Chapter Eighteen
Philip stared at the cold fireplace, debating what to do.
He wanted to go into his wife’s room and make love to her.
That was what he should do. But he found himself nervous about his reception.
She’d left so quickly after he’d told her about what he’d done to his father that he didn’t know what she thought.
She’d given no clue at dinner, either, where they were joined by the neighbors.
It had been his idea, as he wished to learn about the owners of the townhouse to better leverage his request to purchase it.
Georgina had appeared almost fairylike in her new gown of shimmering material that, when it caught the light, appeared pink yet blue yet green at the same time.
Her confidence as hostess showed, and he congratulated himself again on his match, but his worry continued throughout the evening.
At one point she’d whispered that he needed to stop frowning so much.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing so.
He glanced at the open door to his dressing room. Was she expecting him? Did she hope he didn’t come? He rubbed the back of his neck as his frustration mounted. Being married to her would be torture if she didn’t want him anymore, and he wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever coupled with.
Since when had he become monogamous like his father? It was never something he’d thought much about, but now, the thought of any other woman…
He shook his head. He was getting nowhere.
A knock sounded at his door. “Come in.”
“Sorry to return so late, my lord.”
Happy for the diversion, he rose to talk to his valet. “What did you discover, Gibson?”
“Your wife visited a Lady Rose at Lord Harewood’s residence, and then she visited your mother.”
“My mother? Why did she do that?”
The valet raised his brows. “Perhaps because it’s polite to do so when newly married?”
Of course it was, but he still didn’t like it. “Is that all the footman said?”
“It may not be my place, but shouldn’t you simply ask your wife?”
Gibson didn’t know what happened before Georgina had left, and Philip wasn’t about to tell him. “I will.”
“Good. Because there’s more.”
“More. Like what?”
Gibson moved to the door. “Ask your wife, my lord.”
“Tell me or I’ll let you go.”
The door closed behind his valet.
Philip curled his fists. Damn valet knew he’d never be let go. What more did Georgina do while out without him?
He stilled. Was that what bothered him? That he wasn’t with her? He’d certainly had no interest in calling on her friend Lady Rose, nor on his mother. Yet he didn’t like that she went about without him. That was ridiculous.
Though in his brain it was absolute nonsense, his heart seemed to think otherwise. It wasn’t as if they had to be together all the time. It must be that he had become so used to being in her company that he didn’t like being without her. It was just a habit.
But even as the thought occurred, he knew it to be the falsehood it was.
It was no habit. He enjoyed his wife’s company.
He’d best not let that get out at White’s.
At least now, thanks to Gibson, he had a reason to visit his wife in her chambers.
It was only polite to find out how her day had been… and what happened.
He strode through his dressing room and quietly opened the connecting door to hers. The door to her bedchamber was open, and he quietly leaned against the frame to watch her.
She stood looking out the window at the darkness, the lantern light throwing shadows on her dressing gown as she flapped the belt of it back and forth. He grinned. She couldn’t seem to be still unless watching birds. “Are you looking for a night bird?”
She spun around, startled. “Philip.”
He stiffened at the name, but let it pass as he walked closer. “What do you ponder out there in the darkness?”
“Many things. I wish to speak to you.”
His stomach tightened, but he held his arms out. “I’m here. What would you like to discuss? Your day, perhaps.”
She didn’t move toward him. “No, I wish to discuss your father.”
He stiffened. If she planned to tell him he had no reason to feel guilty like his mother had, she wasted their time. “I’m listening.”
“My friends accuse me of playing devil’s advocate too much, but it’s the only way I can understand a problem. If you had come home the first time your father wrote to you, what would have been the outcome?”
He straightened in the doorway, no longer able to appear relaxed, not when a surge of guilt had his spine stiffening almost to a breaking point.
“I told you. My father might be alive today. Or he might have lived a year longer. He needed my help with Crestfield, and if I’d done so, it wouldn’t have taxed him so much. ”
“Which is it? A year longer or alive today?”
He frowned, confused. “What does it matter?”
She walked to the bed and leaned against the post. “As I said, I’m trying to understand everything. This event was important to you, and as your wife, I need to understand it.”
