Chapter Five
Teddy approached the dining hall with interest, pausing to peruse the space in the archway where the light spilled into the hall.
Like the rest of the villa he’d seen thus far, the decor and furnishings were simple yet elegant, if feminine, and not bursting with gilt and heavy old-world ornamentation as in the home of the man claiming to be his parent.
The earl was, of course, telling the truth. To think otherwise would be ludicrous. He looked similar to his father, for one thing, and who would falsely claim someone as his heir—to an earldom?
He hesitated a moment longer before entering the chamber to take in the sight of Georgina, still garbed in the yellow day dress, with its demure bodice that nevertheless did nothing to disguise her generous curves.
She sat at the oblong dining table, posture erect, spectacles glinting in the light from the crystal candelabra in the table’s center.
Evidently it was too late in the evening to ask the staff to light the chandelier.
He did not mind. He liked the effect of the dancing golden light on her pale skin.
He strode into the chamber.
Georgina glanced up with a welcoming, soft smile curving her lips. She had dimples. He had failed to notice them earlier.
As he seated himself at the head of the table which she’d left for him, he also noted faint circles underscoring her eyes. It occurred to him that she’d had an exceedingly long day, thanks to her efforts on his behalf.
“Thank you,” he said on impulse and hoisted up the decanter of red wine on the table. “May I?” he asked, his arm hovering over her empty goblet.
“Please. And it’s nothing. I’m sure Mrs. Everett already had something prepared for my—our—return.”
It occurred to him, then, she thought his thanks owed to the meal. For some perverse reason, he let her error stand.
She began serving him, doling out cold roast chicken, sliced cheese, and pickled vegetables onto his plate before seeing to her own needs.
He watched in silence, trying to detect anything familiar about her movements, her manner towards him.
Nothing came. He took a large swallow of wine.
The rich, smooth finish struck him in an instant.
Setting his glass on the white tablecloth, he asked, “You say you purchased this villa with your own money?” He picked up his cutlery and waited for her to do the same before slicing up a bite.
“Yes.” The way she said it, the tilt of her head and slight dimpling, told him she was rather pleased with herself, too. Charming.
“You seemed disgruntled earlier when I assumed your parents funded the purchase of our villa and your lifestyle during my absence, which, I’m beginning to understand, is quietly lavish.”
She’d forked up a bite of something and now her hand hovered in the air, as her mouth formed a perfect O. She looked for all the world like a miscreant who’d just been caught pilfering the cookie jar.
“From where does your money spring? You’re not an inveterate gambler, I hope?”
She set her fork aside, laughing, the sound soft and tinkling like a garden fountain. He found himself smiling in return as he stabbed his fork into a bite of cheese.
Ducking her head, she replied, her voice almost shy. “It’s a secret, known only to a select few.”
She had his full attention now. “Even from me? I say, that’s not really done, is it? A wife keeping secrets from her husband?”
Her lips were parted, slightly, as if she couldn’t quite decide how to respond.
She had a very fine mouth. Plump lips, the upper slightly more so than the lower, and boasting a slight upward tilt he found rather enticing.
Despite her nonrevealing bodice and spectacles and forthright, in-charge manner, she had a feminine softness about her that appealed to him very much.
He propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in hand, and leaning closer to get a better look.
Roses. She smelled of roses. Come to think of it, he’d noticed that in the carriage in his near delirium. He’d dreamt of a rose garden, he was almost sure. He wondered if she bathed in rose water. He wouldn’t put it past his little wife with her unapologetic taste for the finer things in life.
A sudden image of her, chestnut curls piled atop her head, her body, naked and shapely, stepping into a steaming tub, its surface littered with rose petals, filled his mind.
His loins tightened in an instant, and in the next, an odd jolt of wrongness for lack of a better word, shafted through him. What the devil?
He sat back and picked up his wine to take another long drink.
“Is something wrong?” Concern etched every syllable.
Annoyance pricked him at her too-keen watchfulness. He’d had about enough of that. He sent her a warning scowl, which she appeared to ignore.
“I am fine. Listen, George,” he watched her for a reaction at the shortening of her name—and got one on his first try.
