Chapter Eleven
Georgina waited, ear pressed to her door, listening for the sound of Teddy entering his chamber as she’d known he must do soon. He’d want to get out of his uncomfortable clothing.
Sure enough, within minutes his door opened, then closed. Only then did she creep out of her chamber to head back down the stairs to her receiving room.
Writing would get her mind off of the fiasco of her unseemly behavior.
Except, for once, the beautiful vista before her, her lovely writing desk, the relative quiet of the villa—all aspects that normally aided Georgina in accessing her creativity—helped not one iota.
At nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, she gave up. She scratched out what little she’d written—approximately three lines of pure rubbish—snatched up the cleaning cloth and dried the nib of her quill.
It was no use. After the spectacle she’d made of herself today, ranting like a lunatic over Lady Catherine’s many charms, she simply could not concentrate on anything save owning up to her bizarre behavior with Teddy.
Teddy, who’d had an actual memory. Teddy, who she’d misled into thinking Lady Catherine and Drake had been two halves of a couple.
Teddy, who’d remained in his chamber and from whom she had not heard a single peep since storming out of this very chamber.
She reached for her spectacles in preparation for removing them. Thinking better of it, she left them firmly in place, and rose. Shoulders squared, she marched out and up the stairs to his door.
With a bracing breath, she lifted her fist and knocked.
As she waited, half hoping he’d answer the door, half hoping he wouldn’t, she considered for what seemed the thousandth time how she ought to have answered when Teddy asked her what words Drake had spoken to her on an afternoon at Hampstead Heath as she fixed Teddy a plate. As if she’d remember a single instance.
Except—unfortunately—she did. Despite there being many times the four of them had ventured to their favorite picnicking spot, she remembered the instance.
Because Drake’s words had stuck in her head like glue.
Words warning her off of Teddy. Words meant to shield her from the truth—that Teddy would never be interested in her.
So she’d lied—again. Somehow admitting that Drake told her Teddy had “demons to slay” before he would be a fit candidate for a love interest for her did not seem wise to reveal if she wanted him to believe they were married.
Not to mention, she’d never precisely understood what Drake had meant. In fact, she’d always known he’d manufactured the excuse as a means of turning her affections elsewhere because he knew Teddy would never be hers. Everyone knew he and Catherine were destined.
Lady Catherine. The most humiliating aspect of her undignified behavior today centered on her.
The door swung open on a slow arc. And then her breath caught.
Teddy stood on the other side, tall and virile and composed and looking so deliciously like himself it was all she could do not to hurl herself at him to eat him alive.
Hair, combed, slicked back, and neatly trimmed.
Horrible, shaggy beard gone to reveal a clean shaven, square jaw and very fine lips.
He wore his shirtsleeves, arms partially rolled up, form-fitting pantaloons, and nothing else—no cravat or waistcoat or, a thorough sweep of him revealed, stockings or shoes.
He arched a brow when seconds passed and she continued to stand there gawking like a dolt.
A self-conscious laugh eked out before she managed to speak. “Good afternoon, my lord.” She swallowed and waited for the snarky comment that was sure to come, addressing her ridiculous, obvious jealousy that caused her to rave and flee the room.
She could not even defend herself with the truth—that, although Catherine’s appearance and manner might make her look like Teddy’s perfect partner, she wasn’t, damn it. She didn’t love him like Georgie did.
And what on earth was Georgina going to do with that? Nothing.
Still. She’d have to explain her rashness.
“Good afternoon, madam.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then opened her mouth intending to lead with a simple apology. Instead she said, “You shaved.”
Brilliant.
One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “So I did, or rather, Danvers managed the business, as well as a decent, if military-style, haircut.”
Her gaze drifted over him in helpless fascination. “You look very…” Debonair. Handsome. Stunning. Mouthwatering. “Nice.”
His caramel eyes twinkled with amusement, which she opted to ignore.
“Care to come in? We can move to the balcony. Or do you wish to converse, here, in the doorway?”
She nodded once and stepped inside.
They crossed to the open doors leading to the balcony and she glanced toward the mussed bed where a book lay faced down as if he’d been reclining there against the headboard, reading.
Picturing him there, a funny little shiver tickled her belly and she sighed aloud.