Fear flew through his chest. Did she mean that if she understood correctly, she’d no longer wish to be in his company? “Based upon how my father looked when I did arrive home, I think he might have lived an additional year.”
“So if you came home and helped, your father would have lain in bed for a year while you ran the estate?”
He jerked his head back at such an assumption. “No. My father could never lie abed unless he was too ill to stand. He always had to be doing something, even if it was reading to learn about new farming techniques or the ramifications of a new bill to be introduced.”
“Then, my dear husband, you’re not making sense.
If you had come home, your father would not have lived longer by lying in bed for a year.
He would have continued to run the estate because that was the type of man he was, maybe allowing you to handle a few tenant disputes in person.
Tell me, do you think your father would have preferred to live longer by lying abed? ”
Confusion and irritation fought inside him. “What are you saying? That there was nothing I could have done to extend my father’s life because of what he was like?”
“Yes.”
He jerked his head back. “No. He wanted me home.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yes.”
She wrapped one arm around the bedpost. “Did he actually ask you to come home?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, not sure why she wouldn’t accept his answer.
“Or did he tell you about tasks you could do next time you were home?”
“It’s the same thing. He wanted me back at Crestfield to help him. If I’d gone, he would have lived longer.”
“No, he wouldn’t have.”
“You don’t know that.” Frustrated, he strode toward her as if by confronting her, she would stop this torture.
Her face softened as she gave him a slight nod. “I do know that. Your father had consumption. He could never get better. Perhaps, if he elected to stay in bed, he might have lasted an additional month at most, but that was not who he was. He lived his life to his very last breath.”
Stunned, he stared at her. “The physician said he wasted away after the grippe.”
“The physician was wrong. It’s why I visited Rose today. Her focus at school is medicine. The duchess herself has taught her. I also visited your mother, who confirmed that your father started coughing up blood before he passed.”
He sat upon the bed, his legs suddenly weak. “Consumption?” He’d learned of that only because a classmate had had a sister who died of it. He looked at his wife, still trying to understand a reality far removed from the one he’d lived with for three years. “Why didn’t the physician know that?”
Georgina sat next to him on the bed. “Would your father have told him he was coughing blood?”
“I don’t know.”
She took his hand in her own. “Philip, look at me.” He did as she asked, her skin practically glowing in the lantern light. “If you were coughing blood, would you tell your physician?”
His heart stopped and he sucked in a breath. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t want the man to tell Georgina that he was dying. Blast it all to hell!
Letting out his breath, he pulled her to him. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t want you to know I was dying. But you would know, wouldn’t you? My mother knew too. That’s why she wrote me.”
Georgina gazed at him, not with pity, but with understanding. “Yes.”
“Do you know why I wouldn’t want you to know?”
She nodded as a soft smile lifted her lips. “Because you love me.”
His chest tightened as his heart recognized the truth. When had he fallen in love with her?
She touched the side of his face with her palm. “And I love you. Isn’t that wonderful?”
His throat closed as emotion filled him. Unable to speak, he leaned in and kissed her with the new feelings swirling inside him. She kissed him just as gently, a promise of love and support. He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you.”
She smiled wide before pulling away and jumping up. “I love you too.”
He watched as his wife spun in a circle, her arms held out as if she could fly. He was amazed and stupefied that the woman he’d spend the rest of his life with was so wise and yet so young and carefree.
He stood and swooped Georgina into his arms, kissing her with a new passion. Then he pulled her with him as he fell back upon the bed to the sound of her laughter. “This is cause for celebration.”
She pushed up upon his chest and looked at him. “Shall I call for drink and syllabub, or should we move to the windowsill?”
The images from chapters four and seven flew through his mind. He shook his head. “No, I think I wish to eat you right here in this bed.”
She gave him a shrewd look. “Only if I can drink from you first.”
At her words, his ballsack tightened and he hardened with need. “Very well. If you insist.” He spread his arms out wide to allow her complete access.
Her golden eyes darkened to brown in the light as she pulled the tie about his dressing gown and bared him to her sight.
As her hands encompassed him and her mouth came down, he gave himself up to her ministrations, idly wondering how he could be so fortunate before all thoughts flew from his head.