An Inconvenient Kiss

by Carole Kimberly

Her cousin looked at her, clearly ready to argue. Georgiana tried to reason with her. “I’m still worn out from the journey here—a few days of rest, Janie. That’s all I ask.”

  Jane nodded. “You were right, Gi,” she whispered hoarsely. “Caring about someone is just too hard. I barely know him and I’m sick with worry. I don’t want to be hurt again.”

  “I know,” Georgiana cooed. “But a very wise woman once told me that giving up happiness to avoid hurt means you’re living half a life. And I’ve learned from personal experience that love happens whether we want it to or not.”

  Jane looked up with such sadness that it broke Georgiana’s heart. “Which is why I don’t want to be here when he gets back,” Jane said resolutely.

  “Of course,” Georgiana agreed, understanding that her cousin needed her support. While it would devastate her to leave Simon before she’d had the chance to tell him how she felt, her dear cousin had followed her to the ends of the earth. It was her turn to do the same—if that’s what Jane wanted.

  “Why don’t you get some rest,” Georgiana suggested. “I’ll fetch you when we’re ready to watch the festivities.”

  Jane reluctantly agreed and took herself off. Georgiana sat for a long time, silently musing over her conversation with her grandsire. She had chosen her life, she realized. What’s more, despite its many pitfalls, she was oddly happy with it. Rather than her end, as everyone assumed, her fall from grace had been the start for her. It had freed her from the constraints of her class and upbringing. That one kiss six years ago had inadvertently opened doors unavailable to most of her gender.

  An idea crystallized in her mind, and Georgiana immediately embraced it. She wanted to let the Octavia Fenimeres of the world understand that she had no regrets. That Society’s snubs held little consequence to her. Grabbing several pieces of foolscap and a pen, Georgiana sat down at Julian Thorne’s desk and began.

  “Chapter one,” she said to herself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Simon crept into the darkness of Georgiana’s bedroom, the faint flickering light of a single candle beckoning him like a beacon. Georgiana’s motionless figure slumped over the escritoire in one corner of the room. Her hair was a tangled ebony knot, half up and half down. Her arms were sprawled across the top of the desk and her face rested atop them in a manner that looked damned uncomfortable. Even from this distance Simon could see a big streak of ink across her cheek. To his amusement, she was snoring softly.

  She was breathtaking.

  Unable to help himself, he glanced at her wrist and found the simple cotton band still there. His heart fluttered wildly.

  It had been five long days since he’d stormed off the veranda; five days of hell enduring rain and jungle and mosquitoes and regret. His misery had little to do with rain and jungle and mosquitoes, he understood that to his core. The moment he’d walked away from Georgiana, he’d regretted it. In fact, he regretted their last encounter entirely, especially as he had instigated it.

  Upon their return to the palazzo, Simon had barely bothered to grunt a civil “Good evening” to Julian—who was already heading down the hallway, likely to find Jane—before spinning on his heel to find Georgiana.

  As he approached her now, Simon caught a glimpse of himself in her mirror and made a face. Perhaps he should’ve bathed before visiting her. He prayed he didn’t smell as filthy as he looked. Before he could ascertain the truth of that, however, the figure at the desk stirred.

  Simon stood stock still, frozen to the spot. Georgiana lifted her head and scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. She rose, yawning and stretching, and was about to blow out the lamp when she looked up and spotted him.

  Georgiana shrieked and jumped out of her chair. She clutched the lapels of her thin wrapper close to her chest, gaping at him.

  Simon raised his hands and stepped into the light. “Georgie, it’s all right. It’s me.”

  “Simon?” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. She squinted through the dim light. “You scared me half to death! Sneaking in here at all hours!”

  She stopped mid-rant. “Wait. What day is it?”

  “Sunday, I think,” he said. Simon struggled for words. “Our guide took ill. Rather than muddle blindly through the wild, we came back.”

  Georgiana was silent for a moment as she blinked at him. “You came back,” she murmured.

