That was the problem. Fitz thought he might, too. But his wife quite clearly didn’t likehim. She likedDerek. He bristled, and a growl fled from his lips before he could stop it.
Felicity shot up and looked at him with eyes as wide as melons. She thrust a finger at him. “Whatwas that? Did you just growl? Fitzwilliam Jennings?” A sly, knowing look that only a sister could make slid over her face. “Are you all growly over your wife, Fitz?” She bounced her eyebrows. “That can only be a good thing.”
A sigh burst from him, and he threw back the rest of his whisky. “It is decidedlynotgood. The marriage is a mess, and I muck it up at every opportunity.”
“But you don’t want to muck it up,” Felicity said, her eyes gentling. “You want to un-muck it.”
He dipped his chin stiffly.
“I don’t think she minds your awkwardness.” She tipped her head back, studying him. “She is nothing like your Miss Browning,” she added softly.
Heaven, he hoped that would hold true. But right now… Fitz wasn’t so sure that was the case.
“I think you might have gotten lucky with this match,” Felicity added thoughtfully.
Why did everyone keep saying that? “Is it lucky that my wife wanted someone like the Duke of Ironcrest and got saddled with me—a bumbling imbecile—instead?” he grumbled.
Felicity shrugged and bopped him on the nose. “Eventually you’ll stop bumbling and babbling and blushing. Before you know it, you’ll be just as comfortable with her as you are with us. It will just take time, Fitzy. I think you should heed your own advice. Communicate with your wife.”
Yes, because that was so simple for Fitz.
His sister hopped off the sofa and bounded toward the door. She turned in a swirl of skirts at the threshold and arched a brow. “Perhaps you’ll find it’s not the Duke of Ironcrest she wants.” With that cryptic statement, she left.
He highly doubted that. And even if Georgiana didn’t want the Duke, she assuredly didn’t want Fitz.
18
Georgiana
Georgianastoodjustoutsidethe door of her husband’s study. He had requested her presence in his study whenever was convenient for her, so here she was. Delaying. Her skin prickled, nerves skittering over her like an army of insect legs. Most exchanges with her husband were uncomfortable, but the one they were about to have was sure to elevate that discomfort to a whole new degree.
She feared last night’s incident had ruined everything. She wasn’t sure whateverythingwas because their marriage—their entire acquaintance—had been fraught with blunders. Yet, her husband seemed to possess some mysterious quality that had Georgiana longing for things she really had no right wanting. Wanting only led to disappointment. But, blast and damn, Georgiana wanted her husband badly.
She took a deep breath and glanced over herself—and winced. Crumbs dusted her bodice, and she hastily brushed at them. She tended to be a nervous eater, and the cook’s spiced biscuits served as the perfect distraction. Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped into her husband’s dark, earth-toned study and quietly closed the door. What she had once deemed a room perfect for seduction now loomed…ominous.
“Fitz…” she said, hating the uncertainty lacing that lone word. She was bold, damn it, not wilting.
He didn’t respond, didn’t look at her. Just continued to stare down at his hands, fingers drumming against the desk he stood behind. Warmth bloomed over her cheeks even though he wasn’t looking at her.Wouldn’tlook at her.
Georgiana did not embarrass easily, but having someone walk in on her while she was…her eyes slid shut. The rapid tapping of his fingers roared through her head, like he was drumming inside her skull instead. She had never been more embarrassed and horrified in her life that someone had seen her while she was—well… she had been fucking herself. There was no delicate way to put it. She didn’t have anything against being watched. The idea actually appealed. But when she wasfully awareit was going to happen. Planned. That was a very important factor. Not barged in on unexpectedly by an anxious husband.
She drew in a deep breath and walked up to her husband’s desk, infusing herself with a boldness she didn’t feel in the slightest with each step. It wasn’t much, but it kept her standing and not fleeing from the room.
“Fitz, please say something. Have I completely horrified you?”
God help her. Wives,respectable ladies, didn’t do such things. There was a reason the woman she purchased her dildo from posed as a bread seller. Goodness, there was a poem—Signior Dildo—about how much men scorned women’s use of dildos. Granted, that was back in the 1600s, but attitudes had changed little. Masturbation was considered a sin. She thought women might have been committed for things like this. The blood in her veins froze. Did her husband fall in with that way of thinking?
“Horrified?” he croaked out. He finally looked at her, and he didn’t look angry. He didn’t look disgusted; he looked…broken. His jaw tensed; his throat worked. “The only th-thing I’m horrified about is the fact that I barged in and interrupted what was a-a-a”—he stumbled and flailed for a moment—“a very private moment. I’m so unbelievably sorry.”
The light flush on his cheeks deepened. “I would never be horrified that you did such things. I don’t adhere to that nonsense, that women shouldn’t know… That s-s-elf”—he swallowed—“p-pleasure is a sin.” He paused and took a breath so deep his chest and shoulders visibly lifted and fell. “I realize you wouldn’t know that about me.”
The uncomfortable dance her stomach was performing settled slightly. Shehadn’tknown that about her husband. There was quite a bit she didn’t know. She twisted her fingers in her skirts, and they stood in silence.
He let out a slow, careful breath, his shoulders relaxing, and extended a hand out to the side of him. “Would you come here?” he asked softly, his features just as soft, amber curls falling over his brow. And here was another moment where her husband’s handsomeness ascended to harrowing heights.
She wound her way around his desk and took his hand. He didn’t flinch; he didn’t jerk back. He closed his fingers around hers and pulled her forward, pulled her heart right to him. Her stomach was dancing again, but it wasn’t nerves. It was like her husband possessed some secret ability. He stumbled around under the facade that he was a walluping sort, an awkward, clumsy cove. But underneath it all, he was the most dangerous of rum dukes. That it wasn’t something he flaunted made it that much more formidable.
He gently placed her between himself and his desk, drawing in measured, methodical breaths. If she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she heard him counting on each inhale and exhale. She leaned against the desk behind her and gave her husband the time he clearly needed to keep his composure. She hadn’t realized how much taller than her he was until this moment. Georgiana had always been on the shorter side, but her husband, who had at least a head on her, was very much on the taller side. He may be lean, especially compared to Georgiana’s curves, but goodness he towered over her. She liked that. A lot.
