by Anna Small
She snuggled into his side as he turned in his sleep. His body curved around hers as if they’d been made for each other. It was nice to share a bed with Jack. More than nice, if she admitted the truth. She could hardly get over her surprise at how events had transpired. When had friendship—childish adoration, even—blossomed into love?
And what in heaven’s name was she going to do about it?
It couldn’t be love. Impossible. Had she not sworn never to love again? It was her very reason to have wanted to marry him in the first place. His conquests and reckless living were the deciding factors in making him the ideal husband. With so many women in his life, he would never become attached to her, and she would never again have her heart controlled by foolish lovesickness.
So why did she anticipate the next time they made love? Why did she want to shower his grizzled cheek with kisses and press her ear to his chest to listen to his heart? Was this platonic love for a man who’d been like a brother for years?
She closed her eyes so she couldn’t stare at him anymore. It wasn’t love at all, just the novelty of sharing a bed with a skilled, enthusiastic lover. What else could it be? Perhaps her first time with Edward might have been the same. She shuddered. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine holding onto Edward and returning passionate kiss for kiss as she had with Jack.
“You talk in your sleep.”
She twitched with surprise, relieved she had not kissed his hand. He most surely would have teased.
“I do not.”
“You wouldn’t know, would you?”
“What did I say?”
“Mostly my name. Just as I expected.”
He yelped when she pinched his thigh. “You are conceited, Jack Waverley.”
“And you love me anyway, Mrs. Waverley.” He sat up to straighten the sheet over them. “We should have ample evidence to show anyone who questions the legitimacy of our union.”
She glanced at the spotted sheet and blushed furiously. He only laughed and pulled her back onto the bed when she tried to rise.
“I should have known you would be…” She choked despite her resolve to be aloof and worldly.
“That I would be what?”
He stretched over her with obvious delight. She pushed against his chest, but he captured her hands, drawing her arms over her head and pinning them to the pillow.
“You have not a bit of compassion in you, whatsoever. You are only interested in teasing me, when last night was so…so…” She bit her lip, and he quickly kissed her, framing her face in his hands.
“So what?” he murmured, his lips trailing across her mouth and to her throat.
“You know what I’m trying to say.”
“Of course it was wonderful. I told you it would be, didn’t I? Have I ever lied to you?”
She struggled against his hold, but he was so warm, and his musky scent invaded her senses that she didn’t want him to stop. He released her hands and she wrapped her arms around him.
“One of my governesses told me a woman had to endure her husband’s…you know.” She chewed her lip. “I’d always thought sharing a man’s bed would be a trial.”
“Well, we can always do it again, and I can try to be inconsiderate and loathsome.”
A single curl had drifted over his ear. She twined it around her finger. “I’m trying to say that you were…that it was…just perfect.”
His jaw worked for a moment, and she half-expected a teasing reply. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I just wanted you to have the full experience. That way, when you run back to Fairwood Hall, you can have something to write about in your diary.”
Again, the devilish grin. Her heart pounded almost painfully. “Are you not coming home with me?”
“What?” His eyebrows darted up in feigned shock. “And face your brother? Are you mad, woman?”
She slipped her legs around him and watched the grin fade into the same look of devout seriousness she recognized from the night before. “We can always send him a letter.”
He chuckled, but she sensed his interest lay in other matters for the moment. “I will go with you, then. After all, I can hardly trust you on the road home by yourself. Who knows what sort of mischief you’ll find? Besides, I did make that promise to your brother.” He sighed elaborately, as if it were only the fact he’d promised Jonathan and nothing else that changed his mind.
Relieved, she almost kissed him but smiled instead. He’d already slipped inside her, like slick satin wrapped in a sheath of velvet. Her mind fogged.
“Thank you, Jack.”
“For this?” He nuzzled her breast, dragging his scratchy whiskers across her throat until she had to stifle a giggle.
“For…for sacrificing your bachelorhood.”
“I’m sure I will be forgiven by all the other bachelors who will curse me for breaking the code.”
