No Greater Love (14 page)

“You amaze me,” he said, resting his head on her hair.

“So you keep telling me, although I cannot understand why I should do so.”

“To explain that would take all night. And I think you should try to get some sleep. I think it would be best if you stayed in here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll find a clean mattress for you. I’ll sleep here in the chair.”

“You are a good, thoughtful man,” she said, looking up at him through the flickering light, her eyes a deeper blue than he had ever seen them before. Her hand went out to his face, and she hesitantly touched it. “Thank you, Nicholas. Thank you for caring.”

“Georgia…” He wanted to cover her mouth with his, to cover her body with his own, to make her forget everything in the heat of lovemaking, but he instinctively knew that would be a foolish mistake. He couldn’t afford to shatter her trust now. But his body wasn’t listening to him, insisting on its own course of action.

Oh, sweet Jesus, Nicholas thought fervently. Help me. Help me, Lord, in my hour of need.

The Lord did not answer him.

He stood quickly, lifting Georgia off his lap before she could divine his thoughts, and he carried her over to his bed, depositing her in the middle of it and pulling the covers up around her. “Do you think you might be able to sleep now?’’

Georgia smiled up at him. “I think so.” She moved onto her side and tucked her hands under her cheek. Nicholas bent down and kissed her cheek, then stepped away and looked at the bed with slight disbelief. Then, pulling an extra blanket from the foot of the bed, he settled himself back into the chair.

“Good night, Nicholas,” Georgia said.

“Good night,” he replied as evenly as he could manage, thinking that life at that moment bore a strong resemblance to hell. “Sleep well.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very kind to me. I do thank you.’’

“Please, don’t give it another moment’s thought.” He squeezed his eyes shut and gave a resigned sigh, knowing he’d have little sleep that night, and it had nothing to do with the damned chair. He had come to an astonishing realization.

His condition had not so much to do with his groin as with his heart. Oh, his groin was needy, but his heart was needier. Of all the futile, idiotic, harebrained things he might have done, he had gone and fallen in love with his wife. And his wife was in love with a dead farmer with the absurd name of Baggie Wells.

Nicholas prepared to tally his accounts well into the following morning.

Georgia woke to the sound of pelting rain. She sat up, wondering for a brief instant where she was, and then she saw Nicholas asleep in the chair and she remembered. His legs were propped up on the table and his head was slumped back against the cushion. She could hear the rhythmic pull of his breathing—actually, it was more of a rhythmic snort.

Georgia smiled. She had grown very fond of Nicholas Daventry, had thought she was coming to know him well, but one thing she hadn’t known about him was that he snored.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, watching him. People asleep seemed so vulnerable. She never normally would have used the word to describe Nicholas, but that was exactly how he appeared, his hair tousled, a dark shadow of beard on his cheek. At some point he had exchanged his nightshirt for trousers and a shirt, she noticed.

He had been so good to her the night before, so tender with her, holding her on his lap as if she’d been a hurt child in need of comfort, tucking her up in his bed and kissing her cheek. It had given her the strangest feeling, a warmth inside that had started in her middle and spread out, making her feel languid and heavy. And when she had slept, she had dreamed that Nicholas was still holding her close in his arms.

She had liked being held by him, the heat of his body warming hers, the feel of his hard muscles against her, the way his hands had gently stroked her back. She’d never felt anything quite like it, and when she had stopped shaking and begun to relax in his embrace, she’d discovered that she had wanted to hold him in the same way, to put her arms around him, to touch his skin, to feel his mouth on hers again, as it had felt the other night, his lips slightly parted, his breath mingling with hers. But she had been afraid.

Even though she knew she was in no danger from him, she’d been afraid—afraid that she might arouse him, afraid that it might lead to the other thing. But most of all she was afraid of these strange new feelings in herself that she didn’t understand.

Nicholas stirred and his eyes groggily opened. He rubbed them with one hand, and then he suddenly sat up straight and his eyes flew to the bed as he became fully alert. He saw her watching him, and she thought he looked almost embarrassed. “Georgia … um, good morning,” he said, and cleared his throat. “What are you looking at?” He looked down at himself as if to find the answer there.

“You snore,” she said with a grin.

“Snore? I most certainly do not.”

“You most certainly do. You might only snore when you sleep sitting up, but you do snore.”

Nicholas considered this. “And you couldn’t wait to point out this fact to me? Suppose I told you that you snore too? How would you feel?”

“But I don’t,” Georgia said practically. “I’m a light sleeper, and I’d wake myself up if I did.”

Nicholas rubbed his eyes again. “I’ve just realized something,” he said. “I’ve never woken up with you before. You start right in, don’t you? You don’t even wait until breakfast until you start handing out your extraordinary version of logic.”

