Miss Darcy Falls in Love (30 page)

With Lizzy’s assistance, she had an extensive trousseau fit for a new bride. Lacy undergarments and gauzy gowns galore! Each garment was exquisite, this one blue silk with gathers and ruffles and trimmings designed to draw attention to her figure while covering little of it. The sheer robe provided infinitesimal assistance in concealment but enough to provide a particle of modesty. Yet despite the flush to her cheeks, Georgiana did tarry a moment longer to perkily adjust her breasts inside the bodice and slip the neckline an iota lower.

Sebastian had barely begun the second piece when she opened the door to view the comforting scene. The bedchamber was enormous, richly decorated in ivory, gold, and pale greens. It was dominated by a massive bed of ash, the mauve and gold counterpane folded neatly at the foot of the thick mattress, white sheets and plump pillows inviting. Candles burned, their numbers adequate to dispel most of the shadows and accent the golden highlights in her husband’s blond hair.

He sat on the bench of a beautiful pianoforte with his back to the threshold where she stood watching him play. The song was one of the compositions they had worked on together, from start to finish, a lively tune written in one afternoon while they were in a silly mood more intent on laughing than composing anything earth-shattering. His hands moved over the keys fluidly, his body relaxed and swaying with the rhythm. Georgiana marveled, as she always did, at how casually he played even the most intense musical score. Never did he seem the slightest bit anxious or worried. It was incredible.

Smiling, the internal flutters of nervousness abated in the soothing flow of music, she closed the door silently and padded on bare feet over the plush carpet. His jacket and waistcoat were off, the muscles of his shoulders discernible under the linen shirt and thrilling to observe, but it was not until she sat onto the bench beside him with her back to the piano keys that she realized his cravat was discarded. Her eyes dropped to the open collar of his shirt, scanning the strong lines of his neck down to the skin below his throat, where strands of tawny hair the color of his eyebrows were visible.

A man without cravat and waistcoat was not a totally new phenomenon, but seeing a field worker or her brother partially exposed was vastly different than the man she was wildly in love with. It affected her in several astounding ways. Mesmerized, she was not aware that the music had stopped until his fingers stroked over her jaw.

“You are utterly breathtaking.”

She lifted her gaze to his face, the depths of love and desire shining from his eyes reigniting the quivers of nerves. Or perhaps it was largely desire that rushed through her torso. Clearly, they were both equally affected and lost in enchanted contemplation of their casual attire and the hints of bodies revealed for some time, until she broke the silence.

“Only you would have a pianoforte in your bedroom.”

“When I was eleven my grandmother purchased a pianoforte for me and placed it into this room so I could play whenever in the mood,” he explained, speaking softly. His gaze left her face to follow the trail blazed by his hand sliding down her left arm to where her hands lay in her lap. “It was a way to circumvent my father’s restrictions and a prime reason I chose to stay in this house whenever possible. Fortunately, this house was purchased by Lady Warrow independently, after her third husband, Lord Warrow, passed on, so Lord Essenton had no grounds to refuse my visiting.” He tickled his fingertips over her knuckles and fingers while he talked, tingles shooting along her skin and up her arms, finally slipping under her right hand and drawing it to his mouth, warm breath stimulating the fine hairs to rise as he concluded, “He never knew of the pianoforte.”

“I think Lady Warrow enjoys breaking restrictions,” Georgiana shakily asserted.

“Noticed that, have you?” he asked with a laugh, kissing her palm. “In this case, I am abundantly thankful. I cannot recollect how often I woke with a score playing in my head and was able to immediately play it and jot it onto a sheet. It is convenient, to say the least.”

“I wish I had thought of the same at Pemberley.”

He kissed the bounding pulse in her wrist. “In Paris, I have my piano in the parlor attached to my bedchamber for easy access. I can play whenever I want and wearing whatever I want,” he finished hoarsely, delivering a sucking kiss to her pinkie and then pressing her hand firmly against his heart.

Georgiana gasped at the heat scorching through the linen covering his chest, her eyelids fluttering and instinctively leaning closer. “A piano nearby is a nice idea, but I am glad it is in a separate room, so if you get a two in the morning inspiration you can pound away without waking me.”

“And vice versa,” he murmured, his free hand encircling her neck and pulling her toward his mouth. “I like how readily you accept that my bedchamber is now yours.”

“Am I presumptuous? I should not have…”

Sebastian halted her words with an open kiss delving deeply into the glory of her mouth for long enough that Georgiana had almost forgotten the topic of conversation when her released her. “I love that you are presumptuous, Georgiana! My preference is you never leaving our bed. Never. Somehow I doubt I will be separating from your warm body no matter what brilliant tunes may be running through my brain. Now,” he went on briskly before the mental images augmented by the sensual cast to her face drove rational thought away, “I have another song I wrote for you, one meant for your ears only.”

He kissed her again, short and chaste, delivered a smoldering gaze over her body, and transferred the hand he still held tight against his chest to rest on his thigh. Patting the back of her hand, the message clear that he wanted it to stay there, he then sat straight and turned his attention to the pianoforte keys.

Georgiana’s senses reeled. Her head spun from the blood surging through her heated veins. How many bars were played before she could concentrate on anything other than the feel of the hard thigh muscle under her palm she never knew. The sonata augmented the delirium that was rising by the second due to his closeness, the feel of his muscles, and the smell of his spicy cologne. The beauty of Sebastian’s smooth notes and the romantic lyrics sung in his melodious tenor penetrated through the haze, and as she listened, her emotions soared.

The euphonious tones were played in tempos ranging from a slow andante to moderato, the lyric ballad meant to soothe and move the heart. Each stanza was of a fixed meter, not perfectly rhyming but with an identical rhythm. Alternating in French and English, Sebastian sang of their unique courtship from the perspective of his evolving emotions for his bride. He sang of how his admiration and respect grew to friendship before then escalating to love and passion. He sang of his denial and despair and joy. He sang of his hope for their future.

