A Daring Liaison(81)

He knocked on Georgiana’s door and waited. When there was no answer, he tried the latch. Locked. That was going a bit too far. His anger returning, he turned, entered his own room, crossed through his dressing room and opened the door on Georgiana’s side. The room was dim and she’d been reclining on a chaise with her eyes closed. She sat upright when he burst in.

“Charles! I...I didn’t know you were home.”

“And still would not if I were a respecter of locked doors, madam.”

She gave him a timid smile that made him ashamed. “Well, you have found your way in, and since it was never my intent to close you out, we can both be pleased.”

“If you did not mean to bar me, then who?”

One hand went up and pressed her temple as if it throbbed. “Clara, mostly. She means well, but I cannot think with her constant hovering and coddling. She can be quite distracting.”

He did not know about Clara being distracting, but he could well believe it about Georgiana. Was, in fact, dealing with that distraction at this very moment.

She stood and held out her hand. “Charles—”

He took the hand and drew her against him. He wanted her with a banked desire he’d never before experienced. She’d been his wife nearly a full twenty-four hours, and he still had not bedded her.

“We need to talk, Georgiana. I have questions, and things I must tell you, but at the moment I can only think how beautiful you are.” And how he was growing hard just watching her.

She must have read his mind. A pretty blush rose to her cheeks and she looked at the fading light outside the window. “Dinner will be ready soon. I think we’ve already given the servants enough to talk about.”

She was right, of course, but unfortunately he did not care in the least. He led her to her dressing table and held the little boudoir chair for her. When she was seated, he took the small box from his waistcoat pocket and placed it on the table in front of her. She looked at his reflection in the mirror, the question in her eyes.

“My apology,” he explained.

She lifted the lid and her eyes, those remarkable olive-green eyes, widened. She traced the circle of twinkling diamonds surrounding the deep emerald pendant with her index finger. “You are...eloquent, Charles.”

“It is a match for your wedding ring.”

She nodded and lifted it by the chain to examine the jewels more closely.

“Allow me,” he whispered, bending over her shoulder to take the necklace from her. He unfastened the clasp, lowered the pendant to its rightful place, and fastened it again.

She held his gaze in the mirror as he settled the object against her chest. Her mouth curled up in a subtle smile and, starting at the back of her neck, he slipped his fingers downward to smooth the links of the chain against her skin. When he reached the pendant resting in the valley between her lush breasts, he left his hands there, and was rewarded by the thump of her heart against his palm. “There,” he said. “Perfect.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted in a faint sigh. He watched in rapt fascination as the peaks of her breasts made little dots against the fabric of her gown and her color deepened. Ah, she was aroused. This foreplay was causing havoc. Would he last through dinner?

She scarcely breathed and he waited for an indication of what she wanted. Her head fell back against him and she brought her hands up to cover his, still at that voluptuous curvature. “Thank you.” She sighed.

“No need.”

She turned her head to look up at him and her cheek brushed his erection. Even through the fabric of his breeches, the sensation was electric. His control, already drawn tight as a frayed bowstring, snapped.





Chapter Eighteen




Georgiana wanted to regret her shameless ploy or blush at the brazenness of it, but she couldn’t. She wanted Charles. And she wanted him as she’d never wanted him before. Quickly. Before something could happen to stop it. While she could still quiet her conscience enough to deceive him. Now, as the urgency built inside her with a blind nameless need.

The boudoir chair toppled over as she stood and neither of them stopped to right it. She wanted to touch his skin and feel his warmth. Already damp with desire, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and made a shambles of his cravat.

He groaned. “Allow me.”

But she continued to unknot the intricate folds, leaving him to struggle with the fasteners of his pants and kick off his boots. Between them, he was quickly exposed and free to turn his attention to her.