“There’s a code?”
If there was, she did not care to hear it. From his heavy breathing and muttered expressions of delight, he did not care to explain.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where are you going?”
She lifted her head from the pillows, her body heavy. They’d spent the entire day in bed, and she didn’t know if it was morning or night. What’s more, she didn’t care. The curtains were open, and a faint, hazy light entered the room.
He paused in buttoning his shirt. “Contrary to popular belief amongst the Fairwood Hall set, I did not venture to France merely for base pleasure-seeking. I do have actual business to attend.”
“Of course, you do.” She wanted to ask if he were going to the vignoble but did not want to pry. Even though she’d spent several waking hours under his loving attention and several asleep on his chest, their agreement did not give her the right to ask.
“I will be home in time for supper. You may spend the day guessing my favorite dishes and concocting an excellent menu with my capable cook.”
He pulled on his waistcoat. She caught her breath. He cut such a striking figure. His muscular arms were hidden beneath the flowing sleeves but his heavy, lean thighs strained against the seams of his breeches. He winked at her.
“What is that frown? Missing me already, Georgie?”
She thumped her pillow and pretended she was more interested in comfort than staring at him. “I shall miss your incessant teasing and bad manners. As for your supper, we shall have my own favorites. I hope you like pickled pig’s feet.”
“How did you guess my favorite?”
She groaned. “What time is it?”
He padded across the carpet and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s just past six. In the morning.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not surprised you’re awake. You snored all night to awaken the dead. I don’t think I slept more than two hours. Every time I tried to push you away, you’d scurry back across the sheets into my arms. Just think—you no longer need steal into my bed, but may become a welcome visitor.”
She bit back a retort, only because he was stroking the side of her face, and his touch soothed and aroused at the same time. His hand skimmed her throat and slid under the sheet. She tried not to gasp when his palm covered her breast, but did so anyway, reaching for his hand and holding it in place. He leaned forward and kissed her gently, almost sweetly, on the lips.
“God, it pains me to leave you. Truly pains me.” His gray eyes sparkled with their familiar mischievous gleam. “But I look forward to spending another glorious night in your arms.” He frowned suddenly. “That is, if you’d still like the full experience of the oft-touted honeymoon, Mrs. Waverley.”
Forgetting her resolve to remain aloof, she sat up, allowing the sheet to drop to her waist. She pressed into his chest as his arms reached around her.
“That is not an unpleasant idea.”
He combed through her tangled hair with his broad fingers, caressing her scalp as he did. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she sighed. She felt his soft laughter like a gentle breeze on her mouth when he kissed her.
A rush of heat surged over her limbs until the blush reached her forehead. “You must stop teasing me so, Jack. If anyone heard us, they would think I’m a little ninny, following you around like a puppy, while you laugh and smile at me.”
“I shall frown at you then and quite often. You grew up in too good a household, I think. Not enough shouting and spirit-breaking, in my opinion.”
She finished buttoning his shirt, her fingertips lingering on a patch of bare, warm skin. “You would do better to spoil and pet me.” She straightened his collar with a firm hand, hoping her voice sounded authoritative. “I can be very easily persuaded into generosity.”
“I do not want your thousands, Georgie. I married you to save your reputation and keep you from the loutish Mr. Richmond.”
His tone was light, but his eyes hardened suddenly. He pulled away, but she grasped his shirt.
“I meant with my affections.” She’d tried to be flirtatious, but her attempt was regrettably pitiful. She swallowed, suddenly nervous, as he continued to look at her. “Which are, of course, yours to command.”
He laughed loudly and pulled her to him a little roughly, but she clung to him anyway. She felt him inhale the scent of her hair, and then he lifted his head and kissed her soundly. “I shall command them, then. But, tonight, when I return. I have no time now, as tempting as you are.” He continued to dress. “In your absence, and between excruciatingly boring lectures from Gaston, I will endeavor to think of more endearments for you. I can’t go on calling you Mrs. Waverley.”
