by Jilian Rouge
“Of course, my lady,” he said, before announcing, “The solicitor, Mr. Bancroft, is awaiting you just inside the library.”
“Thank you. Has Rafe arrived yet?”
The startled look on the butler’s face told her he hadn’t heard the latest news—that the last surviving heir to the Lyonscar title should be due any minute. While she was so preoccupied with her own worries, she hadn’t thought to tell the staff to expect him home—a major lapse of memory on her part.
“My lady?” Godwin asked, in a voice that shook mildly with suppressed emotion. “Can it be true?”
Before Georgie could reply, the front door behind her swung wide open to reveal Rafe, still dressed in the evening clothes from the ball two days before. Godwin gasped at the sight of him, tears of relief and happiness welling on the lower lids of his eyes.
“Master Raphael! Or should I say, Your Grace, welcome home,” Godwin said formally with a slight bow.
Rafe swept through the front entrance, his eyes landing on Georgie with an inscrutable look. With such an intense look directed at her, she felt her insides tighten. But just as quickly as he delivered her that look, he switched his gaze on Godwin’s form and strode up to the smaller, older man. Catching the man with a firm grip on both of his shoulders, Rafe warmly said, “Thank you, Godwin. It’s good to finally be home, but it’s odd to hear you say the words ‘Your Grace’ and not have you referring to my father.”
Sadly, Godwin replied, “Have you heard then? About your father and your brother?”
In a lower tone and with his eyes cast down, Rafe answered, “Yes. I heard the news a few days ago from my wife.” Pinning his gaze once more on Georgie, he added, “If it weren’t for our chance meeting at Ravenscroft, I don’t suppose I would have found out about them until I arrived here.”
Georgie felt the weight of his penetrating gaze sear right through her, rendering her frozen under his stare. How on earth did the youth she had once known turn into this wild barbarian wearing only a sheer veneer of sophistication? She felt an odd twist in her belly at his steady yet unreadable gaze, wondering what he possibly could be thinking when he looked at her.
Since he arrived back in England, every moment he saw Georgie felt like it was the first time he laid eyes on her, always discovering something new about her to admire. Standing apart from her, he could fully appreciate seeing her within the environs of his ancestral home, fulfilling his five-year-long dream of returning to home, hearth, and his wife. And all it would take to envelop her into his arms once again was a few simple strides in her direction.
Godwin prevented him from snatching her up into his arms when he addressed Rafe, “I believe Mr. Bancroft, your father’s solicitor, is waiting for the both of you inside the library. While you are conferring with him, I will see to readying the master bedchamber for your use.” Godwin opened the library doors, ushering first Georgie through them, and then Rafe.
Nodding at Godwin before the butler closed the library doors behind him, Rafe followed Georgie further into the room. Mr. Bancroft was already seated at a desk, papers neatly piled in front of him, and he stood at Georgie’s approach, helping her into a plush seat.
Looking gravely at the both of them, Mr. Bancroft began by addressing Rafe, “Your Grace, as glad as I am to see you, please accept my sincerest condolences for your tragic loss. I almost despaired of word reaching to you about the sad news in time.”
Furrowing a brow, Rafe asked once he occupied the other seat facing Mr. Bancroft, “I take it that if I wasn’t in time, someone else stood to inherit the title and estate?”
Straightforwardly, Mr. Bancroft answered, “Yes, a distant cousin in Scotland would have been your closest next of kin to inherit in the event that you hadn’t returned. But that’s a moot point now that you are here. And of course, you will have to present to the Crown Office in the House of Lords your claim to your new title.”
Nodding in agreement, Rafe acknowledged, “Of course, but I don’t plan on traveling to London anytime soon. And there is a matter of a pardon promised me for my, er, illustrious career on the high seas. The Naval Office can vouch for my conduct these past four years.”
Georgie glanced at Rafe, and as the only other person in the room who was aware of what transpired that first year, she wondered if he would make mention of it.
Mr. Bancroft readily smiled and said, “Well, I am sure that the king would not look favorably upon one of his own dukes being clapped in irons. And I don’t believe he will begin to start that tradition any time soon.” The solicitor then shifted his attention to the papers he had set aside and picked up a few pages. “Back to the matter at hand, Your Grace, but shall we commence with the reading?”
Nodding his assent, Rafe blew out a quick exhalation in preparation. After all, the words he was about to hear would be akin to hearing his father’s own words, reaching him from the grave. He glanced quickly at Georgie, who looked a little pale for his liking, but she answered his look with a small smile of encouragement. That small smile buoyed him for what was to come, and he was tremendously grateful for her presence, for not allowing him to go through this alone. Later, he could tell her how grateful he was, but they both must endure the next few moments together before he can gain a moment alone with her.
…
Much later, Rafe emerged from the library, wearied and saddened that it had taken the loss of his father and his older brother for him to gain an enviable title. And with it, a vast amount of wealth that surpassed what he himself acquired while at sea. He was no longer just Captain Raphael Griffiths, but the eleventh Duke of Lyonscar.
