His cock was raging and his primal brain roaring out protests, but as gently as he could, he pulled back. Even as she instinctively went up on her toes searching for more, he set her just enough away from him that she would know he was abiding by her wishes, not punishing her.
But oh, sweet suffering God, it was a struggle. Her eyes were closed, those long dark lashes fanned against her cheek. That perfect chignon was pulled just a little loose, and her mouth was as plump as berries with his kissing. And he thought he would never escape the scent of exotic flowers. Or want to.
“Georgie?” he said, leaning his forehead against hers, his breathing labored.
Hers was no easier. “You stopped.”
“I’m not sure if you’re offering praise or protest.”
Her smile was soft and dreamy. “I’m not quite sure myself.” Opening her eyes, she pulled her head back so she could face him again. “You do that well.”
“Starting or stopping?”
“Both. Thank you. You have set my feet on the road to trust.” She screwed up her face. “Oh, bollocks. I sound like a Minerva Press novel.”
And then she pulled herself out of his arms, her breathing still a bit labored, her hand to her chest. She shook her head, as if to clear it. “I am still not sure whether you are good for me or not, Grey, but I suspect there’s nothing left but to formalize this thing.”
“I agree.”
“After I see my grandmama.”
All the way home he was plagued by the fear that that would set things back all the way. Then he thought of that kiss and couldn’t help smiling. Well. Maybe notallthe way.
“Grandmama, what do I do?”
There she was seated on the little bench opposite her Grandmama’s six beehives, bees contentedly swooping and humming about her and the mixed scent of the spring garden rich in the air. To add the perfect coda, she also faced an old woman bent over a lilac bush.
Anyone in society who had ever been tyrannized by the Dowager Countess of Clevedon would have walked right past the old woman in her comfortably faded round gown and cottage bonnet, deadheading the first of a dozen lilac bushes. But then most of them had never been invited to her lush, oversized garden.
“Do you love him?” came the imperious voice.
“Love him? I don’t evenknowhim!”
But then her grandmother straightened, turned, and fixed her with the kind of look that forbade dissembling. “But given the chance.”
Which left Georgie with the uncomfortable need to squirm. Except no one squirmed in the presence of the Dowager Countess, cottager hat or not. So, she settled for a sigh and the truth. “Given the chance, might I could. But Iresenthim too much to find the room for it.”
Those wise green eyes softened a bit. “Well, you had better find a way. Otherwise, you will find life tedious at best. Especially when you begin to bear him children.”
Georgie ducked her head. “I told him I want a marriage of convenience.” When she heard the gasp, she looked up. “For now. So I might have the chance to maybe find something of my own in my life, instead of spending the entire thing as nursemaid, nanny, and broodmare.”
Her grandmama considered her a moment more before turning back to her lilacs.
“I’m afraid it is the way of women,” the old woman said. “I had to wait for my old age to be given the chance to do what I loved.”
“And if I don’t live that long?”
Grandmama shrugged. “Your mother has carved out a way for herself.”
“Are you so sure that is whatshewanted for herself?” Georgie asked.
“Ask her.”
“I am almost afraid to. What if I find that she is miserable with all of us? And how do I tell her that I refuse to have my life governed by pregnancy? I have spent my life in child-rearing. I am frankly tired of it.”
Snip. Snip. “And those little girls?”
“What about them?”
