it, and of the solution, rested on Tristan's shoulders.
She shook herself. He might very well need to marry a wealthy female like Amelia Johns, but he could still be nicer about it. Making the poor girl feel like a necessary pariah was cruel, even if he held no genuine affection for her.
"It's settled, then," he said. "Bradshaw, Georgiana, and I will be attending the Devonshire ball." He glanced at his quiet brother, seated at the far end of the table. "And you, Bit? You're invited as well, you know."
With what might have been a shudder of his broad shoulders, Robert shook his head. "I'm busy." He pushed away from the table and, giving a slight bow, left the room.
"Damn," Tristan murmured, in so quiet a voice that Georgiana almost didn't hear him. His gaze was on the doorway through which his brother had vanished.
"What happened to him?" she whispered, as the rest of the table began discussing the upcoming soiree.
Blue eyes slid in her direction. "Other than his being nearly shot to death? I don't know. He won't tell me."
"Oh."
He gestured at the biscuit remaining on her plate. "Are you going to eat that?"
"No. Why—"
Tristan reached over and took it. "I'm glad you're going to the ball." He tore off a piece of the rich bread and popped it into his mouth.
"I don't know why you should be," she returned, glancing sideways to make sure they weren't being overheard. "I'll only use the occasion to torment you."
"I like being tormented by you." He, too, looked down the length of the table before returning his attention to her. "And I like having you here."
So, her plan was beginning to work. Georgiana put the speeding of her heartbeat to satisfaction. "I sometimes like being here," she said slowly. If she melted too quickly, he would be suspicious, and she'd have to start all over again.
"Sometimes?" he repeated, taking another bite of her biscuit.
"When you're not making silly announcements about my correspondence, or about how willing you are to keep secrets."
"But you and I do have secrets, don't we?" he murmured.
Georgiana lowered her eyes. "You'd do better to stop reminding me."
"Why should I? It was exceptionally memorable, and you refuse to forget it yourself. It's your excuse for not marrying."
Georgiana narrowed her eyes. "No, you're my excuse for not marrying. What in the world makes you think I'd wish to marry any man, after the poor example you've set?" she snapped. "What makes you think I'd give any man the power to ..." She stopped, flushing.
He pounced on the words. "The power to—"
She shoved to her feet. "Excuse me. I need some air."
While the remaining Carroways gazed at her, startled, she hurried from the room. Dawkins didn't have time to reach the front door before she yanked it open and ran down the shallow stone steps. She knew better than to wander about London alone in the dark, even in Mayfair, so she turned for the small rose garden on the east side of the house.
Cursing under her breath, she plunked herself down on the small stone bench beneath a bending elm tree. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"What do you tell people, when they ask why we seem to hate each other so much?"
Tristan's quiet voice came from the shadows at the front of the garden. He approached slowly, stopping beside the tree to lean against the worn trunk.
"What do you tell them?" she countered.
"That I only got as far as a kiss when you found out I was after your stocking for a wager, and that you weren't happy about being the object of any kind of wagering."
"That's close to what I tell them, except I add the part about me punching you in the face when you tried to lie to me about it."
He nodded, his gaze wandering the garden in the moonlit darkness. "That was six years ago, Georgiana. What are the odds you'll ever forgive me?"
"Very low, if you keep mentioning odds and wagering in my presence," she returned, her voice sharp. "I just don't understand, Tristan, how you could be that... unfeeling. To anyone. Not
She shook herself. He might very well need to marry a wealthy female like Amelia Johns, but he could still be nicer about it. Making the poor girl feel like a necessary pariah was cruel, even if he held no genuine affection for her.
"It's settled, then," he said. "Bradshaw, Georgiana, and I will be attending the Devonshire ball." He glanced at his quiet brother, seated at the far end of the table. "And you, Bit? You're invited as well, you know."
With what might have been a shudder of his broad shoulders, Robert shook his head. "I'm busy." He pushed away from the table and, giving a slight bow, left the room.
"Damn," Tristan murmured, in so quiet a voice that Georgiana almost didn't hear him. His gaze was on the doorway through which his brother had vanished.
"What happened to him?" she whispered, as the rest of the table began discussing the upcoming soiree.
Blue eyes slid in her direction. "Other than his being nearly shot to death? I don't know. He won't tell me."
"Oh."
He gestured at the biscuit remaining on her plate. "Are you going to eat that?"
"No. Why—"
Tristan reached over and took it. "I'm glad you're going to the ball." He tore off a piece of the rich bread and popped it into his mouth.
"I don't know why you should be," she returned, glancing sideways to make sure they weren't being overheard. "I'll only use the occasion to torment you."
"I like being tormented by you." He, too, looked down the length of the table before returning his attention to her. "And I like having you here."
So, her plan was beginning to work. Georgiana put the speeding of her heartbeat to satisfaction. "I sometimes like being here," she said slowly. If she melted too quickly, he would be suspicious, and she'd have to start all over again.
"Sometimes?" he repeated, taking another bite of her biscuit.
"When you're not making silly announcements about my correspondence, or about how willing you are to keep secrets."
"But you and I do have secrets, don't we?" he murmured.
Georgiana lowered her eyes. "You'd do better to stop reminding me."
"Why should I? It was exceptionally memorable, and you refuse to forget it yourself. It's your excuse for not marrying."
Georgiana narrowed her eyes. "No, you're my excuse for not marrying. What in the world makes you think I'd wish to marry any man, after the poor example you've set?" she snapped. "What makes you think I'd give any man the power to ..." She stopped, flushing.
He pounced on the words. "The power to—"
She shoved to her feet. "Excuse me. I need some air."
While the remaining Carroways gazed at her, startled, she hurried from the room. Dawkins didn't have time to reach the front door before she yanked it open and ran down the shallow stone steps. She knew better than to wander about London alone in the dark, even in Mayfair, so she turned for the small rose garden on the east side of the house.
Cursing under her breath, she plunked herself down on the small stone bench beneath a bending elm tree. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"What do you tell people, when they ask why we seem to hate each other so much?"
Tristan's quiet voice came from the shadows at the front of the garden. He approached slowly, stopping beside the tree to lean against the worn trunk.
"What do you tell them?" she countered.
"That I only got as far as a kiss when you found out I was after your stocking for a wager, and that you weren't happy about being the object of any kind of wagering."
"That's close to what I tell them, except I add the part about me punching you in the face when you tried to lie to me about it."
He nodded, his gaze wandering the garden in the moonlit darkness. "That was six years ago, Georgiana. What are the odds you'll ever forgive me?"
"Very low, if you keep mentioning odds and wagering in my presence," she returned, her voice sharp. "I just don't understand, Tristan, how you could be that... unfeeling. To anyone. Not
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