Through the entire sonata, he kept his eyes steady upon her face. Every line was uttered as a direct message of his heart delivered to her via music. And when he ended the last word and removed his fingers from the keys the final chord was still echoing around the chamber as she entered his embrace and hungrily sought his kiss.

She could not say how long it was when he pulled away from her lips and arms. She did not have a chance to feel bereft because he quickly rose from the bench to stand behind her, grasped her under the elbows, and lifted her to her feet. As if by magic the bench no longer separated them, Georgiana supported in his arms with her back pressed against his chest.

“Sebastian,” she moaned, melting into his body, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Did you like your song?”

“Yes,” she breathed, shivering at the exquisite impression of his tongue and lips tasting the skin around her ear.

“I have titled it
My
Friend
and
My
Love,
Georgiana, as a reminder of all that you are to me. My friend, the woman I love, and now my wife. I love you more every day I pass with you, and after tonight, I know my love for you will surpass every imagining and expectation.”

Georgiana closed her eyes and gave in to the myriad sensations bombarding her. Pleasure radiated from dozens of places inside and outside her body, and every one was generated by Sebastian in some way.

One of his strong arms encircled her waist with long fingers caressing her hip. He held her gently but firmly against his body, Georgiana able to discern each respiration and heartbeat. The flex of his muscles, press of his lips, and prod of his hardened manhood were easily detected by her sensitized flesh. His other hand stroked across her belly and up her side to then brush the outer swell of her breast. Traveling as leisurely as possible, he skimmed under her arm, slipping between their bodies to run up her shoulder blade and across to eventually cup her jaw and turn her face toward his, bending to bestow a searing kiss.

Time faded and so did the room around her. Georgiana no longer had any concept of reality beyond Sebastian and how he dazzled her wits and stoked her internal fire to a blaze of desire.
Overwhelmed, oh so blissfully overwhelmed!
Fiercely
alive
and
breathlessly
hazy
all
at
once
, she mused in wonder. She clutched onto the arm round her waist and lifted the other hand to hold fast to his head, pouring her soul vigorously into the kiss and pressing her whole body forcibly backward.

Groaning from the depths of his chest, Sebastian broke the kiss and rested his forehead against her cheek. His harsh breaths gushed down her chest, goose bumps rising and her nipples hardening more than they already were. Her body screamed for
More! More!
even while her mind, whirling at the onslaught of sensations, needed a respite. Thankfully, perhaps, he offered that by withdrawing minimally, although still holding on tightly just as she was.

“Time…” he wheezed, pausing to swallow and raggedly inhale. “I want to… It is time to release your hair, love. These combs are lovely but not as lovely as your hair. God, I love your hair, Georgiana!”

The three combs were removed one by one and tossed onto the piano bench, Sebastian releasing his hold about her waist to embed both hands into the thick tresses at the nape of her neck, his fingers splayed to capture the silky curls in between. Sighing contentedly, he buried his face into the lush locks spilling over and falling midway down her back. Fresh shivers cascaded down Georgiana’s back as he repeatedly raked through her hair and lifted handfuls aside to kiss her neck. Devotedly, he played with and teased each curl, her legs weakening from the bliss engendered from this simple act.

“Sweet scent of rose water. Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and lust. “I want you, precious wife. Can you tell how fervid my hunger for you?” Georgiana was unable to manage more than a feeble nod, although a verbal answer was not necessary since it was impossible to mistake his ardor and physical response.

Blurrily, she hoped he recognized how powerful her desire for him, even if the intensity of her passion threatened to buckle her knees and shred her final vestiges of coherency. Seconds later, her fears came true when his hands suddenly left her hair and cupped her breasts, each thumb rubbing over her rock hard nipples and sending a bolt of pure sexual electricity straight through to her core.

“Oh God!” she gasped as her body sagged and would have crumbled to the carpeted floor if Sebastian had been slower to react.

“I have you,” he said with a gravelly chuckle. His clench was solid around her waist and under her bosom, one palm still warmly encompassing a breast with the thumb pressing against the nipple. “Perhaps we should take this to the bed. I think I have moved too fast, have I, my love? I know I could use a moment before I lose control. No need to rush what promises to be a perfect night. Come. Let me help you relax. How does a glass of wine sound?”

While soothing in his melodic timbre, he steered to the bed, turning her around to face him for the first time in what felt like hours of sensual play. His smile was radiant and smug, cheeks ruddy, and eyes glistening silver. Georgiana knew she presented a similar picture and not just because she could see her reflection in his brilliant eyes. Yet her thoughts were only on his countenance. As abruptly as her senses had lurched when he touched her breasts, they now leapt anew.

He
is
stunning! Handsome. Desirable. Mine!

“Kiss me.”

He did.

Slowly. Softly. Tenderly. Leisurely.

Gentle caresses of his tongue across her parted lips and tiny nibbles with his teeth. Sedately, he stroked the flushed flesh of her neck and shoulders, the gauzy robe sliding off her shoulders and fluttering to the floor just as she wilted and crushed her breasts against his chest.

“Sweet merciful heavens,” he rasped. “I do need to lay you down before you fall. Or before we both fall. I think we need to breathe. Let me plump these pillows. Climb on in, love. It is a very comfortable bed. Are you cold at all? No? Then just the sheet should do. There. Scoot a bit so I will have room beside you. Is this better? Excellent! Now, how about that glass of wine? A Sauvignon Blanc from France that I know you love.”

He knelt onto the bed with one knee, bending near to kiss her forehead and lightly stroke her chin. “I will only be a minute,” he whispered, smiling as he began to pull away.