His eyes widened. “Y-you go on ahead,” he stammered. He needed to get himself and his cock under control before everyone in the chapel was aware of where his thoughts had wandered.
A flash of hurt wrinkled her brow before she replaced it with a sad smile. Which really wasn’t any better. Because now, as his wife walked away from him, he not only had enough anxiety tumbling about his insides to fill a circus tent with acrobats, he also felt bad for hurting his wife’s feelings.
He longingly watched her retreating figure. “You smell too delightful,” he said softly, sorrowfully.
She turned and tilted her head. “Pardon?”
Fuck. He snapped straight. Had she heard him? Oh God.
“Nrrumph.”
Not better.
“I said you smell frightful!”
He winced. Dear Lord, that was most definitelynotbetter. Why hadn’t he just gone with the compliment? That would have been the totally normal option. But no, he went withyou smell frightful.Welp, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Urm. Yes. I’d recommend you request a bath upon your return. With haste.”
Her eyes rounded and her cheeks grew pink. “O-of course, sir.” She turned and hurried over to her family.
He groaned inwardly, mentally smacking himself over the head with a very large tome.You bumbling idiot, Fitz.This moment was like an incredibly painful repeat of their interaction in his study earlier in the week. If he were being honest, every interaction with her since the moment they met had been painfulin its awkwardness.
But his very new wife continued to surprise him. She’d marched up to that altar, chin lifted high, determination glowing in her green eyes. A ferocious little warrior. Fitz had actually been a mite frightened. If she’d had a weapon, he probably would have fled. What must it be like to have such resolve? Assurance? And resilience—considering he had been nothing but a bumbling bear to her since they met. But she had not once wilted, not once given any indication she was anything but strong and fierce.
Her beauty was remarkable, but so it would seem was the woman beneath.
9
Georgiana
Georgianafearedforherwedding night. And that had been before her husband had showed up at her chamber. Having one’s husband sayyou smell frightfulwasn’t exactly what one hoped for on their wedding day. Georgiana had done a discreet sniff of herself in the carriage, and she didn’t think she was particularly malodorous, but she had requested a bath, regardless.
She had said her quick goodbyes to her mother, which had included an alarming number of reminders that Georgiana needed to copulate with her husband with haste. Repeatedly. Her father had been typically absent, so she hadn’t even managed a goodbye to him. Apparently, he had been dealing with some business matter with Lord Bentley. She wondered if he would even care if he ever saw her again. She blew out a breath. Not a time for those gloomy thoughts. Right now, she had bigger problems.
Like the husband who was standing dead-center in her chamber, looking everywhere but at her, hands fisting and unfisting in the fabric of his loose-fitting gray trousers. His face was slowly turning his typical fifty shades of red, and his forehead was developing a sheen.
The sweating was starting.
Georgiana was a little heated herself. Because Fitzwilliam Jennings in a state of undress?Buon Dio.She fanned herself. The V of his shirt gaped open, exposing a dusting of amber chest hair, and his unruly mahogany curls were tight and wet from his bath—well, what she hoped was his bath and not sweat.
She giggled. He gulped.Oops. That wasn’t going to help the poor clam.
She slowly approached him, her cotton night dress—nothing especially seductive, but she hadn’t been planning on having a wedding night any time soon—swishing around her legs.
“Are you going to look at me, Mr. Jennings?”
“Urm, I…I… You know, I believe it m-might be for the best if I don’t.”
Well, she was going to look her fair share. He wasn’t wearing stockings. Her gaze caressed his calves, flexing and unflexing. She supposed that was one benefit to his tension. His muscles weretense. Glorious. His biceps hardened and softened under his thin linen shirt with every fidget. There was surprising lean strength to the bookworm. If she could just get him past his bumbling, there might be some promise here. There was most definitely attraction on her end. She wasn’t sure if there was attraction on his end. But the way she made him nervous had her hoping that just maybe…he was nervousbecausehe was attracted to her?
She reached him and rested her palm on his chest—his gloriously hard, muscled chest—and he sucked in a breath. And never released it. Her shoulders slumped. She should accept right now that this night was going to be torture for them both.
“Breathe, Mr. Jennings.”
A breath burst from him, and he broke into a fit of coughing.
“Should I douse the lights? Perhaps if you cannot see me, if we leave our clothes on, we will be able to get through this.” Her words came out with more bite to them than she had intended. But disappointment was wading its way up her body until it nearly consumed her whole. She was trying not to be frustrated with him, with her circumstances, especially since technically this was allherfault. But she was only human.
