How to Marry a Rogue (18 page)

“God, it pains me to leave you. Truly pains me.” His gray eyes sparkled with their familiar mischievous gleam. “But I look forward to spending another glorious night in your arms.” He frowned suddenly. “That is, if you’d still like the full experience of the oft-touted honeymoon, Mrs. Waverley.”

Forgetting her resolve to remain aloof, she sat up, allowing the sheet to drop to her waist. She pressed into his chest as his arms reached around her.

“That is not an unpleasant idea.”

He combed through her tangled hair with his broad fingers, caressing her scalp as he did. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she sighed. She felt his soft laughter like a gentle breeze on her mouth when he kissed her.

“Good. I’m glad last night was as non-unpleasant for you as it was for me.”

A rush of heat surged over her limbs until the blush reached her forehead. “You must stop teasing me so, Jack. If anyone heard us, they would think I’m a little ninny, following you around like a puppy, while you laugh and smile at me.”

“I shall frown at you then and quite often. You grew up in too good a household, I think. Not enough shouting and spirit-breaking, in my opinion.”

She finished buttoning his shirt, her fingertips lingering on a patch of bare, warm skin. “You would do better to spoil and pet me.” She straightened his collar with a firm hand, hoping her voice sounded authoritative. “I can be very easily persuaded into generosity.”

“I do not want your thousands, Georgie. I married you to save your reputation and keep you from the loutish Mr. Richmond.”

His tone was light, but his eyes hardened suddenly. He pulled away, but she grasped his shirt.

“I meant with my affections.” She’d tried to be flirtatious, but her attempt was regrettably pitiful. She swallowed, suddenly nervous, as he continued to look at her. “Which are, of course, yours to command.”

He laughed loudly and pulled her to him a little roughly, but she clung to him anyway. She felt him inhale the scent of her hair, and then he lifted his head and kissed her soundly. “I shall command them, then. But, tonight, when I return. I have no time now, as tempting as you are.” He continued to dress. “In your absence, and between excruciatingly boring lectures from Gaston, I will endeavor to think of more endearments for you. I can’t go on calling you Mrs. Waverley.”

She didn’t want to express too much pleasure at the thought, but nodded in agreement. “And I will think of something for you besides Casanova or Don Juan.”

“You compare me to such as them? I do not know whether to be insulted or flattered.” He scowled comically, then sat on the settee and drew on his boots. “They have nothing on me, my darling.” He winked at her. Within minutes, he’d tied his neckcloth and finished dressing. He held his arms open. “How am I? Suitable for French wine merchants?”

She giggled. “You’re a proper dandy. Jonathan will tease you to no end when he hears about it.”

He gave her what she thought was a mildly reproachful look, and she laughed again. “And how will you spend your day, Georgie? Besides pining for me.”

“I will not pine for you, though you may think so if it appeases your vanity. I intend to play that marvelous pianoforte you’ve neglected all these years. I may also take a stroll around the gardens, and perhaps even go into town.” She did not intend to do any of it but didn’t want to admit how much she was going to miss him. The realization troubled her. Restlessness overcame her, and she got out of bed, hastily drawing on the shirt he’d discarded the night before.

He whistled through his teeth. “That looks much better on you than it does me.” He paused at the door before leaving. “As a special request, Georgiana—please do not leave the premises alone. I will be on the other side of town and not able to rescue you. You seem to attract all manner of trouble wherever you go.” He lingered at the door. “Including your recent attachment to me.” Another wink and he was gone.

She stood silently in the middle of the room, hugging her arms around her. When she bowed her head to her chest, she could smell his scent—a mixture of woodsy spice and sweat—clinging to her skin. She summoned Marie to help her bathe and dress, suddenly unwilling to be alone. As she soaked in a fragrant tub, she realized he had not kissed her goodbye.

And was mildly disturbed he had not.

****

Twice he mistakenly categorized a shipment of barrels. Next, he spilled a glass of wine across a stack of freshly written invoices. As Jack patted the mess with a towel, Gaston snapped his fingers for assistance from an underling and took Jack’s elbow.

“Perhaps a walk outdoors, Jack. The rest is just bothersome paperwork I can do later.”