She looked utterly bemused. Evidently, he did not refer to her as such. He logged the observation and went on. “I hope you do not intend to hover over me like some hired nursemaid. I am perfectly well. I am not an invalid. I simply have temporarily lost my memories. Do I make myself clear?”
Throughout his lecture, her posture stiffened, tempting him to regret his harsh tone, though he chose not to. He would not accept mollycoddling. He was not a weakling.
“Quite clear.” In a deliberate fashion, she removed her spectacles, folded them, and set them aside, like a man preparing to issue a challenge. Then she faced him.
Good God. If she meant to mesmerize him, she was off to a fine start. She regarded him stonily, through wide-set eyes, fringed with thick, black, curling lashes. Her irises were the color of molten silver, rimmed with a charcoal so dark it could be black.
Unblinking, she spoke, articulating each word. “I would like to make something clear, as well.”
“Do you even need those things?” He gestured toward the wire-framed glasses.
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Just now, you took those off to look me in the eyes, as if the spectacles themselves got in your way of doing so.”
She looked undeniably flustered. “They do help, especially at night, with correspondence and such, primarily.”
“But you don’t really need them, do you? Then why wear them?”
Her lips firmed. “We are straying from the point, my lord.”
“Oh. Pardon me,” he said with blatant sarcasm, lounging back in his chair. He was having fun, he realized, teasing her. He could not remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself.
But then, he couldn’t remember beyond a month ago, when he’d awoken in a military encampment with no notion of who he was.
She sniffed and sent him a peeved glance, or meant to. He saw the tell-tale gleam of amusement in her liquid-silver eyes, which only heightened his own.
“May I continue?” Drawing her torso erect in her chair, she did a little shoulder waggle—and his gaze dipped, briefly, to her high-necked bodice that showed no amount of cleavage and yet did nothing to obscure the enticing swells underneath the fabric.
No. He should not be ogling her.
He dragged his gaze upward. He was a gentleman. As he neither recognized her, nor knew what to call her, he had no business indulging carnal thoughts about her.
On the other hand, she had claimed to be his wife—which somehow did not equate.
“I know you have something you wish to say, darling. However, I have questions that I believe deserve answers before you lay down whatever decree you intend to issue. Don’t you agree? I am, after all, at a serious disadvantage.” He batted his lashes.
She attempted to remain stoic, but dimpled despite her obvious efforts not to.
Somehow he’d known she would. Satisfaction surged through him and he smiled at her in triumph.
Her eyes widened, as if dazzled.
Ah. She had a weakness for him, evidently. That, and her tender caresses en route from Surrey, did lend credence to the possibility they had married for love.
Still. The notion of him being in love with someone to the point of needing to marry her before setting off for war struck him as unlikely—not impossible, however.
“Explain to me again how it is nobody seems to know I’ve a wife? And why in Hades did you never come to see me after my return?”
She drew her hand to her face as if she meant to shove her spectacles up her nose—the spectacles currently sitting beside her place setting—then dropped her hand to her lap. “Did you have many visitors?” she countered.
He had not. His parents hadn’t wanted anyone to see him in his condition. “What difference does that make?” he snapped.
She shrugged, doing that shoulder waggle again. This time, he kept his eyes locked on her face. “I was just wondering. In truth, I did not understand why…” She broke off, and the pink tip of her tongue touched on the corner of her rosy lips.
He was not sharing her bed chamber—by her choice. He was not going to focus on her lips. His choice.
“That is, why you did not reach out to me once you returned home.” She nodded, as if pleased with her own response.
“Perhaps because you didn’t you call on me?” he offered sweetly.
Again her hand came up, and again, she dropped it in her lap.
“The thing is…” She broke off and her lower lip trembled, ever-so-slightly.
“I had not heard from you in some time. I began to wonder if…” She hesitated.
“If your feelings for me had waned. Thus, though I knew you’d returned, I felt obliged to wait for you to call on me. ”
Feasible, he was forced to admit. Why hadn’t he corresponded with her for “some time”? Had his feelings waned? Was he the fickle sort?
“I see. Well, now you know why I did not.” At least one reason he hadn’t. “Tell me again of our secret nuptials.”
“Before you left, we went to the park where we often spent time—the Vale in Hampstead Heath.”