Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) (5 page)

One more debt he owed to his brother.

His chest caught with the pain of that thought.

With a sigh, he let his hands fall to his sides
. Perhaps he should tell her to go.

Before he could speak she turned
and with no words let her head rest upon his chest, her hands encircling his waist, but loosely, offering comfort not capture.

Almost without thought
, his hands came up her back, loosening the laces of her gown and corset until her dress fell quietly from her shoulders to catch upon their crossed arms.

She stepped slightly back from him
– his body missed her warmth – and letting her gown and chemise fall to the floor, turned to the great bed. The thick coverlet had been turned down, and the crisp white sheets glowed in warm beckoning.

Without glancing back at him, she walked to the bed and slid between the sheets, and then over to the far side, to her side
. They'd slept together for such a brief time, but even so she'd had her side and he'd had his – although they most often met in the middle.

He quickly doffed his own clothing, leaving it piled on the floor beside hers, and slipped into the bed beside her
. The linen sheets were cool against his skin as he pulled the covers high.

He rested his head back against his pillow and waited
– for what, he was not quite sure.

#

What now
? Annie wasn't sure whether to say something – or do something. She lay on her back, head cushioned on the overly filled down pillows and stared at the canopy. Richard had always taken the lead, in every aspect of their relationship. He'd led her out to the garden on their third meeting and had been leading her ever since.

Well, not ever since, she'd definitely broken free after she'd found out the truth of why he'd married her
. She'd pulled free and returned to Harsgate that very day. Her heart twinged at the very thought. She'd been so frozen – and so resolved to have nothing more to do with him.

And yet here she was.

Turning her head, she stared across the wide expanse of the bed at him. His eyes were focused on the canopy. He didn't turn to look at her, although he must have felt her shift upon the bed.

"I have birds embroidered above my bed." The words slipped from her lips.

"What?"

"I wanted something to stare at as I fell asleep at night
. I thought about stars but I thought they might make me feel lonely, so I had the seamstress embroider birds, dozens of them – of all varieties. I fall asleep thinking about how sweet they will sound when I awake."

He did not answer and for a moment Annie worried that he found her silly or inane
. She turned back and stared at the plain velvet cloth above.

"Were you lonely?" His voice was low.

It was such a simple question, but she didn't know how to answer. What was lonely? Could you be lonely while holding your dear child in your arms? Could you be lonely when surrounded by servants? When every woman for miles about called in weekly? Could you be lonely when it was the life you had chosen?

"Yes. I was lonely.
” Her gaze stayed fastened on the canopy.

"I have been
, too."

"How could you be lonely
? You were in London surrounded by people, by friends. You had your brother and friends – and your mistress."

"I got rid of the mistress after you left
– and never took another."

Her chest loosened at his words, as if a tight tie and been released about her lungs
. But what was there to say? And did it even matter? And that was assuming she believed him – that she would ever believe him again. And what exactly did he mean by never? A thousand questions formed in her mind, but she held them back, refused to let them out. A lady did not ask such questions, not even of her husband.

"Do you have no reply?"

She turned her face back toward him, staring through the darkness. "What do you want me to say?"

"Something
. Anything. Anything, but quiet."

With careful fingers she reached across the wide space between them and laid her palm down upon his chest
. He had not bothered with a nightshirt and she almost pulled back as his warm flesh met her touch, the soft hairs brushing lightly against her skin.

Before she could move, his hand came down and rested atop hers, holding it still. "I missed your touch
. You always slept with some part of you reaching for me. I can remember waking with your hair wrapped all about me, your breath caressing my cheek."

He sounded as if he missed those mornings, a forlorn note to his voice
. But he had been the one to ruin it, to end it. She had fought hard to make peace with what had happened between them, but his few words left cracks in her carefully built facade.

Fighting against the memories his words called forth required more energy than she had within her at this moment
. It was impossible not to be swept back to waking as dawn's first light eased across the bed, lighting his sleeping features with a gentleness they never showed when he was awake, not to remember reaching for him just to feel his warmth, to feel the security and happiness this presence brought. She'd never been happier than she had been on those early mornings when at her softest touch he would sweep her into his arms and hold her tight – and so much more.

She remembered his lips upon her neck, a rain of kisses moving up to her lips, his hands upon her breasts, stroking, squeezing . . .

It was good that the room was so dark or Richard would have seen the flush of color rising on her cheeks. He was grieving. He needed comfort not . . . although the truth was she didn't know what he needed.

And then suddenly she did know.
"Do you remember the first time that we met? I was only a little over eight. I can remember my excitement that I was finally going to meet my future husband. I had a picture of him in my mind, tall and handsome, and so very kind. I knew I'd met him before, but I'd been only a baby then. This was the first time I was really going to meet him. I was so excited. My mother even let me twist my hair up, nothing fancy, but I felt so mature. He was going to be swept away by my charms."

"Hargrove did like you, you know
. It is part of why he made the decision that he did."

