also more fun than attending the opera or going to Vauxhall Gardens or visiting one of his mistresses, or any of the other ways he typically spent his nights. If he was trying to impress her with his domesticity, though, it was a wasted effort. Nothing he did for the rest of his life would ever impress her, because she knew precisely what kind of man he truly was.
"So are you ever going to confess who sent you that letter this afternoon?" he asked, when they'd been playing for over an hour.
"It was unsigned," she said, gathering the deck for her deal.
"A mystery, then," he returned, leaning forward for his glass of brandy. "Any suspects?"
"I... have my suspicions," she hedged, as she dealt them each two cards, faceup . For heaven's sake, she'd only meant to plant the idea that she might have determined suitors willing to breach the masculine stronghold of Carroway House; she hadn't expected the Spanish Inquisition.
"Who?" Tristan leaned his chin on his hand, gazing at her, while Robert signaled for an additional card.
Georgiana's first instinct was to remind him that her business was none of his. The purpose of this exercise, though, was to make him fall in love with her. That being the case, she really needed to stop insulting him with every breath. "I wouldn't wish to falsely implicate anyone," she said, trying not to sound arch. "I will therefore reserve my response until further evidence should appear."
" 'Further evidence,' " he repeated. "You mean the man himself? By all means, have him call on us."
She scowled. "He wouldn't be calling on you, for heaven's s—"
" Vingt -et-un !" Edward shouted, bouncing up and down. "You two are never going to win if you keep making moony eyes at each other all night."
Robert made a choking sound.
"Well," she squeaked, feeling even less eloquent than Bit, "you've left me no hope of winning, Edward. I think I shall retire for the evening, gentlemen."
The men stood when she did, Tristan nodding stiffly as she made what she hoped was a dignified exit. Once in the hallway, she gathered her skirt in her fists and fled up the stairs.
"Georgiana!"
Tristan's deep voice stopped her on the landing.
"Well." She faced him, determined to make light of Edward's comment. "That was a surprise, wasn't it?"
"He's only eight," Dare said flatly as he climbed toward her. "And if this keeps up, he won't see nine. Don't let an infant's prattling upset you."
"I... I..." She cleared her throat. "As I said, it just surprised me. I'm not upset. Really."
"You're not upset," he repeated, gazing at her skeptically.
"No."
"Good." Grimacing, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, a gesture she had once found very attractive. "Because it's not true. I want you to know that."
At his serious tone, she leaned against the railing. "You want me to know what, my lord?"
"That I'm not mooning after you. I'm thinking of getting married, in fact."
Ah-ha. "You are? Who is she? I'll tender my congratulations."
"Don't do that," he said, too quickly, his expression deepening to a scowl.
Georgiana stifled a smile. " Whyever not?"
"I haven't—quite—exactly—proposed to her yet."
"Oh. Well, I'm glad we got this straightened out, anyway. Good night, my lord."
As she continued up the stairs, she could feel his gaze on her back. Poor Amelia Johns. A broken heart would do Tristan Carroway considerable good , if only to teach him not to toy with other people's dreams and hearts.
When she reached her room, she dashed off another letter to Lucinda and enclosed a second letter, in a harsher hand and written with a different pen, addressed back to herself. She hoped Lucinda would be a bit more conservative with the cologne. The scent of the first one still lingered in the air, and she could swear that it had turned the flames blue when she threw it in the fireplace.
Georgiana rose early. Thankfully for her exercise regimen, both Milly and Edwina tended to sleep late. After a night at the opera, no doubt she
"So are you ever going to confess who sent you that letter this afternoon?" he asked, when they'd been playing for over an hour.
"It was unsigned," she said, gathering the deck for her deal.
"A mystery, then," he returned, leaning forward for his glass of brandy. "Any suspects?"
"I... have my suspicions," she hedged, as she dealt them each two cards, faceup . For heaven's sake, she'd only meant to plant the idea that she might have determined suitors willing to breach the masculine stronghold of Carroway House; she hadn't expected the Spanish Inquisition.
"Who?" Tristan leaned his chin on his hand, gazing at her, while Robert signaled for an additional card.
Georgiana's first instinct was to remind him that her business was none of his. The purpose of this exercise, though, was to make him fall in love with her. That being the case, she really needed to stop insulting him with every breath. "I wouldn't wish to falsely implicate anyone," she said, trying not to sound arch. "I will therefore reserve my response until further evidence should appear."
" 'Further evidence,' " he repeated. "You mean the man himself? By all means, have him call on us."
She scowled. "He wouldn't be calling on you, for heaven's s—"
" Vingt -et-un !" Edward shouted, bouncing up and down. "You two are never going to win if you keep making moony eyes at each other all night."
Robert made a choking sound.
"Well," she squeaked, feeling even less eloquent than Bit, "you've left me no hope of winning, Edward. I think I shall retire for the evening, gentlemen."
The men stood when she did, Tristan nodding stiffly as she made what she hoped was a dignified exit. Once in the hallway, she gathered her skirt in her fists and fled up the stairs.
"Georgiana!"
Tristan's deep voice stopped her on the landing.
"Well." She faced him, determined to make light of Edward's comment. "That was a surprise, wasn't it?"
"He's only eight," Dare said flatly as he climbed toward her. "And if this keeps up, he won't see nine. Don't let an infant's prattling upset you."
"I... I..." She cleared her throat. "As I said, it just surprised me. I'm not upset. Really."
"You're not upset," he repeated, gazing at her skeptically.
"No."
"Good." Grimacing, he ran his fingers through his dark hair, a gesture she had once found very attractive. "Because it's not true. I want you to know that."
At his serious tone, she leaned against the railing. "You want me to know what, my lord?"
"That I'm not mooning after you. I'm thinking of getting married, in fact."
Ah-ha. "You are? Who is she? I'll tender my congratulations."
"Don't do that," he said, too quickly, his expression deepening to a scowl.
Georgiana stifled a smile. " Whyever not?"
"I haven't—quite—exactly—proposed to her yet."
"Oh. Well, I'm glad we got this straightened out, anyway. Good night, my lord."
As she continued up the stairs, she could feel his gaze on her back. Poor Amelia Johns. A broken heart would do Tristan Carroway considerable good , if only to teach him not to toy with other people's dreams and hearts.
When she reached her room, she dashed off another letter to Lucinda and enclosed a second letter, in a harsher hand and written with a different pen, addressed back to herself. She hoped Lucinda would be a bit more conservative with the cologne. The scent of the first one still lingered in the air, and she could swear that it had turned the flames blue when she threw it in the fireplace.
Georgiana rose early. Thankfully for her exercise regimen, both Milly and Edwina tended to sleep late. After a night at the opera, no doubt she
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