CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning, George removed a piece of grass from her hair, laying it carefully on the bedside table lined up with others she had found. What would Polly think when she found the sheets damp and littered with leaves?
Probably the same thing Frederick’s valet thought, as his master tried to whistle during his morning shave. The house had gone mad. But quite happily so, George thought, rolling out of the bed and reaching for her nightgown.
Then she laughed. It was quite possible that it was still draped over a bush by the side of the pond. When they had returned to the house, she had been wearing Frederick’s shirt, which had come practically to her knees. He had been bare chested, holding up his breeches with one hand and carrying his boots in the other.
But he had been grinning like a fool, as if it was not the least bit out of character to forget all propriety and make love in the garden.
He stood in her doorway, now, staring at her as her maid dressed her hair. ‘Good morning, Wife.’ He looked very satisfied with himself, as if it was their activity last night that had made her such and not a proper church ceremony.
‘You must call me by my name, if you want to get my attention,’ she said, unable to resist scolding him, if only in play.
‘Georgiana,’ he said, as if the one word was every wonderful thing he could think of in the world.
‘Thank you,’ she said. Then added, ‘Frederick.’ It did not seem to have the right tone, to fully convey how she felt, after last night. She tried again. ‘Frederick.’
I love you.
They had not actually said the words to each other as yet. Not even in the heat of passion had that occurred. But by the way he grinned at the sound of it, she was sure he understood.
He blew a kiss to her reflection in the mirror.
Had she really called him a prig last night? Because she could not imagine anything more foolish and fond than the gesture he had just made.
* * *
When they met in the breakfast room, he was still smiling. He rose as she entered, not out of standard courtesy, but for the opportunity to kiss her on the cheek before she sat. Then he returned to his seat, looking both smug and happy. ‘Did you rest well, my dear?’
‘You know I did not,’ she said, trying not to laugh.
‘I suppose this means that we must adjust the terms of our truce,’ he said.
After the previous night, she had forgotten that their arrangement was supposed to be temporary. ‘If you wish to,’ she said, cautiously.
‘It seems foolish for us to only pretend to be happy with each other for the sake of propriety, when we have found at least one thing we both enjoy,’ he said.
What they’d shared had been wonderful. But she wondered if it was enough. ‘There is still much we do not agree on,’ she reminded him.
‘Your capricious nature,’ he said.
‘And your inflexibility,’ she countered.
He sighed and gave a half-hearted nod. ‘I will admit that my rigidity can be a fault. But I believe a higher level of self-control is necessary to prevent myself from giving in to the excesses of which my family is guilty.’
‘You fear you will become like your father or brother?’ She looked at him in surprise. For despite the things she had heard about his past, she saw nothing that led her to believe he was a rake. ‘Do you drink to excess?’
‘Occasionally,’ he admitted. ‘But then, what man does not?’
‘True,’ she agreed. ‘But when you are at your worst, do you feel you are a slave to the bottle?’
‘Not at all.’
‘And have you ever duelled?’
He shook his head.
‘Not even in your youth?’
