He stalked back inside, pausing to kick the doors shut with his bare foot, and deposited the items on the tray. One small victory in a sea of defeats.
Although, if he was being fair, he’d also escaped Brook Haven. And then there were the flashes of what he could only assume were actual memories. None of that had happened before Georgina burst into his life.
Not that he was feeling favorably inclined toward her at the moment. Pulling his shirttails from his pantaloons, he glared at the wall separating his chamber from his wife’s—the master bedchamber—as if he could see through to the petite, curvaceous, sneakily enticing woman on the other side. Simmering desire still sizzled through him, leaving him half-erect and fully dissatisfied. The evening had in no way gone the way he’d anticipated.
He hung his shirtsleeves in the prettily painted wardrobe—clearly his wife had not decorated with him in mind—and peeled out of his pantaloons, hanging them beside his other garment by rote.
Blessedly naked, he made his way to his travel trunk and unearthed the brush and tooth cleaner packed inside, then approached the basin, a delicate ceramic dish painted with pink-and-blue flowers,for God’s sake.
After cleaning his teeth, he washed using the aromatic bar of soap his lovely wife had provided for him, buffed his body with the soft white towel she’d laid out, all the while contemplating her and her incongruous petition for annulment. Why bother collecting him if she only meant to discard him?
Only one answer made any sense. Georgina feared he was beyond saving. Butjust in case,planned to keep him in her sights and force his meds down his throat—or so she believed.
If he improved, if his memories returned, well then, she had snagged herself a future earl. If not, she could always use his mental incapacity as a basis to have the marriage annulled—unless she wound up pregnant.
In other words, she was not about to tie herself for life to a sinking ship by fornicating with him.
He hung the damp towel on one of the pegs on the wall, and huffed out a humorless laugh.
He’d been so sure she wanted him. All her sweet caresses during the journey. Her adoring looks when she thought he wasn’t looking—or sohehad thought. She had played him. He’d actually started to believe the woman had married him for love. Clearly, that was a misapprehension on his part. He wouldn’t be surprised at this point to learn she’d tricked him into the marriage.
As for why he had married her, who could say? Certainly not him. Although, she was a compelling little thing. Tonight, she’d stirred his ardor to a fever pitch without seeming to ply one ounce of effort.
Not that he would marry for such a reason. At least he did not think so. This not remembering business was getting bloody old.
He snuffed the candles on either side of the bed, then reached for the bedcovers. On impulse, he reopened the French doors. The ocean breeze rushed in, drifting over his naked body like a lover’s caress, like a balm for his soul.
He loved the sea.
Wait. Was that true? Did he? He allowed the thought to ruminate, then decided that, yes, he did.
Half elated, he slid into bed and nearly groaned with the pleasure of the silky-smooth sheets against his skin, and the plush cushioning of the tightly sprung mattress that didn’t sag despite his large frame. He found himself smiling into the darkness. Things weren’t all bad. He was no longer ensconced with the disapproving, dour-faced Earl of Ainsworth and his fragile countess, he’d escaped the Brook Haven prison, as he saw it, with relative ease, and had wound up here, in a luxurious beachside villa in the care of his soon-to-be ex-wife.
That reminded him—he’d yet to discover the secret source of her self-proclaimed wealth. He wondered what it could possibly be. Whatever it was, she would soon thank her lucky stars for it, because, although he owed her a debt of gratitude for springing him from the sanatorium, when this chapter in his life was through and he had his memory back—and he’d damn sure get it back or die trying—he’d be the one to wash his hands of her.
She could takethatto the bank.
Teddy was probably—hopefully—fastasleep.
Unfortunately, Georgina was beginning to think sleep might elude her this night altogether. Lying on her back in the big, four-post bed, arms folded beneath her head, she stared up at the gauzy canopy and counted the distant chimes of the tall clock on the second floor. Twelve. Midnight. The start of a third, sleepless hour.
She flung off the bedcovers and padded barefoot to the French doors leading to the balcony, not bothering with her wrapper beforeslipping outside. The cool, stone tiles felt good under her feet as did the soft and salty air wafting over her overheated body.
After a moment, the chilly air caused gooseflesh to cover her skin. Inside, however, she still burned. For Teddy.
She had never experienced anything like the melty, churning, aching, yearning she’d endured tonight. It was like pleasure and torture all rolled into one.
Many times she had imagined the feel of his mouth over hers, had longed to trace her fingers over his cheek. But this was different. This was passion, and it might be driving her a little mad, for she could hardly wait for tomorrow, even knowing satisfaction would remain forever out of reach.
She could not give in to her cravings for the man, and at this point, he would not welcome any advances on her part. She’d sealed her fate in that arena. Telling him she wanted to end their marriage. How ludicrous—as if any sane woman would let Theodore Arlington go once she had him.
But telling him so had cooled his ardor faster than a bucket of snow over a glowing ember.
It didn’t matter. He was here. He was safe. And he’d agreed to take his medicine.
She still couldn’t banish the teeny tiny suspicion he had merely given her lip service by his assent, but had not actually taken it. Perhaps because he’d capitulated so easily to her demands after risking life and limb to avoid ingesting the prescribed tea at Brook Haven.
She glanced toward his end of the balcony and a jolt went through her. His doors were open. He’d closed them the last time she’d checked.