  Without warning, and before he could formulate an apology, she launched herself at him. Simon was too startled at first to do little more than catch her. She had thrown her arms around his neck and was kissing his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks.

  “You came back,” she said again between kisses. “I’m so sorry I slapped you.”

  “No, love,” he said, pleasure warming him down to his toes. “I was intolerably rude to you, which I regret immensely.”

  She rested her forehead on his. “I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you,” she whispered shyly.

  Simon’s heart leaped. He kissed her soundly on the mouth, holding her tightly to him. It was a long time before their lips finally parted. He looked into Georgiana’s violet eyes and murmured, “I missed you too, Princess.”

  She cleared her throat and said sheepishly, “Simon, I hate to ruin this lovely moment, but you smell really awful.”

  “I haven’t bathed yet. I was anxious to see you,” he admitted.

  “And I’m flattered,” she said wriggling out of his arms. She crossed the room to the bell-pull and assessed him head to toe. Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she pulled the cord. “But let’s wash the jungle off of you now, shall we?”

  Simon forced himself to stay put rather than chase her around the bedchamber like a raving lunatic. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before a scratch at the door signaled the arrival of a servant. Georgiana spoke softly with the housemaid, and as soon as the maid was gone, she turned to him. Rather than keep her distance, as any sane, gently bred young lady would, Georgiana returned to Simon and pushed him into the chair she had vacated.

  “You look ready to fall asleep on your feet,” she chattered happily as she settled herself in his lap.

  “I suspect I could,” he agreed, though a certain part of his anatomy told him otherwise.

  “What happened out there?” she murmured.

  Simon shook his head. “Julian’s curiosities dealer had malaria. I don’t know how long ago he’d been infected, but by the time it broke it was severe. We’d just set up camp and were planning how to best scout the area when he took ill with a fever. By the third day...”

  Simon shrugged. “We sent two of the marines back for a doctor as soon as the fever hit, but by the time they returned it was too late. He’d already slipped into a coma. There was nothing we could do for him.”

  “How awful,” Georgiana said softly.

  Simon nodded. “Julian and I were thinking we might go round to his family in the next day or so, to see that they’re provided for.”

  “I like that idea,” Georgiana said, stroking his cheek. “And what of the legendary Black Pagoda?”

  “We took turns searching, but without the guide to show us, it was near to impossible, love,” he sighed. “I hope Sir Jon won’t be too disappointed.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “I think Grandfather will be just fine.” She stroked the nape of neck, running her fingers through his hair, and Simon wanted to purr with contentment.

  “So what have you been working on while I was away?” he asked, distracting himself by thumbing through the papers on her writing desk. “Is this your research on the festival of Rath Yatra?”

  Georgiana blushed, and Simon desperately wanted to kiss her. Instead, he pushed that thought away and began reading Georgiana’s elegant scrawl. After the first couple of paragraphs, he looked up at her, filled with both amusement and admiration. “This is about you,�
� he said.

  Georgiana shrugged her shoulder. “This is part one—From Ruined to Rome. It’s a serial. The first part covers my fall from grace and my time with Jane and Henri. It ends with us traveling to Italy to find Grandfather. If a publisher likes it, I thought I’d devote a book to each subsequent country. Well perhaps China and Russia together, followed by Egypt and then India.” She looked at Simon shyly. “Do you like it?”

  “The scandalous memoirs of England’s most celebrated Jezebel? It’s brilliant,” Simon said enthusiastically. “Am I in it?”

  “Of course,” Georgiana demurred. “You’re the villain. And the hero.”

  “So, how does it end?”

  “You’ll have to a buy a copy, Mr. Ashford,” she placed a kiss on his nose.

  Simon moved to kiss her but was interrupted by a knock at the door, signaling the arrival of his bathwater. Georgiana grinned playfully and rose to let in Julian’s very efficient servants, who bore the expected buckets full of steaming water as well as an unexpected tray laden with food.

