Her Only Desire (22 page)

Georgie gazed at him in dreamy disbelief, then cupped his jaw against her palm. “Oh, Ian, I've been so frightened for you. I didn't know if you were dead or alive! They came after you, too, didn't they? Did they hurt you? Are you all right?”

“So sweet,” he whispered, shaking his head as he studied her. “Of course I'm all right. I'm always all right, Georgiana. You need never fear for me. Come. My carriage is waiting.”

“Honestly, Ian, how did you get here before me?” she persisted as he curved his arm around her shoulders and gently led her away from the Knight Shipping complex.

“Your ship stopped at so many ports for trade that we ended up passing you somehow,” he said. “I had wanted to join you at sea, but then we lost you again in a gale off the coast of Africa. Since that proved so unfruitful, I decided to press on ahead of you and get to England first so I could make suitable arrangements for you.”

“Really?” She was sure that his casual nod and smile belied what must have been a superhuman effort on his part, not to mention a great sum spent.

“Fortunately, Jack's company has a reputation for keeping a reliable schedule of deliveries,” Ian continued. “I got hold of a list of arrivals and departures, set a servant to watch, and that's how I knew when to expect you aboard the
Andromeda.
I only got in a few days ago, myself,” he added.

She stopped and turned to him in wonder. “You are so good!” Petting his chest with a small caress, she shook her head. “I don't know how I can ever thank you. Not just for this—you saved our lives. Mine—first by Balaram's funeral pyre—and then my brothers', too, at Janpur.”

“Any of you would have done the same for me,” he replied in a husky tone.

She stared into his eyes. “I'm so sorry for everything that happened, Ian.”

“Nonsense.”

“Nonsense? I nearly got all of us killed!” she burst out; then the long pent-up words began tumbling from her lips. “Why couldn't I listen to you? You told me not to meddle, but I went ahead and did it anyway—and the worst part is, I didn't even stop to consider the possibility of failure, or how my getting caught in that room could have impacted the whole war. I'm such a fool, Ian, such a blind, headstrong fool! Sometimes I wonder how all of you put up with me. But I
am
sorry, from the bottom of my heart.” She faltered. “Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

He gazed at her for a long moment, tenderly.

“Georgiana,” he whispered her name, taking her firmly by her shoulders. “Listen to me.”

She searched his eyes anxiously, hanging on his every word.

His green eyes glimmered with fond amusement. “There is nothing to forgive. The truth is you saved the day. No, I mean it,” he insisted when she started to protest. “I had no other way of getting hold of that information, about the queen's plot. You listened to your intuition and you knew something was wrong. You had the pluck to act on your instincts, and to me, that's called courage.”

“You're only being kind.”

“You saved the life of a king,” he reminded her. “Johar agreed to the terms of neutrality after you left.”

“Oh, that's wonderful! Well done, Ian.”

“Yes, but if you had not uncovered the queen's plot to assassinate him, that treaty would not have been worth the paper it was written on. What you did was rash,” he agreed, “but if you hadn't done it, then Queen Sujana would have slain her husband after we left, ruled through her son, and joined forces with Baji Rao. And if that had happened, then Lord Hastings would have had a much larger and bloodier war on his hands. Instead, the conflict will be much more limited. With any luck, it should be over soon. So, you see, my dear, in the end, your disobedience helped save the lives of thousands.”

She gazed at him, not knowing what to say.

“You know, I lectured you when you arrived at Janpur—” He paused. “But if anything, I'm the one who owes you the apology.”

“What?”

“In the end, I couldn't have done it without you. Frankly,” he said, “I daresay we made a rather smart team.”

As she held his stare, her heart lifted with amazement at his words.

“What is it?” he murmured.

She shook her head. “I was sure you would have despised me by now for all the trouble I've been.”

“Of course not. But I will tell you one thing.” His expression turned fierce as he gripped her shoulders once more, leaning closer. “Don't you
ever
scare me like that again! We were lucky it all turned out for the best this time, but I won't stand for you ever putting yourself at risk like that again.”

