She took a breath and sighed, quite certain now that he meant to wake her, or at least get her undivided attention. He had it, just not the way she thought he wanted.
“I don’t remember.”
His chuckle resonated through her in the most delicious way. “Can I ask a question?”
“I suppose.”
“What have you and your grandmother been talking about?”
Georgie sat up so fast she almost fell right off the seat. “What?”
He shrugged. “She told me to ask you.”
Well, she wasn’t asleep anymore.
12
It was to be dread then. Anticipation that stirred itself through her like butter into bread dough. Distress, she was certain. Fear, although somehow it felt like exhilaration. Whatever it was, she didn’t have the courage to face Grey with it. She stared hard at the little window in the front of the carriage as if the back of the coachie’s head fascinated her.
“Is it that frightening?” Grey asked, his voice soft.
Georgie could tell he was smiling. He would, she thought unreasonably. He probably talks about this sort of thing all the time.
“I don’t know,” she finally admitted, trying so hard to keep what distance she could from him. She wanted so badly to curl back up in his arms, close her eyes and pretend her grandmama would never have interfered in her marriage.
“I think you had better tell me,” he suggested, taking gentle hold of her hand, “before you expire from nerves.”
She instinctively shook her head, but that wouldn’t do. Shewantedto know. She wanted an answer before she did expire from nerves.
Only the question itself was enough on its own, really.
So, she gently pulled her hand free of his, as if that would protect her somehow. “We were…well, we were speaking of this marriage,” she said, looking down to where his hand now lay on her thigh. Unable to ignore the elegant grace of those fingers, unwilling to forget the memory of them roaming her body. Hoping suddenly that her grandmother hadn’t been wrong.
His voice was gentle. “What about it?”
She couldn’t quite face him with her question. Closing her eyes, as if that would protect her from her own brazen behavior, she pulled in an unsteady breath and leapt into the fray.
“She said...she said that there were...em, other ways than...than...what I cannot allow, in which to express our...er, regard for each other.”
She felt him go abruptly still and all but jumped out the carriage door, moving or not. Only the lure of that unknown promise, of the memory of those wicked hands held her in place. Only the determination not to be thought a coward by this man who had faced cavalry charges.
“She said you would know.” Blast. Her voice sounded so small.
He dipped his head toward her. “I do know,” he said quietly, as if afraid he would spook her. “I know several...options you might enjoy immensely. I would very much like to show them to you.”
“Without…?” She looked back up at him, needing to see his eyes.
His smile was kinder than she’d expected. “Without.”
She wanted to close her eyes again, the only way she could hide. She wanted to stop the carriage and walk away, as if added space would calm her racing heart or dry her palms. She realized she was wiping them on her lovely green pelisse like a deb sittingat her first ball. She hadn’t realized how very much she wanted this until he’d asked.
“You can trust me,” he murmured, leaning forward so that his mouth was just alongside her ear, his voice almost a purr.
She turned to face him eye-to-eye, needing more than pat assurances. “Can I?”
Rather than answer, he smiled, the kind of smile that made a woman hungry for the feel of it, for the comfort and promise and joy of it. Of him. Lord, if her heart ran off any faster, it would tumble completely out of her chest.
He still didn’t answer. He bent towards her, ducking under her bonnet as if he’d been there before, his eyes so clear, so seemingly honest and sure. And he kissed her.
