Chapter 19
“Your Graces!” Rutherford exclaimed as the sodden pair returned to Westvale.
“It has been raining heavily, Rutherford. Have you never seen water before?” Keaton replied.
Georgia laughed from beside him. “We decided to promenade in Hyde Park and were caught out. But we did manage to get the worst of it dried.”
Her dress felt itchy and stiff from drying in front of the fire. She was conscious of it against her body. She was also conscious of her body above all, still feeling Keaton’s deft caresses and expert touches.
I did not believe it possible that such pleasure was attainable outside of divine bliss. I feel like a wanton woman, but after all, he is my husband.
“Of course, Your Grace. May I suggest changing as soon as possible so that your clothes may be laundered before they are completely ruined?”
“There are always more clothes, man,” Keaton shrugged, striding past the anxious butler.
“We will, Rutherford. At once,” Georgia assured him quietly.
She followed Keaton up the stairs. He paused at the landing that led to the guest rooms.
“That was… unexpected,” he said.
“Yes, and entirely unplanned,” she smiled, “but not unwelcome.”
“And the champagne?”
“I believe the exertion and the sleep have purged most of it. I did not think it would overtake me quite so quickly as it did.”
“That is the nature of drink. I find it leaves me with a headache. What…?”
He stopped himself, breathing sharply through his nose as though irritated at himself.
“What?” Georgia prompted, gently touching his arm.
“I was going to ask what prompted your actions today?”
“Which actions precisely?”
“Your decision to begin drinking heavily. It hardly seems conducive to eliminating the threat of scandal.”
Georgia folded her arms, feeling the criticism as a needle.
“I do not think I was drinking heavily.”
“Heavily enough to lose your inhibitions utterly.”
His face was unreadable, and Georgia wondered if this was the drawbridge being raised against her once more.
Surely he would not open himself to such intimacy as we have shared and then shut me out all over again…
“And what was your excuse?” she asked, sharply.
Keaton’s lips drew tight, and he half turned as though to resume his ascension to his own rooms. He stopped with his foot on the first riser and then stepped back.
“That is fair,” he sighed, “and I was not. You must understand, Georgia, that a blind man is a pauper when it comes to trust. How many times have you chosen to bestow trust because of a person’s face?”
Georgia knew she should accept this overture of peace, but was still annoyed that he had retreated behind his high walls so readily.
How can he lecture me on trust when he behaves in such a way that I cannot rely on him?
“I have lived for years at Silverton, in the servant’s quarters and treated as lower even than they,” she began. “I have hardly had an idyllic time.”
“That does not answer my question,” he replied, almost talking over her, “I am trying to explain why I find it so difficult to trust, and you seek to have me pity you.”
“I do not ask for pity!” she replied hotly.
“And now you look for an argument. I did not suggest pitying you, woman. Do not be so sensitive. I merely…”
“Sensitive? You are a fine one to talk! I have never known a man so prickly. Listen to yourself, you find reason for offence in the slightest thing I say. So, I think I should just say nothing. Now I have a headache, and this quarrel is not helping.”
She spun and stormed away down the hallway, trusting that Keaton would hear her departure. She slammed the door to her suite of rooms for good measure.
He is the most infuriating man!
She put her hands over her face, afraid that the champagne still held something of a hold over her.
On her bedside table was a bowl of water for washing.
She plunged her head into it, gasping from the chill.
But it seemed to help clear the fuzziness that she had not even realised was present in her mind still.
She flicked her hair back, smoothing the water from it. Then she spotted the plain white piece of folded paper beside the bowl. It had been spattered with drops of water, but she saw her name on it. Frowning, she unfolded it.
“Your Grace, Tom returned today and told me that he took Lady Amelia to a house in Bethnal Green. He was instructed to remain at an inn for two days before returning to Silverton. The house is called Elm Bank and lies on the Bishop’s Road.
Mrs. Pewter”
Georgia gaped at the note, perplexed. Tom hadn’t been ordered to take Amelia to a sanatorium by the sea at all. He had taken her to a house on the north-eastern edge of London.
Then told to wait at an inn. To make the rest of the household think that his journey had been longer than it actually was?
The blatant subterfuge sent a chill down Georgia’s spine.
It contributed to a physical chill that was setting in due to her wet hair on top of the soaking she’d received a few hours before.
She changed out of her dress and her underclothes, leaving all in the dressing room in a wicker woven box for collection by Molly for laundering.
Naked, she opened her wardrobe for a change.
There was not a great deal of choice. The range of clothes she had been permitted at Silverton was hardly wide-ranging.
She examined the three plain, sturdy dresses that she owned and felt a touch of envy for other women who took their fine gowns for granted.
She had one dress suitable for social occasions, and that was now lying in her laundry box and might never be the same again.
The door opened abruptly, and Keaton strode into the room. Georgia’s instinctive reaction was to scream and grab a dress from the wardrobe, holding it over her nakedness.
“Good God! What is the matter!” he demanded.
“You did not knock!” she exclaimed, “I am… undressed.”
Keaton raised an eyebrow. “And I am blind. I would not have known you were undressed if you did not tell me.”
Georgia blushed and slowly lowered the dress.
It still did not feel right to be naked so close to him.
He could reach out and touch her. Perhaps it did not feel wrong, so to speak, either, just…
vulnerable. She took a deep breath, their earlier intimacy returning to her mind in glorious detail.
Her blushes deepened. Her breathing was ragged, and it did not help that she knew he would hear it and draw conclusions.
