Page 34 of The Cornish Lyon

No one was on the terrace, but it was illuminated by several lamps revealing a few tables and chairs. Fitz closed the door behind them shutting out the noise of the ball. The silence of the night closed in around them, the cool air raising goose pimples on her bare arms. Gloves should be longer. Or she should have brought a shawl.

He turned to face her. “Georgiana…” Hunger laced his voice.

She stepped closer. “Fitz…” Was that a matching hunger she detected in her own? The hammering of her heart reverberated in her ears. At speed.

His hand came up to cup her cheek and a shiver of electricity ran down her body to every nerve ending at his touch. “You’re the most beautiful girl in London.”

Oh, how she’d longed to hear him say that. She inclined her head a little, leaning into the caress, savoring the feel of his warm hand on her skin, her eyes closing. This was a dream, a perfect dream. She was a sinner and this could only be a dream as sinners did not receive rewards like this. They didn’t get what they longed for.

His thumb traced her jawline sending aftershocks of pleasure through her body, to her very core, which felt as though it were made of molten metal, hot and liquid. Could he feel the way her body was responding? Her breath came in shudders that surely he must have noticed.

“It’s not just your gown that makes you beautiful…” This was a man with a reputation as a rake and yet he sounded unsure of himself.

She lifted her own hand and echoed his touch, his cheek a little rough under her fingers. Rough and raspy and undeniably masculine. Alexander’s chin had been baby smooth. She pushed the unwelcome memory aside, furious at its intercession at such a moment. Let Fitz realize how she felt about him. Please. Let Alexander stay where he belonged.

He moved closer, only inches between their bodies now, heat emanating from him and warming her. She gazed up into his face, mesmerised, unable to look away as his head bent towards hers, closer, closer. Without thinking, she slid her hand into his hair, something she’d wanted to do for a long time. How soft it was. How silky. His face was so close, now, she could feel his breath on her cheeks. Was he going to kiss her? Oh, how she wanted him to, her lips parting in welcome. Alexander shouldered his way into her head again. After his first, tentative kiss, he’d kissed her almost with aggression, his kisses hot and demanding and almost frightening. Would kisses from Fitz be frightening too? She badly wanted to find out. She might like that very much.

They were so close now, their bodies were touching. Was that his heart she could feel hammering in his chest in time with hers? And if so, could he feel hers?

His lips hovered over hers, so close but still so far. “I would very much like to kiss my wife,” he whispered.

She pushed Alexander out of her head for good. “And your wife would like you to do that.”

The kiss was gentle. His mouth was warm on hers, his fingers sliding through her carefully arranged hair, one arm around her waist pressing her body to his.

After a moment of hesitation, she kissed him back, her mouth opening under his. His tongue came gently searching for hers until they met. For a moment it shocked her, then she responded. The kiss deepened, his hold on her tightened and she felt his arousal pressed against her. An arousal she knew very little about despite what she’d allowed Alexander to do to her. However, she knew it meant he wanted her physically, and the thrill of that knowledge coursed through her body, heating her core still further. She pulled his head closer, her fingers delighting in the soft curls of his hair, pressing her lips to his.

She could have kissed him forever, but as with dances, every kiss must come to an end. Their lips parted at last, but they didn’t move apart, instead standing with their arms around one another in the friendly gloom of the terrace, faces a bare inch apart as though neither could bear to separate further.

She gazed up at him, a question on her lips but without the courage to ask it. Did she want to know the answer?

His eyes were almost black in this light, and a stray curl had fallen forward over his pale forehead. Without thinking, she brushed it back and he caught her hand and pressed it to his mouth, kissing one fingertip after another. She closed her eyes, revelling in the intimacy of the moment.

Her eyes flicked back open as she felt him lean closer again, his cheek against hers, his mouth against her ear. His voice was low and husky and a little wondering, as though the words he was forming were strange to him. “I think, to my surprise, I’ve fallen in love with you, Mrs.. Carlyon.”

Emotion, a heady mix of relief, exhilaration, delight, excitement and joy cascaded through her and her eyes widened as she pulled slightly away so she could look into his face. For a moment she stared at him, now knowing the answer to her unspoken question and what she wanted to say to him, in return. “And I’m quite sure I’ve fallen in love with you, Captain Carlyon.”

He kissed her again. Then again. And again. They stayed out on the terrace a long time, warmed by their own love, wrapped in one another’s arms and a cloak of hot passion, oblivious to the ball going on inside in their honor. Uncaring that their absence might be noticed. Nothing else mattered, only what was here on the shadowy terrace.

Some little time later, although quite how long, Georgiana had no idea, Fitz whispered into her ear. “Shall we go home? Abandon this ball? By ourselves?”

Lips a little numb from all the kissing, which he was very good at, and more than a little breathless, she nodded. “I should like that very much.” She had no illusions about what this meant. Every part of her tingled with a longing that was quite new to her. A different feeling from the hurried urgency she’d had with Alexander that had led her to this very moment. They would go home now, alone, and she would know what it was to be loved.

Chapter Seventeen

Fitz informed Marianne that Georgiana was feeling indisposed, something Marianne greeted with a knowing smile. Well, she was right about that, if more than a few weeks out in her calculations. Instead of being annoyed, she was solicitous and kind, making sure Georgiana was well wrapped up against the chill night and organizing the fetching of their servants and carriage.

Twenty minutes after they left the terrace, they were dismounting from their carriage at the front door of Milborne House in Bedford Square and Ellis was opening the door for them. He, too, had to be fobbed off with the lie that Georgiana was feeling unwell, and after some sympathetic words, Fitz ushered her up the stairs to her bedroom.

Georgiana, who was feeling more well and alive than she had done for months, found that in pretending to be ill, one had to run the gauntlet of one’s faithful retainers at every corner. Havers, who of course thought this was a malady brought on by her delicate condition, insisted on helping her undress, get into her night attire and bed, where she’d had a hot brick placed to warm it, and then on fetching her a warm posset to drink. It was some time before she could get rid of her maid.

She waited five minutes in case Havers thought of coming back for something, although she had said in more than firm tones that she wished not to be disturbed that night so she could have a good sleep. Havers had also said, in similar more than firm tones, that if her mistress needed her for anything she only had to ring and she would be with her in less than a minute. Did that mean she was lurking on the landing outside the room? She’d better not be.

Fitz must also have been waiting the requisite five minutes, for just as Georgiana pushed back her bedcovers, a tap came on their adjoining door. She slipped out of bed and hurried to draw back the bolt she’d put in place when first she’d returned here as a married woman. She opened the door.

Fitz was in his nightshirt, his feet bare on the wooden floor. Underneath that, he must be naked. The thought sent a delicious shiver of heat to her core.

One hand still on the door, Georgiana looked him up and down. Undressed like this, in a way she’d never seen any man before, for Alexander had done nothing but undo his fall when he’d deflowered her, he seemed suddenly less imposing and more…human. She was not afraid. After all, she’d done this before. What could be any different about this? It would be quick, a bit uncomfortable, a bit messy, and then it would be over. She would do it because she loved him and this was what people who loved one another did. Only, thinking that reminded her too much of Alexander, who had used that line on her. People who love each other do this.