The Duke's Hellion Read online

  "Let me know whose salons you are going to be attending. I cannot promise much, but I will at least try to meet you at one while you are in London."

  Morgan rose to take her leave, and it struck Tristan all over again how very changed she looked. He hoped it was permanent. The Chesterfield tower was beautiful, but it felt a great shame to keep a woman as lively and clever as Morgan locked away.

  He turned back to the window, wondering what to do next when he heard Morgan's exclamation in the hall.

  "Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't... oh it's you! How wonderful!"

  Tristan wondered what in the world could have made Morgan sound so very delighted, but then a few moments later, the door opened again, and escorted by the butler was Georgiana, dressed in blue and gold and with a fire in her eye.

  "Georgiana!"

  Georgiana glared at him, and Tristan was startled to see an angry glimmer of tears in her eyes. "What in the world was she doing here, Tristan?"

  Tristan couldn't stop the laugh from bubbling over his lips, and Georgiana lunged at him.

  * * *

  Chapter 44

  Georgiana had been busy on the coach ride to London. She had tried to come up with the perfect words that would help Tristan see how they fit together, how she loved him, and how even if it was not love that he felt, perhaps it would become love in some time.

  She was going to be so humble. She was going to be so very honest with him, and so very sweet. It wasn't manipulative if it was all the truth, was it?

  At the bottom of it all was a pure and simple need for him, and she thought that if she had gone another day without seeing Tristan again, she would die.

  Georgiana had noted the elegant coach in front of the Carrow residence on Grosvenor Street with absent interest. It was beautiful and rich, but she did not recognize the coat of arms along one side.

  The butler granted her entrance with only a slightly raised eyebrow, something that she was well used to, and her heart was brimming with anticipation until she nearly walked face first into Morgan Chesterfield.

  “Oh, I beg your...”

  "Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't... Oh, it's you! How wonderful!"

  Georgiana's words trailed off as she gazed at the striking beauty in front of her, and then saw that she was alone.

  “Morgan... I had not expected to see you—”

  “Anywhere but in my tower? I know! I've not been to London in quite some time.”

  “And... you are visiting Tristan?”

  “Well, yes. We sat and talked for a little while.” Morgan's smile was sweet and was there an edge of slyness to it?

  Georgiana swallowed hard.

  “Oh, I see. And what were you talking about?”

  She was being beyond rude, but she’d had so little sleep, and it had felt as if she'd come to London with her heart carefully in her hands, holding it so tenderly so that it would not break and Tristan would receive it whole and perfect, as if it were new. Seeing Morgan in Tristan's house, alone, unaccompanied, and so very beautiful made her shake. There was history between their two families, and it was safe to say that the Chesterfields and the Carrows had better relations than the Carrows and the Martins did, certainly.

  Morgan looked as if she was considering Georgiana's question for a moment, and then she leaned forward, beckoning Georgiana closer. Georgiana blinked in confusion, but came close, close enough that Georgiana's breath in her ear made her breath catch.

  “You should ask Tristan that, shouldn't you?”

  Her words were so sly, so taunting, that Georgiana took a step back, gasping, and Morgan straightened up, laughing lightly as if they were just passing the time at a gala or salon.

  “It is so very lovely to see you, Georgiana. I shall be staying in London for at least a short while, and I hope I see you soon.”

  If I see you again, I might scratch your perfect eyes out, Morgan.

  Georgiana knew she was fuming and that she was being baited. Perhaps Morgan had claimed Tristan for her own, and she just wanted to make Georgiana angry enough to behave badly. Perhaps she wanted to see Georgiana fuming and to know she herself had won. Georgiana had played the games of influence that the ton favored for years. She knew this trick very well, but she couldn't resist it.

  Maybe I could always play so easily because I never cared. Unfortunately, now I do.

  She stalked by the butler's side to the door, and then she saw Tristan, a slight frown on his face, as if he had no clue who she was or what in the world she was doing in his house.

  "Georgiana!"

  She glared at him, and all the mixed love, desire, fury, fear, and confusion of the last few weeks rolled together inside her. She had wanted this to be so different, but her heart felt as if it was an old and broken thing, bound together with twine but somehow still beating.

  "What in the world was she doing here, Tristan?"

  For a moment, Tristan simply stared at her, and then she saw a tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth, and then he started laughing. The remaining grasp she had on her temper frayed and then snapped like a piece of worn twine, and as the butler discreetly left, closing the door behind him, she lunged at Tristan.

  Georgiana snatched up a cushion from the nearby divan and struck Tristan with it over and over again as he kept laughing at her. A pillow? She should have picked up a poker or perhaps some kind of heavy book to deal with this man.

  Suddenly, her attack and his own hilarity caught up with Tristan, and he landed on the floor, still laughing. For a moment, Georgiana pressed her advantage, but then Tristan merely reached up, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down. She yelped as she landed on top of him, and he cupped his hand behind her neck, looking up at her with an expression of melting sweetness.