She didn’t want to express too much pleasure at the thought, but nodded in agreement. “And I will think of something for you besides Casanova or Don Juan.”
“You compare me to such as them? I do not know whether to be insulted or flattered.” He scowled comically, then sat on the settee and drew on his boots. “They have nothing on me, my darling.” He winked at her. Within minutes, he’d tied his neckcloth and finished dressing. He held his arms open. “How am I? Suitable for French wine merchants?”
She giggled. “You’re a proper dandy. Jonathan will tease you to no end when he hears about it.”
He gave her what she thought was a mildly reproachful look, and she laughed again. “And how will you spend your day, Georgie? Besides pining for me.”
“I will not pine for you, though you may think so if it appeases your vanity. I intend to play that marvelous pianoforte you’ve neglected all these years. I may also take a stroll around the gardens, and perhaps even go into town.” She did not intend to do any of it but didn’t want to admit how much she was going to miss him. The realization troubled her. Restlessness overcame her, and she got out of bed, hastily drawing on the shirt he’d discarded the night before.
He whistled through his teeth. “That looks much better on you than it does me.” He paused at the door before leaving. “As a special request, Georgiana—please do not leave the premises alone. I will be on the other side of town and not able to rescue you. You seem to attract all manner of trouble wherever you go.” He lingered at the door. “Including your recent attachment to me.” Another wink and he was gone.
She stood silently in the middle of the room, hugging her arms around her. When she bowed her head to her chest, she could smell his scent—a mixture of woodsy spice and sweat—clinging to her skin. She summoned Marie to help her bathe and dress, suddenly unwilling to be alone. As she soaked in a fragrant tub, she realized he had not kissed her goodbye.
And was mildly disturbed he had not.
****
Twice he mistakenly categorized a shipment of barrels. Next, he spilled a glass of wine across a stack of freshly written invoices. As Jack patted the mess with a towel, Gaston snapped his fingers for assistance from an underling and took Jack’s elbow.
“Perhaps a walk outdoors, Jack. The rest is just bothersome paperwork I can do later.”
“I know, but my grandfather expects me to do some work around here besides walking around the vineyards and drinking his wine.”
“We shall not tell him, then,” Gaston said, winking.
Jack grabbed his hat as they walked through the door. He inhaled the clean-smelling, fragrant air of the vignoble and stood with his hands on his hips as he looked across the gently rolling hills of grape. A year ago, this was all he’d wanted. The thought that someday he would be the master of his grandfather’s enterprise appealed like nothing else. All his boxing and gambling was to secure him financially until that moment. He would make his own way in the world, and nothing would interfere with his plans.
Nothing had until he’d agreed to escort a certain golden-haired chatterbox of a girl across the sea. And there was the slight matter of his having married said girl without her brother’s consent, approval, or blessing. He doubted he would receive any of them. Especially after last night.
He could still feel the light weight of her body against his, each dew-slicked breast beneath his hands. Her moans and sighs fluttering in his ear as they joined, again and again. Her slender fingers, shy and hesitant for only a moment before she touched him as boldly as he touched her…
Gaston’s laughter broke into his thoughts. “She must be quite a goddess, for your mind to be elsewhere.”
“Hmm? Oh, no.” Jack waved off his comment with a breezy hand, nearly choking with embarrassment at what Georgiana’s image aroused in him. “I was merely thinking about the new shipment.”
“Of course, of course.” Gaston shrugged. “You may go back to your chateau, Jack. I will handle all the details here. You may return at the end of the week when the shipment is ready. You can put your seal on it.”
“Thank you.” He shook Gaston’s hand. “Perhaps I shall bring her by.”
“Ah! La comtesse will enjoy the new vintage.”
The rush of heat burned Jack’s face before he could compose himself. “Not la comtesse, Gaston, but my new bride. Miss…” Again, he fumbled over his words. “Miss Georgiana Lockewood.” He couldn’t resist adding, “The enthusiastic grape stomper from the other day.”
