But nothing had prepared him for Georgiana Knight. He had sown the wind with an impromptu marriage. He should not be surprised that the proverbial whirlwind had arrived on the wedding night. After she had crowned him with her bouquet, she had run upstairs and disappeared into her room with a slam of the door that must have been heard all the way to the basement. He had been left alone, picking flower petals out of his hair, sure in the knowledge that the household staff knew their master had been banned from the marital bed.
Not that he’d actually planned to bed her. Not immediately, at least. He had promised her that he would not impose himself upon her. But some part of him had assumed that the situation would change with time. When two people were alone in the same house, things sometimes happened. Why should they not? Congress between a man and a woman was an enjoyable activity. In their case, it was even sanctioned by the church. When the opportunity presented itself, desire would not be a problem. She was not unattractive.
If he was honest, she was more than that. She was really quite lovely. When he had rejected her on their first meeting, he had done so with regret. His taste already ran to tall blondes and only a fool did not like big, blue eyes and full, pink lips.
But it had not been her face he’d remembered, as they stood together at the altar. A stray beam of light had shone through the muslin of her gown and the briefest outline of her shoulder had sent him down a moonlit path of fantasy, remembering how she had looked when he’d rescued her at Vitium et Virtusand what might have happened between them.
Breasts. Not too large, not too small. Firm handfuls of flesh cresting over a skimpy bodice. Pert nipples outlined under gauze that clung so tight to her flat belly her navel made a dark hollow in the fabric.
Legs. Not just a titillating glimpse of ankle. He had seen shapely calves, round hips and thighs that begged to be parted. When her skirt had shifted, he’d had a brief view of the sweet place where they met. Damn Jake and his talk of undiscovered countries. What man would not want to experiencela petite mortafter that particular journey?
He’d felt the same warning stirring in church that was taking him now. The male body’s primordial rebellion against common sense at inappropriate times was understandable, if one was a schoolboy. But for a grown man who prided himself on iron control, it was worse than embarrassing. It bordered on the ridiculous.
So he had focused his mind on anything but the woman at his side. He had brooded on his family’s behaviour. He’d enumerated the bride’s faults. For the first time in his life, he had listened intently to a sermon. By the time the bishop had made the final pronouncement that would bind him to Georgiana Knight for ever, Fred’s blood was as cold as the champagne waiting at the breakfast.
Then, he had turned to kiss her.
His calm shattered. She had looked up into his eyes with an expression of such naked longing that his mouth had gone bone dry. He wanted her every bit as much as he had the night at the club. He wanted to seize her and kiss her as he should have then, to explain in a single action the advantages of a physical union between them.
But one did not do such things in public, much less in church. Even in private, he must remember that the girl was a virgin and deserved patience and understanding before intimacy. Most important, she had made it quite clear that she did not want him, no matter what her feelings were at the moment. He would kiss her, of course. He had to. But it must be a proper kiss. A kiss as innocent as she was. And that kiss must make it seem that he did not care as much as he did.
He kissed her. And it was awful. No. He was awful. It had been as if, as soon as the knot was tied, he had forgotten everything he’d ever learned about taking and giving pleasure. He had given her a virgin’s first kiss, in fact. A male virgin. A thin-lipped, bone-dry peck that had landed half on her lips and half off, as if he had been afraid to make full contact lest she laugh in his face.
It did not take an experienced woman to recognise such blatant romantic failure. Georgiana had pulled away from him after, red with fury. Even his friends had smiled and shaken their heads in pity, then muttered about wedding-night nerves.
He owed her an apology. He’d even intended to make one. Then he’d planned to explain the need to share a bedroom in the most innocent possible way to prevent household gossip. He would sleep on the floor while she took the bed. A quick rumpling of the sheets in the morning, and perhaps a spot of blood to reinforce the maid’s assumptions about what had happened. In a day or two, he would return to his own room. No one would dare question his comings and goings after.
He had reconciled himself to the fact that the marriage need never be consummated. While it would be embarrassing to admit that he had never bedded his own wife, he was not required to tell anyone the fact. Nor was he so enraptured with tradition that he felt the need to mark her as a possession if they felt no attraction to each other.
But before he could get a word in she had asked about separate living arrangements and he had taken to hectoring her and trying to regain control. In response, she’d continued to goad him until he had lost his temper and his mind.
At least, when he had stopped thinking, the kissing had improved. Their mouths had fit together perfectly, as had their clothed bodies. His manhood had immediately wondered how well they might fit when naked. Virginity was nothing more than a uniquely female sort of ignorance. It was easily solved. And by the sway of her body against his, the slight sighs at the friction of clothing against her body, she seemed like an apt pupil ready for vigorous education.
Then she had hit him with her flowers and locked him out of her bedroom. Who would have thought such a small creature could have so much anger in her? In certain circumstances, it might have been admirable. Women who were passionate in public often carried such emotion to the bedroom with them. He’d been with women who had started arguments just for the opportunity to make up afterwards. Perhaps Georgiana would be the same.
He blinked in surprise. The woman was his wife. The last thing he needed to be speculating about was the nature of her passions. While some might think that such things were exactly the purview of a spouse, one had only to look at his brother to see what happened when men followed their hearts, or, worse yet, their loins, into a lifelong union. The fire Francis had felt for his wife had cooled in less than a year, but the scorn they felt for each other would linger for a lifetime.
He would not make the same mistake in his marriage. Georgiana Knight had been a virtual stranger to him when he’d wed her and so she would remain. Of course, she’d also been a stranger who made no bones about her loathing for him. Unless he wanted thetonto find a fresh embarrassment to add to the family scandal sheet, he needed to convince her to pretend affection towards him.
And here was the woman now, entering the breakfast room with the hesitance of one still so unfamiliar with her surroundings that she was unsure what awaited her on the opposite side of each closed door. He felt another pang of embarrassment. Or was it shame? It did not matter how she felt about him or how he felt about her. He would not have treated any other visitor to his home so shabbily that they woke unable to find their breakfast.
He let proper manners take hold of him, rising and turning to greet her. Even if he could not manage to smile, he owed her the same courtesy and civility he’d have given any other lady. ‘Georgiana.’ He bowed.
‘Mr Challenger,’ she responded with a cautious inclination of her head.
‘Please, come in, sit down.’ He pulled out her chair for her, saw her properly seated, and arranged the chocolate pot and toast rack at a convenient distance from her plate before returning to his seat at the head of the table. ‘I trust you slept well?’
The silent look she gave him in return spoke volumes. Since she had gone to her room in a rage and quite possibly hungry, he had no reason to make optimistic assumptions about the quality of her rest.
‘Was the bed to your liking?’ he asked. A brief image of a sleep-tousled Georgiana rising naked from white sheets flashed through his mind and he kicked himself for mentioning bed at all.
‘The mattress was satisfactory,’ she said, her voice brittle.
‘And the room? You may decorate it to your preferences, of course. But is the size and arrangement of it sufficient for your needs?’ And what were her needs, or those of any other woman, for that matter? He had no idea.
Her frown deepened to remind him that the bed would be better if it were miles away from whereever he resided. ‘It is more space than I require.’
He nodded. This was as good an introduction as any to yesterday’s argument. ‘Because you have no desire to remain here for long. You wish your own rooms. Or a house, perhaps.’