“I know, but my grandfather expects me to do some work around here besides walking around the vineyards and drinking his wine.”

“We shall not tell him, then,” Gaston said, winking.

Jack grabbed his hat as they walked through the door. He inhaled the clean-smelling, fragrant air of the
vignoble
and stood with his hands on his hips as he looked across the gently rolling hills of grape. A year ago, this was all he’d wanted. The thought that someday he would be the master of his grandfather’s enterprise appealed like nothing else. All his boxing and gambling was to secure him financially until that moment. He would make his own way in the world, and nothing would interfere with his plans.

Nothing had until he’d agreed to escort a certain golden-haired chatterbox of a girl across the sea. And there was the slight matter of his having married said girl without her brother’s consent, approval, or blessing. He doubted he would receive any of them. Especially after last night.

He could still feel the light weight of her body against his, each dew-slicked breast beneath his hands. Her moans and sighs fluttering in his ear as they joined, again and again. Her slender fingers, shy and hesitant for only a moment before she touched him as boldly as he touched her…

Gaston’s laughter broke into his thoughts. “She must be quite a goddess, for your mind to be elsewhere.”

“Hmm? Oh, no.” Jack waved off his comment with a breezy hand, nearly choking with embarrassment at what Georgiana’s image aroused in him. “I was merely thinking about the new shipment.”

“Of course, of course.” Gaston shrugged. “You may go back to your chateau, Jack. I will handle all the details here. You may return at the end of the week when the shipment is ready. You can put your seal on it.”

“Thank you.” He shook Gaston’s hand. “Perhaps I shall bring her by.”

“Ah! La comtesse will enjoy the new vintage.”

The rush of heat burned Jack’s face before he could compose himself. “Not la comtesse, Gaston, but my new bride. Miss…” Again, he fumbled over his words. “Miss Georgiana Lockewood.” He couldn’t resist adding, “The enthusiastic grape stomper from the other day.”

Gaston’s eyebrows flickered upward for only a moment, but he gave a little bow. “Forgive me. I had not heard. My congratulations. Your grandfather will be very proud.”

“I’m certain of it,” he said drily. He could almost see the wheels turning in the Frenchman’s head and wondered what Gaston would write in his report to his grandfather. He planned to write his own letter but did not want to seem as if he had only married to appease the old man. In truth, it was his original intent, but the friendly companionship she’d promised had gone by the wayside in the newly discovered fact they were so compatible in the bedchamber. He clicked his heels together in a mock salute and walked toward the gates where his carriage waited. He had to stop himself from mentally calculating how long it would take to reach the chateau.

He slowed his pace, sweat breaking out against his collar. What if Georgiana wasn’t waiting for him in a state of heart-pounding desire, but dreading his return? She might be having doubts, especially after last night. She hadn’t been ready, now he thought of it. He’d frightened her, and she’d kept silent to spare his feelings. What he’d assumed were gasps of delight had really been groans of horror and pain. The clawing fingernails hadn’t rent his skin in passion, but as a defensive move. Her kisses had been panicked responses to his assaulting mouth, not desire.

Perhaps he wasn’t returning to a love nest, but a bleak house where a regretful girl was going to tell him she’d made a terrible mistake and they must return to England immediately. Perhaps there’d be time to spare her reputation, if he could invoke Aunt Adele’s silence. No one need ever find out about their hastily arranged marriage, and Lady Richmond might be convinced it had all been some fantastical joke. Besides, until it was sanctioned by English law, it wasn’t really a marriage, anyway. They needn’t go through the embarrassment of annulment, but could simply pretend it had never happened.

He climbed into the carriage and fell back against the cushioned wall. Right now, Georgiana was tossing her belongings into her trunks, frantic and distraught. Perhaps she’d already contacted the shipyard and arranged passage home. Or worse, she’d summoned her brother, and Jonathan was on a fast sloop intent on rescuing his sister from yet another who’d betrayed his trust.

By the time the carriage stopped at the chateau, Jack was dry-mouthed and out of breath, as if he’d run the length of the
vignoble
. Quelling his urge to tear through the house to ensure she was still there, or worse, observe her despair, he walked briskly but calmly through the courtyard to the front door.