  “Why, hello, Georgiana. What's the matter with you?”

  “Morgan Chesterfield was here with you, alone!”

  “And so are you.”

  “That's different! What was she doing here? She implied... that is, she said...”

  “She's visiting London. She wanted to say hello. I told you before, her family and mine have been friends for a very long time.”

  Georgiana felt oddly deflated. She went still, and then she sighed. Her head dropped down on Tristan's shoulder, and it felt so comfortable, she thought she might simply stay there.

  “I made a fool out of myself, didn't I?”

  “I don't know, have you?”

  Georgiana grumbled. Tristan smelled so good that she couldn't help burying her nose in his shoulder just a little longer. “She implied that... anyway. She said I should ask you what you two were talking about.”

  “Do you want to know?”

  Georgiana's socialite pride came back, and she lifted her chin as best she could in her position. “I don't care. Why would I?”

  “Same old Georgiana.”

  “Surely not. I'm in a scandalous position with a Carrow.”

  “As I said. Same old Georgiana.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow to look down at Tristan. There was still a suspicious quirk to his lips, but he gazed at her with a melting sincerity that made her sigh just a little.

  “Was that a joke about our terrible shared past, Tristan? You should be wary. Joking about things that are not meant to be joked about is very much the territory of the Martins.”

  “And being stern and reprimanding is very much the territory of the Carrows. Is it such a bad thing?”

  Georgiana sat up with a sigh. “I did not come to fight with you.”

  “No? But we're so good at it.”

  “Tristan...”

  “Do you want to hear what Morgan and I were talking about?”

  She scowled, standing up and pulling away with a shake of her head. “Please. I couldn't care less about whatever gossip you were talking about.”

  She made a soft surprised sound when Tristan stood up and took her by the shoulders turning around.

  “We were talking about you.”


  “Oh. Well...”

  “We were talking about how much I love you. I always have, you know.”

  Tristan's words took her breath away, and she stared into his dark eyes. Who could ever think that they were sinister? She felt as if she could see stars in their depths.

  “Tristan?”

  “Darling, no matter what, I have never not loved you. I saw you years ago, and something in my heart took you and locked you there. I've spent years denying it, and then when I was with you for the last few weeks... I just couldn't deny it any longer. I love you. I love you so much, and if you will do me the honor of marrying me, I will spend the rest of my life making you as happy as I know how.”

  Georgiana couldn't keep her foolish tears from overflowing then. Her hands came up to cover her mouth, but Tristan brought them back down, holding them in his own hands. Were his hands shaking?

  “Darling. Please. Say something. Even if you want to curse, even if you tell me no, it will be better than you remaining silent. I never, ever want you silent...”

  “Yes! Oh, Tristan, I love you, and yes, yes, I will marry you. Yes, yes...”

  Tristan was laughing, but she didn't care about that now. All that mattered was being in his arms, being as close to him as she could, and the way he held her, and the way he tilted her head back, so he could kiss her.

  Mine. All mine. Mine to love, mine to argue with, mine, mine, mine.

  * * *

  Chapter 45

  Georgiana took several deep breaths, willing herself to stay calm. Her pale blue dress shimmered like polar ice, the long train pooling on the ground at her feet. It was the most gorgeous thing she had ever worn in a very long history of wearing beautiful dresses, and right now, she could barely appreciate it at all.

  “Lady Georgiana, would you like some water? Or perhaps some crackers?”

  “I don't think I could, Honey, but thank you. You should eat yourself, you've been running around all morning like a madwoman.”

  Honey, dressed in formal black servants' attire, grinned at her. “Well, there's so much to do. But it will all be worth it.”

  Georgiana thought about who was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, and she knew that Honey was right. It was a gorgeous May afternoon, and most of the ton had turned out to see her and Tristan wed.

  She smiled, remembering one night when they had been writing out all the invitations.

  Tristan had wrung out his writing hand, shaking his head.

  “Do we really need to invite this many people? They'll probably just come to see if the wedding dissolves into a brawl halfway through.”

  “Surely society is not so bloodthirsty as all that, my lord?”

  Tristan had shot her a wry look. “It is utterly terrible when you call me that, you know. I always think that you are plotting something.”

  “Who's to say that I am not?”

  She had reached out to tickle his hand with the tip of her quill, making him pull back with a scowl.

  “Don't think I am going to let you get out of addressing your fair share of these. So many of these guests are 'close personal friends' of yours, after all.”

  “Oh, but your handwriting is so much better than mine, Tristan!”

  He had pulled her to him, kissing her sweetly and then both of them had forgotten about the bloody invitations for a while. It wasn't until later, when she looked at the pile of letters her diligent fiancé had set aside to be posted, that she noticed one was different than the others. It was longer and thicker than the others, and with a start, she realized it was posted to her father at Fox Hall. When Tristan's back was turned, she smuggled it under her dress. Back at her own place later, she opened it with a careful application of steam to the paste that held the letter together.

