How to Marry a Rogue (23 page)

“Chasing…after…you?” Her flush deepened. Her lips trembled. He ran his hands down her arms in an attempt to soothe her. She twitched away from him.

“Georgie…I didn’t mean it.”

She blinked rapidly in an attempt to quell the tears already springing from her eyes. “I thought”—she hiccupped—“I thought you were different. Edward used me to get at my money. You were always so kind, so...” She stared into his eyes for a moment, then thumped his chest. “I should have known better! You tricked me into your bed on the guise of trying to help me. You’re no different.”

“I tricked you?” He wanted to shake her, but satisfied himself with holding her waist, as she squirmed to be free. “It was your decision we marry and also to consummate this spectacle of a marriage. If it were left to me, I would be living here alone, and you would be with Aunt Adele, where you belong.”

“So this is my fault? None of this would have happened were it not for your lack of judgment before Lady Richmond!” Her jaw clenched. “You promised to help me, but all you’ve done is ruin my life!”

She broke his grip. With barely a conscious thought, he was off the ledge and behind her. He watched as if he stood apart from his body, reaching for and catching her chemise. She flailed in his arms, her swinging fist bruising his jaw. He trapped her hands and pulled her close, avoiding her raised knee and the soft battering of her bare feet against his shins. He swung her up into his arms after a brief struggle, avoiding her scratching nails but unable to shut out the strangled curses she cried out.

He dropped her unceremoniously on the bed, half expecting her to scoot away from him, but she reached for him, a new curse on her lips. He joined her a second later, pinning her with his weight while she thrashed, her teeth flashing white in the dim light from the rising dawn as she struggled to bite him.

Her lips were redder than he’d ever seen. Full and trembling, it was only natural to cover them with his mouth to stifle the choppy syllabic curses she spewed at him. Her teeth sank into his lip, but he fought the sharpness, ignored the tang of blood in his mouth. He released her hands to clutch her lithe figure, the cushioned softness of her breasts crushing his chest and sending him reeling with desire.

Blood from his torn mouth mixed with her tears, but he kissed her anyway, ignoring the salt and copper taste of her lips.

“I don’t love Edward.”

Each word was punctuated with a shuddering gasp. He was lost in time and space, his mind soaring through its own universe looking for a bearing. He found it in her, his child bride whom he’d loved from the start. It was why he’d avoided her at the Christmas party. It was why he’d offered to escort her to France. God knew it was why he’d dashed the remotest chance of her marrying Richmond or anyone else.

“I know that.” The words squeezed out of him before he could stop them. “I know it. Oh, God, Georgiana...”

He bit back the words he’d never said to another human being in all his life. They remained stifled in his throat, buried deeply with the other feelings he could not dare drag to the surface. He could hold her for now and give whatever part of him she would take. It was the best he could do.

Hang it all. It was all he could do.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Finishing paperwork at the
vignoble
had kept Jack working far into the night, so it was well past midnight when he pushed away from the cluttered desk and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been awake the night before, thoroughly making up with Georgiana until she’d finally fallen asleep in his arms. But he still had work to do at the
vignoble
and arrived late.

“I need a drink,” he said.

Gaston took a wine bottle from a nearby shelf.

Jack shook his head. “Something stronger.”

“I know a place. It’s on your way home.”

Jack grinned. “What are we waiting for?” He stood and stretched his back, grunting when it gave a satisfying crack. “I don’t see any fault with the books, old friend. You’ve done a perfect job, as usual. Lord Waverley will be very pleased.”

Gaston reached for their hats. “Why do you not call him your grandfather?”

They walked out the door. Jack took a deep breath of the warm, fresh air.

“Because this is business. Besides,” he added, stepping into his waiting carriage, “I haven’t called him anything but
sir
since I was a boy. Old habits, and all that.”

“He always speaks highly of you.” Gaston leaned back into the carriage.

