Chapter 11
It was inevitable that the goodbyes were long and protracted.
Georgie hugged everyone—some of the little ones twice—bore up under her aunt’s reminder that she shouldn’t let the Packham name down, and accepted assurances of support and defense if she needed it from several children.
She and Grey assured Sophie and Amelia that they would be picked up the next day and were pleased to see them skip off with the girls from her home.
She wiped off tears from some little cheeks and battled a few of her own.
But finally, Grandmama’s cane came down with an unmistakable crack, and everyone stepped back to allow Grey to hand her into an elegant barouche, emblazoned with the Coleford crest and pulled by beautifully paired bays.
The man did know how to make an impression, Georgie decided, settling her skirts around her in the forward-facing seat.
Oh, blast, she thought, brushing at the rich red streak she discovered on her bodice. Shelly shared her tart after all.
“It’s charming,” Grey assured her with a wry smile as he settled in across from her. “You might start a fashion.”
She scowled and wiped again to no avail. “I never can escape unscathed from that band of scapegraces.”
Giving up on the stain, she offered one final wave to her family as the coach lurched to a start, laid her hands back in her lap, and took in a breath.
She was suddenly so tired, the nervous energy that had been propelling her along dying a jagged death.
She would have slumped if she hadn’t caught something enticing in the breath she took. Cedar. Citrus. Leather. Wind.
By God, he smelled good. She was so incredibly relieved that her new husband didn’t smell like a town beau. He smelled like strength and comfort and escape. He smelled like a man who had claimed his place in the world. She blinked and almost grinned to herself. Whatever the blazes that meant.
“You look tired,” he said.
She looked up and forgot what she was going to say.
For the first time in days, she finally had a moment to simply take in the rugged beauty of his features.
The strength. The spare lines and crow’s feet that bracketed his lovely eyes.
The scar slashing his forehead that spoke of what he had survived.
Lord save her, she could simply soak for hours in the sight of that hard, fine face like lifesaving water. Lap it up with her tongue.
Just not now, she thought, fighting another smile. I might frighten the poor man.
“I am quite well,” she automatically answered. Then she did grin. “Well, all right. I admit I have been burning the candles at both ends getting today put together to Grandmama’s exacting expectations.”
“You did.”
She nodded and surreptitiously took in another breath so she could enjoy the open-air scent of him.
“Mama and Papa have been entertaining some of the foreign dignitaries who came in for the victory celebrations. Besides, as Grandmama so aptly put it, it was my wedding. If I let someone else take over, I would have no right to complain when it didn’t turn out the way I wanted. ”
“Did it?” he asked, laying his arm across the seat behind him. “Turn out the way you wanted?”
She considered the question. “Well, considering the fact that I have never been the type to fantasize about what my wedding should be, I imagine it was. We were there, the bees were there, and my family was there. I’m sorry yours wasn’t.”
He shrugged. “My family is not nearly as close as yours. Besides, in all honesty I must admit that I had enough to withstand with just your family threatening my health if I did not make you supremely happy. I don’t believe I could have tolerated my sister’s badgering on top of it.”
Her chest ached with the news. “All of them?”
His reluctant grin was a delight. “Even down to a moppet named Emily, who sucked her thumb and nodded as a ferocious tyke named Geoffrey threatened me with an infestation of fleas if I made you unhappy.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid the Packhams are a bit bloodthirsty.”
“That should not have surprised me. After all, I know the Archangels.”
She grinned, pulling off her gloves finger by finger. “They hold nothing on the younger lot. Especially Geoffrey. He is preparing himself to be the best cavalry officer in the history of the British army.”
That was when Georgie realized that they had turned off Sheen Road which would have taken them to the Putney Bridge over the Thames and back to London.
“Are you kidnapping me?” she asked, looking out to see that they were heading in a more southerly direction.
Grey took his own look as if verifying her claim. “Rob insisted that we not spend our wedding night in the townhouse with its rather gloomy décor.”
“Gloomy?” She laughed. “It is positively gothic. I wonder you haven’t gone screaming into the street.”
“The bedrooms are even worse than the public rooms you saw. I’m hoping that one of the passions you would like to indulge in is decorating.”
