But the wooing he started now would have to be finished later, after they were wed. The sun was rising, and he could hear the distant din of people getting about their day. For now, all he truly wanted was to reassure her that kissing him would not be torment.
“Then we should do it right, don’t you think?” he asked.
“Is there a wrong way?”
“Hardly.” He took her braid and began to unravel the plaited strands. “But some ways are more pleasing than others.”
Dear God, but her hair was more glorious than he’d imagined, reaching past her bottom, a thick luxurious curtain of liquid mahogany. Who the deuce established the rule that women should wear their hair up?
Combing his fingers along her scalp, he brought her hair forward. Surrounded by a frame of dark reddish-brown tresses, the harsh planes of her face retreated, her eyes grew softer, her cheeks not so sharp. Younger. She appeared remarkably younger.
He hadn’t expected the loosening of her hair to change his perception of her to such a degree. She wasn’t beautiful; he didn’t think she’d ever be a beauty. But neither was she stark lines. Neither was she unattractive.
He cradled her delicate face between his large hands. He hadn’t realized until he tilted it toward him that it did indeed appear fragile, like hand-blown glass that could be easily shattered by carelessness. He’d deliberately not worn his gloves, wanted to give her an opportunity to demand a chaste marriage if his touch offended her, but she seemed not to notice the roughness of his palms.
Instead her eyes took on a dreamlike stare, as though she thought he was about to bestow upon her some fine gift. A part of him wished he’d never instigated this moment; another part of him was terrified of disappointing her, failing her as he’d failed Margaret.
But no hope existed for him now, no possibility of turning back. He’d set his course, suggested they get this phase of courtship out of the way. No turning back, he thought again. Even if she didn’t relish his kiss or his rough hands. He would take her father’s money, give her a child, and kiss her while doing it.
He lowered his mouth to hers.
The brush of his lips over hers jolted Georgina into awareness. She’d begun to think he’d never get around to it, and when he finally did…such a brief thing. Like a butterfly landing on a petal and then deciding it saw a prettier flower.
After all the preparation of removing her from her horse, loosening her hair, cupping her cheeks, and angling her face as though he didn’t trust her to know how to meet his mouth—which she didn’t, but that was beside the point—she’d expected something more.
His mouth returned to hers, the pressure subtly more as his fingers slid into her hair and his thumbs skimmed over her cheeks in slow, sensuous circles. His mouth was larger, and yet it somehow seemed to fit perfectly.
Then he parted his lips slightly and whipped his tongue along her mouth, from one corner to the other, over the top, along the bottom, across the seam, claiming territory that until this moment had belonged exclusively to her. She’d never expected a kiss to entail a man taking this much liberty. Was this what he’d meant by doing it right?
Did Lauren know a kiss involved more than lips? That a man’s tongue also played? And when a man kissed a woman from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and everywhere in between, did he use his tongue then as well? Did he stroke and swirl and apply pressure—
“Open your mouth.”
His voice carried an urgency that had her obeying without a second thought. His fingers clutched the sides of her head as his tongue swept through her mouth. Boldly, brazenly. Strange how the heat created by their mouths spread through her limbs all the way down to her soles. Tendrils of pleasure reached out and curled inward. He shouldn’t have taken her off her horse, because her legs were growing too weak to support her.
As though sensing her struggle to remain standing, he wrapped one arm tightly around her and pressed her flush against his chest. He groaned low, and she felt the rumble vibrate against her breasts, over them, through them.
She couldn’t expect him to do all the work, to keep her upright, so she wound her arms around his neck. He had such a firm neck, corded muscles she hadn’t expected of a gentleman.
But neither had she expected this slow burning that promised to consume. Heated mouths, hot tongues, clutching hands. She’d always thought of Englishmen as prudes, had expected his kiss to be civilized, but the sensations rippling through her with increasing intensity bordered on barbaric. She wanted to moan, thought she might have moaned again and again as his hand slid lower and his fingers dug into her backside, pressing her firmly against him, her stomach to his hips, to the place in between. Against the startling evidence that he desired her.
She hadn’t expected that. She’d hoped, of course, but she hadn’t expected it to come about simply because of a kiss. But then she hadn’t known a kiss would be like this: consuming, passionate, wild.
Completely uncivilized. For the first time, she felt as though they were on even ground.
Abruptly he drew back, breathing harshly, as though he fought for each intake of air. His gaze was as intense as his kiss had been. She wondered if her lips were as swollen as his, if his tingled as hers did.
She watched him swallow. He cleared his throat and swallowed again.
She felt bereft as he loosened his hold on her. He wrapped his hands around hers, moved them away from his neck, and brought them to his mouth. His hot breath skimmed over her knuckles as he studied her. She wondered what he was thinking. If he’d found her wanton, practically undulating against him, moaning. She was pretty certain a kiss was supposed to be a silent thing.
He was probably appalled by her lack of decorum.
She was grateful they hadn’t waited until they were in the church to share their first kiss. She would have humiliated them both. She lowered her eyes. “We won’t kiss like that in church.”
