Georgiana did. Sometimes possibility shimmered before her, like snowflakes fluttering in the moonlight. But when she awoke the next morning, would she find herself blessed with a beautiful winter wonderland or a disappointing dusting?
Felicity’s fingers tangled with Georgiana’s, and she gave Georgiana a comforting squeeze. “Trust me, I fully understand having those hopes and dreams. And how it feels when it appears they’re not going to come true.”
Georgiana sucked in a shaky breath, unsure if it was the cold or the ache in her chest causing the sharpness in her lungs.
“Be patient with him, Georgiana. Give him a chance.”
30
Fitz
London
THIS WAS IT; this was Fitz’s chance. Excitement vibrated through his veins as he rushed up the stairs to his mistress’s rooms. Why was Fitz excited? Because Fitz had a plan. A plan in which he was going to surprise his wife. Because after his night with Georgiana, Fitz knew he would go to any lengths possible for that woman. His heart clenched. He—and no one else—would fulfill every last one of her desires.
Now, he didn’t really know what those desires were, just that his wife had somewhat—urm—risqué preferences. Her response two nights prior to his question…You want me to hurt you?Well, he was fairly sure her answer meant yes. She wanted him to give her bruises. Nerves rattled his ribcage. How did one go about bruising one’s wife in a pleasurable way?
It was infuriatingly clear that a certain pair of rogues probably knew exactly how. His chest filled with white-hot fire. The way she had spoken of them at Christmas breakfast two days prior. It was seared into his brain. There had been such awe in her voice. Not only could they fuck her in every way she ever dreamed, but apparently, they also saved children. How was Fitz supposed to compete with that?
He paused before his mistress’s door and blew out a breath. He would start with becoming the man his wife longed for. Every last carnal craving she had—he would deliver. And he knew exactly who could help him learn how to do just that. He knocked on Adelaide’s door.
A moment later, the door swung open, and an abundantly curved woman wrapped in deep-purple silk, brunette hair tumbling down in artfully arranged curls, greeted him. She smiled wide, her red-rouge lips curving, eyes glowing.
“Fitzwilliam! It’s so lovely to see you again, darling.”
He reached up and squeezed the back of his neck. “Greetings, Adelaide.”
She giggled. “Greetings, puppy.” She stepped back and turned away, sashaying toward the sitting area of her parlor.
Her flat was set up for seduction, with a plush ivory sofa covered in blankets of fur and velvet, the largest forest-green chaise he’d ever set eyes on, and a very sturdy desk, all right when one walked in. There was a door that led to her bedroom, if one got that far, and a short hall that led to a kitchen area toward the back. Fitz hastily followed her and settled on the sofa opposite where she had spread herself out over her chaise, head propped up on her hand. He took off his gloves and stiffly slapped them over his thigh.
She gestured to the table in front of her which had a glass of whisky, Fitz’s drink of choice, ready and waiting. He quickly picked it up and gently passed it back and forth between his hands. He was usually so comfortable here. But being back here felt…different. Like he’d accidentally put on a wrong man’s shoes.
“Now, first thing’s first, sweetie. I know how you struggle with your words. Your letter indicated you are in need of tutelage. Tutelage that requires my capable hands. So will this be hands-on tutelage?”
Fitz’s brow puckered. “What do you mean?”
Her smile grew, and she stared at him fondly. “Fitz, will we be doing these things you want to learn about? Together. Say, for the sake of practice.”
His eyes spread wide. “Oh! No, no, no, no.” He laughed, but it came out wheezy and gargled. “I-I require informarghamation.” He winced. “Information. Perhaps detailed instructions. Discussion.” He cleared his throat, his foot picking up a rapid tapping. “Not actual, urm, practice.”
Why did he find such difficulty with something as simple as words? They always came out wrong, skewed. If he wasn’t blabbering, he was saying things that apparently held a much different meaning than he intended.
“I must beg your pardon,” he hastily added.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Adelaide reassured with an understanding smile. “I knew there was a very good chance that was not what you intended, which is why I asked. I cannot say I’m not disappointed, but I understand.” She pushed up to sitting and clapped her hands. “So, what do you need help with, my sweet puppy?”
Something uncomfortable danced around in his stomach, a feeling that made his fingers twitch and his feet itch to run.My sweet puppy. The endearment had never bothered him before. That was what Fitz was, wasn’t it? A bumbling puppy, always stumbling over his own feet and words. But his wife wanted aman. Confident and knowing.
You can do this, Fitz. You can learn to be that man for her.
He lifted his chin. “Do you know of the Duke of Ironcrest’s proclivities?”
Her eyes flashed with surprise, but she quickly schooled it. Adelaide was exceptional at her job. She would never judge her clients for anything—whether that came in the form of an intimate request or an inarticulate response. Fitz usually fell in the latter.
“Yes, I am familiar. I do not have personal experience, but I am close with others who do.” She studied him and picked up her glass of champagne, swirling the bubbly liquid. “He is known for restraining his lovers, everyone knows that.”
Fitz swallowed. The rumors were true then. R-restraints. He blew out a breath. Lord, he was stuttering in his own mind. How was he ever going to do this?Everything will be well.It’s why he went to Adelaide. She would assist him, inform him. What did one even use? Rope—
