Chapter Eleven
“Would you kiss me?”
There was something about her question—something so fragile and final—that ripped into whatever armor he’d tried to wrap around his heart from the moment Tom knew he needed to approach Georgie to win his final token of the night.
That old latent fear that she’d reject him, sending him away without a token—or worse, a black ribbon—had come nearer to the surface than he’d cared to admit.
The Hawthornes were all imperious to one degree or another. Even Gabriel, his best friend, couldn’t seem to help himself from time to time, crying foul when Tom bested him at some game or another.
Contrition was not part of the Hawthornes’ language. Until tonight, apparently. Georgie’s remorseful apology—unexpected and so goddamn heartfelt—had been so damned unexpected.
And so had her question.
He cleared his throat, looking down at her, lingering on her lips which seemed even more kissable than they had been when they were younger.
It had been four years since he’d kissed her; a chaste brush of lips that, at nineteen, had set his body on fire.
Four years later, and no longer a misguided youth, those lips tempted him to break a thousand promises he’d made to himself.
“If you don’t want to, I can ask another quest—”
He claimed her lips before she could finish her offer.
He answered by gently capturing her mouth with his and savoring her sweetness.
The first caress was clumsy, as if his answer had taken her off guard.
Their mouths soon found a hungry rhythm as his kiss deepened.
She parted her lips, allowing him to taste more of her, and Christ, he was certain he would never be sated. And after tonight, he would have to be.
He drove that terrible thought aside, drowning it in the elixir of her sweet kisses and tender moans that went straight to his cock, bringing it to attention.
He would never have her, and if he went to hell for thinking of this moment while relieving himself later tonight, every agonizing moment would have been worth it. Because not having her was torture.
The damned mask she wore deprived him of the chance to taste her completely. To run his lips along the delicate skin above her eyes, or alongside her ear. But her neck was indecently bare, and he could sense the throbbing of her blood at her throat as she breathlessly called his name.
“Tom,” she said, an urgency in her voice that was barely above a whisper. “I think I hear the bell.”
It took a few seconds to break through the red haze of lust that had dimmed the rest of the world. But in the distance, the clanging of a bell rang out, signaling the end of the game.
He paused his attentions, his body practically screaming in protest as he moved away from her. Thank Christ for the dark that would obscure the erection that would take several buckets of ice water to rid him of.
“Thank you,” she said, so earnestly it damn near gutted him. She pressed a token into his hand. “I shall not tell Miss Morehouse of this. I do not wish her to think ill of you if she discovered us.”
He doubted very much that Miss Morehouse would care.
Still, her words sobered him. If they were anywhere else but the Lyon’s Den, participating in a mutual game to find each of them a marriage partner, their fate would have been sealed. Honor would have dictated a marriage.
The thought was far more appealing than it should have been. He could offer Georgie all the things that once had been out of his reach. She would be a viscountess, and part of an important family. He could shower her with jewels, buy her gowns, and every night peel them off her.
After she’d rejected him years ago, Tom had gone to Spain and kissed many women. It had been a cold comfort, a search for some kind of oblivion that punctuated the extremes of boredom and bloody battles that had been his life as a soldier.
But nothing had prepared his body for this. He hadn’t been prepared for her apology, let alone her passion. It seemed to be at once clumsy innocence and raw desire. She’d kissed him as if she knew this might be the only chance she’d have to experience even the briefest moment of passion.
“You should go,” she urged. “You have a game to win.”
He absolutely did. So why did this not feel like a victory?
“Let me fix your hair first,” he said. “It will only take a moment.”
She reached behind her, feeling where her hair had come loose from its pins. She hadn’t even realized it, so overcome had she been by that kiss. That kiss had been a revelation. Like a person starved for so long, then confronted by a sumptuous meal.
She’d been ravenous.
Georgie nodded, then turned around, looking out into the night, her heart racing like a stallion spooked by a clap of nearby thunder.
She let out a low breath, thankful for the spring breeze that cooled her skin and the shadows of the lush greenery hiding them from potential discovery.