“I should hope not.”
Devon watched as the red splotches appeared on her face. She was embarrassed. Had he ever known a woman who was so easy to read?
Or so quick to rouse to passion?
By God, she’d been like a piece of kindling with a match held against it, quickly flaring into a full-blown inferno. Not that he’d been much better.
He’d wanted her. Here in the park. It had taken all the willpower he could muster not to drag her off to some secluded spot and have his way with her.
He hadn’t expected that reaction, hadn’t been prepared for the fire licking at his loins or the desire that continued to burn through him. She tasted so damnably sweet and responded with such innocence, tiny mewling moans that had only served to heighten his fervor.
He tucked his knuckles beneath her chin and lifted her face until he could hold her gaze. He’d thought her eyes a dull brown, but when ignited with passion they were a mahogany shade as rich as her hair. He was no doubt the first to discover that aspect of her. It made him feel protective, possessive even.
He had a feeling she was going to riddle his life with surprises.
“However, we shall kiss like that on our wedding night.”
He grazed his thumb over the winsome smile she offered him, so apparently filled with gratitude that once again she humbled him. For the span of a heartbeat, he regretted theirs was not a love match.
He tossed aside the guilt. Since she had not found love before him, he thought it unlikely she would find it later. He would ensure she had the child she so desperately wanted. And perhaps he could offer her a bit of fondness as well.
“I shall escort you home.”
She nodded shyly and reached back to gather up her hair.
“Leave it,” he ordered.
The well-trained horses had wandered off to nibble on some nearby grass. Devon retrieved Georgina’s saddle from the spot where she’d left it earlier. He found it difficult to believe that she preferred riding without a saddle. But he was quickly learning that she was not the most conventio
nal of women.
He strode to the horses and saddled Georgina’s. Then he grabbed the reins of both horses and walked to her.
He extended his arm, and she entwined hers around his. As he escorted her from the park, he enjoyed her hair, in wild disarray, billowing around her in the breeze.
She was as untamed as the land from which she’d come.
Chapter 8
A s though she was handling a newly born baby, Georgina carefully folded her softest nightgown and placed it at the bottom of her valise. She should have been filled with anticipation and excitement at the prospect of being married.
Instead she simply felt numb, going through the motions, her stomach in knots. Tomorrow night Devon was going to kiss her as he had this morning and take the kiss farther.
If he worked such magical sensations with his mouth, what in the world would he accomplish when his entire body was involved?
“I don’t know why Huntingdon had to rush into a wedding,” Lauren’s mother said, obviously irritated, as she placed items in Georgina’s small trunk.
She’d offered to send up a servant to do the packing, but Georgina wasn’t comfortable with strangers handling her intimate apparel.
“I think it’s romantic,” Lauren said as she sat in a chair, sipping her tea and watching their efforts.
Her mother glared at her. “It’s given us no time to set up a proper trousseau.”
“I have everything I need,” Georgina assured her.
Lady Ravenleigh—Georgina had such a difficult time thinking of her as such; the name made her seem so unapproachable although her manners didn’t—ceased her fussing over things and smiled warmly. “I think a man would be content if a wedding consisted of nothing more than a handshake, but for a woman”—she sighed—“women dream of this day. It should be special.”
Georgina smiled brightly. “How can it not be special? I’m getting married.”
She still couldn’t believe it. What if Devon came to his senses by dawn and didn’t show up? She wasn’t sure if she’d be mortified or relieved.
Lauren released a tiny squeal, shot out of the chair, grabbed her hands, and swung her around as she had when they were children. Only then they’d spun until they grew dizzy and collapsed in laughing fits on a bed of soft green clover.
“I think it’s splendid!” Lauren cried before they made do with the bed and landed on the thick mattress. “You’re getting married! You’re actually getting married!”
“Unless Huntingdon comes to his senses and doesn’t show.”
“Oh, he won’t do that,” Lauren rushed to assure her.
“Lauren!” her mother chastised her.
“I didn’t mean coming to his senses. He’s sensible, indeed, to marry Gina. I simply meant he won’t cry off.”
“He might,” Georgina suggested cautiously.
“It’s simply not done. You could sue him for breach of promise.”
Which he could little afford. Georgina sat up. “Then I guess we can count on having a wedding in the morning.”
“I should hope,” Lady Ravenleigh said. “I have everything arranged. Our family will drive to the church in one carriage. You and your father will arrive in another. Gray horses, of course.”
“Of course,” Georgina murmured. It was as though these people lived within an elaborate play with nothing left to chance.
“Following the wedding, we shall return here for the breakfast. You will, of course, at that point travel in Lord Huntingdon’s carriage.” She shook her head. “I really feel as though I should have invited people.”
“I just wanted a small, intimate gathering.” In truth she would have foregone the breakfast altogether—but it simply wasn’t done.
