Chapter Seven
Moonlight guiding her way, Georgina crept from the balcony into the guest chamber where Teddy slept, timing her footsteps with the crashing waves below.
Hands held out before her, she made her way, inch by slow inch, to the table where she’d left the tea tray.
Her fingers brushed ceramic and metal. She dared not fiddle with the pot.
She opted, instead, to poke her fingers into the cup itself.
Relief flooded her when she encountered night-chilled liquid at the bottom, remnants of Teddy’s medicinal drink.
He had drunk the tea. She’d been so afraid she’d erred, pulling him from Brook Haven where he was assured of getting proper medical treatment, by hook or by crook.
She pivoted slowly and peered toward the bed, gratified by the sight of the large man atop the medium sized bed, and the sure sounds of Teddy’s slow and steady breaths, in and out, in and out.
She glanced outside, then back at him. She simply could not resist one close look. Swallowing over a throat gone suddenly dry, she tiptoed to stand beside the bed.
Dear Heaven. He’d flung his arms up over his head and had pushed off most of his bed covers, leaving his upper torso, the hint of one hip, and long, sinewy leg, bent at the knee, bare.
He was beautifully made. Broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist. The lean, sculpted muscles of his pectorals and abdomen gleamed in the silvery moonlight.
Her gaze trailed the dark line of hair from his navel narrowing toward his pelvis and disappearing beneath the bedcovers.
If he shifted, if the covers moved even an inch…
She drew a shuddering breath and knew a longing so profound it threatened to buckle her knees.
She had to get out of here before she went totally mad. Never taking her eyes off him, she backed toward the open doors.
His soft urgent moan stopped her in her tracks. His head began to turn to and fro on the pillow, and then garbled words spilled from his lips. “No…no, wait.” The desperate plea sounded torn from his depths.
Without thinking, she hastened to his bedside and crouched beside him.
“Drake…no. Damn it, no.” His arms crashed down to his sides and he grappled with the covers, legs kicking. “No,” he said again, louder, and somehow the single syllable conveyed a world of anguish.
“Shh,” she breathed, smoothing her palm over his forehead. His skin was hot and slightly damp.
He moaned and opened his eyes, then turned his head to stare at her. Somehow she knew he was not seeing her, but was still caught in the dream.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…all my fault…Drake,” He pinched his eyes shut as if trying to blot out the vision.
Georgina cupped his face between her hands and a shudder rolled through him. “It’s all right, darling. You’re only dreaming. It’s all right,” she whispered.
His eyes opened again. This time, when he looked at her, she saw the light of recognition and dawning confusion.
She withdrew her hands.
“Georgina?” he croaked. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t sound angry so much as confounded.
“You were having a dream,” she said.
He frowned. “There’s a funny thing about dreaming.”
“What’s that?”
He slid her an accusing glance. “It means a person is sleeping. Do you always sneak into a person’s chamber as he sleeps?”
She decided not to answer that. “You were having a bad dream. Calling out. I was worried.”
“I’m fine.” A visible shudder rippled through him, belying his words.
Rising to her feet, she went unerringly to the basin, picked up one of the small hand towels she’d stacked there, and poured cool water over it. She wrung out the excess and returned to his side.
“Now what are you doing?” he demanded, his gruff tone at once sullen and curious. He had pulled the bedcovers up to his chin, she noted, uncertain if she was more amused or disappointed.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered gently and lay the towel across his forehead.
A low groan of pleasure sounded in his throat.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“About what?”
“Your dream.” He’d called her brother’s name, several times. “You spoke…a person’s name. I thought perhaps you remembered something.”
“I don’t…can’t remember it now. I can’t remember a damned thing,” he ground out. “You have no idea how frustrating it is to remember nothing of who you are.”
“It will come.” She blotted the damp towel over his cheeks, lifted his head and swabbed the back of his neck.
Without opening his eyes, he exhaled heavily. “That feels good, pet.”
“I’m glad,” she breathed. “Let me cool the towel again.”
She went to the basin and repeated the process, then returned to his side.
He’d scooted closer the bed’s center. Not opening his eyes, he said, “You may as well sit on the bed instead of kneeling on the floor like a servant—if you think you can risk being in my presence.”
