His gaze shot to the doorway. Georgiana stood there, resplendent in a shimmering, silver gown, blonde curls done up with brilliants and pearls. She looked like an ice princess. And her expression was just as glacial. Oh, dear.
He glanced at Adelaide. Alarm bells tolled in his brain.
“Breathe,” Adelaide mouthed.
39
Georgiana
Georgianafrozeinthedoorway of her husband’s study.
Her husband smiled fondly at the woman, and Georgiana’s stomach flipped over.
“Thank you so much for your services, Mrs. Tremayne. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
What the bloody hell? Her heart pulsed maddeningly in her throat.
The woman reached forward and lingered—lingered. Georgiana ground her teeth. Which was unfortunate, because the woman just whispered something, and Georgiana couldn’t hear it over the grinding of bone against bone.
She cleared her throat, lips pressed tight together.
Their gazes shot to her, and her husband’s eyes lit up. And then promptly faded as his eyes grew wide. He glanced at the woman standing across from him. Fitz’s eyes grew wider. Panic, clear as glass, written all over his face.
“I believe I will take my leave,” the woman said, stepping back. She dipped a curtsy to Georgiana. “Mrs. Jennings,” she murmured, her gaze downcast.
Georgiana stepped stiffly into her husband’s study and allowed the woman to pass. She had the powerful urge to do something ridiculously childish like stick her foot out and trip the woman. She took a breath. But she would speak to her husband first. And then, if things were as dire as they appeared, she would trip him instead.
“G-Georgiana,” Fitz stammered. “I-I-I…” He swallowed, a blush rapidly coloring his freckled cheeks.
Her heart sank. This could not be good. Her mind was spinning. Going to all the worst possible places. Places that made the assumption that this woman was his mistress. That he was thanking her for her—Georgiana’s hand shot to her roiling stomach. She blew out a slow breath.
“Who was that, Mr. Jennings?”
His face fell. “Fitz, Georgiana. C-come now, we don’t need to revert to f-formalities.”
“Who?” she asked quietly.
He looked at the ceiling. “She—urm. Well, you see. I s-suppose”—he grimaced and met her gaze again—“she’s my mistress.”
And there went Georgiana’s heart.Thumpon the wooden floor of her husband’s study.
He hurried from behind his desk to stand before Georgiana. “I realize now I shouldn’t have asked her here.” He wrung his hands in front of him. “I promise I won’t ever have her visit here again.” He smiled hesitantly at her.
Was that supposed to bring her some comfort? Because it felt like he just took his foot and stomped on her heart, the one lying on the study floor.
He frowned at her, his gaze darting between her eyes.
“Are you well, Georgiana?”
She blinked at him. “Am I well?”
He nodded slowly.
“Am Iwell?” Her voice rose to a painful pitch, and he jumped. “You-you were just with your mistress. Who you paid for herservices. And the reassuring response you provide me with is thatyouwill visit her instead of her visiting here.” She stared at him incredulously. No, she wasn’t bloody well.
His eyes widened. “Oh!Oh.” He laughed nervously. “No, n-no, Gigi. I am horrible with w-words,” he stammered and shifted side to side on his feet. “This is a misunderstanding. I was not paying her forthosekinds of services. Not in the way you th-think.” He stilled in his shifting and took a deep breath. “I enlisted her help.” He glanced away, his blush running down his neck, stark against his snowy-white cravat. “Her, ah, tutelage. She has been teaching me some things in the bedroom, certain proclivities that I think you desire.”
Georgiana went numb. Her brain stopped working. All she could hear was a dull buzzing.
