Chapter Ten
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Standing in the center of the bright receiving room, Teddy waited for Georgina’s answer.
He’d been so sure he was onto something, but the longer his question hung in the air between them, the more foolish and desperate he felt, especially considering his ramshackle state.
Wet. Covered in grit. Garments clinging to him like they were glued onto him.
He resembled nothing short of a madman and he was growing chilly, to boot.
“I take it you have had another breakthrough?” Georgina asked.
Was it his imagination, or was she a degree paler since his mention of the name he’d plucked from the recesses of his brain? Catherine.
“You tell me. One moment, I was swimming. the next…” He gazed over her shoulder at the paneled wall, and attempted, yet again, to recall the entire scene to mind. “I saw you kneeling beside a basket of food, a man hovering over you. You were, I believe, offering to fix me a plate.”
Her silvery eyes widened, as if in amazement.
His pulse spiked. “That happened, didn’t it?”
She licked her full lips. No. He would not be distracted by those lips. Not now.
“I’m not sure if what you envisioned was an outright memory. I will say we often picnicked Hampstead Heath.”
He narrowed his eyes on her and pinched the wet fabric of his shirtsleeves, peeling the linen off of his forearm. “Define we.”
There it was again. A stiffening of her jaw. A tensing of her spine. Why?
“You, me, Drake, and”—she licked her lips again—“Catherine. Drake’s…intended.”
Drake’s intended. That didn’t seem accurate. He couldn’t say why.
Perhaps because of Georgina herself. She was acting very strangely. This was the most detailed memory he’d had to date. One would think his future countess would be overjoyed.
“Go on,” he demanded, irritated by the number of confounding elements he was forced to wade through.
She lifted her chin, slanting him an almost defiant look. Then she turned her attention to what appeared to be correspondence lying atop her desk. She stacked the sheets into a neat pile. “I’m not sure what else you want me to tell you.”
Georgina plucked the key she wore around her neck from its hiding place, nestled within her ample bosom, and unlocked the cabinet, paper grasped in one hand.
“What have you got there?” he asked, both his curiosity and his suspicion aroused.
“Just some correspondence. Nothing to do with you.”
Despite his desire to get at the truth of his vision, the tone of her reply, coupled with her unwillingness to release the letters even for a moment, as she unlocked the cabinet, deepened his suspicion. “I thought you said you only stored your writing in there.”
For a brief moment, she hesitated in the act of sliding the letters into a wooden slot on the top shelf, as if his observation caught her off guard. Then, in swift order, she shoved the papers in, closed and locked the sliding door, then dropped the brass key back into her bodice.
Lucky key.
“One never knows where inspiration might strike.”
He snorted and pointed. “You’re saying that correspondence you just shelved is going into one of your novels?”
“Perhaps.” She twined her fingers before her and sent him a look of pure innocence.
“Hmm.” He logged the information for future inspection, realizing he was in danger of losing the thread of the original conversation, entirely. “Back to the subject at hand. The four of us made a practice of frequenting the park?”
“Yes.”
“And Lady Catherine…” He broke off. “Is she a lady? As in, Lady Catherine?”
Her lips firmed. “Yes. The daughter of an earl.”
“All right.” Something here. First her pallor, and now Georgina looked…troubled, or perhaps, hurt? Why? “You don’t like her,” he stated, making a stab in the dark.
Never taking his eyes off her, he plucked at the other sleeve, its drying fabric making his arm hairs tickle. He wanted to peel his wet pantaloons off his thighs, too, but that would hardly be proper.
“I like her fine.” She sniffed. “She was always very kind to my brother. And you.”
“I see.” No, she did not care for the woman. And why use that odd turn of phrase? Her brother and him? “Tell me more about Drake. He was my good friend, you say?”
Her face softened and her dimples winked into view. Something inside him settled.
“The two of you were close as brothers, thick as thieves. You attended school together—Eton, then Oxford—during which time you formed some sort of unbreakable bond. You entered society together and took the haute ton by storm. You joined the same social club—White’s—and though you both spoke out against Napoleon, neither of you seemed particularly keen on joining the war effort.
Nobody expected you to, as heirs. Then one day, out of nowhere, the two of you announced you’d purchased commissions.
Each of you claimed to have enjoined the other. ”
The peace he’d felt at the start of her rendition faded as a dull throb, rather like a toothache, invaded his skull. He put a hand to his temple and tried to massage it away.
