Georgianna: The Last Real Duchess (The Real Duchesses of London)

by Lavinia Kent

  "Hargrove did like you, you know. It is part of why he made the decision that he did."

  "I know, but don't interrupt. Oh, I shouldn't have said that – not now, not when . . ."

  Squeezing her fingers, he said, "Don't worry. I do want to hear what you are saying."

  Filling her chest with breath, she continued, "But Hargrove was not at all what I expected. He was so much a man and I a child. He was not mean, but he could not fake an actual interest in me. He was polite – and yes he was kind, but he was as removed from me as a lion from a kitten. And then you came into the room. You seemed mostly grown, a man to my young eyes, and from that moment I could see only you. Every time that Hargrove came to visit I hoped to see you."

  "Why do you tell me this now?" He sounded gruff.

  Why did she? A moment ago she had understood her reasoning, but beneath his question it seemed flimsy. "I wanted you to understand that I think you are up to the challenges ahead, that you have always been your own man, not just Hargrove's shadow. I know you – and I, will mourn him, but I know that you are still that man I met all those years ago." Rolling over on her side to face him, she reached out and placed a hand upon his chest. His heart beat slow and steady.

  "Do you really believe that? I was sure you changed your mind when all between us fell apart."

  "I do believe that. I am not sure that I am that girl anymore, but you are definitely that man. So strong and sure."

  He laughed, deep in his chest. Her fingers danced with the movement. "And how would you know that? It has been years since we spent any time together. Even these last months we’ve hardly seen each other beyond passing."

  "And whose fault is that? No, forget I said that. This is not a moment for blame. I do know you, Richard. Why do you think I came back to London?"

  He was silent and then the words came, swift and bitter. "I rather thought it was so you could find a lover. Is that not what you told me when you first arrived? That if I could have one, so could you."

  #

  Richard watched as Georgianna's features grew completely still. He had not wanted to use her own words against her, but they had come nonetheless. He had tried to be fair when she had stated she intended to take a lover. It was true he had betrayed her, lied to her, but still everything in him had cried out against letting her know any man but him.

  He'd certainly circled her like a hawk every time she attended a ball. He'd even come close to blows with the Duke of Strattington on the one occasion he'd truly believed that Georgianna might be about to engage in an affair. It had all turned into nothing, but for the first time Richard had realized he might actually still care for his wife.

  He might actually still love her – have never stopped loving her.

  He had not put the thought to words then and he probably would not now had it not been for the grief that overwhelmed him.

  Damn. He would not give in to sentiment.

  Not about his brother and certainly not about a woman who had given up her dreams of him years ago.

  "I did not mean the words even when I said them." Her voice was soft, but steady. "I think I was hoping you would argue with me."

  "You certainly sounded firm and convinced.” He could not forget how he'd felt when she mentioned her intentions to find a lover. He'd wanted to lock her in a tower.

  "I could not forget how I felt when I found out you had a mistress," she answered.

  Her words echoed his thought of a moment ago and struck deep.

  She was not done. "I wanted to hurt you as I'd been hurt. Perhaps it was not the best tack to take when I was seeking to renew our relationship."

  "Why do you do this now?" A touch of his earlier anger returned. "My brother has just died."

  "I am sorry."

  "You should be, bringing up things that cannot be changed.” He turned away from her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask her to stay with him.

  "Damn you. Don't turn away from me now. I hurt too – perhaps I did not love Hargrove as greatly as you, but I certainly feel his loss."

  He spun back, focused on her flushed face. "Then why do you bring up everything else now?"

  "Because I thought we could have one single moment of honesty between us,” she replied. “Was that too much to hope for?"

  Chapter Four

  The question hung in the air between them. Her chest heaved, her breast rising above the fall of the sheet.

  And it was all too much. He was angry – hurt and angry – and all that emotion needed someplace to escape.

  He grabbed, her pulled her toward him – and brought his lips down upon hers, hard. His tongue invaded without invite. He wanted to punish her, punish himself, punish life itself. It was more than he could take.

  Her lips held stiff for a moment and then gave way. Her tongue did not join his in protest but neither did she resist. She simply let him have his way.

  And he did, grinding his mouth over hers, pushing her down into the bed with his weight, devouring, overwhelming. And still she did nothing but give way beneath him.

  He wanted her to bite, to fight – wanted to release all the fires between them the only way he knew how.

  Damnation. He could not do this.

  He pulled back and fell into his pillows. Even this was denied him.

  "I am sorry," the words forced themselves out from between his lips.

  He expected her to nod without words or too make some gesture of polite acceptance.

  She did not.

  He reached out and ran a solitary finger down her cheek. He could feel the dampness of tears.

  He froze. God, could he do nothing right?

  And then she turned her face, laying a single kiss upon his finger. The warmth of her lips spread, heating parts of him that had been chilled by his brother's death. Pushing himself up, slowly this time, he reached out and wrapped his arms about her, drawing her tight to his chest, her cheek nestled just above his heart.