Lady Ravenleigh held up her hands and stepped back from the trunk. “I really must check on the wedding cake.” She walked around the bed and hugged Georgina. “Your mother and I were such dear friends.” She leaned back. “So, I feel I should speak to you about”—she cleared her throat and wrinkled her brow—“what you can expect when you retire tomorrow evening.”
Georgina felt Lauren go perfectly still beside her.
Lady Ravenleigh glanced at her daughter. “Lauren, why don’t you run and check with the cook to make sure all is ready?”
Lauren thrust up her delicate chin. “Because I want to hear what you have to say. I’m old enough.”
Lady Ravenleigh’s cheeks burned red as she nodded slightly. She cleared her throat again and took Georgina’s hands. “Regarding the marriage act. It’s a very intimate moment between a husband and a wife. And you simply have to realize it’s a very natural…expression…of…love.” She cocked her head to the side. “Have you any questions?”
Georgina fought back her smile. “I don’t think so.”
Lady Ravenleigh appeared genuinely relieved. “Lovely. Should you think of some, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m going to check on the status of the cake.”
As soon as Lauren’s mother had left the room, Lauren fell backward across the bed. “She didn’t tell you anything!”
“She’s not at all comfortable discussing it.”
Lauren shoved herself off the bed and began to pace. “She said it was a very intimate moment. Do you think it only takes a moment, sixty seconds?”
Georgina felt the heat suffuse her face. “I don’t know.”
Lauren stopped pacing and screwed up her face as though it would help her decipher her mother’s cryptic words. “I should think it would take all night.”
“Why?”
“Well, because it’s done at night in bed. Since it has a special place, a special time, it must take all night. Don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t take a horse very long.”
Lauren groaned. “But that’s a beast! Besides, if a man is kissing you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, it could take all night. Especially if he kisses you slowly.”
Georgina nodded contemplatively. “Devon does take his time kissing.”
She thought Lauren’s eyes were going to pop out of her head.
“What?” Lauren fairly shrieked. “Where?”
“On my mouth.”
“I know on your mouth, silly goose. I meant where were you when he kissed you?”
“At the park this morning.”
“Scandalous.” Lauren sat beside her on the bed and took her hand, grinning broadly. “Deliciously scandalous. What was it like?”
How could she explain it? “It was terrifying.”
“My God, he hurt you?” Lauren asked indignantly. “You’ll cry off, then. You don’t have to marry him—”
“No, no.” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Two grown women who knew so little and assumed so much. “He didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite, and that’s what’s unsettled me.”
She darted a quick glance around the room, trying to find words that would express what she’d felt. “I could barely stand, Lauren. I melted like a pool of wax. And he was so strong, sure, confident. I felt lost and confused. All this swirling going on, drifting into a fog of…well, of passion. I hadn’t expected that. And he said that’s how we’ll kiss on our wedding night.”
He’d tasted heavenly. His breath mingling with hers. His tongue rough on one side, velvety on the other. She was embarrassed she’d spent a good deal of the day wondering if he might kiss her body with that tongue. How would he do it if he did, and how would it feel?
“It sounds to me as though making love definitely takes all night,” Lauren said.
Georgina couldn’t stop herself from grinning. “I’m fairly certain it takes more than a moment.”
Lauren leaned toward her. “Are you scared?”
“I’m nervous about tomorrow, and I worry that during the long haul I won’t fit in. All the rules make me feel like I’ve got no freedom.”
“You’ll have more freedom than if you married someone in Texas. There you’d be tied to the person, to the land, to struggling to survive. Her
e you can engage in the activities that interest you, and your husband will do the things that interest him. Sometimes husbands and wives even arrive separately at balls.”
“That’s not freedom, Lauren. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not freedom. Do you know if that’s the kind of marriage Huntingdon had with his first wife?”
Lauren shrugged. “As I mentioned, we seldom saw them.”
“What was she like?” Georgina asked.
Lauren hopped up and began to quickly place items into the trunk. “What does it matter? She’s dead, and he’s marrying you.”
Georgina reached across the bed and grabbed Lauren’s hand, stilling her frantic actions. “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
Lauren sighed. “Amazingly beautiful.”
“Did he love her very much?”
“Afraid so.”
Georgina laughed. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I didn’t mean I was scared,” Lauren said.
“I know. I’m glad he loved her. I won’t have to feel guilty that he’s spending the rest of his life with someone he couldn’t possibly love.”
“He might love you, Gina.”
She began folding her dressing gown. “And tomorrow morning the sun might rise in the west.”
Chapter 9
G eorgina thought she would forever remember her wedding day as the happiest day in her father’s life.
As they stood on the steps leading into the church, she decided his beaming face was reason enough to have agreed to this marriage. She had little doubt his jaws would be aching before all was said and done.
A part of her, the portion that harbored dreams, was glad for this day as well. She wore a gown of white brocaded silk. Her veil of Honiton lace wreathed with tiny white roses fell almost to her knees. With the slight breeze wafting around her, causing the lace to flutter, she felt almost dainty. Elegant.
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