends. Thank you again, it really does mean a lot to me."

  Lindsey tilted her head, giving Georgiana a searching look.

  "People don't do you many favors, do they?"

  "I... suppose they don't."

  "Don't worry about it. I'll be happy to see you whenever you are feeling up to it."

  Georgiana made her way up to the house, her mind still buzzing with the gala and with thoughts of Tristan.

  I do so have friends, Tristan.

  If she were going to be fair, Lindsey was more of an acquaintance, and even as reckless as Georgiana was meant to be, she didn't relish the stir caused by going to a gala completely alone. However, given the perceptive way Lindsey had looked at her, and how the girl had gotten her out of the gala with a minimum of fuss, there was obviously more to her than another empty-headed society miss.

  So, there, Tristan. I shouldn't cast stones regarding friends if I were as lonely as you.

  It was so easy to fall into bad habits again. She was already arguing with him again in her mind. Soon enough, if she allowed him to do so, he would fill her thoughts.

  She walked through the quiet townhouse, wishing again that Thomas would come back from wherever he and Blythe were exploring now. There was a time when no matter how late she came home, there was a chance that Thomas would still be up if he wasn't still out himself. Now, though, her father was in the country with her cousin Tabi, Thomas was who knew where, and she was alone.

  The ton would laugh itself sick to see me, all alone and moping.

  She opened the door to her room, startling her ladies' maid who was drowsing in a chair near the bed.

  "Lady Georgiana, you are home early."

  "And you are up too late, Honey. I told you to get some sleep, and I could see to my dress myself."

  Honey grinned. She was a lovely girl with a sweet smile, and it was hard to remember how terrified she was when she first came to work for Georgiana.

  "Well, that'd be awful irresponsible of me, wouldn't it? I did all that nice embroidery for your dress. I would hate to see you throw it on the floor."

  Georgiana smiled and allowed Honey to unfasten her dress carefully. The girl had an eye for design, but as loyal as she was to Georgiana, she might spend all her life in service if Georgiana did not take a hand in it. She had been thinking for some time about setting the girl up with a shop or perhaps a place in one. Something to think about for the future.

  "Are you all right? You look troubled."

  "No, everything's fine. I'm just tired, I suppose."

  Honey clicked her tongue in an adorably maternal fashion, and she insisted on helping Georgiana dress in a comfortable sleeping shift and fetching her a warming pan to place under her bed.

  Even when she was as comfortable as she could be in bed, however, Georgiana found she could not sleep. She tossed and turned for almost an hour, and if she were honest with herself, it was visions of Tristan that kept her awake.

  It's like the first few weeks after we returned from Scotland. I couldn't get him out of my mind then, either.

  She cursed herself for a fool. Tristan probably lost no sleep at all over her, so why should she lose sleep over him?

  Finally, with an angry growl, Georgiana got up and threw her silk robe on around her. With candle in hand, she made her way to the library, where if she could not sleep, at least she could read.

  The ton would have been startled to see how much Georgiana read. She had never had much of a head for art or needlework, but she could devour a book in
a matter of hours, shutting out the rest of the world. In the library, she picked through the pile of mail that had come, hoping for a French or Italian novel from her brother and Blythe.

  There was no novel, but there was a small envelope there that had a peculiar weight to it. For some reason, the hairs on the back of Georgiana's neck rose when she picked it up, and she had to look around nervously to make sure she was alone in the library.

  She told herself that seeing Tristan had shaken her up more than she'd thought, but deep in her heart, she knew that that wasn't all.

  The strange missive was addressed to her, and by the lack of a postal stamp, she could see that someone had simply dropped it into the house box instead of sending via post. Biting her lip, she opened it, and a piece of ragged paper fell out.

  You think you are such a fine lady, but anyone with eyes to see knows that you are just a whore in a fine dress.

  You ran away to Scotland to play the whore for a common soldier.

  Meet me at Covent Garden on Tuesday at eleven o'clock. I will come find you and I will give you proof and my demands.

  Georgiana's blood ran cold, and the paper fluttered from her fingertips. For a moment, she thought she would be sick, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Then she took a deep breath, first one, and then another. The room swam around her, and her eyes drifted up until they landed on the crest of the dukes of Southerly holding pride of place above the hearth.

  She focused on the crest, three golden arrows on a field of blue, and slowly, she willed herself calm.

  I am not some pallid miss to be brought low by words on paper. I am the daughter of a long line of warriors and noblemen, and I will not falter.

  Finally, when she thought that she could stand firm, she reached down and made herself read the message again. The words still hammered on her, but she could regard them more critically. She saw that the hand that wrote them was unused to pen, the words scrawling back and forth. She saw that the paper was of a poor quality.

  She also admitted to herself that someone knew her secret, no matter how much she tried to deny it. Someone knew, and that meant that they had the power to ruin her.

  She'd always been reckless and wild, but there were some lines even she could not cross. If she did, she would break her brother and her father's hearts. In the light of such betrayal, she barely cared about being ousted from society, though that would surely happen as well.

  For a moment, part of her wanted Thomas there very badly. Her big brother had always fixed things for her when they were younger. However, she knew that was foolish. She couldn't bear to tell him about this; even thinking of it made her flinch.

  No.

  She was in this alone.

  Then she realized that there was one person she could go to. Almost as soon as she thought of him, her heart started to close with pain, but as Georgiana paced in the library and the velvet black sky turned to gold, she knew that she had very little choice.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Tristan didn't even bother trying to sleep. Not long after Georgiana left him on the dance floor, he left the Marbelles' event. His goodbyes to the hostess bordered on rude, but he knew very well that they would likely excuse him nearly anything short of actually slapping someone.