Jack would have done the same but feared if he closed his eyes he would settle into a long deserved sleep. He had only himself to blame. Every night, he swore to himself he’d leave Georgiana alone, almost convincing himself she would be better off knowing him as little as possible. But every night, he was inevitably drawn to her, as the sea to the shore. She moved his pillows into her bed and he took it for granted they would share a bed. Amazing how the original intent of sealing their union for practical matters had evolved into something he could not live without.

He blinked. “What did you say? Oh, yes, I’m sure he speaks well of me. He doesn’t have anyone else in the family he can trust to take care of his business. My cousin is a complete scoundrel on the fast road to ruin. We were running neck and neck for a moment there, but he has outlasted me.”

“Thank the saints, your grandfather has you, then.”

A moment later, they both laughed. “Where is this tavern you spoke of? I’m near sleep as we speak.”

“Oh, it is not a tavern, Jack. It’s a chateau. A very amenable marquise has the best parties. There is one tonight.”

“Are we not a little late for a party?” The last he’d seen of his pocket watch, it was nearly two in the morning.

“The sun is not up for a few more hours. Besides, your work is almost done, and you will be a slave to your life in London soon enough. Your new bride will surely have you running around town, finding new ways to spend your money.”

Jack snorted. “She has her own money and certainly did not marry me for mine.”

The chateau loomed in the distance, lit with hundreds of lamps illuminating the drive. Jack stifled a wisp of regret. A lively party was under way with no apparent end in sight. Laughter and music reached him inside the carriage, and he almost told Gaston to keep driving. He was loathe to spend more time from Georgiana than he cared to admit, even to himself. Perhaps this party was what he needed, to clear his head. Her enthusiasm in bed was probably a result of her newfound womanhood, and nothing especially to do with him. Once they returned to England, they would likely lead separate lives as planned, coming together for family occasions and the like.

The thought was positively dreary.

“I see a few friends.” Gaston pointed toward a group in the courtyard. “Have a drink or two and make merry. Take the carriage home when you’re ready, and I will find my own way from here.”

Jack nodded. Georgiana was probably in bed by now. Lying on top of the coverlet because the night was so warm. Her chamber would be stifling, and she’d have thrown open the windows so the breeze wafted across her body as she lay in half sleep, waiting for him. He could picture her golden hair splayed across the ivory pillowcase. Feel her dewy skin, soft as rose petals, beneath his questing fingertips. Hear her murmured sighs and purrs as he stirred her desire to a feverish pitch.

He snapped out of his dream, almost annoyed with Gaston for not taking him home straightaway. A surge of impatience threatened to spill into his speech, but he remained civil.

“A few drinks then, but no gaming tables for me.”

Gaston laughed heartily. “I never thought to see it, Jack. You are besotted.”

It would be easier to deny it, but Gaston would not believe him. Hell, he thought ruefully. He hardly believed it himself.

He wandered through the salons and ballroom, recognizing a few faces. He nodded politely, avoiding conversation. One drink, he swore. One drink, and he would be on his way home, to finish the night with the one person he could not stand to be without.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Jack turned around, preparing for brief conversation.
God, let it not be Danielle.

The stranger’s eyes smoldered like coals against the backdrop of his red face. His rapid breathing ruffled his lace-trimmed cravat. Jack tried to place him, but was at a loss. He sized him up for a fight, subconsciously taking in the man’s broad shoulders and clenched fists.

“May I help you?”

“
Monsieur
, you have insulted my wife. I demand satisfaction.”

“I am sure you are mistaken.”

Danielle emerged from behind a column, a smug smile on her rouged lips.

Jack sighed. The long night just grew longer.

****

“I’m not a baby, Georgie. You needn’t coddle me.” But he didn’t push her hand away as she helped him into the copper tub filled with steaming water. “Send for a dusky servant girl to wait on me. I’ll be myself in a while.” He leaned back against a folded towel and closed his eyes. He opened them a second later when she poured a cup of cold water onto his head. “What was that for?”

“Forgive me,” she said as sweetly as she could. “I’m not as able-bodied as a dusky servant girl.”

He grinned, and she smiled hesitantly back, knowing he’d only spoken in jest, but her heart still writhed every time he mentioned other women.

“I suppose you’ll do. I like my scalp massaged, if you please.”

