Chapter Twenty-One
Lord Thomas Frome, Baron, nemesis at Eton, and later friend at Cambridge, was seated directly across from Damian.
In any other circumstance, such as seeing the other in Whites, they would share an ale and discuss any changes in their life circumstances since they last spoke.
In this instance, it had been five months since Damian had sat across from Frome.
Frome arched a blond eyebrow. “Wife?”
“An unexpected turn of events,” Damian answered. If he could tell anyone the truth, it would be Frome, but not where two strangers would also hear.
The corner of Frome’s mouth tipped, then he nodded to Georgie.
“Baron Frome,” Damian introduced. “My wife, Geogianna.”
His friend dipped his chin. “It is a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” Georgie murmured before she glanced at Damian from the corner of her eyes.
“I have so many questions.” Frome chuckled.
“I am certain that you do,” Damian returned. “But they will wait for another time.” He shifted his eyes to the two women also sharing the coach with them.
“Oh, I cannot wait.” Frome chuckled as he withdrew a flask from the inside of his suitcoat.
“Is it not a little early to imbibe?” Damian asked.
“Not when one has not yet slept.” He took another drink. “I have been on a bloo…” he paused when his eyes flicked to Georgie, “a mail coach since Cambridge and I find it impossible to sleep on one.”
“It is safer that you do not,” Damiam grumbled. “I woke to find someone trying to lift my purse. They are no longer traveling with us.”
Again, Frome looked at Georgie. His friend knew that Damian intended never to marry, which was still the case, except he was traveling with a wife.
He then nodded, looked Damian in the eye before he turned to look out the window. Already Damian was anticipating their next conversation away from listening ears.
Georgie glanced at Damian, questions in her brown eyes as if she wasn’t certain whether she should be concerned, or perhaps she was simply curious.
Damian simply winked at her and smiled.
Her frown deepened as she looked away then retrieved that book from her satchel.
Damian let her read and looked out his window.
Why had he winked at her?
He had only meant to assure her that all was well, but so much more could be read into a wink.
It did not help that once again she was seated very close to his person and her thigh was pressed against his. There were layers of clothing between them. And, despite them having traveled for two days now, her hair still held the light scent of lavender.
Was it just her hair or did her entire body carry the floral aroma?
Was it on her breasts, thighs, and nether regions? Would it fill his nostrils when he kissed her in a manner to bring her the most pleasure?
Bloody hell!
His own nether regions stirred with such thoughts and he knew that he must shut them down before he became uncomfortable and the evidence was on display, if anyone happened to look at his lap.
He could always hold the satchel of what remained of their food on his lap and nobody would be the wiser, though Frome may suspect and Damian would likely never hear the end of his desire for his wife.
Damian glanced over at Georgie to see how far she was into her book and if it was long enough that she’d be entertained until it got too dark to read.
Except, it wasn’t the book that held his attention but her breasts because her bodice gaped from the way she was sitting, which allowed him a better view of her creamy breasts barely confined by the pale-yellow cotton.
She took a deep breath, her breasts rising then falling as she sighed.
Frome cleared his throat and Damian looked up.
“How long have you been married?”
“A few days.”
His friend nodded. “It is a shame that you are stuck on this mail coach, and not alone.”
“Yes, it is.”
Frome chuckled again and looked back out the window.
Now his friend knew that he lusted after his wife, which a husband should, he supposed, but Georgie wasn’t married to him and never would be.
Damian glanced at his timepiece and nearly groaned. They had been traveling thirteen hours and would travel another eleven at the very least. Sitting next to Georgie, unable to touch her, or ever seduce her, was a torture that he never could have imagined.
He glanced away again, determined not to think about her, which was impossible, of course.
Why couldn’t he still view her as an irritating, troublesome disruption to his life and orderly schedule as he had when they first met?
She was stubborn, and rather imperious. She was also intelligent, and there was a witty side to her, such as when she commented on how the reticule matched his eyes.
She was proud and determined, and protective, which is what drove her to be here in the first place, risking her reputation and life traveling alone, in the bowels of a ship, to find her sister.
It was impossible not to respect her no matter how foolish her actions, and she had not been deterred.
Above that, she was pretty
Not the classic beauty that men were drawn to, including himself at one time, but pretty, honest without the need for rouges or kohl. Everything about her was natural, fresh, and pure and he wanted her.
Not just under him or in a bed but…
But what?
Certainly not marriage.
Maybe as a lover.
Yes, that would be perfect. Then he would be sated and once he had experienced intimacy with her, Damian would not fear a state of arousal at the most inopportune time, such as now.
He pulled the satchel onto his lap and looked inside and withdrew a roll. He was not hungry, but he needed a purpose that was not obvious to his friend, to hide his reaction to Georgie and his wayward thoughts.
But the worst part of this was that she would never be his lover. A gentleman did not take an innocent like Georgie to his bed without marriage being understood and that was something he refused to contemplate.
Four days, he reminded himself again.
The word marriage should not have even crossed his mind, but it was also natural in these circumstances because a true gentleman would acknowledge the requirement when wanting to seduce an innocent miss.
And even though they’d been practically living in each other’s pocket, and he wanted her, Georgie lived in Italy and he lived in England. An impossible union.
*
Damian was driving her to distraction. Every few moments he shifted in his seat as if he could not get comfortable.
Oh, she understood his restlessness. They’d spent more time riding in a mail coach than anything else during their waking hours and it did grow tedious.
Maybe she should suggest that he purchase something to read when they next stopped. Certainly, the coaching inn would have newssheets that would hold his attention if not entertain him. And no matter what it was, it would certainly be more interesting than what she was reading.
In truth, she wanted to close the book and forget about it but that would leave her sitting and staring, not certain where to look since she was in the middle seat as they rumbled along to their next stop.
She didn’t even know which one it was, but there would be many more to go before she was free of this mail coach for good.
When Damian stretched and then placed his arm behind her, the small piece of concentration that she’d been able to hold on to disappeared and no matter how many times she read the paragraph on the page, she retained none of the content because she was too aware of the heat from his side, pressed against her arm, the strength of his thigh by hers, memories of his open shirt…
She wanted Damian Wynd. She wanted to strip him naked and take advantage of his physique in manners that no proper and innocent miss should know about.
Just the very idea of him unclothed and on a bed, or even standing before her, caused her breasts to tighten and she was certain that her nipples grew hard as she wondered if he would take one in his mouth and then the other as his hands relieved her of her dress.
She then imagined his long fingers caressing her thighs and nether regions.
The ache of desire began to pulse and she pressed her legs together to find relief that would be unattainable while in a crowded mail coach.
Oh, why had she let her thoughts drift to what would be impossible to enjoy.
Had he even given any indication that he was interested in a more intimate relationship, she may have thrown caution to the wind, but other than what she thought had been a near kiss after she had fallen into his lap, he’d shown no indication that he saw her as anything more than someone to protect and possibly befriend.
Their physical closeness only came about because they were in a crowded mail coach and not because he wanted her pressed against his body.
Once alone and in private, she may just bring herself relief. She’d learned how long ago, but only Damian could fill her and bring completion to her aching need. A simple release was never enough, but it was all she had.
“Is it once again riveting?” Damian asked, pulling her from her improper thoughts.
“Riveting?” She wasn’t certain what he meant.
“The book.”
Ah, yes, that was how she once described it. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you have been staring at the same page for the length of time it has taken you to read several.”
Her face heated. “Woolgathering, I suppose.” She closed the book. “Not riveting at all.”