Georgiana
Georgianamadeasoft,crooning noise and leaned over to brush her lips against her husband’s. Pain was tight on his face, glossy in his eyes, thick in every word. She hated it. Hated what that evil woman had done to him.
She gently grasped his chin and pulled his gaze to hers. “I do not want any other man but you. And you are so far from lacking, Fitz. You areeverything. I never even deigned to think about what I actually wanted in a husband. I wasn’t ever destined to have a choice. From the moment my mother realized my looks and my family’s fortune might snag her a title, I was pushed in front of every destitute lord she could find.
“The only reason I went after the Duke was because I was so utterly alone, so utterly miserable. I wanted to feel—anything at all. It was purely to escape. But, Fitz, I cannot put into words how happy I am that it was you—you andnotthe Duke—who stumbled into that room that night.”
She studied him. How could she help him understand?
“If I had thought to even consider what I might want in a husband, in a man”—she traced a finger down his nose—“it would be one who has freckles”—she ran the pad of her fingertip over his cheeks—“who blushes the most adorable crimson”—she traced his lips—“who gifts me the most heart-stopping of smiles.
“Who has a large, pure heart,” she murmured, flattening her hand over that very pure heart. “Who is surprisingly competitive. Who laughs when I make inappropriate, juvenile jests. Who drinks whisky with me while we converse casually in front of the fire. Who I can enjoy a companionable silence with while I cozy up with a book and he works on his translations.”
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Who says the most delicious things to me in Italian with that filthy tongue of his.”
His eyebrows shot into his amber curls, and she grinned.
“Y-you know what I’ve been saying to you in Italian?”
She nodded, biting her lip to hold back her amusement. “Sono fluente, caro.”
“What?”he yelped.
Her giggles broke free. “Oh, goodness. You should see your face.” She traced over his blush, the warmth akin to happiness on her fingertips. “I am part Italian. My mother is from Northern Italy.”
His mouth worked for a moment. “How did I not know this about you?” he said weakly. “Lord, I am the world’s worst husband. I hadn’t known you had a brother. I didn’t know you were Italian. I—”
She put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Fitz, we haven’t known each other very long. I am sure there are many more things we will discover. And frankly, I look forward to each and every one.” She tucked in her chin and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “I may have kept that particular fact from you because I loved the filthy words so much, I didn’t want you to stop.”
His shock faded, and he broke out in a toothy grin. “Piccola furfantella.”
She smiled back at him. Yes, she was his little minx.
He curled up until his lips pressed against hers, smiling lips greeting smiling lips. “God, how I love you,” he murmured against her mouth.
She stilled.
He stilled.
He collapsed back to the bed, panic lighting up his wide amber eyes.
“You—You love me?” she asked, her words mere breath.
He nodded slowly, the panic fading into heady, raging emotion. “So very much,” he said hoarsely. “I know it hasn’t been very long. I know it’s probably too soon, but—”
Her eyes burned, and with a squeak, she dove on top of him, peppering kisses all over his adorably freckled face. “I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Too.”Kiss kiss kiss. “So bloody much.” She punctuated the final statement with a kiss on the tip of his nose.
He beamed up at her, his chest shaking from stifled laughter.
“What?”
“I feel thoroughly assaulted,” he said, amber eyes sparkling. “In the best way, of course.”
She collapsed next to him with a grin, and he pulled her into his side. She searched until she found his hand and weaved their fingers together.
Georgiana studied their interlocked hands. “From now on, we will always come to each other with our problems?” she murmured softly.
“Yes. Always, Gigi. And I need you to know I will never,everhurt you. If I ever say something that makes it seem as though I have, promise me you’ll pester me with questions until we can get it sorted out. I guarantee it is just me mucking up my words.”