“As for his looks, taller than me, though not quite your height. Curly haired.” She touched a hand to her own head, and he gathered the two were cut from a similar mold, there. He’d surmised as much from the infrequent memory flashes of a man with dark curling hair and a ready smile.
So, the man he’d seen speaking to Georgina at the park had been Drake. But he hadn’t been smiling that day.
Oblivious to his mental cogitations, she went on. “He was older than me, by a good five years. By rights, he should have found me irritating, always wanting to tag along with him—and you.” She ducked her head almost shyly as if embarrassed by the admission. “He never made me feel unwelcome.”
“Not even when he wanted to spend time with Lady Catherine?”
Her bold brows snapped together. “That’s different.
” She drew a deep breath and seemed to recover her aplomb.
“Suffice it to say, he had a generous and thoughtful nature. He took care of me from an early age. He was who I went to for everything of any import. My parents relied on him, as well, as did you.”
“Me? How do you—” A sharp pain lanced his head, like a bolt of lightning striking from clear blue skies.
Georgina must’ve noticed because she hurried toward him, arms outstretched as if she feared he might totter. “Teddy? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he snapped, holding up a hand, palm out.
She skidded to a halt two strides shy of him, but worry etched her features.
He didn’t need her mollycoddling, and he certainly didn’t want her pity. Still, he needn’t bite her head off for showing concern. He managed an apologetic nod. He was breaking out in a cold sweat despite the wet clothes giving him a chill. “Tell me about our time at the park.”
She lowered her gaze. “I have told you. We went there, frequently, as a group.”
“Details, Georgina, I want details. When were we last there?”
Her lips parted, her silvery eyes widened.
“The four of us ventured to Hampstead Heath the day before you and Drake departed. We had a picnic. You and Drake bathed in the lake. I promised to write to you every day. You made a joke about it. You said, ‘Every day? Even after I talked your brother into joining the war effort?’”
Yes. He could almost see it. Almost. Bloody hell. If only his head would stop its incessant throbbing. It was like trying to pay attention while a fly buzzed before one’s eyes.
He must’ve faltered because Georgina was suddenly at his side despite his previous warning, her arm around his waist, her soft feminine curves snugged up against him as if she feared he might crumple.
Oh, and look at that—his arm had snaked around her shoulders as if of its own accord.
He gazed down at her upturned face and couldn’t resist a sardonic grin. “Is it my magnetic personality, or do you simply prefer men with beards?”
Her cheeks went pink, but she arched a challenging brow. “It’s not your beard, I assure you.”
He barked out a surprised laugh.
“Why don’t you…we have a seat by the hearth?” she suggested.
“Very well.”
She did not release him as they moved toward the hearth and, purportedly, the armchairs situated near it.
They took their time getting there. He wasn’t exactly sure who controlled the pace, but he was in no hurry. Not that he precisely required her support.
It was more that she smelled quite nice, emanating that ever-present eau de rose, and for some reason, the tightness in his shoulders he hadn’t been aware of eased, as did the pain in his head.
“I’m sure I’ve soaked your dress through,” he murmured.
“Think nothing of it,” she said, in that breathless way that revealed she was not unaffected by him, despite her words to the contrary.
“You’ll have to take it off, no doubt,” he added, mainly to see the deepening blush that followed the pronouncement, currently climbing up from the edge of her bodice. “I might require a bit of help myself, stripping.”
She stumbled. “Let us start with your boots, shall we?” she asked in an arch tone.
A start implied a continuation, did it not? “As you wish.”
She slanted him a knowing glance.
And just like that, his groin tightened. He nearly laughed. He felt wretched, though admittedly less so, now. But did that stop his cock thickening with arousal?
He did snort, then, considering he seemed to have been aroused, practically since his arrival. Had he always been this randy, he wondered? Or was it just his wife that elicited this ever-present carnal hunger?
She guided him toward the armchair nearest the hearth and untwined her arm from his waist. “Here, now. Sit.”
He mourned the loss of her warmth in an instant. Eyeing the satin covered cushion, he hesitated. “I hate to ruin the furnishings. Lord knows when I can avail myself of the funds necessary to replace anything.”
She gave him a crooked grin and a playful shove.
Charmed, he allowed himself to be manhandled into the chair.
Still grinning, she crouched before him and set to unbuckling the first boot.