by Eva Devon
He turned back to Georgiana, uncertain as to what would transpire now. “Thank you for coming today,” he said.
“I’m glad you invited me.” She folded her gloved hands behind her. “I feel close to you in a way I never thought you would allow me to be.”
“I want you to be close,” he said. “I want us to find that. I didn’t think I could allow myself to do it, but you are teaching me that I can.”
“Thank you,” she said.
With that, she reached up, grabbed his head, and pulled him down toward her.
He returned her kiss happily, eagerly, their bodies entwined. Before either of them could say another word, he guided her into one of the empty stables, the floor scattered with soft hay.
He was damned glad he’d had the foresight to send the stable hands out to the fields today. Pressing her against the wall, he gave way to passion. Oh so slowly, he dragged her heavy skirts up her thighs and met her bare skin.
The scent of grass and fresh air and the country surrounded them. It was an invigorating moment.
A perfect moment.
“Put your arms about my neck.”
Eagerly, she did so. In one quick and easy heft, he positioned her against the wall and wrapped her legs about his waist. The folds of her skirt pooled around him, and he freed his cock from his breeches.
“This is most remarkable,” she exclaimed, her cheeks pink.
Her words filled him with a hunger so intense he could barely fathom it. Unable to wait, he thrust deep inside her.
A moan of abandon tore past her lips and her hands dug into his shoulders.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
He was more than happy to oblige. Angling his mouth over hers, he took her lips in a wicked kiss, one in which he meant to scorch her forever with his memory.
He wished her to always think of him as they were now. To desire him every moment. To never let him go. Just as he would never let her go.
For the first time in his life, he’d had the courage to be free and this was his reward. He couldn’t think of anything better.
Her core tightened around him and his knees nearly gave way, but he bolstered himself up and pounded into her welcoming body. Her hand wove into his hair at the nape of his neck and tightened.
The sensation and proof of her passion nearly undid him, but before it could, he slid his hand between them and teased her until she clasped him tightly and called, “Edward!”
The sound of his name, rough upon her lips, sent him over the edge.
And he joined her in bliss.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Georgiana could barely contain the joy in her heart. Watching her husband ride wildly about the pasture this morning, she’d felt as if she was watching a boy. The gruff man that she’d known for a little over a month had vanished entirely.
The grand duke had slipped away, replaced by a young man, happy and at ease.
Seeing him so free had freed her, too. The man who rescued horses, who was most alive in the country, he was the man she was married to, and he was the man she’d been longing to meet. This was the man she could love and fall in love with.
She was falling in love with him.
Yet, she couldn’t deny that Edward was a man of many parts, and she would have to love them all, not just the easiest ones. But she was overjoyed he had allowed her into his secrets, because now she was absolutely certain they could build a future.
She would continue to work hard to be a good duchess for him, just as he was working hard to be affectionate toward her. Yes, they had a great future to look forward to, and she could not wait.
Georgiana all but danced about her chamber as she slipped a diamond ear bob into her lobe. She still was not entirely accustomed to her lady’s maid, Greggs, who was fluttering about, desperate to keep Georgiana’s gown from rumpling. But Georgiana was so excited she could not sit still.
“Your Grace, Your Grace,” Greggs implored her, clapping her slender yet wrinkled hands before her equally wrinkled but kind face. “You shall ruin your hair!”
“I don’t care, Greggs. Do you know how excited I am?”
“I can see, Your Grace,” Greggs said, sighing with dismay. “You shall ruin your frock, as well.”
“It is impossible to ruin it,” declared Georgiana as she twirled about, eager for the forthcoming dinner party. For this night was the night she was would meet some of the greatest writers in all of England.
It was the greatest present anyone could ever give her, and Edward had arranged it. He was such a good man and attentive to her interests. How could she have ever thought differently?
And he was so caring.
He specifically went out of his way to find things she liked. He had been so insistent that he wouldn’t be able to learn to be affectionate or intimate, but how mistaken he was, and how mistaken she had been to doubt it. He had applied himself with great vigor to making her feel happy in many aspects of their life. Throughout the night and throughout the day, she had not missed all of the little ways in which he tried to make her feel well…cared for.
And tonight was the culmination of it all.
In an hour’s time, a host of writers would descend upon the town house! It would be a most fascinating evening, for she knew some of them did not get along well at all, and she would have to be that which smoothed the difficulties between them or enjoyed the conversation that arose from such discourse.
Truly, it was going to be splendid.
Christmas had no appeal compared to this night.
Finally, she stopped her all but skipping feet and eyed herself in the long polished mirror beside her dressing table. She nearly laughed aloud with her own approval.
The elegant crimson silk gown skimmed her figure to perfection. A golden belt emphasized her rather, if she dare say, voluptuous breasts. They were plumped up quite nicely with barely an inch of fabric to cover them. No doubt, the cake served with tea in the late afternoons had caused her breasts to increase in size. Whatever the case may be, the cut of the gown certainly flattered her.