She settled behind the tub and poured a jug of warm bath water over his head. “No luxuries for you, Mr. Waverley. Fighting is a terrible habit. You need to give it up.”

“Oh, the other fellow didn’t come away so badly. Just a missing tooth, but it improved his appearance.”

“And I suppose he deserved it?”

“I wish I could tell you how much.” He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh and covered her hand, which rested on his shoulder.

She’d been shocked when he’d appeared in her chamber, his face bruised and puffy, his lip cut. He had not discussed his evening except to say he and Gaston had gone to visit friends before riding home, and he’d had an altercation with a drunken guest. She refrained from questioning him, even though she was dying to know what he’d been up to.

“Well,” she said slowly, “it isn’t proper for a gentleman to defend a questionable lady’s honor.”

“Why do you presume I was fighting over a woman? A questionable one, at that?”

“Were you?”

His jaw worked. “Yes.”

She sniffed. “I’m not surprised. You possess a ferocious appetite when it comes to women.” He irritated her further by laughing rather than apologizing. She lathered soap through his hair, tugging it more than cleaning warranted. “If you’re getting into trouble here in France, I can only shudder to think what lies awaiting you in England.”
And for me
.

“If it will ease your mind, we will be gone from here soon enough. My grandfather sent word to the
vignoble
my work here is done.”

“Is everything all right?”

“I have no idea. I seldom see him upon my return from these visits. For some reason, he is asking to see me now.” He splashed water on his face. “Damn Gaston and his loose tongue. He’s probably written the old dragon about our marriage.”

“Perhaps he’s taken ill.” She stroked the back of his hand, but he shook his head, dismissing the sentiment.

“Nothing would dare harm him. I don’t think he’s been sick a day in his life. Perhaps he’s going to present me with another ultimatum, since he enjoys controlling my life so much.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “So, my dear miss, I’m afraid your salacious rampage through my bedchamber must come to an end.”

“How amusing you are.” His teasing fell flat on her ears. She’d always known they’d return, but somehow, their peaceful days and exhausting nights had merged into one ecstatic blur she’d hoped would never end. Once back in England, she had no idea how their relationship would continue. Or if it would continue. There was so much unspoken between them, and every time she wanted to bring up the subject, a tiny voice in the back of her mind convinced her otherwise. The last thing he wanted was a clinging wife. Or, for that matter, any kind of wife at all.

“I’ve informed Philippe and Marie to start packing our things and closing the place. We can ride over to see Aunt Adele in the morning.”

Her head was spinning. She pressed her fingers to her temples and gave herself a little shake. “I had word from her yesterday. She means to remain in France.”

“That’s probably for the best. Her sister is here, and now you are married, her chaperone duties are no longer required.” He chewed his lip, appearing deep in thought, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He laughed suddenly. “Ferocious appetite! Good lord, Georgie! You say the most incredible things.”

“You needn’t act so surprised, Jack. Despite my secluded upbringing, I know what goes on between men and…and women like that Danielle.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. Perhaps she ought not to have discussed the passionate woman who seemed more than willing to satisfy Jack.

“If you are right, and I do have such extravagant needs, what shall I do to quell them?”

“You need to stop fighting and seducing. The next time might cost you more than a bruised cheek.” She couldn’t help but stroke the purple bruise below his eye.

“And how am I to express my over-abundant ardor, Miss Pudding Face? Would you have a parson attend me daily, prattling on with dry, boring sermons until I’m bored into chastity?”

She was very happy to be perched on a stool behind his head so he would not witness the tormenting flames burning her face. “There are…advantages to our being married, you know.”

“Advantages for whom? You would open your bedchamber to me every night, indulging every deviant whim and fantasy I might invent?”

She nearly drowned him with a fresh jug of water. Sputtering, he shook his head like a dog, splashing her with soapy water. As she muttered a suggestion to him while she dabbed at her wet nightrail with a towel, he turned in the tub to face her.

“If you recall last night and nearly every day since we married—” She drew herself up to her full height while trying to maintain her dignity. “—you would know I am not resistant to the idea of sharing your bed.”