She seemed to burn inside and out for him, the longing growing from a lingering warmth to a flame in an instant.
Her back to him, she could still sense the lingering heat of his body as his fingers worked to smooth her hair, readjusting the pins.
Once upon a time, when they were little more than children, she’d been punished for coming back a mess.
Tom had taken it upon himself to fix it back in place for her, an act he’d done several times over the years of their friendship.
It had seemed so natural that she’d never really given it a second thought.
He’d been a servant of a kind, after all.
But now, standing in the dark, his fingers working efficiently at her hair, it felt like something very different indeed.
Did Tom care for her?
“There you go,” he said at last. “Good as new.”
She wasn’t of course. She wasn’t good at all. She was trying to escape a marriage all while finding a new husband and kissing yet another man in a garden. A man who was hoping to win the hand of yet another woman.
She put a hand to the back of her neck to assess his handiwork. Without a mirror it was impossible to tell, but he seemed not to have lost his touch.
“I assume you have spent the past few years in Spain practicing your hairdressing skills on other women,” she said, not caring that she voiced her fears out loud. She needed to put some distance between them. “You haven’t lost your touch.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, but his expression was indiscernible from behind the mask, and she suddenly found herself not interested in the answer. Perhaps even afraid of it.
“You should get back and ensure your tokens are counted,” she said. “You have enough I hope.”
“I do, thank you,” he answered, looking off into the distance. “Perhaps we should return separately.”
She didn’t need any further encouragement. She forced herself to walk away from him, waiting until he disappeared. A second bell would ring to summon the ladies back to the den, where the winners of tonight’s game would be announced. She had time to collect herself.
Georgie turned a corner, walking past a lilac bush coming into bloom.
She’d passed it earlier in the evening, where she’d noted a bench beneath it, and she planned to stop there a moment to gain her composure when she noticed it was already occupied by a couple sitting together. Very close together.
Georgie paused, uncertain what to do. Gardens were perfect places for quiet, illicit rendezvous, as she had just done.
The very last thing she wanted to do was intrude.
The smallest sigh came from one side of the bench, partially obscured by the lilac tree, which was carefully sculpted to allow for the heavy blossoms to drape artfully over the occupants of the bench.
The sigh was decidedly female, and somehow she understood that someone was being kissed.
She turned on her heel, careful not to walk loudly, but she caught a twig under her slipper, and it cracked under her foot. She froze, and so did the people under the bench.
“What a lovely evening,” she said aloud, as if she’d always been happily trotting along, not trying to be quiet. It was a trick Tom had taught her to keep herself from startling animals caught unawares, which may have posed a danger to both her and them.
“That it is,” came the reply.
Georgie recognized the voice at once. It was Miss Morehouse, who was still wearing her mask.
Miss Morehouse stood. “Lady Georgiana, what a surprise. I thought everyone had returned.”
Miss Howard was seated beside her. Though it was difficult to make out their expressions in the dark, there was a palpable sense of awkwardness in the air. More than awkwardness, actually.
A bell rang out again—this one to signal the ladies to come out of the maze.
“I believe that is our signal,” Georgie replied. “I had been making my way to the entrance, but alas I have a terrible sense of direction and managed to get myself turned around. Shall we find Miss Fairfax and go out together?”
“An excellent idea,” Miss Morehouse said. “Miss Howard had joined me, because, I am loath to admit, I am rather uncomfortable in the dark.”
“Well, it is a good thing,” Georgie, said, smiling at the ladies, eager to put them at ease. Clearly the two women were having an intimate moment, one befitting a relationship that was more than that of mistress and companion, but that was neither her concern nor her business.
The ladies joined her, and after a few twists and turns, they found Miss Fairfax and they walked out together.
Miss Fairfax chatted merrily about her encounters, the fact she gave out not one, but two black ribbons, which given her rather sunny disposition surprised Georgie and Miss Morehouse alike, neither of whom had given any.