Just the idea of a bedroom suddenly squeezed her breath.
She had demanded a marriage blanc, but he hadn’t promised.
And he was so large. So...so...what? He seemed to pulse with energy, even sitting quietly, his arm lying across the back of his seat, his uniform stretched over those broad shoulders, the size of him across from her filling her vision.
If he refused to honor her request, she had no legal recourse.
She had no protection. Why didn’t she feel more threatened?
Because, she realized with a whoosh of held breath, as little time as she’d known him, she trusted him.
How amazing. She just wished she didn’t suddenly wonder about what Grandmama had brought up.
Could she really enjoy Grey’s hands, his mouth, his embrace enough to chance it?
She had certainly enjoyed the kisses they had already shared.
Enjoyed? Delighted in. Her body had hummed for hours, and he hadn’t even let her enjoy his hands.
It had been so much easier to ignore when she had other things to distract her. And wasn’t inhaling the very enticing scent of her husband.
Her husband.
“Georgie?”
She found herself blinking. Good heavens, her body was humming again, stealing her concentration. And he sat so close, his legs long enough to rest alongside hers. How could legs be so warm? How could they make her so warm?
She coughed, struggling to pull her thoughts back into order. If she couldn’t keep her mind away from those pictures Grandmama had painted, she would never even make it through the carriage ride.
“Then what is our destination?” she asked, her voice just a bit hoarse.
Grey didn’t seem to notice. “Rob has a little cottage along Putney Heath he said we could use. He sent word to the housekeeper.”
She frowned. “A cottage? Who usually lives there? Please tell me it is not his cher amie.”
Grey’s laughter was delighted. “Absolutely not. Believe it or not, our Rob is a bit of a birder. According to him, the Heath abounds in migratory fowl, not to mention butterflies and the like.”
“I imagine it does. I’m simply trying to envision our Rob sitting still long enough not to startle flocks of pigeons. And giving silent thanks we’re not invading a love nest of some sort. That would be just a bit uncomfortable.”
“A very polite way of putting it,” he retorted. “Vile places.”
She couldn’t help gigging him a bit. “So, you have never had a pied-a-terre of your own?”
She surprised a smile out of him. “Would have been a waste. I spent the last ten years trotting around the world after the Beau. Besides, I have suffered other men’s ideas of cozy retreats.
Spindly furniture no man over ten stone could keep from shattering, and the overwhelming stink of perfume that’s been sprinkled over the place like holy water from a Papist. And I cannot believe I’m even discussing this with you. ”
“It is nigh impossible to avoid the less proper side of society with so many males in the family. But I have a more important question.” She was almost afraid to ask. “You have a sensitive nose?”
His scowl was even more endearing than his smile. Blast him, he was making her body hum again. “I’m afraid I do. Oddly enough for one in my profession. But there are some things I simply cannot tolerate. The use of perfume, for instance...”
“To cover up an unwashed body!”
He looked surprised, especially, Georgie suspected, by her enthusiasm. “Well, yes. The season is unbearable for me. All those closed-in spaces with too many people and not enough air.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Especially routs. Too many people crammed into small rooms that get far too hot, and not being able to so much as move. And if Prinny is there, you cannot even open a window. It is absolute torture!”
His eyes lit. “I personally thanked Brummell for bringing bathing into fashion.”
She laughed, delighted. “I kissed his hand! You have no idea how difficult it is for a lady to withstand the assault on her sensibilities when dancing. And we are forced to do it! One refusal and we sit out the entire night. And I adore dancing! Do you know the convoluted tactics I have had to employ to avoid certain gentlemen?”
“Too popular,” he mourned with a shake of his head. “Such a trial.”
She was distracted again. His fingers were stroking the leather seatback behind him. His long, elegant, strong fingers.
If only Grandmama hadn’t destroyed her peace of mind. The bloody thing was wandering places it had no business being. Especially when she was also battling an odd exhilaration just from knowing they shared such an odd prejudice.
“Oh, I am not that popular,” she said. “More the duty dance type. Well, except for the young ones just out of university who consider me safe training ground.”
That brought an eyebrow up.
She huffed. “In perfecting the social arts, you perverse man. They love to flirt with someone they know won’t take them seriously.”
“Why not?”