Her next pillow hit the door.
#
The trouble was, Caroline enjoyed his company. So many other gentlemen of her acquaintance bored her, but George never supposed she would be disinterested in subjects such as history or politics. When his eyes lit as he spoke to her about the advancement of the Ancient Greeks, she fancied she could sit and listen to him for days at a time. His knowledge also reinvigorated her desire to learn. As a girl, her education had been limited to French and Italian, how to embroider and dance and play the harp. The polite forms of conversation.
Not once had her governess sat her down and told her about the forces at play in Europe at large, or the true cause of the French Revolution. Perhaps it had been too fresh in people’s minds, too early for its discussion when she had been a child. But George spoke on the subject with abandon, not once giving her leave to suspect he thought her incapable of keeping up, or that such matters were not a woman’s domain.
He was also kind, helping her into the carriage without comment despite her slowness, and sweeping her into his arms when they arrived so she would not have to walk. Servants had already arrived, laying blankets on the soft grass, and a parasol had been erected so she could avoid the sun if she wished. Shepositioned herself underneath it, and allowed herself to breathe the hot summer air, the fragrance of honeysuckle sweet on the faint breeze.
Beside her, George lounged easily, leaning back on his elbows, the full force of the sun on his face. He squinted into the light.
“You’ll get wrinkles if you do that for long,” she said, amused. Already, the pain in her lower stomach was easing. Perhaps it was the sense of peace that surrounded her; so rarely did she come to the country that even its likeness could bring her joy.
“So be it.” He closed his eyes entirely. “What does it matter if I do?”
“You’ll age faster.”
“So? I’m not afraid of my years, or how I wear them.”
“A noble sentiment.”
“Is that why you aren’t enjoying the heat of the sun? I assure you, it’s very pleasant.”
“I freckle if I’m in the sun too long, and a tan is most unbecoming on a lady.”
“I happen to like it,” he said, and tugged at her hand, pulling her so she was curled against his side, her palm flat against his chest. She could feel the slow, steady pulse of his heart. “Freckles are not a heinous crime, and neither is a slight browning of your skin.”
He was right: the sun was pleasing. She stretched like a cat, and his arm tightened around her waist. “Very well,” she murmured. “But when I can find no one else to take me to bed, I shall hold you accountable.”
A hard note entered his voice. “I would rather not think of anyone else taking you to bed.”
“Jealous, darling?” She laughed softly. “First you must marry.”
“A prospect that is less appealing by the day.” He paused, and his fingers ran soft circles along the back of her hand. “Why do you always bring up the subject of my future wife?”
Tension entered her body, cramping her still further, and she loosed a breath from between her teeth. “Because this must end, and neither of us should forget it.”
“I find things are less enjoyable when you look ahead of them to their demise.”
That was entirely the point: she could not allow herself to become too attached to him. But the sun was hot against her cheek, and she was feeling too lethargic to argue with him. Instead, she placed her palm against his jaw, feeling the tiniest prick of stubble against her skin. He was warm and soft, and he turned his head so he could kiss her palm.
“You should not have brought me here today,” she said, languorous and content. “But I’m glad you did.”
He hummed, deep in his chest, and the sound vibrated through her. It was all too easy to close her eyes and give way to the quiet pleasure of his company, without thought of the future. Her obligations loomed, but he was warm and solid underneath her, and he had brought her strawberries, and it had been a long time since she had felt so drowsily contented.
“Tell me something,” he said, fingers trailing to her elbow and back down.
“What?”
“Something no one else knows.”
“Hmm?” She toyed with the buttons of his waistcoat. “What makes you think I keep secrets?”
“A lady always has her secrets.”
And she had so many.
But as tempting as it was to reveal the worst of hers, she couldn’t risk it.