  What she found made her heart ache. She knew what a proud man Tristan was, and yet here he was on paper, all but begging her father to come.

  She is still your daughter, no matter that she is married to someone you consider little better than a dog. Whatever this feud means to you, it must mean less than your daughter.

  She had swallowed hard as she read Tristan's plea, one he had entered without her knowledge at all. He somehow thought that the love they shared between them would win the day, bridging the animosity that the Carrows and the Martins had held between them for more than a hundred years. Tristan was a hard-headed realist, but in this matter and this one alone, he had allowed himself to hope.

  Fool. Don't you know what a feud is?

  In the end, she had sent the letter on with the rest, and now she wondered if her father was there in the church, sitting with all the rest.

  Honey tilted her head to one side.

  “My lady, what are you thinking of? You have the oddest expression on your face.”

  “Do I? I suppose I was just thinking of everyone who has come to celebrate our love with us. I know I glimpsed Robert Gordon and his new bride out there, and I am so happy that Thomas and Blythe came to London soon enough to see us wed. I had honestly not thought they would. And I know Tabi is here, as is Eleanor Parr, and just... all these people. It's humbling.”

  As she did when she was thoughtful, Georgiana passed the pad of her thumb over the hart that Honey had embroidered in matching blue thread on her collar. So many of her clothes bore that little bit of decoration now, and it never failed to make her smile when she touched it, whether she was at home or at a ball.

  Soon I won't be a Martin anymore. I'll be a Carrow.

  She thought she should feel more grief-stricken over the matter. Many women spoke of losing something of themselves when they married, but today, it felt as if she were uncovering something new, something bright and shining that she would hold in front of her all her days. She would never be apart from Tristan again, and that was all that mattered to her in the world.

  “Now, my lady, are you ready?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  The music swelled like a wave at sea, and taking a deep breath, Georgiana began her walk down the long aisle. As she passed by, the guests rose from their pews, and she caught sight of so many beloved faces. There was her brother and his beaming bride, and there was her sweet cousin Tabi. The people who she loved were with her today, and that was the only thing that mattered at all. There was a hole in her heart where he lived now, and she suspected that that hole would eventually be patched by the love she and Tristan shared, as well as the love of the children they would bring into the world. She resolved not to think any longer of her father and whether he could bury the past and embrace the future.

  She knew she would.

  Then she came up to the altar, and when she met Tristan's dark eyes, she forgot about everything else. He was dressed in formal midnight black, and he had never looked so handsome to her.

  The bishop presiding over their union read the words of what she was sure was a beautiful service, but all that mattered were the vows she made in her heart.

  I love you. You are my heart. Every day, I will look at you and remember how lucky I am, or perhaps I will simply fight with you, because I know we will. We must. We are the people we are, but that will be fine as well, because in the beginning and the end of it all is love, and I love you.

  She knew that was the vow that echoed in Tristan's heart as well, and that as long as they loved each other, then all would be right in the world.

  Finally, the bishop's service ended, and he nodded to Tristan, who stepped forward to take Georgiana's hand. Her hand was shaking, and he squeezed it gently before sliding a plain gold band on her finger.

  “With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  For others, there would have been a solemn procession out of the church, but from the crowd came a whoop of delight. Somehow, it caused a riotous roar of approval, all of that love and kindness descending down upon them, and despite how a bride was meant to be ser
ious, contemplating her life after the wedding, Georgiana started to laugh, hanging on to Tristan as they walked down the aisle.

  This is it. This is us, forever. Laughter and love.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  Eight months later

  Tristan looked around impatiently at the gala, his glare keeping away most of the most determined social climbers. He sipped his punch, he prowled the edge of the party like a frustrated panther, and mostly, he tried to make sure that his attention was always on Georgiana, who was, of course, at the center of everything.

  I knew when I married her that galas and balls at my house were going to be a regular occurrence.

  He might not have minded a few small parties with the people he actually cared about, and they had had a few of those recently. Tabi especially had started coming by more often whenever she was in London, though she was markedly absent from this particular event. Georgiana had tried, but apparently the Martin family's little historian was off exploring Norman ruins in the north or some such thing.

  Well, at least she doesn't have to be here entertaining a house full of people who don't care about her research or her passions. She was being so very odd the last time I saw her, promising us something about an answer to all the riddles of Carrows and Martins, some kind of present for Georgiana and I. I wonder what in the world she has in mind?

  At the very least, Tabi was spared all the social climbers, connivers and toadies at this party. Of course Georgiana insisted that they were all society's finest, but all Tristan cared about was how long it would be before he got to go to bed with his wife.

  “Why, darling, can't you smile a little? The gala is going splendidly.” Georgiana slipped up beside him, tucking her arm in his.

  “If you like loud, boisterous parties that will be written up in the paper tomorrow, I suppose it is going well.”

  “I'm glad to hear we both agree. My goodness, I am looking forward to Ned being back in England at the turn of the year. At the very least, there is one Carrow that knows how to have a good time at a ball!”