Chapter Eight
Teddy fixed his gaze on the document in his hand and tried to focus on what was written there—and not on the damnably confusing woman in front of him. Did she think he meant to ravish her?
Asking him to move, indeed. Claiming she needed more light. That had been a bald-faced lie, an excuse, plain and simple. As if she found his nearness abhorrent, when it was clear as the spectacles on her up-turned nose she wanted him as much as…
As much as he wanted her, damn her quicksilver eyes. And he did, by God.
Enough. He snapped the sheet he held, straightening it, and concentrated on the certificate he’d come in search of.
It listed both their names and that of the officiator, the date—some two years ago—the witness signatures. Everything seemed in order, and yet…He slanted her a dubious look.
She sent him a hopeful smile.
He frowned in return and studied the paper anew. “Somehow I expected something a bit more official looking.”
She sidled nearer, rising on tiptoes to eye the paper, and bringing with her the subtle scent of crushed rose petals. “You’ll have to take that up with the Scottish authorities, I’m afraid.”
He jammed a hand through his hair, cursing his attraction for this woman who, evidently, had deigned to marry him prior to his deployment, only to demand an annulment once he returned home.
“I’m just saying it’s rather rudimentary,” he muttered and refolded the form, shoving it toward her.
She took it and backed away from him and the still-opened cabinet. “Satisfied?”
Satisfied? Hardly.
She turned to replace the certificate, pulling the key from her bodice once more to re-engage the lock. Afterward, she faced him wearing an expectant expression.
His gaze drifted over her in helpless fascination.
There she stood, all five foot two inches, at the most, entirely delectable with her lush curves the demure ivory morning dress she wore could not hope to disguise.
Even if it could, the soft, ripe feel of her seemed permanently burned onto his brain, thanks to their joint venture up the stairs last night when he’d thought—hoped—he might lose himself for a time making love with his wife, for God’s sake.
Dark-brown curls, barely tamed into submission and piled at the crown of her head glinted in the bright room, reflecting the morning sunshine streaming through the large windows.
As opposed to the wispy brows most ladies of the ton seemed to prefer—and how it was he knew that, he couldn’t say—Georgina’s were bold, dark slashes, set above wide-set, molten-silver eyes that gleamed with what he could swear was yearning as they peered out at him from behind those damned wire-framed spectacles—spectacles they’d already established she didn’t really need.
Then there was the rest of her face. She was quite pretty, if not exactly classically beautiful.
She couldn’t be with that mouth of hers that was ever so slightly too large.
He studied it now. No cupid’s bow here. Her lips were plump, gods, deliciously so, and as far as he could tell, permanently parted, as if in surprise, or arousal.
She cleared her throat.
His gaze lifted to meet hers. He was not about to apologize for ogling his wife. Still. “Trying to spark some sort of memory,” he offered by way of explanation.
Her chest rose and fell as if she drew a labored breath. “Oh. Yes, of course. And…have you remembered anything more?”
“No.”
She licked her lips, then smoothed them over one another—and spurred a wicked thought.
“An idea occurs to me.”
“Oh?” She looked and sounded so eager to please him. Good.
He shook his head, as if in regret. “No, no, never mind. I should not ask it of you, despite the fact it might help.” Come to think of it, it might at that.
“Teddy, what is it that I can do? Tell me.”
“Very well.” He linked his hands behind him and moved toward her, aware he had, effectively, caged her in between his body, the wall, and the L-shape of her peculiar desk.
Her silver eyes widened as she wrongly misinterpreted his intent. “Er…I’ve already told you, my cabinet is filled with my work. Nothing that need concern you.”
“So you did.” He reached with both hands and plucked her wire frames off of her nose, carefully folded them, and set them atop her desk. “I thought it might be helpful if you kissed me.”
She blinked. “If I…kissed you?”
He nearly chuckled at her stammering attempt to echo his words. “Yes. Far be it from me to press my advances on you, but, as we are married, and, I would assume, had a courtship, I wondered if, by you kissing me, I might remember something. Anything.”
She stared into his eyes, lips parted as usual, then her gaze dropped to his mouth and—there. He saw it. He was not mistaken. Unadulterated yearning burned in her silver eyes.
His loins tightened and his cock went hard. Ah, well. Small price to pay to get his memories back, at best, and taste those luscious lips, at worst. Any way the wind blew, he won in this scenario, if she took the bait.
