Chapter 5
31 st May 1815
Charles sighed. Through the window, little could be seen with the heavy rain pouring upon the gardens of Hemel House. At long last, he was ready to attend to Bathwick, his estate, but Henry was insistent upon seeing Parliament through to the very end, and while Charles could journey on his own, Henry was adamant about being of aid, and based on the little communication he had with the steward, his brother was likely required.
A flash of lightning illuminated the grounds, and the floor beneath him trembled just enough for him to perceive the sensation. He had no need to hear to understand what had just happened. Thunder. The manner in which he recognised many things had changed, yet he could still discern certain sounds even without hearing them. At times, his new reality was still an oddity.
He stepped over to the brandy and poured a sizeable portion. While he would welcome the oblivion from being in his cups, Henry would not tolerate him drinking to excess every night, regardless of how inviting Charles found the prospect—and the prospect was inviting indeed.
The fire burned low in the grate, and he relaxed into his favourite chair nearby to watch the last of the coals glow and pulse with heat. A movement in the corner of his eye made him turn. Wearing an ethereal white dressing gown, Miss Darcy moved towards the shelving area with a chamberstick in her grasp. She stepped slowly while she read the titles on the spines, her fingers trailing along while she catalogued each. He would have thought her fond of poetry, but she now perused the very same novels Jane seemed to favour. What was she doing up and about so late?
His gaze raked down her form, pausing at how a few of her mahogany locks fell loose from her braid and rested upon her shoulder. He swallowed hard as his breeches became tight in a way he would not have expected—with a vehemence he had never experienced before. What was it about this whisp of a lady that inspired his ardour so acutely?
He cleared his throat, and she startled, almost dropping the chamberstick. As soon as she set the candle on the nearest table, she rounded on him. “You could have announced yourself sooner, sir.”
“Perhaps I first thought you a ghost.” While not cordial, matters between them had softened since their encounter in the bluebell wood. He had relaxed some in her presence and had once again begun having tea in the parlour with Henry, Jane, and Miss Darcy. At dinner, he contributed more to the conversation, as did she. No, naught was resolved per se, but they were no longer avoiding each other.
Her chin hitched back. “You are teasing me.”
“Why are you awake at this late hour?” The clock on the mantel had chimed midnight not too long ago.
“The thunder woke me, so I thought to find a book to help me settle.”
He tilted his head. “You do not like storms?”
“Little good has happened during such weather. The night my father died, lightning struck an old oak at Pemberley and split it in two, then at Ramsgate…” Her hands fell to her sides.
“At Ramsgate?”
“Forgive me. I should have never…I am not supposed to speak of it.”
He stood and stepped towards the table with the spirits. “Would you care for sherry or claret?”
“What are you drinking?” She pointed to the glass on the table, her head tilted just a bit.
“Brandy. Would you care to try some?” He picked up his portion and held it out. Her fingers brushed his when she took the glass, and their gazes met as their flesh touched and held while she brought the glass to her mouth. The golden liquid touched what was surely plump and soft. He licked his own lips.
Her face contorted, and she coughed as she set the glass on the shelf. “It burns.”
He could not help but grin. “Try it again. After the first sip, it should do no more than warm your chest.”
She did as he bid while he stared at the liquor disappearing into her mouth. Her lips appeared so soft and full when they pressed against the glass. His own prickled. He startled and straightened. When had he begun to bend forward? He needed to control himself. She had come to his dreams of late, unbidden, and he had touched and pleasured her until he awoke exceedingly aroused and shaking. Now, she was standing before him in a dressing gown, no less, and he needed to push those memories from his mind lest he act upon them—and he could never act upon them.
He poured himself another glass and returned to his chair. Space! He required space between them lest he lose himself. After setting his drink on the table, he motioned for her to sit across from him.
“I believe I owe you an apology,” he said when she looked his way. “I had not intended to behave so that day in the woods, and I beg your forgiveness for it. My intention when we rode out was to bring you cheer, and it seems I did the opposite.”
“Then why did you speak of such things?”
He shifted in his chair. “I should not say.”
She regarded him with a steady gaze just long enough to make him ill-at-ease, then drew her feet up under her. “I propose a trade of sorts.”
“A trade?”
“Yes, you tell me what you should not, and I shall tell you what I am not supposed to speak of as well.”
His heart quickened a little at her suggestion. Why did he desire to know whatever she held secret? The only problem with her proposition was what would she think when she knew why he had acted so that day?
“Very well, but since this was your idea, you go first.” His gaze strayed to where her bare toes peeked out from under her dressing gown. He took a generous gulp of brandy.
“My father’s steward had a son who grew up with my brother. He became a handsome man and my father’s favourite. They often played chess or cards together, and my father ensured this man, his godson, attended school with my brother. I am certain my father wished for the young man to take a living he had once it became available, but the reprobate did not finish university.” She described how the young man behaved after her father died—how her brother gave him a sum in lieu of the living. “Yet, I knew naught of those matters at the time. When I was fifteen, I was removed from school, and my companion and I went to Ramsgate. We happened upon him there, along the sea wall, and he began to call on me.”
Charles tightened his grip on his glass. This man was the age of her brother, and she had been too young and na?ve to recognise what he was about—Charles could discern the scoundrel’s scheme before she needed to elaborate.
“My companion forwarded our association. Mr.—the man proposed marriage, and I accepted. He planned for us to journey to Scotland to marry, but the night before we were to begin our trip north, a storm raged while I expressed my doubts over excluding my brother. He refused my entreaties to wait until my brother would accept our engagement and insisted we wed without Fitzwilliam.
“After I told the horrid man I would not marry him, he pushed me down on the sofa and kissed me. I resisted as best I could, but he did not relent so I bit his lip.”
