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Everything about Georgina felt right. Jeremy wanted to breathe her in. He wanted to kiss and touch her all over. He wanted her naked underneath him and their skin hot and pressed together. He wanted her crying out his name when he made love to her. Yes, he wanted all of those things, but even more than that, he wanted to protect and reassure her. It stung his heart to see her so distraught.
“He won’t,” he murmured into her ear.
* * * *
Georgina stiffened. The shock of being in his embrace was the cause, but she gave in to it almost immediately, indulging in how wonderful a feeling it was to be held by Jeremy Greymont, to be safe and comforted, at least for this one moment in time.
She stayed in his arms and let him hold her. He smelled divine, slightly sweet like cloves and shaving soap, and she liked the way he rested his chin atop her head. His hand brushed up and down her back. His warmth radiated into her chest, and for the first time in years, she felt truly cherished by another person.
It took some moments before she realized exactly what they were doing, and the impropriety of it. She pulled back from him and felt the loss of his embrace immediately, the warmth and strength of him dissipating into the night air to combine with the exotic breath of the plants.
“Do you feel a little better? Please say that you do. I can’t bear seeing you so sad.” He fished out his handkerchief and brought it to her face. “Allow me?”
His kind gesture brought on fresh new tears that rolled down her cheeks in silent streams.
Without saying another word, he carefully dabbed the wetness away, first one cheek and then the other. When he finished, he pressed the handkerchief into her hands and his lips to her forehead. “There,” he whispered.
Mr. Greymont’s lips were soft, the brush of his whiskers less so, as they touched her skin. He gave her such a gentle, lovely kiss. Georgina wanted to dissolve in the solace of the moment. It is more than you deserve.
She shouldn’t allow him to even do it. ’Twould only make things harder to bear. Georgina tilted back and looked at him. Mr. Greymont’s eyes burned in return, a simmering hunger discernable even in the dim light of the solarium. They focused on her mouth.
An unsettling flare of heat hit her behind the ribs. She needed to go. His attentions were too much to take in right now. Mr. Greymont’s kindness was genuine, but she sensed he held back somehow. A whiff of danger permeated the moment. She had to get away. Now!
“Please forgive me, Mr. Greymont, for my outburst. I am much better though, thanks to you. I’ll not forget your kindness to me this night.” She stood up abruptly. “I must take my leave now.”
“Don’t go! Stay? Talk with me?” he blurted, grasping her hand.
“I must go, for I am suddenly very exhausted and not at all good company right now.” She looked down at his hand gripping hers. It felt hot.
“Yes, you are. Yours is the best company.” But even so, he released her, looking a little guilty as he stood up and bowed. “As you wish, Miss Georgina, but please agree to meet me tomorrow—at your oak tree swing, two o’clock? I want to talk to you again. Will you come?”
His gentle entreaty was impossible to resist, and she trusted him. Regardless of the tension between them right now, she knew she’d be safe in his company. “Very well.” She nodded. “Good night, Mr. Greymont.”
She walked out, leaving him there in the solarium, flexing the hand he’d gripped so tightly. It tingled in the same way her forehead did, in the place where his lips had kissed.
It wasn’t until she was in her bed that she remembered his words when he’d held her in his arms. Mr. Greymont had said, “He won’t,” in reference to her father forcing her to marry Lord Pellton. But how can he know?
Georgina pondered the mystery of Jeremy Greymont in her bed that night. Thinking about how easy it had been to be held close enough to scent him, to feel his hard muscles bracing her, to be stroked along her shoulders by his gentle hands.
Interestingly, his nearness didn’t frighten her at all. She felt just the opposite. Comfort, solace, and security were what he offered, along with something more enticing that she didn’t really understand, but drew her in all the same. In fact, she clung to that security without even knowledge that she was doing so.
Georgina still had his handkerchief, and it smelled of him—a faint hint of cloves and starch and his own crisp sharpness. The scent floated in her head until sleep claimed her. A last rambling thought swilled in her mind before fading away. What does he wish to talk about?
Chapter Seven
The reputation which the world bestows
is like the wind, that shifts now here now there
its name changed with the quarter whence it blows.
—Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy (1308)
The swing had been a favorite of her mother’s. One of the earliest memories Georgina had was of being held in her mother’s lap upon this very swing.
This place was in fact, very special. Her family used to have picnics right here on this spot. Tom would climb the tree, and Papa would read poetry to Mamma. Mamma would braid wildflowers into Georgina’s hair and once wove a fairy crown to place upon her head. On that day, everyone had pledged their fealty at her coronation. All hail the Fairy Queen of Oakfield! Georgina couldn’t recall any other intimate family picnics after that one. It must have been the last.
She grasped the rope of the swing and gave it a push. She watched the plank seat twist and rotate until it stilled and had to be flicked again.