Her brows furrowed, and she sunk her white teeth into her lower lip. She looked nearly as tormented as he felt.
“I understand. You no longer feel ‘that way.’ I thought a kiss would hardly be asking for too much. Apparently I was wrong. Sorry I asked.” He started to turn away.
“N-no, wait.”
Anticipation heated his veins. His ploy was going to work.
She swallowed hard, placed her palms on his lapels and slid them upward, slowly, so slowly, curling around his nape. Her fingers were cool, and so very soft. He drew in a long breath and caught the sweet floral scent that hovered in the air around her. Then she rose up on her toes.
It was no good. She’d never reach him. But it had to be her, kissing him.
“Perhaps, if I did this?” He kept his tone neutral, as if his pulse weren’t racing, and edged his hips onto her desk, parting his legs to make space for her.
“Oh, yes. Yes, I think that works nicely,” she said, her calm and assured voice in direct contradiction to the pink flush staining her cheeks. She stepped closer.
Again, she placed her hands on his chest. Again, they slid up and around his neck. Again, her scent teased him. Then finally, holding his gaze and never once blinking until the moment of contact, she brought her mouth to his.
He held himself perfectly still as she slanted those succulent lips over his.
As she drew her hands to cup his cheeks between slightly damp palms that if he weren’t mistaken, trembled.
She angled her face, this way and that, pressing feather light kisses to the corners of his mouth, his cheeks.
Her shuddering breaths, fanning over his cheeks, acted like a fist, reaching past his rib cage to squeeze his heart in a way he would swear he’d never known.
The tenderness, the desire, the adoration she bestowed on him stole his ability to think beyond anything save her and the need coiling inside him.
Holy hell. Holy…The compulsion to touch her, to wrap his arms around her and yank her into him, chest to groin, battered the last vestiges of his crumbling will.
He gripped the edge of her desk with every ounce of his strength.
The temptation to suck just one of her luscious lips between his, to nip it gently with his teeth, was almost too powerful to resist.
Abruptly, she ended the kiss. She stumbled back, pressing herself against the wall, as far from him as she could get in the enclosed space. Her cheeks, her neck, glowed pink. Her lips trembled, calling to him like a bear to honey.
He wanted to howl.
“I…did you remember anything?” She gazed at him, eyes wide with what looked like…shock? No. That couldn’t be right. Then again, what did he know?
In any case, he couldn’t think right now beyond the desire thrumming through his veins.
Think, Ted. Had their kiss shaken anything loose? No. It felt all new, incredibly potent, and, of a certainty, addictive. He began to see why he’d asked her to marry him. She felt right, for lack of a better word. Like she was meant to be his.
And yet she would have him believe she’d filed for annulment.
“No,” he finally answered when he could speak. He scrubbed a hand over his beard. He hated the thing, but, from the moment his father demanded he shave it off, he’d taken some perverse pleasure in keeping it.
She bit her lip and looked at her feet.
He probably owed her something more, he thought with a stab of guilt—and a simultaneous prick of annoyance. She’d rejected him.
“It was a fine experiment,” he said coolly. “If unsuccessful.” As far as his memories went. He still wanted to ravage her.
No, that wasn’t right. He wanted to make love with her. Wanted more of her lavish affection poured out on him. Bloody hell.
He drew himself upright, tugged on his waistcoat, left the confines of her desk and the wall she’d pressed herself against, leaving her still in too-easy reach, and thanked his lucky stars the fall of the pantaloons he wore kept his aroused state at least somewhat obstructed, should she chance to look.
He sauntered to the bank of windows and gazed out. Not only did the ocean fascinate him, his stance had the benefit of keeping his back to Georgina while his erection subsided.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, that somehow left him feeling caddish. “I’m not surprised my kiss did not jar anything free.”
That spurred an immediate frown, which he aimed at her over his shoulder. “Why on earth would you say that?”
“We didn’t have much practice—before you left,” she murmured, gaze averted.
“Hm.” He watched her as, hands linked behind her, she started toward him.
She moved with a sultry allure, hips swaying gently, that he would bet his last farthing—if he had access to his money—she was not aware of.
The thought, the realization, struck him with some force. Why? Why assume did she was not aware?
Because, her lack of coyness—that did seem familiar.