How to Marry a Rogue (27 page)

Wanting nothing more than to placate her brother, Georgiana smiled encouragingly at Jack, whose eyes had narrowed. “We would love to play. Would we not, Jack?”

He shrugged, finally giving in to a brief laugh. “If it pleases my wife, I will pick up the bow.”

Georgiana nearly trembled with relief. Supper ended on a lighter note, and they retired into the drawing room, where Georgiana gasped with delight at the new pianoforte commanding the room. Before she could comment on it, Jonathan touched her elbow.

“It was meant to be a present upon your return.” He laughed sheepishly. “I thought it would soften the blow when I urged you to consider marrying Herbert Richmond.”

“Bribing her with shiny new instruments? How fortunate for your purse Georgiana can be placated so easily,” Jack said wryly.

“It’s beautiful, Jonathan. Thank you.” She kissed her brother’s cheek, and he squeezed her close for a moment.

Jack picked up the violin resting on top of the pianoforte. The maple veneer gleamed in the lamplight. “This is a lovely instrument. I remember your father playing it.”

Jonathan’s expression softened with the memory, and Georgiana resolved later to kiss her husband out of gratitude.

“That was the Christmas after Mother died. He hadn’t played in so long, but Georgiana wanted music.”

“And Georgiana always gets what Georgiana wants.” Jack’s gaze fused with hers. His desire was too blatant. Surely, her brother would say something, but when she looked at Jonathan, he was helping Sophie arrange some pillows on a settee. The nurse brought in Sebastian, and Sophie and Jonathan fussed over him, murmuring and laughing with each other in a private little world so intimate Georgiana averted her gaze.

In the few times she’d ever dreamed about her future husband, she’d imagined a relationship like the one her brother and his wife enjoyed. How happy Sophie must be, knowing Jonathan’s heart was hers. She didn’t have to pretend to him or the rest of the world.

To disband her sudden melancholia, she sat at the magnificent pianoforte, taking a few moments to explore the scrollwork and designs. “This is truly splendid, brother. I hope my playing does it justice.”

“I thought you were playing every day abroad. Was that not why you begged me to let you go?”

Before she could reply, Jack stood beside her, his presence solid comfort. “Do you honestly believe once we were married, we spent our days practicing duets?” This brought a raucous laugh from Jonathan before he collected himself. Sophie laughed behind her hand while Georgiana frowned at Jack, who merely wiggled his eyebrows at her.

He drew the bow across the strings and played a few practice chords. “Give me an A,” he murmured to her, then nodded at Jonathan. “In truth, we didn’t have much time together. I was on my grandfather’s business, as you recall, and was occupied most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” Jonathan muttered. His mouth twisted in irony. “Speaking of that fine old gentleman, does he know of your nuptials, or do you intend on surprising him as well?”

Jack tuned the instrument before answering. “I am certain he will be as pleasantly surprised as you.” He turned to Georgiana, and her heart jumped into her throat by the warmth in his eyes. “Play Boccherini. We will prove to your brother how compatible we are, even if it is only through music.”

They began playing in harmony, each picking up the other’s theme in flawless perfection. Jonathan wore a slight smile indicating he was contented and kissed his wife’s hand.

Relieved, Georgiana glanced at Jack. Her heart thumped against her ribs. He played intently, but his gaze locked on her. They both knew the piece by heart, but it didn’t matter anymore. She would have played anything so long as they could play together. Her skill matched his, and even when he added an extra flourish, she kept up, arching her eyebrow at his acknowledging grin. She stared into his eyes until the sweet, almost reverent conclusion.

Neither of them moved. Sophie clapped her hands. “That was beautiful. There is magic between you.” She handed the baby to Jonathan and stood. “I believe I shall go to bed now he is quiet.” She smiled serenely at her husband, who held the baby in one arm and slipped his other around her waist.

“A wise idea. Georgiana, I thought to put you in your old chamber, and Jack in his. But…” He shook his head, his grin widening. “Do as you please. I see now you truly are in love. I was a fool to doubt it. You are welcome, Jack. May our home also be yours, just as it ever was.”