Georgie had left earlier in the session, since her part in his father’s will was a small provision for his one and only daughter-in-law. For her part in helping run Lyonscar Castle, his father had generously provided one of the unentailed properties, Partridge Cottage, for her use as she saw fit. After that, Mr. Bancroft had dismissed her to speak with Rafe privately.
It was a good thing Georgie had left, for he had shed copious tears at hearing his father’s own words through the baritone of Mr. Bancroft. His father had loved him in his own rough way, but the evidence was there nonetheless. His father had wanted him home but had understood that his marriage with Georgie was a complicated matter, especially since his father had blamed himself for bungling it. But it wasn’t entirely his father’s fault; he should have told her the truth in the beginning. Friends didn’t tell each other lies, and he hadn’t been a good friend to Georgie for withholding such vital information from her.
As much as he wanted the past changed, Rafe could only work with what he had in the present to ensure a better future. And to do that, it was imperative that he seek out Georgie and finally have that talk. But he had to know where to look for her, so Godwin helpfully supplied that she was last seen heading towards her rooms, the Blue Dahlia suite. Frowning, Rafe knew that was one of the more lavish guest suites, having been personally decorated by his late mother. As she was now his duchess and by all rights, he would see to having her things moved promptly into the duchess’ chambers. To hell with her wanting a divorce, he thought darkly.
Only, she wasn’t in her rooms as he was informed by her lady’s maid. Or she had been earlier that morning, but she had left for her studio in the west wing. Not knowing where her studio was, he asked Godwin on his way towards the west side of the house for its location. From Godwin, he learned that Georgie’s studio was chosen for its lighting, as natural light always poured in through its windows during the day. And so, onward he went towards the Gold Cube Room.
Struggling to keep his temper in check, Rafe walked calmly through the door held slightly ajar and beheld his wife who did not notice his entrance. Her back was to him, but she was heavily engrossed in the canvas she studied before her. Bringing his attention to the subject on the canvas had him sputtering soon after, as it was one of the most erotic pieces he had ever seen.
The artist had captured a beautiful woman, clearly nude,
while lying back amongst pillows with only a sheet to cover her at her waist. One long line of leg emerged from the sheet, crooked at the knee, while the other stretched out and splayed at an angle. One dainty hand cleverly disappeared below the sheet, appearing as a small mound just between her legs, hinting, but not revealing what the subject was actually doing to herself. The look of blissful pleasure on the woman’s face made it evident that she was pleasuring herself, giving the viewer an intimate, heated look as she did so.
Georgie must have heard his wild choke and whirled on him in surprise. “Rafe! What are you doing here?” She rushed to place a heavy sheet over top the painting, but she blushed bright red at the knowledge that he must have already seen it. Pitifully, she dropped the sheet as it was already pointless to cover it up. Rafe was a smart man; if he had found her in her studio, it wouldn’t take much to put two and two together for him to comprehend that the painting was one of hers.
To his credit, he did fully grasp the situation since he quietly said, “I always knew you were a talented artist.” Georgie jumped as she thought he was reaching a hand towards her, but he moved past her towards the painting, his hand still outstretched.
“My god, Georgie! You have outdone yourself with capturing this woman’s very soul! Your painting is practically living and breathing as you continue to stare at it,” he raved.
Wincing a little at his compliments as they were clearly not what she expected from him, she asked, “You’re not scandalized at all by my chosen subject matter?”
“Why would I be when I have always found your talent to be one of the best parts about you?” he asked, still entranced by the painting. “I’ve seen all kinds of art and have been moved by famous artists, but none have stirred as strong a response in me as your work right here. You did this? But how?”
Relieved that he wasn’t going to scold her as she feared he might, she answered, “I did an initial sketch of the Countess in one sitting from which I painted a larger canvas from the sketch. All of my clients seek discretion for such portraits as they are usually requested by doting husbands for their wives. Or in some cases, their mistresses.”
Rafe’s eyes widened at her confession, but he puffed up with pride inside for his enterprising wife. She had found a way to encourage her talent, and, in his mind, she had done it in the best way possible. He liked that she flaunted the rules behind the ton’s back and still managed to keep her reputation fully intact. His pirate’s blood loved that she had the heart of a rebel while still remaining quintessentially his Georgie, the fun-loving but ‘proper’ girl he had grown up with.
“A countess, eh? That isn’t very discretionary of you, telling me who she is,” he teased with a soft smile.
“Well, it’s all your fault that my head is all a muddle!” she accused. “I have never had cause to discuss my clients with anyone. Neither has anyone other than my clients themselves viewed any of these paintings.”
“Then I am honored to be the first to have seen one and to tell you that I deeply admire this particular work. You know that I have always admired everything you’ve ever drawn or painted,” he said disarmingly.