Won't stand for it?
she thought, wondering why he was speaking so possessively.

“My God, when I saw you come running down that hallway with blood streaming down your neck—I don't know how I kept my wits about me.” Ian paused, shaking his head at the memory of her brush with death. “How is it, anyway? The wound, I mean.”

“Long gone. See? Just a little scar.” Eager to assure him she was fine, she leaned her head to the side and showed it to him by the dim glow of the lanterns on his waiting carriage nearby.

He brushed her hair back gently and gazed at her neck, touching the healed cut with one black-gauntleted fingertip.

         

Ian's heart pounded as he traced the inch-long line of her scar, entranced by the curve of her smooth white neck. Did she have any idea of her effect on him? he wondered.

Leaning closer to inspect the pale remainder of the wound that could have taken her away from him forever, he detected the scent of sea salt lingering in her night-dark hair, mingled with the alluring warmth of her own natural woman-smell. His breath caught with longing for her as her enticing scent stole over his senses. He breathed it in, instinctual hunger rising. His helpless desire for her came whispering back like a spice-laden breeze.

He had been stroking her neck with his fingertip, his glazed stare following the motion, but the lure was too overpowering. Unable to resist the impulse, he bent his head and caressed the pale slash with his lips.

She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, offering her neck. She breathed his name. Ian shuddered, wrapping one arm around her slim waist, the other hand gliding over her hair. He kissed her neck until she quivered in response and let out a soft moan.

“My lovely Georgiana.” He tried to stop himself, well aware that he was probably the only person in this city right now that she felt she could trust. The last thing she needed was her protector in this strange place making advances, taking advantage when she was most vulnerable. He hated himself for it, but he couldn't seem to stop. His hunger for her had only deepened over the months of their separation.

He was still chiding himself uselessly for his craven lust for her when Georgiana turned her face slowly toward his, bringing her lips nearer, so hesitant and shy, as though fearful he would reject her demure but unmistakable invitation.

Near blind with his need for her, he cupped her cheek against his leather-gloved palm; for a second, his mouth hovered above hers as he savored the exquisite torment of this sweet anticipation. God, how he had dreamed of tasting her again.

The soft puffs of her warm, rapid breath tickled his lips as she waited in virginal yearning for his kiss. Tangled up in her need for him, in turn, he claimed her mouth in a wild and burning kiss. She moaned again as he drove her lips apart and invaded the silken pleasure of her mouth with each deep stroke of his tongue.

She clutched at his shoulders as though to steady herself, and the fire between them came roaring back with every feverish degree of blazing heat that he remembered from the prayer cave. If anything, it had intensified from having been so long starved.

As he clasped her to him, his mouth slanting over hers with a desire that bordered on desperation, he was acutely aware of her hands on him. Warm beneath the luxurious folds of his cape, her arms around him, Georgiana pressed her palms against the curve of his back, stroking his sides and his chest, and sliding her arms up around his neck to hang on for dear life as he ravished her with his kiss.

He reveled in her yielding softness, and as she melted against him with another gentle moan, he was besieged by the need to lay her down and make her his completely. To renew and reaffirm the bond that had formed between them—and to deepen it.

He had to have her, and he had to have her
now.

For God's sake, man, get yourself under control.
She had only just stepped off the boat moments ago and was probably becoming overwhelmed. As much as he yearned for her, he really ought to try to be a gentleman. If he didn't quit now, he was going to make her uneasy.

When he ended the kiss with great reluctance, Georgiana was panting and trembling. She swayed dizzily on her feet, so he quickly reached out and steadied her again.

“Oh, Ian,” she blurted out, dragging her heavy-lidded eyes open. They glowed with longing. “What's going to happen between us now?”

The artless naiveté of her question moved him.

With a fond half smile, he brushed her hair gently behind her shoulder. “Haven't you figured that out yet?” he whispered. “Do you think I'd be standing out here waiting around in the middle of the night for just anyone?”