"I know, but don't interrupt
. Oh, I shouldn't have said that – not now, not when . . ."

Squeezing her fingers, he said, "Don't worry
. I do want to hear what you are saying."

Filling her chest with breath, she continued, "But Hargrove was not at all what I expected
. He was so much a man and I a child. He was not mean, but he could not fake an actual interest in me. He was polite – and yes he was kind, but he was as removed from me as a lion from a kitten. And then you came into the room. You seemed mostly grown, a man to my young eyes, and from that moment I could see only you. Every time that Hargrove came to visit I hoped to see you."

"Why do you tell me this now?" He sounded gruff.

Why did she? A moment ago she had understood her reasoning, but beneath his question it seemed flimsy. "I wanted you to understand that I think you are up to the challenges ahead, that you have always been your own man, not just Hargrove's shadow. I know you – and I, will mourn him, but I know that you are still that man I met all those years ago." Rolling over on her side to face him, she reached out and placed a hand upon his chest. His heart beat slow and steady.

"Do you really believe that
? I was sure you changed your mind when all between us fell apart."

"I do believe that
. I am not sure that I am that girl anymore, but you are definitely that man. So strong and sure."

He laughed, deep in his chest
. Her fingers danced with the movement. "And how would you know that? It has been years since we spent any time together. Even these last months we’ve hardly seen each other beyond passing."

"And whose fault is that? No, forget I said that
. This is not a moment for blame. I do know you, Richard. Why do you think I came back to London?"

He was silent and then the words came, swift and bitter
. "I rather thought it was so you could find a lover. Is that not what you told me when you first arrived? That if I could have one, so could you."

#

Richard watched as Georgianna's features grew completely still
. He had not wanted to use her own words against her, but they had come nonetheless. He had tried to be fair when she had stated she intended to take a lover. It was true he had betrayed her, lied to her, but still everything in him had cried out against letting her know any man but him.

He'd certainly circled her like a hawk every time she attended a ball
. He'd even come close to blows with the Duke of Strattington on the one occasion he'd truly believed that Georgianna might be about to engage in an affair. It had all turned into nothing, but for the first time Richard had realized he might actually still care for his wife.

He might actually still love her
– have never stopped loving her.

He had not put the thought to words then and he probably would not now had it not been for the grief that overwhelmed him.

Damn. He would not give in to sentiment.

Not about his brother and certainly not about a woman who had given up her dreams of him years ago.

"I did not mean the words even when I said them." Her voice was soft, but steady. "I think I was hoping you would argue with me."

"You certainly sounded firm and convinced.
” He could not forget how he'd felt when she mentioned her intentions to find a lover. He'd wanted to lock her in a tower.

"I could not forget how I felt when I found out you had a mistress," she answered.

Her words echoed his thought of a moment ago and struck deep.

She was not done
. "I wanted to hurt you as I'd been hurt. Perhaps it was not the best tack to take when I was seeking to renew our relationship."

"Why do you do this now?" A touch of his earlier anger returned
. "My brother has just died."

"I am sorry."

"You should be, bringing up things that cannot be changed.” He turned away from her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask her to stay with him.

"Damn you
. Don't turn away from me now. I hurt too – perhaps I did not love Hargrove as greatly as you, but I certainly feel his loss."

He spun back, focused on her flushed face
. "Then why do you bring up everything else now?"

"Because I thought we could have one single moment of honest
y between us,” she replied. “Was that too much to hope for?"

Chapter Four

The question hung in the air between them. Her chest heaved, her breast rising above the fall of the sheet.

And it was all too much. He was angry – hurt and angry – and all that emotion needed someplace to escape.

He grabbed, her pulled her toward him – and brought his lips down upon hers, hard. His tongue invaded without invite. He wanted to punish her, punish himself, punish life itself. It was more than he could take.

Her lips held stiff for a moment and then gave way. Her tongue did not join his in protest but neither did she resist. She simply let him have his way.

And he did, grinding his mouth over hers, pushing her down into the bed with his weight, devouring, overwhelming. And still she did nothing but give way beneath him.

He wanted her to bite, to fight – wanted to release all the fires between them the only way he knew how.

Damnation. He could not do this.

He pulled back and fell into his pillows. Even this was denied him.

"I am sorry," the words forced themselves out from between his lips.

He expected her to nod without words or too make some gesture of polite acceptance.

She did not.

He reached out and ran a solitary finger down her cheek. He could feel the dampness of tears.

He froze. God, could he do nothing right?

And then she turned her face, laying a single kiss upon his finger. The warmth of her lips spread, heating parts of him that had been chilled by his brother's death. Pushing himself up, slowly this time, he reached out and wrapped his arms about her, drawing her tight to his chest, her cheek nestled just above his heart.

Her breath stilled for a moment, and then eased out in a soft exhale that whispered about him. He could feel her lips open as if to speak, but then close as if sensing that now was not the moment for words. Instead she cuddled closer, her breasts warm against his stomach, her long legs tangling with his own.