Jack carefully laid the violin back in its case. “I appreciate that, Lockewood.”

Georgiana blinked back tears. If only it were truly so. She closed the pianoforte case and rose from the bench. “It has been a long day.” She went to the little family and kissed her nephew’s soft cheek. “Good night, Sophie. Dear brother.” She kissed them both and turned to wait for Jack.

He offered his arm, and they left the drawing room. She was too nervous to glance behind, in case her brother was watching. They walked in silence upstairs and down the long gallery lined with austere family portraits. At the end of the hall was a new portrait of her baby nephew. His golden curls resembled Jack’s. She imagined a portrait of her own child one day, hanging beside this one.

Jack opened her chamber door but remained outside. “Shall I stay in my old chamber, Georgie? I do not want you to be uncomfortable, with your brother just down the corridor.”

She almost gripped his hand in her panic not to have him out of her sight. It had been torture to be near him all day, catching his musky scent in the air, staring at the hard slope of his jaw which had borne so many of her kisses. How she’d longed to kiss him and touch him the way her sister-in-law did so freely with Jonathan.

“I will not be uncomfortable.” She bit her lip, fighting the blush that quickly rose to her face. He was standing too close, and at any moment, she wondered if he would take her in his arms right there in the corridor.

“Then I will stay with you. Although—” He pushed open her door and glanced meaningfully around. “I do not know if I can share that little girl’s bed. We need to find someplace less filled with memories of you in ruffles and bows.”

“There is my governess’s old chamber next door. Will that do?”

He gave her a conspiratorial smile, then went to that chamber and opened the door. He nodded. “The bed is made, and we don’t require a fire, anyway.”

He held out his hand and she hurried to him, stifling a giggle as he pulled her into the room. Only when he’d closed the door did he sigh comically. He tugged at his neckcloth and wrapped the fabric around his hand to fold it.

“Make no mistake, Georgie. He saw right through us.” He removed his coat and sat on the settee to take off his boots. “The jokes at supper, our playing together…” He pulled off his second boot and looked up at her. “If he asks to speak to you alone, it is probably to interrogate you. If he is not convinced, he may force me to abandon you altogether.” He screwed up his face in a mocking attitude of despair.

She laughed, though her heart ached at the thought. She knelt at his feet and helped him with his boots. His stocking had a run in it. She pulled at a thread, which made the run worse.

“I think he was convinced. You seemed…”
Very much in love with me
. “You seemed sincere enough.”

“As did you. Good job with your long, meaningful gazes. You almost had me convinced.” He twined one of her long curls around his finger. She leaned forward, her hands sliding up his thighs, while his muscles flexed beneath her palms. His head lowered for a kiss, but she drew back, causing him to raise an eyebrow.

“Of what did I convince you, Mr. Waverley?”

“That you are madly and rapturously in love with me.” He released her hair and ran his hands down her bare shoulders to caress her arms.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Was there just the slightest expression in his eyes indicating he wished it so? She slid her hands up his chest and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Is that what my look meant when I passed you the butter?”

“Ah, Georgie,” he breathed, skimming his fingertips across her décolletage, “never pass the butter to a man. It is a sign you want him to completely ravish you.”

“Truly?” Her voice barely contained a sound. She pushed his waistcoat down his arms and began tugging at his shirt. His breath misted her face. Her eyelids flickered in expectation of the kiss he was purposely withholding to torment her. “And what if I passed you the pudding?”

“All that promise of creamy sweetness and sugared fruit? I’d have taken you right there on the table.” He lifted her chin and leaned forward so they were only inches apart.

Her eyelids lowered in a thrill of expectation. She’d wanted to kiss him all day but didn’t know how to request such a thing. In the bedchamber, she was free to do as she pleased. But when fully clothed in daylight, they were the friends who’d agreed to selflessly help each other.

“We shall have to convince Jonathan by other means.” She freed him of his shirt and locked her hands around his neck.

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. His lips brushed over hers in a slow, delicious way, stirring the embers that never burned out completely.

Her blood rushed through her veins, throbbing in her head until she couldn’t think or breathe. Each time she moved closer, trying to deepen the kiss, he moved slightly back, continuing the sweet torture. She wanted to laugh and scream at the same time, and pulled his hair with a sharp tug.