She bit back a grin and edged onto the soft mattress, stopping when her hip came into contact with his intractable shoulder.
Warmth from his body permeated the sheets and her thin night rail separating them.
She knew she should inch back, but she could not make herself do it, deciding if it bothered him, he could slide over further.
Neither budged. Settling in, she leaned over him, smoothing the cool towel over his forehead, his cheeks, and after a time, the length of his throat.
He said nothing, and he made no move to touch her other than where their bodies met, yet she sensed her touch soothed him. As the minutes ticked by, she grew more brazen, setting the towel aside to trace her fingertips over his cheeks, his brows, his scruffy jawline.
When he began to show signs of sleeping, his breaths evening out, his muscles relaxing, she wove her fingers into his hair, luxuriating in the thick, silken locks as she had during the carriage ride from Surrey.
He loosed a heavy sigh and turned onto his side toward her, nuzzling his face into the curve of her hip and dropping his arm over her lap to curve his palm around one thigh.
She went perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as his unconscious intimacy nearly undid her, flooding her with emotions almost too powerful to contain.
His hand flexed on her, then eased higher, gliding over her hip to her waist.
Heat coiled through her. Delicious, enthralling heat that urged her to do something foolish, like join him under the covers. She was in way over her head. As carefully as she could, she peeled his hand off of her and edged off of the bed.
Before she could change her mind, she dashed from the room and returned to her own chamber, where she lay awake a long while, wishing for things that could never be.
The next morning, Georgina woke understandably late and in desperate need for a cup of strong black tea.
She donned a simple morning gown, fashioned of soft ivory muslin.
Later she would require assistance dressing for the day, but for now, she thought it best to avoid the commotion of footsteps and voices that might carry through the walls to possibly awaken Teddy who would surely still be abed.
She glanced at his closed chamber door as she crept past and made for the stairs. Dr. Penhurst had explained Teddy’s special medicine, while healing, did have the unfortunate side effect of causing fatigue—one of the many aspects of taking the tincture Teddy apparently resented.
She wondered how much of last night’s adventure Teddy would remember when he finally woke.
Nearing the landing, her steps slowed. For her part, she remembered every luscious detail.
The pervading sense of intimacy, as she’d sat atop his bed beside him in the dark, soothing him with the cool compress, running her hands over his sculpted face, with its prickly beard, weaving her fingers through his thick hair.
She fanned her flushed cheeks. It was probably best if he did not recall the specifics.
She started toward the dining room when voices, one raised in distinct irritation and coming from the receiving room reached her ears. Teddy? Turning on her heel, she raced for the chamber.
“What do you mean, I need key? Bring it at once,” Teddy bellowed at Peggy.
The poor maid’s reply, Georgina could not make out.
“Fetch me a knife, then. A large one.”
Oh, dear. What could he possibly want with a knife?
Heart in her throat, she reached the doors opening to the large, bright chamber, and jammed to a halt once she crossed the threshold. It took only a moment to spot Teddy, still with the unfortunate beard—she really would need to do something about that, soon—hovering over her writing desk.
More than an escritoire, and not quite an office piece the likes of which men such as her father presided over in their stuffy dens, she’d dreamed up the design herself.
It formed an L-shape as, in addition to its pretty painted surface, scroll-work legs, and blush trim, it included an attached, locking compartment where she kept all of her notebooks and drafts safely stored.
She’d situated her workspace here, on the second floor on the back wall of the airy, sun-filled receiving room of her villa.
The chamber, with its tall, unencumbered windows and high ceilings was her favorite space, perhaps in the entire world.
Here she could write to her heart’s content without fear of interruption or snooping, which her mother was wont to do.
From her vantage point against the wall she enjoyed a bird’s eye view of the pebbled beach and vast ocean, with its waxing and waning tides, the crowds that ventured along the shore, the festive bathing machines transporting brave souls to submerge their bodies in the icy water.
She eyed Teddy, standing over the locked compartment, hands fisted on his hips, then forced a pleasant tone. “Good morning, my lord. May I help you?”
The hapless maid darted from the chamber, leaving Georgina to wonder if she would put in her notice after this morning’s debacle.