Chapter Seventeen
Fitz informed Marianne that Georgiana was feeling indisposed, something Marianne greeted with a knowing smile.
Well, she was right about that, if more than a few weeks out in her calculations.
Instead of being annoyed, she was solicitous and kind, making sure Georgiana was well wrapped up against the chill night and organizing the fetching of their servants and carriage.
Twenty minutes after they left the terrace, they were dismounting from their carriage at the front door of Milborne House in Bedford Square and Ellis was opening the door for them.
He, too, had to be fobbed off with the lie that Georgiana was feeling unwell, and after some sympathetic words, Fitz ushered her up the stairs to her bedroom.
Georgiana, who was feeling more well and alive than she had done for months, found that in pretending to be ill, one had to run the gauntlet of one’s faithful retainers at every corner.
Havers, who of course thought this was a malady brought on by her delicate condition, insisted on helping her undress, get into her night attire and bed, where she’d had a hot brick placed to warm it, and then on fetching her a warm posset to drink.
It was some time before she could get rid of her maid.
She waited five minutes in case Havers thought of coming back for something, although she had said in more than firm tones that she wished not to be disturbed that night so she could have a good sleep.
Havers had also said, in similar more than firm tones, that if her mistress needed her for anything she only had to ring and she would be with her in less than a minute.
Did that mean she was lurking on the landing outside the room? She’d better not be.
Fitz must also have been waiting the requisite five minutes, for just as Georgiana pushed back her bedcovers, a tap came on their adjoining door. She slipped out of bed and hurried to draw back the bolt she’d put in place when first she’d returned here as a married woman. She opened the door.
Fitz was in his nightshirt, his feet bare on the wooden floor. Underneath that, he must be naked. The thought sent a delicious shiver of heat to her core.
One hand still on the door, Georgiana looked him up and down.
Undressed like this, in a way she’d never seen any man before, for Alexander had done nothing but undo his fall when he’d deflowered her, he seemed suddenly less imposing and more…
human. She was not afraid. After all, she’d done this before.
What could be any different about this? It would be quick, a bit uncomfortable, a bit messy, and then it would be over.
She would do it because she loved him and this was what people who loved one another did.
Only, thinking that reminded her too much of Alexander, who had used that line on her. People who love each other do this.
No. Go away, Alexander. Stay where you belong at the bottom of the Irish Sea.
Fitz stared at the vision before him. In her nightgown she looked both sweet and vulnerable, and, without her shoes, which must have rises, smaller.
Nothing about her gave away her condition save the healthy glow of her skin, and the light flush to her cheeks.
She shone like a star that had fallen to earth.
She gave him a tentative smile. Might it be that the desire that had seemed to take over them both in the darkness of the terrace now didn’t seem anywhere near so alluring to her?
He could sense her indecision. She could say she’d changed her mind, that she truly did feel out of sorts, or the truth that he guessed, that she was more than a little afraid.
She said none of that, but stood back so he could walk into her room.
It felt smaller than his own room, although it was not. He had the odd impression that he filled it up. He was a man in her bedroom. A man with very few clothes on, just as she had. His awareness of her nakedness beneath her long nightgown was acute.
He ran a finger along the surface of her dressing table as though looking for dust. “Your nightcap is most becoming.” Which was true.
He’d never seen a woman look so divine when ready for bed.
Well, in truth, he’d never seen a woman ready for bed who was not naked.
His relationships with them had been very much the strip the clothes off and get down to it kind.
No time for night attire. Especially not nightcaps.
How strange. The nightcap, with its lace and ties, was most arousing. More so than if she’d been quite naked.
She put her hand up to her head as though she’d forgotten the nightcap was there.
He smiled. “I would like to see your lovely hair without it.”
Havers, it must have been her, had braided those luscious chestnut locks into a thick plait which hung down her back almost to her waist and was just as arousing as the nightcap.
He took a step towards her, one hand upraised. “Allow me.”
She stood motionless while he lifted off the offending and at the same time arousing nightcap, the ties of which had not been done up.
A few strands of hair came loose and she wrinkled her nose as though they were tickling her.
He laid the nightcap on the dressing table with exaggerated care and turned back.
With his fingertips, he traced her cheek and jawline then pushed the loose strands back from her face.
“But the thing I would most like to see is your hair hanging loose and free as it’s meant to.
The crowning glory of every woman.” Possibly that wasn’t the wisest thing to have said, but she didn’t appear to have noticed.
Instead, she turned her back to him and presented him with the braid.
To his surprise, his fingers shook as he undid the tie and ran his fingers through the braid to loosen her hair.
It hung in rich waves to below her waist now, thick and luxuriant and enough to make him harden as his fingers ran through the silky length of it.
What would it be like to have that curtain of hair hanging over him as they made love, or spread across the pillow?
He turned her around to find her looking up at him, a trusting expression on her face. An expression he’d never provoked in any woman before.
“I will be gentle with you,” he said. She’d told him about the night her child was conceived, and he’d guessed the bits she’d kept to herself.
If he wanted her to love him in the way he wanted to be loved, he had to forget everything but giving her pleasure.
When he finally took her, she had to be ready.
He would not do to her that which had been done before.
He’d never done that to a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now.
He cupped her face in his hands. “You truly are the loveliest of creatures.”
She gazed up at him out of those trusting eyes.
Realization dawned. She was giving herself to him out of duty as well as love.
She knew nothing of true love, not the carnal kind.
She only knew what it was to be callously taken by a young fortune hunter in a dark summerhouse so she could not escape a marriage and give him her fortune.
Only he’d died, and she’d escaped, and now she was his, and much to his astonishment, he’d fallen in love with a woman who was nothing like his usual conquests.
He took her hand and drew her over to the bed. “Will you lie down with me, Georgiana?”
For answer, she climbed onto the bed and lay down on the far side, a little too ramrod straight for his liking, as though preparing herself for an ordeal and hoping it would be over as quickly as possible.
That was not going to happen.
He lay down on the bed beside her, his cock reminding him forcibly of what his purpose here was. If he could have batted it down, he would have.
The candles on the dressing table flickered.
He lifted up his right arm invitingly. “Would you like me to hold you?” Somehow he wasn’t his usual forceful self but rather felt he needed her permission. How had she wrought such a change in his character in less than three short weeks? What was there about her?
She hesitated a moment, then with caution moved into his embrace, her body pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder. How soft and warm and pliant she felt. Unable to resist, he turned his head and kissed her, softly, trying to be as undemanding as possible.
She stiffened in his hold, but after a moment relaxed.
A moment or two later her lips parted, and she kissed him back.
He pulled her a little closer and brought his left arm over to rest on her waist, the feel of her skin beneath the thin fabric intoxicating.
She stiffened then relaxed again, so, throwing caution to the winds, he slid the hand up towards her breasts, slowly, not wanting to frighten her.
Whatever happened, he must not frighten her.
She was like a little bird, fluttering in his hand, waiting to be gentled and won over, a bird who’d been locked in a cage for the last four years. And they had all night. He had no need for haste, other than the throbbing in his groin, and he could ignore that, for a while.
Georgiana felt Fitz’s hand slide up from her waist to her breasts and for a moment, caution had her stiff as a board under the strange touch.
Then common sense took over. Hadn’t she wanted him to do that, and more, when they were kissing on the terrace?
Hadn’t he touched her breasts over her gown and hadn’t she’d liked it?
Wanted him to slip his hand inside her gown and touch skin to skin?
What was the difference now they were in bed?
Well, the fact that they were both almost naked, for a start, and on the terrace their clothing had been as a protective armor between them.