Georgie shivered at that last remark, recalling the numerous times he had complimented her on random sketches or portraits she had done. But the way he said it made her tense inside, especially when it was accompanied with a flash of emotion she had found there in his eyes. He unnerved her with his close proximity, and he didn’t even have to work hard to do so. She could feel herself heavily resisting the pull he had on her, but she had to remain firm in her resolve. She could not let Rafe Griffiths bring her low a second time.
Distractedly, she pulled the sheet fully over the painting once more, since the action broke contact with his unsettling gaze. Moving about gave her something to do other than tremble underneath such a stare. Rafe stood unmoving behind her now as she fussed with the sheet, and she could feel that same stare penetrating through her.
“Thank you,” she said in a bright tone, one that hid the bout of nerves that suddenly arose. “I do remember the many times you’ve said as much.”
Unexpectedly, Rafe brought down a gentle but firm hand on each of her shoulders, their warmth seeping through her day dress and into her skin. She gasped at the contact but did not dare move, trying to anticipate what he would do next.
He stepped in close so that her back was flush with his front, alarm blaring brightly inside her. But his large size and the heat of his body against hers made her feel oddly secure and dainty, a dangerous feeling. He nosed at her left earlobe, his breath hot on the sensitive skin there. Slowly, her resolve was melting against a few touches here and there; Rafe was very good at seduction, only was it proper to compliment him for it like he did earlier about her art?
She had to stop this, but she couldn’t keep her head when he was kissing the side of her neck. In a drastic effort to regain her sense of balance back, she said, “Our marriage is over. I’m leaving Lyonscar after tonight.” Oh, but her declaration came out breathy and soft, so unlike the firm voice she wanted to use when she uttered it. There was no way Rafe would have heard conviction there in her tone.
He remained unmoved by what she said and continued leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses on the underside of her jaw. He murmured, “Not without me, firecracker. If you go anywhere, it will be with me or with me following after you. Take your pick.”
In one swift movement, Rafe twirled her to face him, crashing her soft, pliant body against his hard, aroused one. With whatever spell Rafe had cast on her with his kisses, Georgie could no longer think of excuses not to kiss him. She wanted to kiss him so badly, as she had sorely missed being kissed by someone as skillful and masterful as Rafe. In fact, she hadn’t had anyone kiss her quite like Rafe had.
Without further thought, she stood on tiptoe to meet her mouth with his, damning herself once again.
9
Rafe lowered his head to touch his lips to hers, meeting her halfway. Together, they met the storm of fiery passion head-on, wrapped up wholly in the give-and-take of a desire too great. Georgie immediately lost her mind to the turbulent emotions his kisses evoked, feeling ultimately possessed by this man who ravished her mouth expertly. Adrift on wave after wave of urgent fervency, Georgie soon found herself enfolded within Rafe’s arms, gripping her tightly to himself.
It was too late for Georgie to pull back now, not when the aching sweetness lying just beneath the voracity of his lips held her in thrall. He held her firmly within his embrace while a mounting hunger between them increased in ferocity, and soon they were caught up in a frenzy of desire and pure, unadulterated need.
Swept up in a maelstrom of intense sensations, Georgie forgot all of her reasons for why she shouldn’t be doing this. But she had been starved for physical affection for a long time, and Rafe was effectively stirring up overlong, unplumbed depths of passion hidden inside her. His tongue had no business being in her mouth, but yet, there she was, giving him license to avidly sample her taste.
If Georgie had wanted slow and sweet, she would have chosen a very different man than Rafe to show her how a proper English gentleman would make love. No, being here with Rafe was as tumultuous a ride as galloping on her favorite mare at breakneck speed. And the speed at which her own body had turned traitor on her! It was a wonder that her clothes haven’t completely melted off at the fiery heat rising within her, heat that had been superbly stoked by a master seducer.
Dimly aware that what they were doing was completely and legally sanctioned by both the church and the law, Georgie found herself rationalizing why giving in to her own passions with her own husband was totally acceptable. No one would gainsay her right and privilege to enjoy the pleasures that could be found within Rafe’s arms; she would worry about the aftermath later.
Right now, she watched, fascinated, as Rafe bared one breast to his hungry gaze and proceeded to set off tiny fireworks within her as he played with her nipple, using only his tongue. Still watching, Rafe
looked up at her before he swallowed her nipple whole. While there, he forcefully suckled, causing her to gasp. Groaning, she closed her eyes and threw her head back as she luxuriated in the feel of the pulsing sensations radiating from her breast and spreading throughout her body.
After moving on to her other breast and without breaking suction, Rafe hastily caught her up in his arms, moving her to a nearby workbench. None too gently, he dumped her bottom onto the edge of the table and resumed devouring her mouth with his, while fumbling hurriedly with her clothing to bare more of her.
It took little time for Rafe to bare all of her, and he stood back to fully appreciate the erotic picture she made sitting naked among her paints and brushes. She sat there, confident and regal in posture, unashamed of her nudity. He duly noted the changes in her body since he saw her thus, and he delighted in the shapely, womanly curves he would soon explore. He had already found that one of her breasts overflowed his hand, and he had yet to discover if her lower cleft was still sensitive to his touch.
