“She is very pretty, is she not?” Her question sounded stilted to her own ears.
It seemed to take him a moment to discern to whom she referred. “Lady Catherine, your brother’s intended? A classic beauty, to be sure. Popular amongst theton,no doubt.”
She sniffed and started for the easel, on which sat a sketch pad, several of its sheets folded back. More sketches he’d yet to removefrom the booklet.
“No, wait,” he said, one arm lifting as if to stay her.
She sent him a sad smile, anticipating she’d find more drawings of theclassically beautifulLady Catherine.
“It’s all right. You don’t owe me any explanation for the subjects which presented themselves to your subco—” She broke off and stared, her heart lurching with a pleasure so profound it was nearly painful in its intensity.
He’d sketched a detailed picture of her, from today, in the receiving room.
How had he managed to draw a still figure and infuse it with so much life? In Teddy’s depiction, she gazed back at him, eyes soft, body replete, clothing askew. A woman clearly freshly tumbled.
Teddy moved to stand behind her. He rested his hands on her shoulders and propped his chin on her crown of undoubtedly messy curls. “I wasn’t sure I should show you that one. I rather anticipated keeping it as part of my private collection. It’s quite risqué.”
“Why do you say so?” she asked, hearing the smile in her own voice. “Because my undergarments are showing?”
He reached past her to run a fingertip over the swells of her bosom. “Among other things.” Warmth coiled low in her belly.
No. She mustn’t allow herself to become aroused and muddle brained. She must tell him the truth.
She started to turn to face him.
“Flip through the pages, if you like,” he suggested, sounding almost shy.
She could not possibly resist.
“All right.” She folded the pad closed, then opened the cover to view the first of several drawings. Her breath caught. It was her, again, this time, at Hampstead Heath. She sat some distance off from him, under a massive yew, one of her notebooks on her lap, pencil in hand as she wrote.
Hands trembling, she turned the page.
Another drawing of her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, hardly able to take a steady breath.
Teddy gazed down at her, the warmth in his liquid-caramel eyes reaching inside her to squeeze her insides with sheer, unadulterated longing.
Heart thumping, she turned back to the sketch pad, and flipped the next page. Another of her, this time, strolling a walking path at Hyde Park, her eyes glowing with…love. She’d been looking at him. Of that she had no doubt.
“Most of these images are just that. Images that have formed in my mind. But there are a few, like this one, that have actual memories attached.”
“You recall this day?” she asked.
“I recall walking with your brother. He told me to leave you be.” His hands flexed on her shoulders. “Georgina, I know I haven’t been the best…” He broke off and she turned to face him.
“That is, I know I’ve done things, awful things, that should have caused you to take your love away—”
“No,” she interjected, placing two fingers against his warm lips. “No. Don’t say anything else, darling. You haven’t. You didn’t. It’s me who—”
He sent her a blinding smile, his arms sliding around her. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? Each trying to outdo the other for the worst spouse award?”
She choked out a laugh that threatened to turn into a sob.
“I was planning on shaving, sweetheart, but, I don’t think I can wait,” he murmured into her hair.
“For what?” she asked, feeling her resolve crumble beneath her feet. She could no more bring herself to confess all to him at this moment than she could walk on water.
He took one of her hands and pulled her toward the bed. Nearingit, he swiped a hand, sending sketches flying.
