“It could. It has. He could have the deepest understanding.” I lightly tapped my fingers along a knot in the table-board but dug more deeply into my blindness. “Georgie, I’m trying to say that I automatically assumed the most intelligent souls would be like Livingston. That’s wrong. But please don’t hate my friend. He’s a gentleman with an income. He’s been scorned badly by marriage. That doesn’t make him evil. He’s human, flesh and blood.”
“Why are you telling me this? You could keep your views a secret. That’s what others would do. I know many saw the Gilroy cartoon and laughed.”
“Actually, Livingston and my mother were horrified. They hate scandal.”
She beat the ingredients in her bowl like it owed her money or had said something foul about one of her sisters. “If it wasn’t you in the paper, they would laugh at what fool had been entangled by a daughter of the coal king.”
“Yes. They would.”
Georgie struck her dough, which smelled of ginger. “You should go compose your sonata.”
My tongue began to tighten, and I felt my words being twisted into knots, but I had to tell her everything. “I must be completely honest with you. I wish . . . wish to come to you with all of me. My thoughts. My flaws. My hardships. My joys. You need to know that somewhere in my head I harbor these thoughts. I need you to challenge me, help me grow.”
“You are grown, Mark Sebastian, Lord Mark Sebastian. I cannot control your thoughts. Nor do I want to be that guiding voice in your life.”
“But you already are, Georgie. You have become important to me. And my jealousy—”
“What?”
“Yes, jealousy and sense of entitlement. I mean, you’re my false fiancée. I take pride in that. I don’t want a handsome man within a foot of you. You need a spice, come to me. I’ll be spicy.”
Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. She gaped at me. “It takes a big man to admit his weakness and when he’s wrong.”
I took the spoon from her hand. “I’m a big man, and you’ve become my weakness.”
Dipping close to her lips, lips I’d dreamed about every moment since our last kiss, I took Georgina Wilcox, my Georgie in my arms, and put my mouth to hers. A jealous fool could become a learned man if it meant having this, a passion birthed from deep down, reaching all the way to the music woven in my soul.
Chapter 26
GEORGINA—COOKINGUP THETRUTH
Mark had me in his arms, kissing me while I had my hands full of flour.
“Forgive me,” he said.
I might’ve gotten out a yes, before his lips found mine again.
Sweet like honey and cardamom, Mark’s passion was better than I’d remembered. His hands encircled my waist, my hips, nestled me nearer.
Suddenly, I wished to be closer, close enough that I could reach into his mind and free his song.
Any anger I had at his tone left with his true apology.
But this, seeking me, wanting me, hungering for me in the kitchen, heated through any resistance I retained.
Skillful, his thumb dipped into the neckline of my gown and drew a treble clef along my throat. His mouth shifted and followed. His lips traced the arch of my neck.
When I felt his hands playing the ribbons of my corset, fingering the cording like pianoforte chords, I ran to the other side of the table and whispered, “I need to finish the biscuits.”
“Georgie, I want your biscuits. I need them to be mine.”
“The dough I’ve halved. It will make twelve. Is that enough?”
“There’s never enough of you. I’m trying to say—”
“You should head back to the pianoforte.”
“Why, Georgie? I was making music withyou.”
