“No, pet,” he’d said, a considering expression on his face. “Let’s just say Ted and the earl…that is…” He had broken off at Teddy’s approach.
It soon became evident Teddy had overheard her question. “What’s this? Never say I’m making a nuisance of myself, love?”
“No, not at all,” she’d hastened to assure him, then resisted the urge to kick her brother when she saw his disparaging eye roll. Only the fact Teddy’s back was to Drake saved his shin.
“Good,” came Teddy’s suave reply. “Suffice it to say, I prefer your cook’s culinary skills to my father’s, not to mention your father is far more generous with his cognac than is mine.”
She poured a large measure of the golden, sweet-smelling liquor and turned to see Teddy, tall and solid and so very beautiful standing before the window. Here. With her.
As if he sensed her stare, he turned to look at her and sent her a warm smile she felt all the way to her toes. “Let’s sit near the hearth.”
Teddy took histime, crossing the lushly appointed, utterly feminine drawing room to join Georgina, awaiting him before the sofa, one snifter in hand.
Her gaze, fixed on him, never wavered. There was nothing provocative about the way she looked at him, and yet, the closer he got the more his blood heated.
Something about the banked hunger lurking in the depths of those silvery eyes, the stillness within her, as if the mere sight of him thrilled her, called forth his every carnal instinct. He wanted her. Wanted to lose himself in her.
Yet she maintained her stated desire to rid herself of him.
At his approach, she handed him the snifter without a word.
“What? None for you?”
She shook her head, and a wry smile tugged at her full lips. “Unlike you, evidently, the spirits go straight to my head.”
He made no effort to contain his wicked chuckle. “Then we shall certainly have to share.”
Her delight at his words, which she tried to mask by lowering her eyes, utterly enchanted him.
“Sit with me.” He took one of her hands and helped her to the sofa before joining her.
Though he left a fair amount of distance between them, he mourned every inch. He liked being near to her. Liked touching her. Liked the sweet rose fragrance that clung to her and hovered ever in and out of range.
He wanted to kiss her again. Was nearly desperate to do so. Not to mention he’d made up his mind to push past her defenses, to access whatever magical essence she alone seemed to possess to unlock his past. So why was an irritating vein of self-reproach rearing its head?
He swirled the golden contents in his snifter, contemplated the rich spirits. Then he sipped and stomped down hard on the misplaced guilt. She was his wife. She had married him for better or worse.
“Darling, you do seem somewhat familiar.”
Her liquid-silver eyes widened. “I do?”
“Yes. I was thinking, it might help if you share an anecdote about our history. Something only the two of us would know.”
She swallowed, hard. “Such as?”
He handed her the cognac. Without a word, without looking away from him, she lifted the snifter to her lush mouth and sipped—and the answer came to him.
“I’d like to hear about our first kiss.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He took back the cognac and draped his other arm over the back of the sofa. With very little effort, he could brush the velvet trim of her sleeve, could trace his fingertips over the satiny looking skin of herbare shoulder to her nape.
“Tell me how it happened. Where were we? Surely, alone somewhere.”
She licked her lips and looked down at her lap where her hands fidgeted with her skirts. Then, she gave a tremulous smile and something in him shifted.
He realized this was not just a means to an end for him. He wanted to know. Wanted to experience the moment that had likely sealed their fate.