As Philippe greeted him, a strain of music from his father’s old pianoforte reached him through one of the open windows. Without saying a word to Philippe, he abruptly turned to crunch and squash his way through the flowerbeds and hedgerows to the side of the house.

Pushing aside a clinging ivy stalk, he peered into the drawing room. Serene and lovely, Georgiana sat at the pianoforte with her profile to the window, her golden hair pinned up with one long, loose curl hanging over one shoulder. Her gossamer silk gown skimmed her body in a dusty shade of periwinkle, and the white lace at her collarbone and shoulders only emphasized the delicious creaminess of her skin. He watched in mesmerized fascination as her slender fingers danced across the keys. Now and then, she paused, seemingly staring into space, before jotting down a notation or two on the music sheet in front of her.

She was not packing her belongings and flying about the house in a mad frenzy in her haste to escape. Her eyes were not swollen and puffy from rivers of tears at the loss of her innocence at the hands of a rogue. On the contrary, a faint blush stained her cheek, and she seemed relaxed.

She resumed playing a light, dainty piece he’d often scorned as too romantic and soft, but now he wanted to sway in time to it, his chest expanding with a feeling he hadn’t experienced but once in his life.

The last time he’d seen her play was at Christmastide, when she was a gawky girl of fifteen. The Lockewood charm lurked behind her eyes, but she was unaware of her potential emergence as a butterfly trapped in the cocoon of long, coltish legs and a flat chest. He’d sensed her hidden power from the moment he walked through the front door of Fairwood Hall. Normally, she would run to him when he arrived, and this day was no different. But she’d stammered and blushed as she greeted him, and he’d restrained from kissing her, sensing she had changed, or was changing.

She was no longer the child who hung from his arms while he swung her wildly into the air. A young woman had taken her place. He’d sensed her gaze upon him whenever they were in the same room together, and he’d avoided her, explaining away his guilty feelings with the thought he had no time to spend on an impressionable girl. Mitford had been present and lavished much attention on her, flattering her and dancing with her every night, while Jack made an excuse he’d hurt his ankle riding. He hadn’t wanted to risk anyone sensing the real reason he could not bear to be in her company. Why he didn’t want to feel her lithe body in his arms as they danced. Why he didn’t want to smile down at her impossibly beautiful face, all semblance of fraternal feelings gone as if they’d never existed.

She’d asked him the next morning why he hadn’t danced with her, as his limp had mysteriously vanished. He didn’t have an answer then, but he knew it as clearly as if it were written in the white puffy clouds overhead.

And damned if he knew what he’d do about it.

He crept from the bushes and back onto the path, straightening his neckcloth when he reached the front door. Sliding his hand through his mussed hair, he walked into his house with the casual air of a lord, although he was certain Philippe hid a smile as soon as his back was turned. He did not care for his supper. Not just yet. Suddenly, he had an intensely fierce desire to listen to his wife play the pianoforte.

Chapter Twenty

“Have you been shut up in here all day with the ghosts of old composers?” Jack announced from the drawing room door. He crossed the room to where she sat and leafed through the music on top of the case.

“Some of us are not carousing all day and night.” She played blindly, not caring what tune emerged from her fingers.

“Some of us are not doing that, either.” He picked up a stray sheet and held it to her. “What is this? I didn’t know Mozart illustrated his work.”

She glanced carelessly at the paper and gasped in dismay. At the bottom of the sheet she’d drawn their entwined initials, complete with tiny hearts and an attempt at a rosebud. She snatched the paper from him and crumpled it up.

“I was bored.”

“Hmm.” He went to the cabinet against the wall and removed a violin case. “I’ll wager you don’t know this about me.”

“Which of the myriad fascinating things about you do I not know?”

She bit her lip in feigned concentration, picking out the tune almost effortlessly. Normally, her excellent playing was a source of pride, but since coming to France, she took no pleasure in it. All she’d done since his absence was daydream and draw silly pictures. She was grateful she’d burned the last one before he came home—a little sketch of his lips she’d spent an hour drawing.

He unlatched the case and removed a violin and bow. He held it up to her, almost reverently. “This.”