She returned his smile uncertainly, her cheeks pink.

He lifted her chin with his knuckle and pinned her in a forceful stare. “What's going to happen, Georgiana, is that you are going to marry me.”

Her eyes widened; she went motionless with shock.

“Any questions?” he asked crisply.

It took her a long moment to absorb the news. Then she shook her head at him in lingering amazement. “Only one.”

He arched a brow inquiringly.

“When?” she whispered.

A slow smile of dark, delicious satisfaction spread across his face. “My, my. No arguments?”

Her eyes were huge and blue, full of trust and youthful desire as she shook her head.

“Good girl,” he whispered in lavish approval; then he leaned down and kissed her gently for a long moment. “Come, sweet,” he ordered in a husky murmur, wrapping a protective arm around shoulders. “Let's get you inside where it's warm.”

         

Now I
know
I'm dreaming, Georgie thought, floating along by Ian's side as he shepherded her over to the sleek black town coach waiting in the cobbled yard.

Four black horses stood in the traces. Clouds of steam puffed from their nostrils and were illumined by the carriage lanterns.

Ian acknowledged the waiting coachman with a nod and opened the carriage door for Georgie, then handed her in. She stepped up and took a seat.

The town coach resembled a little drawing room on wheels, dimly lit by a pair of tiny candles burning inside miniature sconces of etched glass. The interior walls and ceiling were upholstered in luxurious pale damask to help muffle the sounds from the road. Georgie sat down on the ivory kid-leather squabs and then glanced at him, wide-eyed, as he joined her.

To be sure, she was in Ian's world now—and how perfectly he fit into his surroundings, a millionaire marquess eminently at home in the sophisticated setting of the Empire's capital.
Would this magnificent paragon really be her husband?

She felt so ragged by comparison after her long journey. Her dress was clean enough but had been washed so many times that it was threadbare from constant wearing.

He, meanwhile, was so elegantly dressed: pristine waistcoat, beautiful cravat. He looked as though he had come from a night at the theater. She could just imagine how he turned heads among Society's fashionable ladies.
But he'll be all mine,
she thought, unable to stop staring at him in sheer astonishment.

He sent her a worldly little smile. As the coach rolled into motion, he opened a small satinwood panel that revealed a hidden compartment with a selection of crystal decanters. “Drink?”

She managed a tight nod. “Please.”

While he proceeded to pour, Georgie couldn't get enough of simply gazing at him, soaking up his presence. How handsome he was, she thought, suppressing a sigh. The bronzed tan he had picked up under the Indian sun had faded, and he had grown in a neat pair of short, fashionable sideburns.

He noticed her study and lifted an eyebrow.

“Sorry—I don't mean to stare,” she said with a blush. “It's just—so good to see you. You've made me very happy. I-I fear that I'm in shock.”

He laughed softly and handed her a small glass with a generous splash of brandy in it. “This should help.”

She nodded her thanks, accepting it.

He poured a second brandy for himself and then lifted his glass in a toast. “To India.”

“To London,” she countered in a wistful tone.

“No,” he murmured, watching her intently. “To us.”

This brought a smile to her lips. Her hand trembled at the fruition of her wildest dreams as she lifted her glass in answer. “To us—my dear Lord Griffith.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer, then drank.

Georgie's first cautious sip of the fiery spirits made her eyes water; Ian sat back in the squabs across from her and draped his arm across the back of the seat, watching her with a soft glow in his eyes.

“Lord!” she exclaimed with a slight cough, laughing a little. “That's strong.”

“It will warm the belly on a cold night.”

“I'll say!” She took a second sip, hoping it would help her wrap her mind around the notion that this wonderful, strong, brilliant, incredibly handsome man was going to marry her. She would be Ian's wife—a marchioness! Blazes, she thought, looking back on all those months at sea tormenting herself about whether or not he despised her or if he would ever speak to her again! She'd had no idea that this plan had come into his mind.