“It’s perfectly safe, Fitz,” Felix said with a roll of his eyes. “We’ll be swinging themat trees. Not at each other.”
“Don’t be a prat, Fitz,” Felicity added.
His wife’s gaze darted around the group, her eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and amusement.
Felicity leaned toward Georgiana, eyes never leaving Fitz’s, and said the words thatalways made Fitz capitulate. “Fitz is only trying to dissuade us because he knows he’lllose.”
Ha. He’d lose. His arse, he’d lose. Plus, after overhearing about his wife’s desires and whom she had those desires about, it would probably be beneficial to heave an axe at something.
“Get me an axe,” he growled.
13
Georgiana
GeorgianascrambledafterFitzas he trudged through the nearly ankle-deep snow toward a copse of trees off to the side of the manor. Cold air stung her face and was sharp in her lungs. The blasted man was on a mission.
They had quickly changed into warmer attire and then met back in the entry, both Fitz and Lord Bentley’s faces grim masks of determination. This family. She shook her head. Competitive was too tame a word. Lord Bentley and Felicity had gone left out of the front entry, and Georgiana and Fitz had gone right. The thing was, her husband had much longer legs than she did. And they had walked at least the distance of two large ballrooms already. She could barely keep up without huffing and puffing about like a portly pug.
Fitz reached the edge of the copse and halted.Thank the bloody gods. He spun on his heel to face her, axe resting over one shoulder, hatchet in the other hand, brows set in a hard line.
He opened his mouth and hesitated.
Georgiana hesitated.
He glanced away.
She glanced at the snow.
This was awkward.
She didn’t know what to say to him. Not after last night. And the uncomfortable kissing and the fleeing. The tree debate had been a welcome distraction before.
“Shall we pick a tree, then?” she ventured, toeing the snow.
“Yes, I suppose that is our aim. Urm, since you are so familiar with the Queen’s Christmas tree, perhaps you choose what makes a good tree?”
He spoke to a random patch of snow to the left of her. One day, she would get her husband to look at her. The more he struggled, the more determined she became. She had no idea whyshemade him nervous. She was a nobody. A nobody whom nobody wanted.
She inhaled a breath and blew that undesirable thought right out of her, gloomy white cloud and all. It was a beautiful December day, with clear skies and snow-covered countryside. An opportunity. This was going to be fun. Fun with her new husband.
With a new bound in her step, she strode toward the small wood, eying the evergreen options. “How big does it need to be?”
“The bigger the better.”
She stifled a giggle. Yes, well, she supposed that was true of most things in life. She glanced back at her husband. He was a large man, taller than average, but lean. She liked that fact about him. She wanted to feel small. At a man’s mercy. Her gaze dropped to his hips, hidden behind his large wool overcoat.The bigger the better. Would she ever find out?
She shook away her lascivious meanderings and continued her march. She paused before a towering evergreen, its branches stretching wide, the bottom ones easily spanning two of her wingspans. Generously spaced limbs, leaving about a half-foot of space between each tier, ascended the tree, creating the perfect canvas for draping ribbons and beads and whatever other festive adornments Felicity and Lady Bentley could conjure up.
“Do you think we will win with this one?” She scanned up the tree, her head tilting back.
It must be twenty feet. Granted, she was a horrible judge of such things. For all she knew, it was actually fifty feet tall. She turned to Fitz, who was sizing it up.
He gave a decisive nod. “I think the odds are good.” He tossed the axe into the snow by the tree, dropped his hatchet at his feet, and shrugged out of his large wool coat. His gaze flicked to her, and he held out his coat.
“Would you mind holding this for me, please?”
She hurried forward. “Of course.”
