“Good for Mrs. Rigsby! Perhaps I should do the same to keep you out of my classroom?” A glib, impertinent comment which slipped out before Georgie thought better of it. She blamed the see-through shirt.
Amusement laced his tone. “Are you threatening mutiny, Miss Rowe?”
“There is only so much daily scrutiny and complete lack of faith in my abilities that I can take.” Aware that she would likely rub him the wrong way again if she continued challenging him, Georgie had some stern words with her inner St. Joan while she fetched the jug of milk and supplies from the pantry. “But I shall make you trust me. On that I am resolute. I am tenacious when I put my mind tosomething, Captain. Relentless even, and I shall prove to you that I am an excellent governess—mark my words.”
“I do not doubt that for a second, Miss Rowe.” Although, rather tellingly, despite her calling him out on it, he made no attempt to inform her that he either trusted her or that his inspections would soon stop. Instead, as more thunder rumbled, he settled himself on the chair with Grace on his lap and carried on telling his frightened niece all the ancient theories of its causes in an ironic but soothing voice while she made the drinks.
Even with her back to him as she stirred the pot, something about his tone as he waxed lyrical sent unwelcome tingles down Georgie’s spine. She could not ascertain whether that was the ever-deepening velvety whisper that melted his normally clipped consonants in the most sinful way, or the gentle cadence of his phrasing. Or perhaps it was the strange intimacy of the kitchen. Or the strange intimacy of being almost alone with a man. Whichever it was, it played havoc with her nerve endings. Nerves which were still not fully over the new, and scandalous, knowledge that the front of his upper torso draped in damp linen was as impressive as the back of it was.
Keeping her eyeballs on the milk pan when they were determined to wander back did nothing to make her relax either. Nor did measured and even breathing, or reciting the entire alphabet both forward and backward in her mind. By the time the wretched milk began to steam, she was wound tighter than a spring and was so aware of his presence and the strange thrum of her body that it took every ounce of strength she possessed to pour the chocolate into cups without sloshing it everywhere.
“Here we—” She spun around, clutching two steaming mugs, only to be met with the thoroughly disarming sight of the captain cradling a sleeping child as if she were the most precious thing inthe world. Smiling at Georgie as if they were in this together—like a family. Coping with the trials and tribulations of parenthood together.
Simultaneously, the pull of intense longing made both her heart and her womb ache for all they had long ago resigned themselves to never having. Yet while that felt alien and frightening—it also felt right. Inconceivably right. Yet so wrong that the sheer folly of that mad, errant, out-of-the-blue, futile fantasy was staggering.
But appealing.
Oh, so appealing…
Appealing enough that her body was seriously urging Georgie to use her nonexistent wiles on him exactly as Lottie had so outrageously suggested. Yesterday it had been inconceivable, but tonight…
Thankfully, he put a finger to his lips to shush her, so she was spared spewing out the garbled nonsense which hovered on hers. Then he pointed to the window, smiling, and she almost sighed aloud at the intoxicating sight.
“The storm has passed.”
Georgie had been so preoccupied with a barrage of odd emotions and the strange sensations going on within that she hadn’t noticed, but nodded as if she had and managed to choke out, “This chocolate is wasted, then.” She hoped her breathiness passed as a convincing whisper in deference to the sleeping Grace rather than from the odd flutterings going on in her throat and her loins.
“It’s not wasted. We can take it back up to bed with us.” Although he hadn’t meant it at all how her ears decided to hear it, that sentence set Georgie’s imagination alight. Images of him lying on her bed, half dressed in a translucent, damp shirt, looking all rumpled and sinful and smiling in her tangled sheets as they welcomed the morning together skittered through her mind. Then whizzed down allher nerve endings, reawakening her shameless nipples again before they fizzed in the most unnerving way between her legs.
Good heavens above! What was all that about?
“Y-yes.”Marvelous!Now she genuinely was so all aquiver she was actually stuttering. Her and him? A pompous military man like the colonel? Ridiculous.Ridiculous.Inconceivable.And yet…“What a good idea.”
“One that will hopefully settle us both back to sleep.” He tossed that over his sublimely perfect left shoulder as he left the kitchen, oblivious that his whisper drizzled over her skin like warm honey and rendered her so ripe for the picking that she barely knew herself at all. “Not that I’ve actually been to sleep yet—but I live in constant hope.”
“Y-yes.” Gracious, but she was pathetic! Shallow, stuttering, and positively swooning, and all thanks to a damp shirt and a deep voice. “Sleep would be good.” Not that she held out much hope that even the steaming chocolate would be enough to soothe her currently addled, racing thoughts or smooth her outrageously improper nipples into submission. Both were wasted on him.
Surely?
But the idea had already lodged itself deep in her psyche like a weed that wanted to grow, and Georgie had no choice but to follow him up the staircase with the chocolate. No choice but to notice the way the muscles in his arms and back flexed beneath the clinging linen as he carried his precious cargo. No choice but to drink in the sight of his firm backside and thighs encased in tight buckskin as his long legs climbed the stairs. No respite from the affectionate new feelings that assaulted her. Made her question and made her want.
In sheer hell, she watched him gently tuck the sleeping child into bed, and then, when Georgie assumed that he could not possiblyfluster her any more than he had already, his fingers brushed hers as she handed him a mug.
Brushed, then lingered, and she felt it everywhere.
From the tips of those tingling fingers to her toes. From her suddenly eager lips to more outrageous places.
In her heart and in her soul, and that felt right too.
“I’m sorry but… might have to go away for a few days.” Was his fingertip intentionally caressing hers? “Portsmouth… navy business.”
Georgie nodded, too aware of his touch to form any words fast enough. “Y-your family will be well looked after in your absence. Youcantrust me.”
He nodded too as he stared deep into her eyes, his own as wary and indecisive as she suspected hers were, and that was all it took to make her body want with more ferocity than it had ever wanted anything before. And her heart swell with…
He suddenly snatched both the cup and his fingers away in one abrupt but fluid motion, blinking as he stared, making her wonder if that simple touch had as profound an effect on his person as it had on hers.
Which, of course, was likely the most ridiculous notion she had ever had!