  Her breath stilled for a moment, and then eased out in a soft exhale that whispered about him. He could feel her lips open as if to speak, but then close as if sensing that now was not the moment for words. Instead she cuddled closer, her breasts warm against his stomach, her long legs tangling with his own.

  She forgave him – and somehow understood.

  It was a single perfect moment. A single moment of peace.

  But, of course, he was a man – and a man's body had its own response to warm breasts and intertwined limbs. He had grown hard in anger and now that fullness pressed against the tender curve of her belly. He began to pull away, not wanting to startle her, to frighten her further.

  "Don't go." Her words were a barest whisper, but the damp kiss Georgianna lay above his left nipple left no doubt to her meaning. She arched her back, pressing his erection tight between them.

  His whole body tensed for a moment, and then he was turning to lie on his back, pulling her up over him, his lips finding her lips in a single, lasting, soul-revealing kiss. Georgianna responded as she always had, open and still trusting – and innocent. It was like moving back to those wonderful early days of their marriage when all had been clean and true.

  His hands wandered down the firm muscles of her back to cup her rounded buttocks. Her curves were fuller than he remembered, and all the more delightful for that.

  And still the kiss went on, lingering moans of delight sneaking out from their tight pressed lips.

  He edged back upon the pillows, bringing himself more upright, pushing her chemise up, until he could center her moist core upon his ever-growing need. Oh God, that felt good. Her thighs tensed about his legs as she drew back for a second and then lowered herself slightly, moving, teasing.

  He would explode in a moment. They had not even begun and he was feeling like a schoolboy caught in a naughty dream. Opening his eyes wide, he stared up at her, forcing himself to concentrate on her and not on his own needs.

  Her face was flushed, her eyes unfocused, her lips soft – and ne
rvous? She only nibbled like that on her lip when she was nervous.

  Were they moving too fast for her? In the past she'd never been adventurous. She'd only been on top once or twice and as his ardor cooled slightly he could see how difficult this was for her.

  As if catching his change in mood she looked down at him. "Am I doing something wrong? I thought you wanted . . ."

  "I do want, don't worry about that." He smiled up at her, relaxing his cheeks. He lifted his hips slightly, rubbing against her, to demonstrate.

  "Oh." Her flush grew darker even in the dim light.

  "Oh is right." He moved again – then, placing his arms about her, he turned swiftly bringing her under him.

  And then it was again lips against lips. Soft, sweet kisses. Hard, punishing ones. And passion.

  He had not remembered the passion that flew between them at these moments.

  Apples, she'd always tasted of apples, the sharp crisp ones found only at the very beginning of harvest, before they were quite ripe.

  He kissed her again, hard and fast, then let his lips travel lower, over the rounded point of her chin, down her neck, pausing to nibble at that magic spot, right at the base, then further down up the gentle swell of her breasts to his ultimate target, her tight nipples. They were too much to resist.

  She might taste like apples, but these were berries. The plumpest, ripest berries of summer.

  He flicked his tongue across the tips.

  With a gasp, her whole body drew tight.

  He flicked again.

  A soft moan this time.

  And then he feasted, hands, lips, tongue – drawing, sucking tasting.

  This was the closest to heaven that a man could come.

  Keeping his lips firm about one nipple, he teased the other with his fingers, squeezing first gently and then with some strength. Her hips moved restlessly under him, indicating her desire.

  He allowed the fingers of his other hand to trail down her belly, crossing velvet skin to the nest of curls below. His fingers tangled in the curls, pulling, stroking, but not delving.

  His lips loosened upon her nipple, gentle and soothing. He blew softly, waiting as her body quieted, relaxed.

  He let his first finger trail across her slit then, still not entering, but lingering. He could feel her whole body center on the motion of his hand – waiting. She wanted more.

  He sucked the nipple deep then, even as a second finger joined the first, parting her.

  The muscles of her thighs grew tight about his hips, and then he could feel her relax. He knew the effort even that small task must encompass.

  He stroked with his fingers, sucked with his lips, again and again. Each time his fingers went the tiniest bit deeper.

  She was slick and moist and his mind filled with picture of just rising up, thrusting into her, burying his cock to the core. His balls drew up at the very thought.

  Relax. Deep breath. Relax.

  He would bring her there first, bring her to that ultimate peak. He could feel her quivering about him, her muscles drawing firm and then relaxing. He pulled his fingers back and then thrust again, his thumb forming circles on that tight knot of nerves. Her breathing was growing faster, her sighs louder. He moved his fingers in ever increasing rhythm. Waiting. Fighting his own needs.

  He could feel the skin of her thighs brushing against his cock, urging it up, urging it to replace his fingers.

  He fought the need.

  Her first.

  This time he would put her first.

  But God, let it be fast.

  "Please, please . . ." Her frantic whisper pushed him onward.

  He wished he could see her face, look into her eyes, but darkness and the angle of their bodies prevented him. He drew a nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue eagerly working against the tip, while his fingers continued their play below.

  And then he felt it, that first shudder running through her. Her whole body tightened, her breath grew still – and then released. And again. Again.