“I don’t know. I don’t usually have anyone to talk to before breakfast, except for Lily when she brings the water. It’s rather nice.”

“Is it, sweetheart? We should do it more often.”

“Really?” she said, her face lighting up. “And I always thought you preferred having your tea in peace.”

He looked surprised. “That’s why you always come down after I do? You thought I wanted the privacy?”

“Yes, of course. Why else?”

“I had no idea. Is that how Baggie liked it?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Well … we had no servants, so I was always down first to light the fire and prepare his breakfast, but he couldn’t bear talking in the early morning. Of course, it was the very early morning, before dawn, as we had animals to feed and the milking to be done. The vicar never talked in the morning either, and his wife never came down before eleven. She said men liked their morning peace, so I assumed you would too.”

Nicholas laughed. “I don’t think I’d put much stock in anything the vicar’s wife had to say. And as for my morning peace, don’t give it another thought.” He came over and sat down on the bed, leaning back on his elbow. “You know, thinking about it, with the exception of Binkley, I haven’t ever woken up with anyone. At least not that I can remember.”

“Really?” Georgia said with interest. She had no idea what the etiquette of gentlemen was when dealing with their mistresses and other ladies of the evening, or what they did with such ladies when the evening’s activities had been brought to a conclusion. But then, Nicholas was no ordinary gentleman, she had discovered.

“Really,” he replied. “It seems appropriate that the first time I should do so it is with my wife. Even if she does tell me that I snore.”

Georgia reached out her hand and rubbed his cheek. “And that you need to shave. I’ve never seen you before with a beard. You look very rakish.”

“Do I? Maybe I should go unshaven more often.”

“Binkley would be outraged.”

“Binkley, my dear Georgia, is never outraged. That is why he is such an exemplary manservant.” Nicholas sighed. “I have missed him, however. He does a much better job of shaving me than I do.”

“But, Nicholas, why didn’t you say something? I can shave you, and I’m sure I could do it every bit as well as Binkley—well, maybe not with quite such expertise, but probably better than you can shave yourself, if those nicks on your face are anything to go by. I hadn’t thought about it before.”

“You want to shave me?” Georgia wondered why he looked quite so appalled.

“Don’t you trust me?” She jumped out of bed and went to the door. “Lily,” she called, and heard an answering query. “Lily, bring hot water to Mr. Daventry’s room, if you please?”

“Georgia … Georgia, wait. Oh, help.”

“And I thought you were a gambling man,” she said, turning back to him, and found him lying flat on his back, his hands flung over his head, his eyes closed.

“If you’re trying to simulate a faint, it won’t work.” She fell onto the bed next to him and dug her fingers into his ribs. Nicholas’ eyes shot open and he gave a howl, then grabbed her wrists and flipped her over onto her back in one swift movement, pinning her down beneath him.

“You dare to tangle with me, madam? First you threaten my face, and then my ribs? And this after I gave up my bed to you? You have a strange notion of repayment for extreme gallantry.”

“Extreme gallantry? I think you are painting it a bit thick, sir.”

“Am I? And should I attack your ribs, I wonder?”

Georgia squirmed under him, laughing. “Oh, please don’t, Nicholas. I am fearfully ticklish. Oh, please, no,” she begged as he easily grasped her wrists between one hand and lowered the other in the direction of her side. “No!” She twisted to no avail, and then she suddenly found her wrists released. Nicholas still leaned over her, but the expression in his eyes had changed, and her breath caught.

He shifted his weight onto his forearms, and he looked down at her, his breath coming faster, as if he’d been running. “Georgia,” he whispered. “Georgia…”

Her arms slowly came down from over her head, and she touched his face with her fingertips, and then the corner of his mouth. There was an undefinable ache inside her, and all she knew was that she wanted Nicholas to fill it somehow. Her fingers slipped into his thick hair, her eyes questioning his, her heart beating faster at what she saw there.

He bent his head and kissed her.

He took his time, softly brushing his mouth against hers, and she gasped as she felt his tongue stroke her bottom lip, then seek entrance inside. She could not help herself. Her mouth opened against his and she shuddered as his tongue touched hers. He played with her lightly, drawing her into the kiss as an equal partner, not like Baggie, who had stuffed her mouth as if he were trying to suffocate her. Oh, this was a different thing entirely, soft as velvet, hot as fire, scalding, and the only thing that she thought might suffocate her was her heart, which threatened to dislodge itself and leap into her throat.

“Georgia,” he said with a choked laugh, disengaging his mouth from hers, and she gazed at him, stunned. Through the haze in her head she vaguely heard a knock at the door, and then it came again. Nicholas looked down at her with a rueful smile. “Your timing, sweetheart, is abysmal. I think you had better answer, for I cannot quite find my voice.”

Indeed, he did sound hoarse, and certainly shaken, Georgia thought as he left her and went to the window, his back turned to the room. She was shaken as well, terribly shaken. But she collected herself as best she could.