“Enough, sir.”

His breath tickled her lips. “A kiss is much too quiet. They might think we’re reading or doing some other such innocent activity as friends are wont to do.”

She shifted on his lap, irritable and aroused at the same time. “You haven’t quite kissed me yet.” Again, she moved forward just as he pulled back, so that her lips met the air.

“Patience, my little bride. I intend to give you everything you want and need tonight. I just want you to feel a little of my frustration today. Did you know you have the most beguiling lips in the known world?” He traced his finger over her bottom lip and she sucked it into her mouth and bit it. “Every time you speak, or laugh, or berate me, I only think of the many things I want to do with your lips.”

“I’m glad you suffered today, Jack.” She raked her fingers through his hair, ending at his ears, which she gripped, pulling him closer. “I’ve suffered, too.” She pressed a kiss to his rough jaw, brushing her cheek across it. She felt his soft groan deep in his chest and bit his neck the tiniest bit. “All of this…this pretending to be in love with you has stirred my imagination.”

“Oh, pray go on, Mrs. Waverley. Tell me everything.” His hands slid restlessly over her chest and then down the length of her thigh. The silk rustled in protest at his questing hands.

She caressed his chest, exploring the hard, flat planes and lines of his body. She’d felt him a hundred times before, but each time was like the first. The hunger was always sated just enough to leave her wanting more. Every kiss was a prelude to the next. And the next….

“I do enjoy being married to you, Jack.” She hadn’t meant to whisper but had murmured his name as softly as if it were a lullaby.

“I intend to keep it that way.” His heavy lids lowered, and he closed the short distance between them, silencing anything else she might say with a kiss. He suddenly rose from the settee, hoisted her in his arms, and deposited her onto the bed. She leaned back on her elbows to gaze at him as he stripped off his breeches, revealing his flat abdomen and the obvious sign of his desire.

“You could have been an artist’s model.”

He sat beside her, pulling her into his arms while he fumbled with the ties on her dress. “You may sculpt me if you like. But only after you allow me to do this…” His fingers brushed up her thigh. She hadn’t even noticed he’d slid his hand beneath her skirt. She giggled, then clapped her hand over her mouth. He lifted his head to look at her.

“They might hear us.”

“They bloody well better. Then, and only then, will your brother leave me in peace.” He spoke a little loudly, and she pressed her hand over his mouth. He kissed it squarely, then hovered over her, his gray eyes gleaming. “Prepare yourself, Georgie.”

“For what?” She didn’t know if it was trepidation or excitement making her so breathless.

“Because I am going to make love to you until you cry out my name, so that every man in the vicinity of a thousand miles will know you are mine. Even the ghosts of Fairwood Hall will hear you.”

She did not wish to inform him that Fairwood Hall had no resident ghosts. At this moment, he did not seem the least concerned with the presence of any spirit. Besides, the last coherent part of her brain thought, there might be a ghost or two lurking undetected behind the walls, and a little passion in the night shouldn’t disturb them very much.

****

A butterfly landed on her cheek. Georgiana lifted her hand slowly, as if she were treading water. She brushed at it, and it flew away, settling further down on her body. Its multicolored wings fanned her silk gown, but as she watched, her gown vanished. She was lying in a flower-strewn meadow. Before she could wonder what she was doing in a meadow, the butterfly disappeared and she opened her eyes.

The top of Jack’s head was inches from hers. His lips were the butterfly wings, only now they were lightly fluttering between her breasts. She drew in a surprised breath, and he lifted his head slightly.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his lips tickling her skin as he spoke.

He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, as he always did. She nestled her face in the curve of his shoulder, breathing in his own natural scent and the musky perfume of their lovemaking the night before. She ran her hands down his back, enjoying the ripple effect of his muscles twitching at her light touch.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanted to express my appreciation, Mrs. Waverley.”

“For what?”

He laughed softly. “I’m not certain, but I am sure you will do something nice for me today.”

“So you are thanking me in advance?” She pulled away slightly to look at him.