  She hit the edge of the cliff and tumbled over.

  His name passed her lips, a cry, a prayer.

  And then relaxation. She melted atop him, her whole body easing against his.

  #

  Had it been like that in the past? Annie remembered it had been wonderful, but this had been a step toward heaven and they hadn't even . . . Did he still want to? Did he still want her?

  For a moment Annie felt all the insecurities of the last years rise within her. She hadn't been enough for him then, why would she possibly think she could compete now?

  No. She would not think that way.

  He had never done this thing to her before. Perhaps that meant he was beginning to see her differently, to see her as more than a silly innocent girl.

  With some trepidation she raised her head from the comfort of Richard's chest and stared up at his face. It was hard to see in the dark, but she could make out the square line of his chin, tight lips – and closed eyes. Was he asleep?

  No, his breathing was not steady or quiet. In fact, it sounded remarkably fast and – she shifted her body lower along his torso and felt him heavy and hard against her leg.

  She might have climbed to heaven, but he clearly had not.

  Shifting again, she felt him gasp against her.

  "Give me a moment," his voice rasped.

  A moment for what? She shifted again.

  "If you don't stop that I'll embarrass us both."

  Instantly, she stilled.

  She heard him draw in a couple of deep breaths – and then he moved, pushing himself above her. This part she knew – and rather enjoyed despite all of her mother's warnings. Her legs parted and she felt his weight settle between them. Raising her knees on either side of his hips she waited.

  For a moment he didn't move.

  She could feel him there and ready, but still he paused. Sliding her feet along the sheets she attempted to move herself against him.

  He chuckled. "I don't remember your being so eager."

  Was that a good thing? He was smiling. She couldn't remember him smiling since those first few times before they were wed. Those forbidden times.

  And then he moved, sliding forward he filled her. God, that was good. It was probably sacrilegious to think of God at such a moment, but . . . And then thought faded away and he was all there was – moving, withdrawing, filling her again. Her still tender nerves cried for more.

  She pushed against him, trying to find that moment of release, but he held back, teasing.

  She looked up and met his eyes.

  And se saw more than she could ever remember seeing before.

  Even now. Even in this moment, she could see his pain. His loss.

  But there was more – so much more.

  She saw herself reflected in his eyes, saw an appreciation she had never even imagined.

  And then it was too much. She felt her world explode upon itself, every nerve shattering into a thousand pieces.

  #

  He had never felt anything like it. As the last of the shudders ran through his body, Richard lowered himself carefully beside Georgianna. He did not look at her, but kept his eyes fastened on the canopy.

  What had just happened?

  At the age of twenty-six a man did not suddenly expect to discover such a thing for the first time.

  He'd had orgasms before, plenty of them, in fact. But never before had he felt as if the world had been made anew, as if his whole body had been pulled apart with pleasure and then magically reborn.

  He felt better than he could ever remember feeling.

  It shamed him. Paul was dead and he had just . . .

  He didn't even know what to call it.

  Damn it all. All he had wanted was comfort, the feeling of two warm bodies pressed together in need.

  He hadn't expected this.

  Certainly hadn't wanted it.

  Except, blast it all, how could a man not want that?

  Most men wou
ld probably sell their very soul for it.

  Hell, he'd sell his soul for it.

  Only he felt as if he'd sold his brother's soul instead – and that he could not - would not allow.

  He glanced over at his wife, as she lay there, soft and rosy.

  He should take her in his arms. Women expected these things and he'd always complied. It was part of being a gentleman, most particularly when the woman involved was his wife.

  But not now – not when Paul was dead.

  He eased to his side of the bed, felt her glance at him and then away.

  Bloody hell. He didn't want to hurt her. He'd hurt her enough over the years – but he had nothing left in him.

  He would have left if it had been her bed they occupied, left without a word, waiting for morning light to bring the right answers – to bring any answers.

  But they were in his bed. He could hardly ask her to leave.

  At least she didn't talk. He could remember the early days of their marriage when he'd fallen asleep to the sound of her soft chatter – and awakened to . . .

  He pulled farther away, hugging the edge of the bed.

  He forced himself to remember his brother lying in his bed, cold and bloodless.

  All desire faded – but there was no mistaking the careful, measured breath of his wife, lying beside him.

  #

  It was hard to hold back the tears, to swallow the gasps of pain that filled her.

  She didn't understand what had happened. One moment she'd felt closer to Richard than she'd felt since – no, she'd felt closer to him than she'd ever felt – and the next it seemed a wall had risen between them, cold, hard stone.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Do not cry. Tears could not be allowed.

  She'd cried before him once and she never would again. Never.

  The desire rose within her to creep away to her own bed. She knew he would not stop her. He'd probably not even acknowledge that she'd gone. But that would be cowardly.

  And she was no longer a coward. She'd survived too long by herself not to know her own worth.

  And now there was Robbie to think of. He would grow up knowing his mother was brave and strong. He would never know the young girl who had given up on love without a fight.