By his soft chuckle, she feared Teddy must’ve heard and rightly interpreted the small sound. She decided not to look at him until they reached the balcony balustrade.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry—for earlier, and…you were right. I do not like Lady Catherine.”
It seemed to her his eyes sharpened. “Why?”
“Because, although she is arguably one of the most winsome ladies of the ton, l always believed”—she cleared her throat—“my brother could do better.”
“How so?” He continued to study her with the focus of a cat hunting a field mouse.
Her chin rose a fraction as she met his eye. “She might look the part, but she didn’t love him. Not really. He deserved someone who adored him, who would support him, listen to him, help him achieve his dreams. Someone kind and selfless with an integrity to match his own.”
In the waning sun, his eyes gleamed like scorched butterscotch. “Someone like you, Georgina?”
“Oh.” She shook her head, and eyed her hands, clenched before her, mortified he might think she referred to herself—which, in a sense, she did. She loved Teddy exactly like that—minus the selfless part. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
He crooked a finger under her chin and guided her face upward. “I did.”
She swallowed.
He dropped his hand and leaned on the railing. “In any case, no apology necessary, pet.”
He was going to let her odd behavior go. Relief flooded her.
“You certainly seem in a better mood than you’ve been in since we arrived,” she said.
He slid her a long look. “The influence of the sea air, perhaps.”
Abruptly it came to her what was likely the true cause and her spirits lifted even more. “It’s the medicine you’ve finally stopped fighting long enough for its benefits to manifest.” She sent him a brilliant smile as some of her guilt receded.
Because this was why she’d brought him here—to convalesce. To heal. If that meant pretending to be his legally wedded wife, so be it.
“No doubt,” he agreed.
Was it her imagination, or had his gaze briefly touched on her mouth?
An intoxicating heat swirled through her. She’d accomplished what she needed to by visiting him. Staying any longer was sheer indulgence.
“Well, then. I’d best get back to my writing. I haven’t managed many words today.” She hadn’t managed one.
He scowled. “That’s fine for you, isn’t it? You have something to occupy you, while I’m stuck here with nothing to do aside from bathing in the ocean or walking the beach, no thoughts in my head beyond trying to remember a past that wants to remain hidden.”
She hadn’t considered that.
He scrubbed a manicured hand over his smooth jaw. “Am I supposed to sit here all day twiddling my thumbs while my wife works to support her invalid husband?”
“Of course not. What would you like to do?”
His eyes drifted over her, then and seemed to simmer with an inner heat that sent her pulse racing.
Then he looked away. “I could walk into town, I suppose. Visit a local assembly.”
She winced. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Someone might recognize you and word might travel back to the earl. As nobody knows of our marriage—”
His eyes returned to hers, sullen. “And you do not wish word to get out about the two of us sharing a dwelling and risk having your annulment denied.”
She pressed her lips together, unable to counter his argument.
He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll just stare at the walls and lose what’s left of my mind.”
“Clearly, we must avoid that outcome,” she said dryly. “There must be something we can come up with you might find stimulating.”
“Yes, something stimulating sounds like an excellent notion,” he drawled.
She could not miss the hunger in his eyes at her poor choice of words, nor could she stop the flush stealing up her cheeks.
And then, inspiration struck. “Wait. I have an idea.” She dashed through his chamber, and headed for her own and the trunk within. A quick search unearthed an unused sketch pad and pencil which she gathered and delivered to him.
He took the items and gazed at them blankly. “What do you expect me to do with these?”
Drake had mentioned on more than one occasion that Ted had an artistic bent. Perhaps she had that wrong. She bit her lip, feeling foolish. “Never mind. I’ll take them back to—”
He pulled the pad and pencil out of her reach, as if she intended to snatch them away from him. “No. Leave everything. Perhaps I’ll try my hand at a scribble or two.”
She bit back a smile.
“If there’s nothing else, wife? My next appointment is due any moment I’m afraid.” He sent her a sardonic smile. “Mr. Danvers, with my tea. He’s a stickler for keeping to a schedule.”
The moment he closed the door on Georgina, he looked at the pencil in his palm, then gripped it in his hand. It felt right. Like it belonged there. Like he’d been born holding it, just so.
He wandered back onto the balcony and dropped onto the slatted teak bench, situated between his guest chamber and Georgina’s, then flipped to the first page of the sketch pad and closed his eyes.