Though Yorkshire would have found it to be scandalous, it was the height of fashion.
The wisps of fabric at her shoulders were embroidered with golden thread and the skirts were voluminous, wrapping about her legs in the Grecian style. The fabric was so light, she felt almost naked.
Georgiana absolutely adored the gown, and though she herself was not what the height of fashion cried for, she knew that she looked quite well, and it made her feel very good about herself, indeed.
She could not wait for Edward to see her in it, because she was certain he would also appreciate how she looked in it.
That moment when his eyes lit up, spotting her, full of passion and hunger and excitement? She adored it beyond measure. He had no such look for anyone else. No, that look was reserved purely for her and she delighted in it.
Greggs went to the ivory dressing table and began sorting the hairbrushes and perfume bottles, sorting all of them back into their proper places. Collecting her pressed gloves from her bed, Georgiana drew in a deep breath, ready to descend and revel in the evening. But before she could cross her chamber, the door swung swiftly open and Aunt Agatha slipped in.
Georgiana stopped, beaming, ready to share her enthusiasm with her aunt by marriage.
But the words of excitement died on her lips.
Agatha’s face looked as if she had seen death.
Georgiana’s heart slammed in her ribs. Something had happened.
“What is amiss? Is Edward hurt?” she demanded.
“Not at all,” Agatha said, her voice tight. “It is not Edward. He is quite well and I believe dressing. I have come to tell you something altogether different.”
“Greggs,” said Agatha, “you may go now.”
Greggs swung her hazel ga
ze from Georgiana to Agatha, filled with curiosity, no doubt, but knowing she could not stay. She gave a quick curtsy then hurried from the room, her gaze full of apprehension as she went.
Agatha cleared her throat and gestured to the chair before the fire. “Come, my dear, you must sit.”
Georgiana shook her head, her entire body tense. “I don’t wish to sit. I can tell that what you have to say is ill. Please do not torture me with delay.”
Agatha nodded, her shoulders drooping under the immaculate green brocade of her gown. “It is about your father.”
Georgiana’s world whirled around her and she whispered, “He’s died.”
“No!” Agatha exclaimed, crossing the burgundy and blue Axminster carpet. “I’m so terribly sorry. I should not allow you to think thus, but, my dear, he is in a great deal of trouble.”
Georgiana was able to draw breath, knowing her father still lived. But what could be worse than death? For from the grave pallor of Agatha’s face, it felt so. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me show you.” Agatha lifted her hand from her skirts, revealing a small, folded piece of newssheet. Her hand, worn with time, reached out, shaking.
The wink of her jeweled rings did not hold a luster tonight. In fact, they felt mocking.
Georgiana tentatively stretched her fingers to it, hesitating, as if it might burn her. Once she forced herself to take it, she pored over the paper. As she read the words, her mouth dried and she collapsed into the chair beside her dressing table. She did not even know how her legs had ceased to support her. Lifting her free hand, she covered her mouth to stifle her dismay.
The truth, for it had to be true, or Agatha never would have presented it to her, crushed her usually implacable spirit. If she’d been asked a moment before, Georgiana would have insisted that nothing could, except for the death of a loved one could break her heart.
She would have been mistaken.
Her father was involved in a financial scheme and apparently had lost a great deal of funds and was responsible for the loss of the funds of others.
Speculation.
The word sent a veritable shudder of horror through her.
She scanned the block print words again as if re-reading them could somehow change the meaning of the contents of that report. But no. Even as the words blurred whilst her eyes misted, she couldn’t deny the truth.
Mr. Bly of Yorkshire had lost every penny speculating on villas in Italy. The company had been false, a pretense. And all the men who owned it had done a midnight flit, leaving a few men like her father to take responsibility for the ruination of dozens.
The horror of it struck her.
The words in black ink condemned her father as a fool. Worse, he had convinced others of the soundness of the proposition by mentioning that he was the father-in-law of a highly important and influential lord. One of the greatest lords in the land.
They did not explicitly say the Duke of Thornfield, the paper daren’t use his name so boldly, but everyone would know exactly who it was. Her father had brought disgrace to the Duke of Thornfield and to herself. And he’d ruined her mother and her sisters.
A jagged breath tore her before a terrifying realization hit. She lifted her gaze to Agatha and asked, “Does Edward know?”
“No,” she said said softly, “not as of yet. Though he may hear at any moment. I truly thought you should be the first to know…and there is more.”
“More?” Georgiana rasped. “How could there possibly be more?”
“Do not tempt fate, my dear. It loves to show us how brutal this world can turn.” Agatha laid her hand gently on Georgiana’s shoulder. “I have heard from your mother. Your father has disappeared.”
Georgiana winced as she gazed up at Agatha’s worried visage. “You have heard from her?”
