The Kiss

by Sophia Nash

  Sophia Nash

  The Kiss

  To Grayson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Moderation,” Georgiana Wilde breathlessly cautioned her husband of several hours,…

  Chapter 1

  Thank goodness you’re returned, Quinn,” the dowager marchioness said, rushing…

  Chapter 2

  The last chore of the day coincided with the last…

  Chapter 3

  “But my dear Georgiana,” Ata St. Aubyn, the Dowager Duchess…

  Chapter 4

  If Georgiana had known how awkward it would be to…

  Chapter 5

  “Where were you last night?”

  Chapter 6

  Georgiana kissed him with every ounce of her being. She…

  Chapter 7

  Georgiana had managed to avoid any chance meeting with Quinn…

  Chapter 8

  A fortnight passed, with Georgiana taking every opportunity to be…

  Chapter 9

  They waded past the shallows and Georgiana lowered herself into…

  Chapter 10

  God, what was happening?

  Chapter 11

  Georgiana awoke in her tiny bedchamber at her parents’ cottage…

  Chapter 12

  Georgiana didn’t see Quinn again until the end of the…

  Chapter 13

  Georgiana twirled a single fragrant stem of dog rose between…

  Chapter 14

  Georgiana looked disbelievingly at the tiny drops of blood on…

  Chapter 15

  Georgiana, you know there’s really no need for you to…

  Chapter 16

  It was amazing what money could do very quickly when…

  Chapter 17

  The lovely early autumn day was at odds with Georgiana’s…

  Chapter 18

  “Lord Ellesmere!” Mr. Brown shouted while running from the stables as…

  Chapter 19

  Luck. It was amazing how poor Georgiana’s blasted luck was…

  Chapter 20

  One could only stay in hiding for so long. And…

  Epilogue

  The old lady flitted the feathered edge of her quill…

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  July 20—to do

  - review Penrose’s ledgers

  - distribute quarterly wages to all servants/laborers

  - look to having carriages repainted/yokes replaced

  - pack personal effects

  - get married…maybe

  “Moderation,” Georgiana Wilde breathlessly cautioned her husband of several hours, “is the key to happiness.”

  The Marquis of Ellesmere’s deep baritone chuckle filled the vast, elegantly appointed bedchamber that had served twelve generations of Fortesques very well. “Yes, but my dear, there are times when excess has its merits. And I do believe”—with a wolfish look Anthony swallowed the last of the brandy in his glass—“wedding nights fall into that category.”

  He turned her around like a recalcitrant child. “You’ll have to stop gripping your arms if I’m to get this gown off you,” he murmured, then nuzzled her neck.

  Georgiana’s insides roiled, yet she immediately released her elbows and stifled the urge to squirm under Anthony’s tickling breath. This was every bit as embarrassing as she had imagined it would be. He was working the buttons at the back of her gown and she was precisely eight pieces of clothing away from utter embarrassment—one gown, one corset, one shift, two shoes, two stock—

  Without warning her gown whooshed over her head and a button snagged her hair. “Ow!”

  Anthony chuckled again and gently extricated the offending article. “It serves you right for dismissing poor Harris.”

  “Honestly, you didn’t really expect me to undress in front of your mother’s maid of forty years, did you?”

  “Mmmm…” He had his face buried in her hair and she felt his fingers searching for pins.

  “Why, when you asked for congratulations, Harris’s lips became more pursed than the time you bit into an unripe persimmon.” Now she was babbling and her voice sounded high and unnatural, even to her own ears. She was certain normal women did not bring up fruit on their wedding night.

  She shivered but resisted the urge to wrap her arms about her shift-clad body again. Surely there was not one Ellesmere marchioness in the illustrious family tree who had had such a plain and frayed garment. And her serviceable corset with the yellowed whalebone sticking out…Well, Anthony had known what he was getting when he persisted in this ridiculous—

  “Stay still.” Anthony’s arm snaked around her waist and he lifted her to stand in front of the bedpost. She grasped the finely turned rosewood and exhaled as her new husband—she still couldn’t believe she had gone through with it—stroked a finger from her nape to the top of her corset. “You’re not turning missish, are you? Most ladies of eight and twenty are over that sort of thing.”

  “Stop being ridiculous. I’m not…” she stammered, “I’m just a little…”

  “Nervous?” he filled in, his lips nipping her earlobe. “I hope your mother hasn’t been filling your head with nonsense about duty and pain.”

  “No, she only suggested the rack would give more pleasure.” She felt his lips curl on her neck. “But I am to concentrate on the majesty of the Fortesque jewels.”

  Humor crawled into his voice. “Your mother is interested in the family jewels, is she?” He threw back his head and laughed before gathering her to his barrel-shaped chest. “You may tell her they were much larger than you expected.”

  “Well, if all else fails, I’m to put my mind to good use by planning my future role.”

  “As if you needed any inducement to make more of those confounded lists of yours.” He slowly spun her around and wrapped his arms about her before lifting her to her toes and planting all-consuming kisses on her eyes, her nose, and finally her lips. She inhaled sharply and registered the smoky scent of his neck cloth. It was the sickly sweet aroma she had recently learned was the favored amusement of jaded gentlemen and worldly ladies…opium.