  He made his way back to the townhouse on Grosvenor Street, lost in thought, or perhaps more accurately, blank. He knew though, that if he allowed his thoughts to wander too far and too freely, they would inevitably find their way to Georgiana.

  It was almost shocking how much he still craved her. He kept his thoughts as dispassionate as he could, trying to separate himself from the young man he had once been. He had seen her during those mad few weeks when Thomas and Blythe had been doing what passed for courtship, and even then, he had wanted Georgiana. From the look of biting contempt on her face, though, he could tell the feeling was far from mutual.

  What would you do if I told you that I was sorry? That I want to take back what happened, and if I could, I would give up everything?

  He could almost feel his father's dark eyes on him as he paced the townhouse, still in his formal clothes. He and his brother Ned had both been raised with a firm eye on duty and doing what was right. That meant the army for Ned, who even now was in France fighting for king and country, and for Tristan...

  Tristan had every intention of being a good duke, at least as good as his father was. The sheer number of responsibilities that were his beggared the imagination, and Carrow concerns ranged from agriculture to shipping to war. His father had prepared him well for these responsibilities, but every time he dared look beyond them, he felt woefully inadequate.

  Georgiana had been the only person who had ever looked beneath the weight of his responsibilities and the benefits his wealth could bring. She had given him a curious look, then a smile, and then it was like being picked up by a whirlwind. The Martins were as wild as the Carrows responsible, but surely, he could not be so very good himself if it was so very easy to get swept up with Georgiana?

  He had seen her grow from a wild girl to a woman of intense intelligence and formidable social power. This history between them ran so deep that he was certain that if he ventured in too far, he would never be able to pull himself out.

  Tristan knew that he should sleep, but instead, he paced the house, shedding his jacket and his waistcoat until he was down to his shirt and breeches. He was restless. For a short while, he contemplated going out again, finding a gambling hell that would let him lose some money, or perhaps a brothel where he could find some oblivion. Both of those options failed to appeal, and instead, he walked through the house until he was exhausted, finally coming to rest in a small drawing room on the chaise.

  As he drifted off to sleep, some part of him, a part of him that had not been worn away by the demands of his position and his life, said that it was simply so good to see her again.

  * * *

  Tristan came awake with a snort when someone shook him by the shoulder. For a moment, he was a young boy late for lessons again, but then sense reasserted itself, and he realized that it was the butler Rhimes who was shaking him.

  “What the hell?”

  “My lord, forgive me for waking you, but there is a lady waiting for you in the golden drawing room.”

  For a moment, Rhimes words made no sense at all to Tristan. Then he woke up a little further and nodded. He sat up on the chaise, stretching and hauling himself to his feet. His head throbbed as if he had had too much to drink the night before, something he thought monstrously unfair as he had barely had anything to drink at all.

  “ I'm in no fit state for much of anything. Can she be sent away?”

  Rhimes looked dubious. “She was very insistent that she be allowed to speak to you, my lord. I suppose I can tell her to return at another time, or that you will call upon her.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Lady Georgiana Martin, my lord.”

  If Tristan had ever entertained the idea that time spent with Georgiana might dull her appeal, here was proof that he was wrong. The moment he heard her name, his heart leaped as if it was on a string attached to her finger. All she had to do was crook her finger, and it lunged.

  Tristan scowled.

  “What the devil is she doing here?”

  “I am sure I do not know, sir. If you wish, I can send her away.”

  “No!”

  When the butler looked at him in faint dismay for that outburst, Tristan cleared his throat hastily.

  “That is, no. Please ask her to wait. I'll clean myself and be down directly.”

  Georgiana here. What in the hell could it mean? A part of him said that if she expected an apology from the night before that she could wait for it in hell. Another part of him simply wanted to see her again, no matter what the reason was that had brought her to his door.

  Tristan pushed all the thoughts away as he scrubbed his face and shaved. When he was properly dressed in a jacket of blue superfine wool, bis
cuit-colored breeches, and decent leather shoes, he decided that was the best he could do and made his way to the golden drawing room.

  Georgiana was dressed in a somber green rather than the brilliantly showy fabrics she had worn the night before. The gown was well-cut and obviously expensive, but compared to her usual attire, it was almost dowdy. Her expression was tense, and when he took her hand in greeting, she drew it back almost immediately. Tristan smiled slightly sardonically at her revulsion and took the seat across from hers.

  “What brings you to my home? Do you think we did not abuse each other enough last night?”

  A brief smile broke through her grim expression, and even that made his foolish heart beat faster.

  “I would think that there is no way for us to abuse each other enough, as you say, my lord. I think we shall be at it until the last trumpet sounds.”

  “I sincerely hope not. But I cannot think that you came here to trade barbs with me. Surely, even a Martin has better things to be doing on a morning after a ball.”

  She flinched ever so slightly at that, and Tristan felt a pang of guilt. He shook his head.

  “I'm sorry. This is a bad beginning.”

  She looked at him as if startled. “I'm not used to hearing remorse from you.”

  “I would not get used to it. I don't express it often. Tell me why you are here, Georgiana.”

  She jumped a little at his use of her name, and then she reached into her handbag. He noticed that her hand shook as she did so, and he frowned. The Georgiana he knew had iron in her blood, but whatever she was dealing with here, it had shaken her. She handed him the note that she drew out, and with another glance at her pale face, he read it.

  The lines were short and brutal, and Tristan had to immediately push down the urge to go out and find the man who had written it. Tristan was a man who believed in the law, but he suddenly wanted just a few unaccounted hours with the miscreant.