“Do not be hard upon her for telling me first,” Agatha said. “I think your mother did not wish you to read it in a letter and did not wish you to be on your own when you heard. Likely, she was not entirely certain how you would take all of this. She was also concerned that you might have seen the paper before learning of the fact that your father has vanished. He must be terribly ashamed, my dear.”
Ashamed.
Dear God, shame was slipping over her, too, its black, oily fingers coating her with shock and disappointment.
Whatever was she to do? How could she break this scandal to Edward?
By facing him and getting done.
Georgiana drew her shoulders back, something that felt positively Herculean, and stood. “I must go to him at once.” Tears stung her eyes and she dashed them away. “What will he think of me?”
“You are his wife,” Agatha replied kindly, “and that is all that matters.”
Georgiana nodded, but the assurance felt hollow.
It wasn’t all that mattered. Edward would be horrified and appalled. In the end, her fears were proving correct. She was never going to live up to Edward’s expectations.
Tears choked her throat and forced her to swallow them back. How could she live up to him? How could she ever be enough? She was going to prove as much a disappointment to him as he had expected. Her family was going to shame him just as he knew that they would. And she could barely keep her chin high with the guilt of it.
She was so proud of her husband and all that he did, the state of her own family’s disgrace coated her with the most vile emotion. If it had just been her father, alone, losing all his funds, she could have borne it with some comfort. But this? This was beyond all imaginings, for she could not shake the images of families being cast from their homes, of children losing bread, of widows losing all security because they had invested in her father’s scheme.
She swallowed back the acrid sorrow and strode toward the door. She wouldn’t hide from this. She couldn’t.
But neither could she ignore the fact that she had likely just lost Edward’s love before she had truly found it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Edward gave the last touch to his starched cravat and turned away from his long mirror.
Quite glad to be done with dressing, he went back to the high stack of beautifully bound, and well read, books upon his secretaire to make certain he could repeat all the titles and authors with ease.
He excelled at such things. Memorization was one of his skills. But tonight was particularly special and he didn’t wish to make a blunder. He wouldn’t shame his wife in front of her favorite writers.
That was imperative.
The door to his chamber opened, and he did not immediately look up, assuming his man, Hoyt, had forgotten something. The rushing steps were not that of a man, though. Edward looked up to the sight of his wife rushing across the large chamber. He smiled in pleasure and welcome. “Come here, my wife, it is good to see you. I did not think I would until we were both downstairs.”
As he caught sight of the way her mouth was pressed in an austere line and there was no spark dancing in her usually mischievous gaze, he stilled.
A dark foreboding slid over him.
“I have something to tell you, Edward.”
The feeling of dread increased at the tone of her voice. It was different, not full of the sprightly enthusiasm she so generally had. No, there was a tension to it he had never heard.
The floor beneath his feet felt as if it were moving as that dread built inside him. Whatever was worrying her, he would fix it. Somehow. Surely, as a duke, he could always fix her troubles. He clung to that thought as he held his hand out to her.
“Come,” he urged.
But she did not give him her hand. Quite the opposite. She flinched then she stood stock still before him.
Her hands gripped a piece of paper.
“What is it, Georgiana?” he said slowly.
“I have news of my father,” she said.
“Oh?�
� he queried, determined not to react with fear.
Her hands began to shake, but she also lifted her chin, possibly to give herself courage. “He is involved in a scandal.”
“What kind of scandal?”
Her eyes darted away before she let out a small cry of pain and continued. “A financial one. As part of my marriage settlement, you placed a stipend aside for Papa and my family?”
“I did,” he said simply, not wanting to anticipate some dire strait, but from the tortured look upon Georgiana’s face he began to fear the worst.
“He has lost it all and more,” she said, her voice breaking before she rushed, “He encouraged others to invest into a scheme that has failed. And, Edward, he used your name to increase his influence and encourage others to believe the speculation to be respectable.”
Edward said nothing as her words unfurled in his brain. The air around him felt thick. So thick he might have cut it with a knife. He did not feel shock as Georgiana so clearly did.
It was exactly what he had feared with such a man as her father.
There had been a brief hour in which he had hesitated in giving her father an allowance of significance. He had feared Mr. Bly would not be responsible, that he could not resist his nature. But to see the pain on Georgiana’s face, Edward wanted to go find her father and shake him until the man could not speak.
Edward shoved such impractical emotions aside. Such an action would not help her or her family at all.
“Georgiana,” he said quietly, without rancor, “where is he now?”
“No one knows,” she cried, dropping her hands to her sides. “Apparently, he has run off. My mother is unaware of his location. I do not know what to do, and all I can say is that I am so terribly sorry. Please forgive us.”
“Georgiana, I do not wish to hear apologies,” he stated flatly. “They will do no good. Do not think another moment of it. Now, I will go and I will find him.”
She gave a nod, though tears shone in her eyes. She sucked in a shaking breath. “I am so very so—”