Charles gritted his teeth. If this man forced himself upon her, he would track the rake down and rip him limb from limb. No, that would be too good for the blackguard. He would need to think of something more painful.
“He struck me, then reached under my skirts.” She averted her gaze, seemingly staring into nothing, the only hint of her disquiet her white knuckled grip upon her glass. “That was when my brother appeared as if by magic. He tore the rake from me, beat him, and threw him into the street. My companion was relieved of her duties, and we departed the next day for Pemberley.”
He swallowed down a large gulp of brandy and bared his teeth while she took a sip of her own drink. After such a tale, she, no doubt, relished the sting of the strong liquor; he always did. “What became of this man?” Her eyes were not quite on him but in a position where she seemed to see what he was asking.
“Lord Richmond saw to it he was put in debtor’s prison. My brother said that no sooner had he been released than he was caught cheating in cards and killed.”
“A fitting fate I believe,” said Charles. “How did he die?”
“He was shot. My brother was told that he died instantly.”
Charles shifted in his chair. Died instantly? Well, such a fate was not satisfying—not at all. Yet why was he so determined to bestow a slow and painful demise to this man?
Her gaze met his. “Most would consider me ruined.”
“Most are not worthy to lick the ground you walk on.” He shifted again in his seat. He should not have said that. Yet, despite whether he should have or not, the words had been said and hung thick in the air.
She startled and her lips parted a hair before she shook herself. “I believe it is your turn. What do you hold so dear?”
He resituated himself and rubbed his palms up and down his thighs before lifting his hands to sign. “I took you to the bluebell wood with the best of intentions. I could not imagine what you had to cry over when I found you by the stream, but I wished to cheer you. What I had not accounted for was the sight of you, the joy upon your countenance, and the sunlight shining through the trees in such a way you glowed. You were so beautiful, and I was angry.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You were angry you found me beautiful?”
He shook his head. “No, I was furious that I could not have you because you deserve more.”
“We both deserve love,” she said with definitive hand movements. “I suppose us finding what we seek depends upon our determination to have it. In my case, I am too untrusting of most men to expose myself to them—they would have no opportunity for the intimacy a marriage requires.”
“Were you so timid before what that bastard did?”
She flinched a little at his description. “No, I was shy, but the experience in Ramsgate did me no favours.”
He tipped the glass so the last of his brandy slid down his throat and stood to pour himself more. At her stepping beside him and setting her own near his, he startled. The decanter shook some while he poured her another measure, then placed the crystal bottle back on the tray.
His body stiffened when she covered his hand with hers to draw his attention. “Are we to become friends?”
He nodded somewhat. The notion was probably not his most prudent, but what was done was done. He had answered her and would not alter his impulsive decision now.
“Can I ask you to do something for me—as a friend?”
She wanted a favour? What could she desire from him?
“The only kiss I have known is what occurred in Ramsgate. Would you…?” Her hands trembled as she began, then faltered. She wanted him to kiss her? Why did that seem ill-advised—as though he were releasing some mythological beast from its restraints?
Before he thought better of agreeing to her request, he leaned down and with a gentle sweep, brushed his lips against hers. Good God, they were softer than he had imagined. Their breaths mingled for but a moment before he claimed her mouth again. She was not passive but attempted to move with him until she became accustomed to the rhythm and returned his kiss with more confidence. He unclenched his fists and drew her against him, his tongue running along the seam of hers and dipping in to taste her.
The brandy upon her tongue was addictive when combined with the taste of her. He would gladly submerge himself in her delights and never surface for air if given the opportunity. His hand cradled her throat, his thumb caressing between her chin and her collarbone, when the flesh vibrated beneath his fingers. Had she groaned? The sensation of the sound sent a jolt through him and made the pressure in his breeches more difficult to ignore.
Blast! He would have to pay no mind to that part of him demanding satisfaction. She had entrusted him to do this, and he would not sully the sweetness of her request with behaving no better than the miscreant who attempted to ruin her. Despite everything in him longing to take her, he tempered the kiss until he drew a hairsbreadth from her.
Her eyes opened, her pupils wide. As she stared at him agape, her chest rose and fell, the swelling of her breasts against the fabric making his breeches tighter by the moment. His body protested when she backed away, her fingers touching her now swollen lips. She reached for the brandy, took a sip, and shivered.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Her head bobbed. “I thank you for indulging me.”
“You are lovely. Any man would be grateful for the opportunity you have given me, but I maintain that you should seek a gentleman who is not lacking in any way.”
“You are not lacking!” Her hands moved with vigour, betraying the emotion behind her words. “If only you could see that.” Her arms fell to her sides, but she reached back for her brandy before she departed the room, leaving him to stand in place. Lord, but he wished more than anything to follow!
Georgiana hastened back to her room, closed the door, and pressed her back to it, squeezing her eyes closed. She had opened Pandora’s box without one forethought of what would occur when she did.
What had possessed her to request a kiss from Lord Bath? If she had only the one kiss to last her the rest of her life, she could not deny the earl’s was worthy in every way. His lips cradled hers so delicately when he began, but she had not counted on how her body would light from within from such a simple act. When his mouth opened and their tongues mingled, that light transformed into a heat that threatened to engulf her. She had been almost faint as his hand rested upon her neck with the gentlest of touches, his thumb tracing a line that had sent a current through her.
His body had stiffened around that time. The change was barely perceptible, but with her hands upon his chest, the difference had been discernible. What had occurred to make him uncomfortable? She had been so overcome that her memory was reduced to the sensations coursing through her.
Grabbing her glass, she finished the brandy, then shed her dressing gown and climbed into bed. Her hand clutched her nightgown, and she shifted under the coverlet. How long would the effects of his kiss linger? She would never sleep until they did, but in some strange way, her heart pained her at the thought of them disappearing altogether. This was maddening!