Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London) (11 page)

"If I leave we'll never talk, Georgianna. With Lady Westhampton here, you know I'll never find you alone."

"You want to know what I want. I want you to stop calling me Georgianna. My whole life I've been Annie. Every time you call me Georgianna I feel like you're trying to turn me into someone else, someone I don't know and am not sure I like."

"But Georgianna is so elegant. Just like you."

"Rubbish. I am Annie and always have been."

"You used to like it when I called you Georgianna.” He took another step forward, his eyes reminding her of just how much she had liked it, when she'd lain beneath him and he'd whispered her name.

"That was then.” Her knees were within inches of his. It would be impossible to stand without touching him. He had made it impossible for her to move away. "I wanted to be whoever you wanted me to be when I was young, but then I learned that what you wanted wasn't real and that I needed to be content to be me. I am very happy being Annie."

"Well, then Annie it will be. You must forgive me if it takes me awhile. You have always been Georgianna in my mind."

She blinked at him. She didn't know what to say. They'd had a conversation about her preference for being called Annie when she'd first come to London months ago -- a conversation he had ignored without saying a word. Did it mean something that he was willing to listen to her now? She was afraid to think it did, afraid to consider that he might have changed, that he might be ready to be her husband. Was she willing to risk being hurt again?

All she had was questions, no answers.

"I like Annie." She kept her voice soft. "It is plain and simple like me."

That brought a light laugh to lips. "You are many things my wife, but plain and simple are not among them."

"Perhaps you do not know me as well as you think."

"Then we should change that. Are you willing to give it a try?" He reached forward and ran a single finger along her cheek.

Small sparks of lightening flickered to life, deep in her chest. It had always been like this when he touched her, perhaps it was why she had avoided his touch for so long. An urge grew to move forward, to bring her legs against his. It would be so easy – but also so hard. She knew that she needed more than the wonder of a night of passion, a night that might not seem so wonderful in the light of morning.

As if sensing her hesitation, he drew his finger across her lips, playing with the lush lower one.

Closing her eyes, she tried to gather her thoughts, to gather herself. There really was only one answer. "I really would like you to leave."

He drew back. Her tone had been gentle, but she could feel his stiff reaction.

She didn't open her eyes as she heard him turn, but then . . . "I don't mean it like that. I don't mean never – just not now, not tonight. I need time to think, to decide."

"To decide what? I am your husband." There was anger in his voice.

"How quickly you revert. One moment I am thinking that just maybe . . . and then there you go trying to take charge, trying to demand."

"Believe me, if I were trying to demand you would know it. That is one way that I have always respected you.” He glared down at her.

"The only way – and even there I think it's as much lack of interest as anything. Why bother with your wife when you have a mistress?"

He stepped back, paced to the mantel and then back. He stopped before her, this time leaving more room, but his eyes continued to burn with fire. "I have not had a mistress for years, not since Coquette."

"Oh, was that her name?” Annie knew she was just about spitting the words, but could not help it. She'd been so determined to remain indifferent – and then he said he'd try calling her Annie. Something so small and she softened. But did he appreciate it? No. He made assumptions, just like always.

Rising to her feet, she did her best to meet him glare for glare. "Is this really what you want to talk about? Is this what you think a conversation between husband and wife should be like, a discussion of his mistress?"

"Georg. . .Annie. That's not what I meant.” His eyes dropped to her lips and then lower to her chest.

Annie glanced down, the robe had come loose and he could see . . . well, he could see everything. Looking back up, she met his glance, felt the heat, felt the burn. All the air left the chamber in less time then it took to blink. And then she couldn't breathe. All she could do was stare. They weren't actually touching but she could feel the beat of his heart against her breast, feel the heat of his body coursing through her.

And then it wasn't enough. She was pressed against him, her mouth finding his. Her fingers tangled in his hair pulling him closer yet. He nibbled at her lips and then found entrance, her tongue hungry to meet his. Everything she had dreamed for months was here, was now.

She pulled his head nearer, wanting no separation. When his hands cupped her buttocks and raised her to press against his hardness it was all she could do not to moan her desire aloud. His fingers splayed, cupping her lifting her. Her hips thrust forward urgently, wanting more.

This was heaven. This is what she had longed for.

This was wrong.

Chapter Eight

Richard would never understand women. One minute his wife was spitting fury like an angry kitten and the next . . .

Lips. Breasts. Kisses. Fire. Passion.

He knew he needed to think, needed to stay in control, needed to be sure this was what he wanted. God, who was he kidding, of course, this was what he wanted.

Thought vanished and only sensation remained. His lips released hers, moving down her face, stopping to taste the sweet curve of her jaw. Ahh, the wonder of her neck, of that delicate skin and those tender places that made her whole body shudder. Wrapping his hands about her he lifted her higher, buried his face in that wondrous spot where neck and chest met, that gentle hollow between her clavicles. He could have stayed here forever – only he couldn't. The urge grew to move, to feel more, to see more – to have it all, to have her.

His lips moved lower, nipping at the edge of her nightrail, pulling at the ribbon that held it. Thin linen had no chance against his determination. The ribbon slipped and he moved on, tasting the swells of her breasts. Lemons. She smelled of lemons, lemons and paradise. He licked, tasting the salt, tasting the woman.

He lifted her higher, settling her core against his straining erection. Her thighs settled about him, centering him just where his body demanded he be.