“That is an excellent point...” she whispered. “I acted out of instinct. This is a novel way of living, and I am still getting used to it.”
There was something intensely exciting about standing in front of Keaton in full nudity, even knowing that he could not see her.
He can imagine it, though. I told him I was undressed, and now he will be picturing that state. Picturing my body. Recalling the feel of it...
“There is a great deal of novelty in these times that we find ourselves in,” Keaton began diplomatically, “and I have not handled it as well as I might. That is what I wished to discuss with you. But I will leave you to dress first.”
He strode out of the dressing room, and Georgia heard him taking a seat in the sitting room that served as the anteroom for her suite.
She held the dress close to her body. Then, a truly wanton and reckless thought entered her mind.
She swallowed, mouth going dry. With swift, decisive movements, she rustled the dress as though she were hurriedly dressing. Then, she let it fall.
Heart pounding, she walked into the sitting room, still naked.
My list of freedoms to be experienced did not include being naked about the house, but I think the list must be appended.
Keaton was tending the fire, adding a log and then using the bellows beside the fireplace to encourage the flames. He tested his success with a hand held up before the licking flames. As she entered the room, he straightened and took a seat on a chaise to one side of the fireplace.
“I felt the room was cold. I will have a word with Rutherford about keeping living quarters to an acceptable temperature.”
Georgia sat at the other end of the chaise, scarcely daring to believe her daring.
“Do not berate him on my account. He is unused to these rooms being occupied, and old habits die hard.”
“I expect new habits to be learned quickly.”
Georgia forced a laugh, trying to seem normal. She shifted her position, turning more towards Keaton. She felt that he must be able to hear her breathing, that she was panting raggedly. Or hear her thundering heartbeat.
Keaton frowned, cocking his head, and Georgia froze. All he had to do was lean across the intervening space, and he would know all.
He already knows all. He has touched me, explored me, and savored me.
“You wanted to discuss our… novel living arrangements,” Georgia began.
“I did,” Keaton replied slowly, making the hair on the back of her neck rise.
He sounded like a man solving a puzzle. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to run back into the other room and lock the door behind her.
She stopped herself—the excitement overrode the fear.
It bubbled within her, making her want to writhe just as she had done in the abandoned stables in Hyde Park.
“So, let us discuss,” she prompted.
“I owe you an apology for my abrupt manner a few minutes ago. I was brought back to reality and did not like the notion that I might be the subject of gossip among my own staff. Then I wondered if it was contrived that way.”
“What way?”
“As an act of humiliation.”
“I would not!”
“But I do not know you.”
“You know me better than any other man.”
“Do I?” he shot back.
“Yes!” Georgia rose, forgetting her nakedness and the game she played in a moment of anger, “and I find it insulting that you suggest otherwise.”
“I am not trying to insult you—” he strained.
“You are succeeding remarkably well without trying.”
“—well, if you would stop interrupting me…”
“Then do not take advantage of me and then question my honor!” she finished with a stomp.
Now Keaton was on his feet, facing her with that unerring accuracy only he seemed capable of.
In fury, his handsome features became terribly contorted, yet somehow more sensual in their beauty.
Georgia stood her ground, facing him with chin raised.
She wondered if her posture and physical attitude would communicate themselves to him through merely her voice.
Or did he imagine her cowering before him?
“I did not take advantage of you,” he muttered, visibly regaining control of himself.
“And I apologize for speaking over you,” she replied.
“You have a habit of it,” he said drily.
“And you have a habit of incensing me to the point of rudeness.”
“At least you admit to the rudeness.”
Georgia was left with mouth open for a moment, realizing that she had talked herself into that trap. She chuckled and saw an answering smile on Keaton’s face. It transformed him from vengeful demigod to mere mortal.
“And I will admit to provoking you,” he extended an olive branch, “now, shall we sit and talk as adults?”
Georgia resumed her seat. Keaton sat too, but this time closer to Georgia than he had been.
She put her hand to the chaise. By stretching her fingers, she could just about touch his.
She nearly did so, stopping a hair’s breadth from making contact.
His proximity was alluring. She wanted to touch him.
To be touched by him. Even his prickly nature just seemed to make her attraction to him grow!
“A curious thing...” he said thoughtfully. “I am accustomed to hearing the sound of fabric whenever anyone moves. Particularly women, because of the nature of your garments. It is almost impossible for a fully dressed woman to move silently... But I hear nothing from you.”
Georgia blushed, and suddenly, Keaton reached over and placed one hand against her cheek.
“I think I can glean your color at this moment,” he murmured.
“What are you suggesting?” she replied in a husky voice that she felt sure was giving the game away entirely.
“I wonder what fabric I would feel if I were to move my hand lower…” he whispered.
“There is only one way that you will discover the answer to that question.”
“Is this a further attempt to seduce me and cement your position in my household?” he asked softly, leaning closer.
Georgia could have put her finger to his lips with her eyes closed. She could have kissed him blindly and found her mark. Such was the magnetic draw that she felt from him.
“I feel that I am the one being seduced. No other man has inspired me to be naked in his presence,” Georgia whispered instead.
She felt a glorious triumph at the catch in his breath just then. His hand slipped from her cheek to her throat, fingertips lingering as her pulse raced.
He feels my excitement. He does not need eyes to know how aroused I am.
She put her fingers to his wrist, feeling his own pulse. Quick and hard. She exerted some pressure, moving his arm downwards so that his hand rested on her collarbone. His thumb stroked down the hollow between her breasts.
A sudden knock at the door interrupted the moment.