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She curtsied elegantly then raised up to face him. “Mr. Greymont, thank you for your assistance, and the favor.” Next she turned to Samson and held out her hand. When the beast nuzzled forward, she stroked the gray velvet of his nose. “And thank you, noble Samson, for carrying me home.”
Those eyes of hers did him in. Jeremy got lost. He knew it the instant they lifted. Unable to speak, he just stood there, watching her talk to his horse, very happily waylaid in those pools of glittering gold.
“I am in your debt.” Turning abruptly, she fled the copse of trees, hurrying toward the rear entrance of the house.
Jeremy didn’t know if that last part was meant for him or for Samson, but he didn’t much care. Her voice mesmerized him. Laced with a hint of huskiness and emoting pure sensuality in the most innocent way, the sound drew him in. He wanted to just sit and listen to her talk. For hours. And he didn’t want her to go yet.
Jeremy sucked in air as a stab hit him in the chest and he had to watch her leave. Eglantine still hung in the wet air where she’d just stood.
Georgina displayed herself as lovely and alluring and proper. Jeremy felt a definite attraction, but there was something that didn’t ring true with her situation. He knew this without a shadow of a doubt. Georgina Russell was not as he remembered her. Neither spirited nor confident. Something plagued her, a burden of some kind. He would describe her as an anxious beauty now. Jeremy was sure he didn’t imagine it.
“We’ll have to just find out what is bothering the pretty lady, won’t we, Samson?” he said to his horse.
Samson nickered and nudged Jeremy on the shoulder.
Chapter Three
And when we think we lead, we are most led.
—Lord Byron, The Two Foscari (1821)
Georgina shivered in her clinging, wet
dress. Her whole body tingled, and she registered her breath coming faster than it should. She had known him precisely the moment she’d spied him on the road. Jeremy Greymont.
Here at Oakfield. And why was he here? He hadn’t come for a visit in years. An uncomfortable stuttering, emanating from the region of her chest, seized her for a second before it could be willed away.
Just as charming as she remembered, and handsome. Not handsome by society’s standards though. He carried too much of a roughness for that distinction, from the intensity of his gaze to the unshaven shadow he wore. His clear blue eyes showed much more lurking underneath that manly, rugged visage of unsaid wants, mystery, a darkness, something a little wild and unchained in their depths. His sandy-brown hair was a bit longer than he used to wear it, unruly and falling over a heavy brow, complementing those azure eyes of his perfectly.
For all his refined manners and dress, he possessed a certain bons vivants, a hale quality that surged from him with every gesture. He was male strength and power all wrapped up in a very tall, broad-shouldered, muscular package.
And that voice of his! He spoke with an irreverent drawl that gave off a clear devil-may-care attitude but somehow managed to refrain from bridging into disrespect. Georgina found his manner of speaking to be charming. Too charming for his own good, probably.
She rang for a bath and perused the gowns in her wardrobe, ticking through them rather harshly until she rested her fingers on a shimmering sea-green silk taffeta. She had yet to wear the dress. It had been ordered before and delivered after. Georgina remembered dates like that now. Like every event in her life now measured against that one experience in time.
She laid out the gown carefully on her bed. The color looked nice—watery and cool, like the rain today that had wet them both. She shook her head to free the vision but went right back to thoughts of Jeremy Greymont anyway, despite her desire to steer clear of him.
As if charm needed to be a factor of consideration for him. She could not imagine he lacked feminine admiration. No, that man wouldn’t even need to employ charm. He’d have a plethora of ladybirds swooning over him without ever having to open his mouth. Jeremy Greymont was very pleasing in her view. She’d have thought he’d be married by now, what with his eventual title and wealth. The women must have to be beat back with a stick.
In the saddle with him had been a struggle. The silence deafening over the creak of the tack, the clop of Samson’s hooves, and the soft whisper of rain.
Georgina’s every sense had been heightened by being pressed so close to him. His body had been hard like marble, but warm. And he smelled good. Being up in that saddle next to Jeremy Greymont had felt strangely safe though, like nothing bad could ever happen.
* * * *
“Your coat is a right mess, sir.” The valet took his master’s coat with a wince.
“Please don’t fuss, Myers. We both know you live for the joy of putting my clothes to rights.” Jeremy unbuttoned his waistcoat and then his fine, white shirt, shrugged out of both of them at the same time, and let them drop. “How was the voyage?”
Jeremy didn’t miss Myers’s patient sigh as he retrieved the garments from the floor. “It was satisfactory, sir. You could have spared yourself the rain had you rode in your coach.”
“Ah, I could have, but am so very glad I did not ride with you in my coach,” Jeremy said smugly.
“Sir?” Myers asked, distracted by the clothing in desperate need of his attentions, but responding anyway, as the loyal man he was.
“Nothing, Myers. Don’t you worry your head about it. Just lay me a hot bath and work your magic on my dinner dress for tonight. There is a lady here I wish to impress.”
Myers ignored him. Probably didn’t even hear most of what Jeremy had said. It didn’t matter. Myers would fit him out smartly even if it was raining mud at a country frolic on the heath.