“Come in,” she called, sitting up and straightening her shift.

Lily entered with the water. “Oh! I beg your pardon,” she said, nearly dropping the pitcher as she saw Georgia in her nightclothes sitting on her husband’s bed. She curtsied, managed to put the pitcher down without spilling it, and hurried off in record time.

Georgia looked at the water, then at Nicholas’ broad back, and back at the water again. Now that she’d had a chance to recover herself, she felt terribly foolish. What had she been thinking, to behave in such a way? Nicholas must think her the most awful wanton, practically begging him to ravish her, when that was the last thing in the world she wanted. But she couldn’t help running her fingers over her mouth, remembering the feel of his lips just there, and his tongue … She blushed furiously, then quickly removed herself from the bed before such a thing could happen again. She would give Nicholas his shave, and they would pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Nicholas turned around, rubbing the back of his neck. “Georgia,” he said. “I think we need to talk.”

“Oh, no,” she replied, pointing at the chair. “You’re not escaping with an onslaught of words. Sit, sir, while the water is still hot. Where do you keep your razor?”

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You really cannot be serious.”

“But I am, and that look of alarm will do you no good.” She poured the water into the basin, found his shaving equipment in the cupboard, and tested the blade with her thumb. “Perfect.”

“Dear God,” he said.

“Sit.” She advanced on him with the razor, and he fell backward into the chair.

“Georgia, no … oh, Binkley, where are you in my hour of need?’’

She wet the towel and put it over his face. “That’s quite enough, Nicholas. Any more and I shall be offended. Now, relax, while I work up a lather.”

“It won’t be the first time,” he said with a muffled laugh. “Are you sure your hands are steady?”

She ignored him, whipping up a good foam, then removed die steaming towel and spread the foam over his face, bending over him with the razor.

“For my sins,” Nicholas said, then closed his eyes.

Georgia firmly gripped the ivory handle and carefully applied the straight edge to his cheek, pulling downward in short scrapes. She methodically worked first on one side of his face, and then the other, thinking that it was more challenging shaving a face with angles than it was shaving one that was simply round. Satisfied with the appearance of his cheeks and chin, she said, “Tilt your head back.”

Nicholas opened his eyes. “Is this the part where you do me in?”

“You’re not very trusting, are you? If I had wanted to do you in, I shouldn’t have wasted my time first making sure you were clean-shaven.”

Nicholas swallowed, but obliged. Holding his chin in one hand, she made a few long clean sweeps upward. She savored the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingers, the beating of the pulse in the hollow beneath his ear, the damp curl of hair over her fingertips. She was almost sorry when she was done.

She took the towel and wiped the soap off his face, then stood back. “There. And not a single nick.”

“That’s it?” he said, running his hand over his face. “You’re finished?”

“What else is there? There’s not a whisker left.”

“There’s my bath.”

“Nicholas!” she said, truly shocked. “Don’t tell me that Binkley bathes you too. You couldn’t possibly be that lazy.”

He laughed. “No,” he said reluctantly. “I can actually manage to wash myself without doing too much damage.

“Oh, well—that’s good. I’ll leave you to it, then, while the rest of the water is still warm.”

“Thank you for the shave,” he said softly, pushing himself to his feet. “I enjoyed it.”

“I’m happy it pleased you,” she said, looking down at the floor, for die warmth in his eyes was giving her that peculiar feeling again.

“Oh, it did. It did. You have a certain touch that Binkley could not equal. Georgia, about earlier. We really should talk about it, don’t you think? After all, it was a fairly interesting exchange.”

“Nicholas,” she said in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”

He stared at her. “You’re sorry? What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

“I didn’t mean to … to inflame you.”

Nicholas covered his eyes with his hand. “To inflame me. I see. You’re sorry to have inflamed me.” He looked up again, and this time Georgia really couldn’t read his face. “There are not words for this,” he said. “There are no words and I am not sure if there is any appropriate behavior. Tell me something, sweetheart. You liked being kissed, didn’t you? It’s not the sort of thing that can be pretended, not like that.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I did like it. I liked it very much. But oh, Nicholas, I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have liked it, not at all.”

“Why not, Georgia? Why ever not?”

“Because of what it leads to,” she said in a choked voice.

Nicholas massaged the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “This is about Baggie, isn’t it?”

She dropped her head.

“Yes, I thought as much.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing now what a terrible mistake the kiss had been.

“Please, don’t be sorry. You cannot help your feelings, any more than I can help mine.”

“Your feelings?” she said in confusion.

“Did you think I had none? I’m flesh and blood, Georgia, not a statue.”

She blanched, suddenly understanding. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I hadn’t realized. If you want more from me, then you must say so, and I will accommodate you.”