  Simon greedily eyed the bath and the tray, trying to decide which he wanted more. Georgiana closed the door behind the final servant and turned to face him. Seeing his dilemma, she nodded.

  “You get in,” she directed, pointing to the tub as she walked over to the tray. “What would you like first?”

  “Surprise me,” he said.

  Simon threw off his filthy clothes and slid into the steaming water, feeling instantly better. He scrubbed his face and body vigorously with cardamom-laced soap then ducked under the water to wet his hair. When he surfaced, Georgiana was waiting with mango slices and a thick hunk of cheese. He gratefully took the proffered food and ate voraciously. As soon as he was done with one delicacy, Georgiana handed him something new. Pretty soon he’d downed not only the mango and cheese, but also two pieces of bread, some cold chicken and a savory rice dish with chickpeas. When he was finished, Georgiana had a speculative gleam in her eye.

  He loved that look. “Yes, Miss Phillips?”

  Georgiana’s lips twitched. “Better?”

  Simon nodded.

  “Your hair needs to be washed,” she said.

  She handed him a large glass of port. He sipped the warming liquor as he tracked Georgiana’s movements through heavy eyes. She had pushed a small ottoman to the side of the tub and seated herself on it. As soon as he finished his drink, she took his empty glass and offered him a comfit. Seemingly out of nowhere, she brandished another bottle and poured some of the liquid into her hands. It smelled of mint and orchid.

  Simon groaned. “I don’t want to smell like a girl,” he protested.

  Georgiana was not to be deterred, of course. She lathered the sweet smelling potion into his hair, massaging his scalp so deliciously that it made him sigh despite the scent.

  “That’s not so bad, is it?” she teased.

  “I suppose it’s all right,” he murmured.

  Simon rested his head in her hand as she doused his clean locks with fresh water. She grabbed a linen and began drying his hair. He closed his eyes, enjoying the peacefulness. When he heard the wet material hit the floor, he opened his eyes to find his princess assessing him.

  “Feeling better?” Georgiana asked.

  “Much,” Simon said.

  “Excellent. I wonder if there’s anything more I might do to boost your flagging spirit?” she said throatily.

  Georgiana began tracing small circles on his shoulder, and Simon’s stomach clenched. She kissed his neck then ran her tongue along its column, which made him a bit lightheaded as all his blood seemed to be pooling in regions farther south. Her hand was drifting lower, caressing his ribs and stomach and causing his chest to rise and fall raggedly.

  But five days of mosquitoes and jungle and rain had given him time to clear his head. As much as he wanted to make love to his princess, he wanted certain concessions more. The time for seduction and subtlety was over—he was ready to try a harder tack.

  Simon steeled his nerves and gently pushed her away. “Georgie, I can’t.”

  Her eyes grew round in concern. “You can’t?”

  “No,” he sputtered. “I don’t mean I can’t. I can...and I very much want to.” He looked at the thin cotton of her wrapper and cleared his throat, feeling more than a little foolish for what he was about to say. “I meant that I won’t.”

  Georgiana chewed her lip, and Simon found himself growing even harder. She asked, “Do you mean you won’t with me specifically, or you won’t in general?”

  Simon glared, offended at her suggestion. “As you are the only one I want to be with, I suppose I mean both.”

  “Hmm. May I ask why you’ve chosen this life of unexpected celibacy?” There was a slight thread of humor in her voice that both annoyed and stirred him. “Are you joining a monastery?”

  “I’m saving myself,” he sniffed prudishly. “For my wife.”

  Georgiana was clearly biting back laughter. “Simon, don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”

  “Not at all,” he protested primly, enjoying her latent mirth. “Past transgressions aside, I have decided to keep myself chaste until my wedding night.”

  At this, Georgiana burst into a fit of giggles. “How admirable,” she said, stifling more giggling. “I don’t suppose I might change your mind?”

  Simon waited until the giggling had subsided. When at last she looked at him without mirth, he shrugged. “You could try.”

