Tears burned the backs of her eyes. This was all for her. The candles, the flowers, the champagne.
The wedding ceremony.
All because she’d lied and said they were married, lied and said she’d asked for an annulment, lied and said she didn’t feel married because he didn’t remember their elopement. She’d loved Teddy Arlington, seemingly from the first moment she laid eyes on him, and even so, she’d never dreamed he could be so…everything. Everything she could possibly want.
And now they’d spoken vows. What had she done? But what else could she have done? Humiliated him in front of the servants? Maybe even hurt him? No.
“Shall I pour?” she asked, brushing his hands aside when he reached for the bottle.
“If you like,” he drawled.
She took her time filling two champagne flutes while keeping her eyes on her task.
She’d known Teddy was charming and handsome and clever. She’d known he was adept at pretty much everything he tried his hand at, be it dancing or athletics or art or logic. She’d known how he made her feel by his mere presence—full of butterflies, fully alive, and filled to the brim with almost too much love.
But she hadn’t known he could be so caring and thoughtful, thathe would listen to her,reallylisten to her, and then bend over backwards to see her wishes come to fruition.
She’d loved him as long as she could remember. But now, after having him here, all to herself and almost hers, after experiencing his attention, focused solely on her, she loved him to the point of pain. He felt like hers, but he wasn’t, and until now, had never given one indication he wanted to be.
Until now.
He accepted the champagne flute she held out to him and waited as she picked up hers. Then he spoke in a voice above a whisper. “To us.”
“To us,” she echoed.
Teddy gazed at her over the rim. His caramel eyes glowed with promise and unmasked desire.
He wanted her. She wanted him. And now, he’d somehow leapt every hurdle she’d put before him to keep him at arm’s length.
What was it Drake had said?He’s not for you, pet. At least, not yet.
Not yet, he’d said. But he hadn’t saidnever.
“Let’s take these upstairs, shall we?”
Georgina had reached the moment of truth. After all her good intentions, all her clever machinations, all her plans to keep him from accidentally compromising her, now came down to a simple yes, or no. But hadn’t she actually passed that point when she recited the vows? Maybe this moment had been inevitable from the moment she stole him from Bell Haven.
“Yes.”
Without another word, he took her hand, and started for the doors.
Teddy followed Georginaas they moved slowly up the stairs, watching as her hips gently swayed with each step. For a moment there, he could have sworn she meant to conjure yet another excuse as to why he must abide in his guest chamber, while she continued to inhabit hers, alone.
When she hadn’t, he nearly howled with relief.
They reached the landing, and Teddy gave Georgina a playful push toward her bedchamber—hers, and after tonight, his, as well.
She made not a word of protest. Quite the opposite, in fact, judging by the slow, siren’s smile she sent him over her shoulder as they crossed to her door. It was all he could do not to grab her, spin her ’round, and press her to the wall, his body melding with hers as he feasted on those succulent lips.
By the time they entered her bedchamber, his insides were as tight as an archer’s bowstring, ready to fire. He drew a long, calming breath to rein himself in lest he humiliate himself by finishing before they’d even begun.
He glanced around, taking in the space illuminated by a scant number of candles which had been left burning. His wife’s domain, into which he’d never ventured. In a flash he saw she’d left her indelible mark.
Feminine, like the rest of the villa, it had cream-and-silver papered walls, patterned with a combination of stripes and delicate scrolls. The bed, as he’d suspected, was large, four-post, and fashioned of a golden walnut rather than the typical masculine, dark-cherry wood. Her bedcovers looked to be blue silk threaded with silver-and-white embroidery. They appeared plush and inviting, like the woman herself.
She’d collected some artwork, he noted, which he’d want to inspect—later. A nude, reminiscent of Titian, and a soft, flirty rococo. A sketch, too. Yes, definitely worth investigating.
Perhaps, tomorrow, when he moved his things into their chamber.