Gaston’s eyebrows flickered upward for only a moment, but he gave a little bow. “Forgive me. I had not heard. My congratulations. Your grandfather will be very proud.”
“I’m certain of it,” he said drily. He could almost see the wheels turning in the Frenchman’s head and wondered what Gaston would write in his report to his grandfather. He planned to write his own letter but did not want to seem as if he had only married to appease the old man. In truth, it was his original intent, but the friendly companionship she’d promised had gone by the wayside in the newly discovered fact they were so compatible in the bedchamber. He clicked his heels together in a mock salute and walked toward the gates where his carriage waited. He had to stop himself from mentally calculating how long it would take to reach the chateau.
He slowed his pace, sweat breaking out against his collar. What if Georgiana wasn’t waiting for him in a state of heart-pounding desire, but dreading his return? She might be having doubts, especially after last night. She hadn’t been ready, now he thought of it. He’d frightened her, and she’d kept silent to spare his feelings. What he’d assumed were gasps of delight had really been groans of horror and pain. The clawing fingernails hadn’t rent his skin in passion, but as a defensive move. Her kisses had been panicked responses to his assaulting mouth, not desire.
Perhaps he wasn’t returning to a love nest, but a bleak house where a regretful girl was going to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake and they must return to England immediately. Perhaps there’d be time to spare her reputation, if he could invoke Aunt Adele’s silence. No one need ever find out about their hastily arranged marriage, and Lady Richmond might be convinced it had all been some fantastical joke. Besides, until it was sanctioned by English law, it wasn’t really a marriage, anyway. They needn’t go through the embarrassment of annulment, but could simply pretend it had ne
ver happened.
He climbed into the carriage and fell back against the cushioned wall. Right now, Georgiana was tossing her belongings into her trunks, frantic and distraught. Perhaps she’d already contacted the shipyard and arranged passage home. Or worse, she’d summoned her brother, and Jonathan was on a fast sloop intent on rescuing his sister from yet another who’d betrayed his trust.
By the time the carriage stopped at the chateau, Jack was dry-mouthed and out of breath, as if he’d run the length of the vignoble. Quelling his urge to tear through the house to ensure she was still there, or worse, observe her despair, he walked briskly but calmly through the courtyard to the front door.
As Philippe greeted him, a strain of music from his father’s old pianoforte reached him through one of the open windows. Without saying a word to Philippe, he abruptly turned to crunch and squash his way through the flowerbeds and hedgerows to the side of the house.
Pushing aside a clinging ivy stalk, he peered into the drawing room. Serene and lovely, Georgiana sat at the pianoforte with her profile to the window, her golden hair pinned up with one long, loose curl hanging over one shoulder. Her gossamer silk gown skimmed her body in a dusty shade of periwinkle, and the white lace at her collarbone and shoulders only emphasized the delicious creaminess of her skin. He watched in mesmerized fascination as her slender fingers danced across the keys. Now and then, she paused, seemingly staring into space, before jotting down a notation or two on the music sheet in front of her.
She was not packing her belongings and flying about the house in a mad frenzy in her haste to escape. Her eyes were not swollen and puffy from rivers of tears at the loss of her innocence at the hands of a rogue. On the contrary, a faint blush stained her cheek, and she seemed relaxed.
She resumed playing a light, dainty piece he’d often scorned as too romantic and soft, but now he wanted to sway in time to it, his chest expanding with a feeling he hadn’t experienced but once in his life.
The last time he’d seen her play was at Christmastide, when she was a gawky girl of fifteen. The Lockewood charm lurked behind her eyes, but she was unaware of her potential emergence as a butterfly trapped in the cocoon of long, coltish legs and a flat chest. He’d sensed her hidden power from the moment he walked through the front door of Fairwood Hall. Normally, she would run to him when he arrived, and this day was no different. But she’d stammered and blushed as she greeted him, and he’d restrained from kissing her, sensing she had changed, or was changing.