Chapter 14 #3
“Will we see you tomorrow?”
“See me? You shall take me to the docks to wave off my ship. And if I know Aunt Georgie, she will tell you all about pirates while we’re there, and take you for ices on the way home.”
“It has been a very long day,” Grey said with a prodigious yawn as he pulled off his cravat.
It had been. After getting the girls settled, Grey had made the formal introductions to his staff, from Chalmers and his wife, who acted as housekeeper, all the way down to the scullery maid Midget, a tiny redhead with an amazing amount of freckles and a gap-toothed smile.
The only two people she would have to wait for were the estate agent and Grey’s solicitor, who would stop by before Grey left in the morning.
Georgie began to memorize names and responsibilities and enjoyed the relief of knowing that most of her new staff were at least glad for her presence, especially with the little girls to care for.
Things were looking up. The girls were tucked into bed with Bark stretched out by the bedroom door, and Georgie could concentrate on her new husband, whom she suspected she was falling in love with.
Looking up from where she was dispensing with her slippers, she bestowed a suggestive smile on him. “Oh, dear. And here I was thinking of continuing my education tonight.”
Even as she’d made it a point to join Grey in tucking the suddenly chatty girls into bed, it had been all she could think of.
A bit of comfort, some closeness to help ease that pervasive feeling of helpless rage for those two little girls who were still far too tentative and uncertain.
Even more, some time selfishly dedicated just to each other before the rest of the world intruded once more.
Stopping at the sound of her voice, Grey gave her a sweet smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. You’re not too tired?”
Georgie met his gaze with every ounce of heat that had suddenly ignited in those new places she had discovered the night before.
She almost told him the truth. Hold me for just a little while.
Let me rely on your strength and savor your taste and the exhilaration of your excitement.
Instead, she shook her head. “Not for another test of Grandmama’s theory. ”
Just the thought sent chills racing through her.
She was going to have to work harder on maintaining an emotional distance from her husband.
It would be a lot easier if he weren’t so dratted precious with those two little girls.
If he didn’t have eyes that melted her with one look.
If he didn’t smile at her as if she were a syllabub and he had a spoon.
She could enjoy a bit of carnal sport and mutual comfort without becoming too attached, couldn’t she?
Couldn’t she?
His cravat dispatched, he went to unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. All the while watching her with that maddening little half-smile of his. Blasted man. He was making her knees weak with that smile. And he knew it.
So she fought back. Lifting her leg onto an ottoman, she slowly pulled her skirts up to bare her knee and reached for her garter. Slowly rolling it down, she followed with her stocking. Slowly, her fingers sliding along her leg as if inviting a look. A touch.
She could hear the most curious growl, and looked up to see Grey frozen, his hands on his buttons, not moving. His eyes on her own hands.
“Woman,” he said, his voice raspy as he slowly shook his head, “You are going to kill me.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said with her own sly grin. “You have far more experience in these matters than I do. Surely you have built up a...tolerance.”
He glared, taking a step forward. “Familiarity does not necessarily equate to tolerance. You are trying me, Wife.”
“Well, I hope so,” she retorted, changing legs and repeating the motions, “or I’m wasting all the suggestions Charlie had for me.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “Charlie? What did she tell you? And how does she know?”
“She reads. Incessantly. And undoubtedly not the sermons most mothers would want her to read. She is particularly interested in researching the married life. So she is prepared if she ever gets around to it.”
“Remind me to warn the men of London.”
She chuckled until he stepped around the bed and gently pushed her hands away from where she was rolling down her stocking. Without taking his gaze from hers, he took over the task, his fingers just callused enough to incite another cascade of chills.
Maybe she could just enjoy herself, she thought briefly.
Make tonight special so she could remember when she was lying in that lonely bed next week.
Maybe it would be enough to cast caution to the wind, just for tonight.
Just for the joy of seeing his eyes grow dark and his nostrils flare.
Just for the chance to tempt him to the edge of his control.
So she pulled her skirt up even higher. Slowly. Leaning just a bit forward so he couldn’t miss the swell of her breasts or the scent of her soap. So he could almost see what lay just under the hem of her dress as she held it against her thigh.
“Are you sure you want to waste your time with that stocking?” she asked, smiling with that flush of power she was becoming so attached to.
He stepped right up to her to brush her hands aside.
Then, reaching his one arm around her back to hold her against him, he reached beneath her hiked hem and sought out the very spot that had begun to ache.
She arched against him, opening to his fingers, welcoming his touch.
Savoring those calluses that betrayed a life of purpose and risk.
And, there. His eyes grew almost black, and his nostrils flared. His hand trembled just a bit, and his breathing grew harsh. She did that to him.
She leaned a little more into him so she could catch the spice of his scent.
So she could begin to tremble herself. And when she saw his smile, an acknowledgement of how close to madness she was driving him, just by opening herself to his touch, she knew the power of being a woman.
She savored it like the scent of his skin, like the rasp of those fingers that were tormenting her beyond bearing.
She heard herself groan and decided to stifle such a needy sound by reaching up and opening her mouth to his.
She met his tongue with her own, fencing with him, tasting the wine that lingered on his breath.
She leaned in just a little more and reached over to stroke the bulge that betrayed his impatience.
She was humming now, relishing the symphony of arousal, hungry for his bare skin.
He must have heard that in her, because with a rakish grin, he simply swept her into his arms and carried her over to bed.
And within moments they were skin-to-skin, the feel of him delicious from the soft curl of his hair to the abrupt ridge of the scars he had carried home.
And before he had the chance to satisfy her, she took hold of him and took control.
She delighted in running her hands up and down his shaft, measuring, tracing, swirling her fingers over the head so that he jerked in her hand, so that his breathing became gasps.
So his body arched to give her better access, and she took it.
Took him in her mouth and feasted, not only on his shaft, but the coarse groans, the quick tremors that built, the sweat that salted his skin.
She brought him to release and smiled as he cried out and seized in her arms, his seed again anointing her belly.
“Now,” he growled, changing places. “It’s my turn.”
And it was.
They didn’t sleep for hours, until exhausted, wrapped around each other, they pulled up the covers and finally rested, sated and sweaty and smiling. And for that moment, life was perfect, and Georgie couldn’t have asked for more.