Creamy skin. The flush of passion. The rosy pink of a budding nipple. Hand or mouth? How should he capture his prize?

Mouth.

He licked lower, moving up the full curve. His tongue savored her flavor, flicked out . . .

Her hands pushed against his chest – hard.

He gripped her tighter, his needs could not be denied.

"No." Her word was sharp. The meaning unmistakable.

Still he resisted. He was a man. She was his.

"No." A further push against he chest.

Relaxing his grip, he let her slide down until her feet again rested upon the floor. He could feel her breath heavy against his chest, feel the speeding beat of her heart.

How could she be saying no? She'd been with him on that wild ride – what had stopped her?

"This isn't right. Isn't what I want.”  The words vibrated against his chest, the warmth of lips caressing him.

His fingers curled with the urge to pull her tight again, to ignore her words and follow the messages her body was sending him. "I think it is. I can taste your want.” He nuzzled the edge of her chin.

"Yes. No. I mean no.” Her hands pushed against him again, separating the heat of their bodies. "I cannot deny that I -- that I -- I enjoy your kisses, but this is not what I want, not now."

She was killing him. He stepped back, paced away. His body demanded that he grab her again, that he show her what she wanted. Those peaked nipples did not lie, neither did her flushed cheeks, and passion darkened eyes. Damn. This was not what he had wanted when he'd come in – he really had wanted to talk, to reach understanding. Blast. He had wanted this too. Well, not this, but what he'd had a moment before. No man would want this. He felt the urge to punch something. That would not help anything.

"So what do you want?” God, he felt like he was back where they'd been moments before – only much more frustrated.

"I asked you to leave.” She did not sound as sure as she had before.

It was as if the last couple minutes had not happened. He turned again, and walked to the door.

He paused to look at her. Her dark hair lay loose about her shoulders, inviting his touch. Her lips were bruised with passion, red and full. Her eyes spoke of so many things – pain, desire, confusion, want  . . . It hurt to look at them. Far better to stop at her breasts, at those tight nipples and snowy curves. His frustration grew. "We will talk tomorrow. Sleep well."

He said the last full aware that neither of them was going to spend that night slumbering with the angels.

#

She'd barely slept at all. Annie wished she could just lean her head against the back of the chair and let her eyes drift shut, only she doubted she'd sleep anyway. Elizabeth sat across from her engrossed in a volume of poetry. Annie glanced down at her own novel and wished she could pretend such interest. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't read. She didn't feel like walking in the garden, or riding, or . . . She didn't really feel like anything, well anything but . . .

She felt herself color at the thought.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about the blasted man?

She was glad that he'd left last night, that he hadn't pushed things farther. Why hadn't he pushed things farther?

At least she would have slept well if he had. And she could have blamed him for however she felt this day.

"Are we ever going to talk about it?" Elizabeth asked, startling Annie from her thoughts.

"Talk about what?"

"Your husband, I imagine. Whatever it is that has you shifting in you chair like it was filled with burning coals."

"Am I that obvious? I thought I was covering it well."

Elizabeth raised a brow. "You've been staring at one page for ten minutes and then you turned twenty in less time than it takes me to finish one. So, do you wish to talk?"

"No, but I don't know what else to do."

Leaning back in her chair, Elizabeth waited.

"I know we'd decided that I would try to make Richard earn my affection – but every time he touches me I – I  – I have feelings that make me want to – Oh, I can't even say what it makes me want to do."

Elizabeth chuckled. "It is amazing the things we ladies can do that we could never talk about – not even with our best friends. I do, however, understand. I remember those feelings well. And, in truth, I still feel them. No matter how angry Westhampton makes me, if he looks at me in a certain way and then touches me I lose all track of the argument. It's the only time I don't win – although there is a certain type of wining in such a defeat."

Annie laughed along with her, but her heart was not in it. When she talked with Elizabeth she could pretend it was all a game, but she knew it was not. This was her life. No winning move would get rid of the knots that twisted and turned in her stomach. In her experience life did not have winners and losers, merely survivors.

Suddenly rising to her feet, she held out her hand to Elizabeth. "Let us walk. It is a beautiful morning and, as you have mentioned, I am restless. We can plot while we stride down to the lake. One of the grooms mentioned that the ducklings have hatched. He said there's one duck with a good dozen fuzzy babes trailing behind her."

"Well," Elizabeth said, "that may be a wonder to see, but I am glad I am not her. I can't imagine a dozen babes all at once. I must admit even the thought of one still has me quivering in terror."

"Oh, one is quite wonderful. I don't know what I would have done without Robbie. I will, however, admit that the thought of a dozen would have me running in fear." The thought of another one, another precious baby was something, however. Annie had loved the feeling of that soft baby hair rubbing beneath her chin – and the smell, that wonderful sweet fragrance of a newborn.

"I am sure that you are right, and that I will find out for myself soon enough – assuming Westhampton can stop traveling long enough to find out."

The two women smiled at each other and then went to gather their shawls for the walk. For a few moments Annie would think about nothing save the joy of the spring sun and the joy and fun of watching the mother duck herd her babes.

#

"Elizabeth believes I should make you earn my affections, court me again.” Annie said to her husband as they sat before the fire. It was warm for the blaze, but the dancing flames added a certain cheer to the dusky room. Elizabeth had retired immediately after dinner pleading a headache, but Annie knew her friend just wanted to give them privacy to settle their differences.