“And then,” he murmured, his hand moving again, back up her thigh, towards those fireworks, “I would introduce you to the delights that await you when you put yourself in my hands. I would be honored to show you exactly what your grandmother meant.”
And just a brush against the place where her thighs met, where she swore she was melting and weeping all at once. Where she wanted more than anything to find out exactly what he meant. She opened her mouth to tell him. She reached up to cup his face. But before she could say a word, the dinner bell rang.
Again, abrupt silence. Except for the pounding of her pulse. The accompaniment of birdsong. The rasp of his breath against her cheek.
“Dinner,” he said, his expression wry.
She would have thought him unaffected, but she realized his hands were trembling just a bit. “Dinner,” she answered.
He leaned forward one more time and brushed his lips against hers. “I cannot wait for dessert.”
13
Georgie sat at the pretty dressing table in her room staring into the mirror, not at all seeing the work Minta was doing on her hair. She didn’t even notice that with her sudden promotion to lady’s maid, Minta looked more worried than elated.
For the moment though, she fought hard not to give way to a silly grin. It had been quite a day. Marriage, a surprising congeniality, and then…well, whatever it was Grey had in mind.
She had to admit that if it was anything like what he had already done, she might not make it through dinner. Just the thought of his tongue dipping into that little hollow at the base of her throat took Georgie’s breath all over again.
“There you go, miss,” Minta proclaimed, stepping back.
Georgie blinked. “Minta,” she said, squinting at the sophisticated-looking woman in the mirror who was dressed in a gold silk gown with low squared neckline that betrayed the tops of her breasts. Her breasts that puckered all over again at the memory of Grey’s fingers.
But it was her hair that reflected the biggest change. She usually wore it in a utilitarian fashion, braids wrapped about her head so her hair would be out of the way. But now…
“My heavens, Minta,” she breathed, trying to understand how a simple hairstyle could make her look so different. So non-utilitarian. “Where did you learn to do hair? This is lovely.”
It had been gathered at the top of her head, held up with jeweled pins, only wispy curls framing her face. And if Georgie wasn’t mistaken, constructed so that the removal of a couple of pins would send the whole thing tumbling down her back.
Behind her, Minta blushed and smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I been learning.”
Georgie got to her feet. “You certainly have. I almost don’t recognize that quite sophisticated lady in the mirror.”
“Oh, she’s you, ma’am. You just never let her loose before.”
Georgie chuckled. “I’m not sure I should now.”
Minta giggled. “If this isn’t the time, ma’am, I don’t know when is.”
Georgie turned for the door, feeling surprisingly shy. Everything was suddenly different. Not just the house, the room with its comfortable chintz upholstery that reminded her of her own sitting room. Not just the new her. Her new life. She was stepping over a threshold, and she had no idea if she was ready for it.
He had given her security. He had given her possibility, even if it was given right along with more responsibility.
She came very close to succumbing to the urge to gift him in return. What could it hurt, one night? What danger would she face?
But she knew what danger. Her mother had made sure she knew. She simply could not change her decision, no matter what she owed Grey. No matter how she was feeling.
Begin as you mean to go on. And she had to establish her boundaries now, or she never would. And if she didn’t, her marriage would be no better than her childhood, finding herself the person everyone relied on without ever knowing how to ask for something of her own.
Taking in a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out into her future.
And immediately faced the most dangerous threat to her autonomy.
He was standing at the head of the stairs waiting for her, his uniform changed for a suit of midnight superfine and snowy linen, his neckcloth tied in a simple knot, his hair gleaming in the hall lamps. He was smiling and shaking his head.
“You do clean up well, Lady Coleford,” he said, winging out an elbow for her to join him.
She laid her hand on his arm and lifted her hem for the stairs. “You don’t do so badly yourself, sir.”
