Adelaide’s face softened. “Oh, puppy. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
He glanced away and fidgeted with his trousers. That was not a topic he wanted to discuss with Adelaide. He was having his own struggles with coming to terms with it. What he felt for his wife was overwhelming. Uncomfortable. Disconcerting. It made the ramifications of failure too daunting to even contemplate.
He cleared his throat roughly. “This discussion has been…eye-opening. Would you be able to procure some informative pamphlets or illustrations, perhaps? Directions? I need to be able to do this. For her. I need to be the man she wants.”
That made Adelaide frown, her pretty, slim brows pinching. “Fitzwilliam… You don’t need to change or be someone else to earn anyone’s love or affection. If she is requiring you to do something you’re not comfortable with, if she is pinning her happiness on you changing, frankly, she doesn’t deserve you at all. You are a rare, genuine man in this world, Fitzwilliam.”
“No one wants a genuine man who is nothing but vanilla custard in bed,” he muttered.
“None of that,” Adelaide said sharply, and Fitz’s gaze snapped back to hers. “You may be more nervous than most—”
Fitz snorted
She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine,muchmore nervous than most. But you are a phenomenal lover. You care so much about your partner’s pleasure, utterly selfless in bed. A rarity. You don’t need to be the Duke. You don’t need whips and knives—”
“Kn-knives,” he squeaked.
She waved him off. “My point is, you don’t need these things to satisfy your wife. Just because you don’t partake in these proclivities, it doesn’t make your lovemaking boring. Multiple orgasms that leave one brainless are notboring. Your cock being ready within minutes for another round is notboring.”
He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He knew her words were true…but it didn’t help. Because his wife wanted those things—Lord, he hoped she didn’t want knives—and he wanted to give her those things.
Adelaide studied him, lips pursed. “I wish I could give you confidence, darling. So many men who don’t deserve it have it. And you, you surely are worthy of it in spades.”
He lifted his head and smiled weakly at her. “I wish it were only that easy.”
“I am going to help you, darling. I will procure some things for you. Fortunately for you, I know all the right people for this. I should only require a day or two, and then I will deliver them. In the meantime, if you have a copy ofFanny Hill,I would recommend you start there. Specifically,Letter XII think you will find most enlightening.”
Fitz left his mistress’s flat feeling slightly better. He had a plan; he had an assignment to focus on. Fitz enjoyed studying. He enjoyed books. This was perfect for him. He would treat it like any other subject taught at Oxford. This lecture just happened to be onThe Principles of Pleasure and Sexual Proclivities.
He was determined to get top marks.
31
Georgiana
Georgianawandereddownthehallway of her husband’s small London town house. It was brightly lit with gold wall sconces and cream wallcoverings. There was no artwork, no bric-a-brac, no portraits, no personal artifacts. No signs of life. The entire house seemed that way, actually. Except for her husband’s study, one wouldn’t have realized someone lived here.
Which she supposed wasn’t surprising given what she’d learned about her husband in their short time together—goodness, it had almost been a fortnight, hadn’t it? Fitz seemed to focus solely on his Italian translations. It looked like it would be up to her to make this town house feel like a home. What exactly that home life was going to look like…was still in question.
Because when she had arrived an hour earlier from Kent, her husband had been noticeably absent. The butler, Pemberton, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchinson, had received her in his stead. Pemberton was a thin, middle-aged, refined gentleman with neatly cut brown hair. Very formal. Very butler. Mrs. Hutchinson, on the other hand, was the opposite of the butler in every way—hair frazzled, cheeks rosy, wearing an apron that appeared to be smudged with coal dust.
The housekeeper, who spoke almost too fast for Georgiana to catch what the woman was saying, provided her with a quick tour. They had a small staff: a cook, a footman, and a maid. The maid, whose name was Jane, or Elaine—or maybe it was Lorraine?—regardless, the young woman could assist Georgiana in any lady’s maids duties Georgiana would require until she found a suitable one for hire. Despite the matron’s harried demeanor, Mrs. Hutchinson was jovial and quick with a smile, and made Georgiana feel welcome.
Much more so than her absent husband.
Georgiana worried her lip and halted outside her husband’s study. He was finally home. He hadn’t sought her out, which she was trying not to be too hurt about. He had said he had urgent business, so was most likely busy. She understood what that meant from growing up with her father. It wasn’t rare for her father to completely forget she and her mother existed. Honestly, some days she had rather hoped her mother wouldforget she existed.
Right now, her husband’s nose was inches from a book, spectacles dangling dangerously. Fitz was so absorbed with his reading he appeared about to fallintothe book, so it wasn’t all that surprising he had forgotten about her. It didn’t make it hurt any less. It actually hurt a great deal more. Because he had been all she could think about since their night together—goodness, since their betrothal, really. He’d wormed his way into her heart and her mind just like the curly-haired, freckled bookworm he was.
Felicity’s words floated back to her.Give him a chance.Georgiana thought she might need to give her husband a whole bushel of chances.
She tipped up her chin, cleared her throat, and stepped into his study.
Her husband squeaked and flipped the book shut with athwack. He hastily shoved the book in the top drawer of his desk, a blush rapidly spreading over his cheekbones.
He popped up, bashed something—his knee?—on his desk, cursed, and then blurted, “G-Georgiana. You’ve arrived, then.”
What a greeting. Her heartbeat dwindled, but she forced a smile. “Yes, Fitz. An hour or so ago.” She didn’t know whether to feel relief that the only reason he hadn’t come looking for was because he hadn’t been aware of her arrival—or hurt that he had been completely oblivious to the fact. Hadn’t been waiting in anticipation for her. Like she had for him.