  “Now, there’ll be no more nonsense about duty and torture.” His fingers skimmed the top edges of her corset and shift, searching and finding the little bow. “But since you’re so fond of plans, let me tell you what I plan to do to you. No, I see that look in your eye. I’ve spent years and years thinking about this night, and now I’ll have the pleasure of telling you all about it, since we’re properly married and you no longer have to pretend to be shocked.”

  Her nerves almost deserted her when the familiar dangerous glint appeared in his darkening eyes.

  A short, piercing shriek echoed from the corridor on the other side of the locked bedchamber door. The unmistakable high-pitched voices of Anthony’s mother, sisters, and Mrs. Harris whistled through the room’s cracks.

  “You’re entirely mistaken, Harris,” his mother’s voice echoed. “Anthony gave me his word he wouldn’t marry without my approval. He’s merely enticed by that loose-moraled, scheming—”

  “She was a-wearin’ the ruby-and-diamond ring.”

  “Not Granny’s,” moaned a voice that sounded a lot like his younger sister’s.

  “I saw it wif me own eyes.”

  Harris never could hide her cockney roots when she was in a snit, thought Georgiana.

  “Anthony,” she whispered. “You said you’d informed your mother, and furthermore, she’d be away another three days. Oh, this is unbearable. What are we to do?”

  “And I suppose when you say we you really mean me, if past history is any indica
tion.”

  “You don’t really expect me to go out there, do you?” That was the thing about Tony. You never could really be sure.

  “Well, if you just stick your hand out the door and show them the bloody ring, that’ll quiet ’em right up. And then we can go straight back to my plans.” His eyes were twinkling, but the odd look in the rest of his expression couldn’t mask his concern. Facing judgement had never been one of Anthony’s preferred activities. Beating a hasty retreat until everything boiled over was much more his style.

  Anthony tugged at his neck cloth. “Oh, all right.”

  The rattle of the door handle rended the air. Georgiana grabbed her rumpled gown and threw it over her head, praying for something, anything, other than this awkward moment. “I’m not sure I’ll forgive you for this—at least not in this century.”

  “My dear, cover your ears. Consider it my first husbandly order.” He winked. “I think I could get used to that part of the vows.” Hopping on one leg, he put on his breeches quickly and stuffed in the edges of his long linen shirt. His familiar lopsided smile worked far better than any wicked wink at tugging at her heart. She dutifully covered her ears upon hearing an explosion of very unladylike language on the other side of the door.

  She loved the big imbecile, no matter how much she was tempted to wring his neck at times. It had been the way of things since they were three years old. Their nannies had been sisters from the village and had used every opportunity to join forces in attempting to corral their exuberant charges. Why, Tony’s antics and hair-raising schemes to avoid his long-suffering string of tutors during adolescence were legendary.

  And his actions as a man? Well, after one and a half very poorly executed years at Oxford, which were said to have been the cause of his father’s apoplexy and early demise, ten mysterious years had followed in London. Georgiana knew there were some who whispered he was a thoroughly debauched, dissipated rake without a shred of a conscience or a lick of common sense. And they were right.

  But only partially.

  There was also a heart of gold half buried under those years of depravity, and also years of guilt. It was why she was willing to help him find his way back to a productive way of life.

  And she’d do it because he was her best friend. Well…

  Well.

  If she couldn’t have her ridiculous childhood dream—and she couldn’t—then she could grab onto happiness with a man she could help. A man who needed her. A man who wanted her.

  A man who loved her.

  A loud crash intruded on her thoughts. She cautiously lifted her hands from her ears and realized Tony and his mother had boxed themselves up in the marchioness’s rooms adjacent to this suite. The very rooms from which Lady Ellesmere would be forced to remove in order to give way to Georgiana. God preserve her.

  “Anthony Edward Lawrence Fortesque, she is a—a—a peasant. No, worse than that. She’s the deformed spawn of a nobody. I will not share a house with that upstart—that conniving daughter of our steward. Think what your father would have said! Why, you must have this ridiculous union annulled right away. We shall call on our solicitor in town, and thank God I found this out in time before you consu—”

  “Mamma,” Anthony interjected. “Enough. It is done and I will not undo it. She is not a nobody. Our Mr. Wilde is a gentleman—merely impoverished. Wasn’t his cousin the earl of some shire or other? You will just have to learn how to live with her. She really is a darling girl and…and I love her. I’ve always—”

  “And her vile, common mother,” the marchioness interrupted. “Clearly her parents helped her hatch this evil plan and somehow they worked on you in secret to soften your tender sensibilities. And to think I was on the point of arranging for the Duke of Eddington’s daughter for you. She won’t have you now. But then perhaps we could hush this up. Now there’s an idea. I could prevail upon—”

  “Mamma,” Anthony said so quietly and tiredly that Georgiana could barely hear his voice through the wall. “Enough.”

  The sound of his footfalls came toward the connecting door before it opened and Georgiana could see the distraught form of Lady Ellesmere beyond. The virago’s face was bright scarlet, which hid quite effectively the faded beauty that had once graced the older lady’s countenance.

