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Georgina realized he was horrified by how he’d taken her, but she wasn’t. His desire was apparent, and if he needed her fierce like that sometimes, then she wanted to give it to him. For her to comfort and serve him was her duty, her right as a wife! She felt the tingle of anger.
As she waited for him to come back, her irritation grew. Jeremy needed to get over this worry about treating her like a fragile bloom. She thought she’d explained it clearly to him enough times! He didn’t frighten her and never had. His loving her body was certainly glorious, and from the first time, a heady surprise, but never hurtful or frightening.
An hour passed. The room next door was quiet. She heard no sounds apart from the fire dying in the grate.
Where was he? Where would he go? Frustration mounting, she made a decision, left the warm bed that smelled of him, and returned to her rooms.
Quickly donning a gown and robe, Georgina went to her dressing table to arrange her hair into some semblance of normal. Frowning, she tilted her neck at the mirror. There was a large mark—ah, it was a love bite. He’d made it when he’d suckled, no, bit at her neck.
She shivered at the remembrance. The pain of the bite had made for sweeter pleasure, and she longed to feel it again. His face had looked so tragic when he’d stirred above her after his fiery release. Realizing that seeing the mark he’d made would probably upset him more, she wisely arranged her hair to one side and covered it up.
Tonight was c
old. She found a green shawl, wrapped it around her, and left her rooms in search of her much loved, but very misguided husband.
After Georgina explored all of the usual places, Jeremy stubbornly remained absent. His study, the library, billiard room, and guest bedrooms were all searched, and he was not in any of them.
Mrs. Richards came to her rescue though. The woman appeared in the hall, silent as a cat, when Georgina stepped into it after checking in a guest suite.
“Oh Lord! You startled me,” Georgina gasped, bringing her hand to her throat.
“Good evening, madam,” the housekeeper replied smoothly, with not a trace of surprise that anything was out of order with the mistress of the house skulking about in her nightclothes by candlelight. “Such cold in the air. It is good you have covered up well,” she said, eying Georgina’s shawl. “That is a lovely shawl you have, madam.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Richards.” Georgina looked straight into the housekeeper’s intelligent eyes.
“It will warm you, should you choose to look at the portraits.”
“Portraits?”
“Yes, madam. I should imagine it is very cold in the portrait gallery tonight.” She bade Georgina a graceful leave and glided away.
Bless that woman. Mrs. Richards was a definite jewel, Georgina thought. It was a good thing to have an ally. She made her way to the gallery on the second floor, wondering what she would say to him.
* * * *
Jeremy brooded. Her scent clung to him all over and just served to remind him. How could he have lost control like that? The look of her, the tears—
Damn it all to hell, what must she think of him? How could he ever repair the damage he’d done? She wouldn’t love him now. She would probably be afraid of him. God, it would kill him if she cringed away from him in fear.
He stared up into the eyes of the enigmatic woman in the portrait, hoping she could impart some wisdom. Jeremy must be such a disappointment to her, and it was ironic, too, after all this time, all these years of telling himself he’d never be like his father, yet here he was stepping right into the role—
“You must be very cold with only that robe covering you.”
He snapped his head around, in disbelief that she’d come after him. Gina looked as gorgeous as ever, wrapped in a green shawl he’d never seen her wear. Green was her color—definitely. She wore it splendidly.
“Coldhearted, yes, I know.”
“No. You are never that. And I should not have had to come searching for you like this!” She sounded angry more than frightened, he thought. “Mrs. Richards must think—God I don’t know what she thinks now!” she sputtered, stamping her foot. “No doubt we are providing good gossip for the servants.”
Yes, she was definitely angry, and looking down fiercely as she stood over him, her cheeks pink, eyes sparking, arms folded, and more beautiful than ever. And she wasn’t done speaking her piece either.
“Why are Mr. and Mrs. Greymont flittering about the house in their nightclothes, and in the dead of night? Well, I don’t know. It is very unseemly though! Maybe they’re having a spat. I heard the master stormed from their chamber with the mistress calling out to him to stay with her. Well, I heard the new mistress searched all over the house for an hour before she found him sitting alone in the portrait gallery! My God, the master must be truly dicked in the nob to be sittin’ in there. He’s going to freeze his arse off!”
Listening to her mock tirade between the servants was good medicine. The short laugh slipped out of him before he could pull it back. She was so witty and beautiful and brave and… everything.
“You speak cant magnificently.”
“Well, Tom is my brother. You know then I learned from the master.”