  Georgiana leaned into him, the sweetness of her breath sluicing over his lips, his cheeks. “I could kiss you,” she said breathlessly. “Would that change your mind?”

  Simon cleared his throat. “No.”

  Her lips met his, haltingly, and he felt her tongue delicately trace his upper lip, igniting his blood. She very gently nipped his lower lip, causing Simon’s breath to catch. He gripped the sides of the tub to stop himself from hauling her against him as she repeated the torture several times.

  Finally, she pulled back, looking amused and a little dazed. “Well, you do seem serious about this,” she groused playfully. “You won’t even kiss me.”

  Simon nodded. “Only my wife,” he said.

  “I could seduce you,” she said.

  Simon shook his head, both fearing and anticipating what she might do.

  Tension coiled within him as Georgiana rose and removed her wrapper slowly. The thin night rail that she wore left little to the imagination, and Simon steeled himself for what she was about to do. Rather than taking it off, however, Georgiana took down her hair and busied herself with a pitcher at the side of the tub.

  “Do you know I’ve learned so much about cotton during my time in India?” she asked, her tone conversational. “It is surprisingly strong, but it tends to hold moisture—very uncomfortable in the rainy season and the humidity. That’s why I prefer to sleep in silk gauze when it’s this hot. The problem with that, though, is it’s so fragile. It’s almost transparent, especially if it gets wet.”

  She took the pitcher of water she’d been fiddling with and poured some down the front of her nightgown. The wet fabric, now completely transparent, clung to the lush curves of her breasts, the rosy buds of her nipples and the valley above her thighs. Somehow it was more erotic than if she were completely naked before him.

  Simon swallowed hard.

  Georgiana sauntered toward him, clearly understanding the effect she was having on him. Taking his jaw in her hands, she kissed him so sweetly, so thoroughly, that he forgot his purpose for a moment and kissed her back. Likely he would have forgotten his name—let alone his goal—had she not reminded him.

  “Have I changed your mind, Simon?” she whispered hoarsely.

  Simon shook his head, not trusting his voice.

  “Oh. Well, we should get you out of there,” sh
e said innocently. “The water’s getting chilly.”

  In truth, Simon hadn’t noticed. But he dutifully rose and stepped out, fully aware of his beloved’s dark gaze slowly sweeping over him. Unable to find his voice yet, he couldn’t protest when she began drying his skin. Georgiana smiled lasciviously as she very deliberately caressed his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen with the coarse fabric. She was testing him, he understood, trying to gauge the seriousness of his claim.

  His resolve wavered when she sank to her knees and began stroking his leg from hip to ankle. As she started from the bottom up on the other side, he finally found his tongue.

  “That’s enough,” he said, his raspy voice unrecognizable.

  Georgiana rose to her feet before him. She looked at him, amusement and rebellion in her eyes. Without a word, she slid the damp fabric from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor at her feet.

  Simon forced himself to stand still, his fingers curled tightly into fists at his side. Every last inch of him was straining toward her, screaming to take her. She closed the distance between them with one smooth step and unapologetically wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel the delicious rise and fall of her breasts against him, the tantalizing heat that beckoned to him.

  Georgiana smiled and touched her mouth to his. “Have I changed your mind yet?”

  Although it took a herculean effort on his part, he untangled her hands and stepped away from her. It wasn’t much, but he knew he had made his point.

  “It means that much to you?” she asked.

  He looked at her, feeling all the love and tenderness he had for her, and only her, and shrugged. He said very simply, “I want more, Princess.”

  She didn’t answer, so Simon plowed on. “I know I said I wouldn’t press the issue, Georgiana, but I lied,” he said frankly. “I don’t want to be your plaything. I want...you. Yours is the first face I want to see in the morning and the last before I close my eyes at night. I want to spend my days laughing and arguing with you, and I want to spend my nights making pretty babies with you. Georgiana, you’re the best part of me.”