  The marchioness shook a finger at her. “Don’t you dare look at me—you scheming interloper. When I think of everything our family has done for yours. And this is how you repay us? Why, there is a special place in the devil’s home for girls like you. I shall not rest until this sham of a marriage is—”

  Anthony closed and bolted the door against his mother’s ranting and took five long steps toward the second bottle of brandy on his bedside table. Not bothering to pour the amber-colored liquid into a glass, he pulled huge gulps of the spirits directly from the bottle for long moments.

  Georgiana watched his Adam’s apple bob below the shadow cast by the putrid green bottle and resisted the urge to caution him. She’d never seen Anthony exude anything but charm and good humor during their younger years. The Anthony who had returned to Penrose had a dark and tired sort of malaise coursing beneath his worn, thin, cheerful façade.

  His mother still raged beyond; presumably her daughters and the housekeeper provided a more sympathetic audience. Georgiana heard something about London, a solicitor, and calling for a carriage while she crossed to Anthony and softly clasped his rigid back against the softness of her breasts. “Oh, Tony…”

  There was nothing more she could say. She could only swallow her hurt feelings. There was no purpose to regret, no chance to unravel what they had done. They must go forward, make a life together. At least she could promise a productive, useful life, even if she had to drag him to the point.

  She turned him into her arms and took hold of the now half-empty bottle and gently forced it from his lips. He looked down at her from his great height, his slightly dazed sloping eyes glittering in pain and disillusionment.

  “It’s all right,” she murmured, initiating for the first time an embrace with her new husband. “Everything will be right as rain in the morning, I promise. It always is. She’ll get used to the idea. And even if she doesn’t right away, I’ll do my best to—”

  He cut her off. “What have I done to you? I’m so sorry. I’ve always ruined everything. I should’ve thought how difficult this would be for you. But I only thought of myself. Georgiana, I was always selfish. I just wanted you for myself. You’re my Georgie girl—my friend, my conscience, my love. I promise I shall protect you and I’ll make this up to you. I will. See if I don’t.”

  “Shhhh,” she whispered as his lips came down to hers. The taste of the brandy wound ’round her senses and relaxed her slightly. It was strange how shared anxiety was binding her closer to her friend, more so than any of his overtly romantic tactics.

  He pulled away distractedly and began rubbing his left shoulder and arm while muttering more apologies. She tugged his hand to her mouth and kissed it softly before releasing it to stroke his overly long burnished gold hair, which gleamed in the candlelight.

  “Don’t, Tony. Don’t apologize. I’m glad we married. I know you love me.”

  He looked at her, a strange anxious look in his expression. “And you love me, don’t you? Finally…you love me.” He pushed a curl from her eyes. “Passionately? Ardently? At least devotedly?”

  She swallowed. “I have loved you forever.” She paused awkwardly and forced a smile to her lips. “Since the day you gave me Achilles.”

  He chuckled. “God, I’d forgotten that. He was the one with the back markings that looked like a map of Prussia, wasn’t he?”

  “Actually it was more like Italy,” she replied with a small smile.

  “It was very generous of me to give you that frog.”

  She thanked God the moment had passed. She hated to see his confidence waver. It made her feel very alone and unsafe.

  “I know,” she replied, making certain there was a hint of h
umor threading her voice. “In fact, I do believe I prefer that slimy creature over this ridiculous ring.”

  His lips twitched. “I knew we’d be back to jewelry eventually. But at least I’m prepared. Never say a Fortesque doesn’t know how to please his wife. Hmmm…wife. I like that word. It fits you perfectly—as perfectly as this will.” He slowly extracted a long rope of pearls from his pocket, all the while watching her face.

  “Oh, Tony…you shouldn’t. I mean, well, perhaps you should”—she smiled—“but really, all this is too much for one day.”

  “Shhhh…they’ll serve a very good purpose. You’re to bite them while I make love to you.” He nipped at her neck and tickled her until she collapsed onto the bed in a gale of laughter.

  Playfully holding her wrists in one hand, Anthony somehow managed to fully undress her and himself while he kissed her unmercifully. The last coherent thing she noted was the sound of the heavy front entryway door banging shut—presumably by the hands of the enraged marchioness—so forcefully that the very walls of Penrose seemed to shudder in pain, or perhaps relief.

  Tangled within the heavy bedcovers, Anthony proceeded to demonstrate the difference between friendship and love. And buried as Georgiana had been in the simple, raw life of Cornwall, she had no idea such things went on between a man and his wife. None of it even vaguely resembled what her mother had described in simple country terms. She’d known there would be kisses but hadn’t known he would remove every stitch of clothing. Hadn’t known that it would be so terribly embarrassing. He was supposed to just raise her night rail and his night shirt and then couple with her—painfully the first time. And then—

  “What is going on in that head of yours?” he asked, lifting his lips from the tip of her breast. His eyes were unnaturally glazed over as he pressed yet another kiss upon her. “If I can’t hear your sighs of approval now, I fear what I’ll hear later. Try to relax and enjoy this. You’re mine now, and I intend to remind you of that every night in this bed.”