Page 30 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
“Vincent…” His name escaped her without her having any thought of it. In response, his fingers dug into her bare thighs, pulling another loud moan from her.
She squeezed her eyes closed as her pleasure continued to build. She was dimly aware of the wanton sounds she was making, dimly aware of groaning his name. But she felt far away. Engulfed by the blaze that was rising inside her. Stars flickered on the edge of her vision.
A wave of pleasure crashed over her suddenly, and Georgina heard herself cry out. Vincent’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, and she moaned against his fingers. Pleasure coursed through her body; dizzying, intoxicating. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the feel of it.
As he drew himself up so his face was level with hers, Georgina could feel Vincent’s arousal straining against her hip. The feel of it caused her to sigh softly against his cheek. He kissed her gently, and Georgina could taste herself on his lips. She clung to him, never wanting to let go.
“See,” he said, smiling as his lips worked their way down her neck, “there is something rather pleasant about losing control once in a while. Don’t you think?”
Georgina could reply only in a muffled murmur. She drew in a long breath as her heart began to slow. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, inhaling the scent of him. But as the thrumming of her climax began to fade, the real world returned with force. And Georgina knew at once that this had been an enormous mistake.
A dizzyingly blissful mistake. But one of epic proportions.
Vincent Mads was to marry her sister.
She wriggled out from under his warm body. “I need to leave,” she said, suddenly ashamed to look at him. She snatched her gown from the floor and threw it on, fumbling with the buttons at her back. “Right now.”
Vincent stood behind her, fastening her buttons carefully. He kissed her bare neck. “Take the drawing. Please.”
The drawing…
A part of her longed for it. Longed to tuck it beneath her pillow and gaze at it each night before she slept. Longed to look at it and remember the way he had just made her feel.
But she knew she could do no such thing. The portrait served as a vivid reminder of the line she had just crossed. And Georgina knew that the only way she would survive was to forget this ever happened.
ChapterSeventeen
“Georgina Wyatt!” The Dowager Viscountess’s voice was thunderous.
They had ridden home from Levinton Manor in stilted silence, Georgina unable to look her sister or grandmother in the eye as she had sat facing them in the carriage. None of them had spoken a word, and Georgina could tell her grandmother was winding up to deliver her the reprimanding of a lifetime.
Now they had stepped inside the house, the Dowager Viscountess had a look of murder in her eyes. She stood in the foyer with hands planted on her hips and deep frown lines etched across her face. Lydia scurried upstairs, clearly desperate to escape the carnage.
The Dowager Viscountess herded Georgina into the parlor and threw the door shut behind them. “How dare you?” she cried. “How could even think about behaving in such a way? Have you no sense of decency? No self-respect? I have never been more ashamed!”
Dread seized her. This was it. Her life was ending. In fact, the entire damn world was ending. There was no coming back from this.
My grandmother heard me moaning in pleasure. Heard me crying out Vincent’s name…
Georgina prayed for the earth to swallow her whole. “I am sorry,” she squeaked. “I…”
“What in heaven’s name were you thinking, knocking the cream jug over like that? And telling Her Grace you did not like her macarons?” The Dowager Viscountess pressed a hand to her heart. “Goodness me, child. Have you no manners at all?”
Georgina’s shoulders slumped in relief. She had forgotten about the damn macarons. “I am sorry, Grandmother. I do not know what came over me.”
The Dowager Viscountess began to pace, her shoes clicking sharply against the tiles. “I am surprised Lord Renshaw did not stand up and leave that very instant,” she snapped. She shook her head. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you wish to be married at all.”
“Of course I do, Grandmother.” Georgina hung her head, attempting a suitably meek expression. Not that it was difficult—she truly was filled with shame, though it had little to do with the Dowager Duchess’s macarons.
She could barely believe what she had allowed Vincent to do to her. And she could barely believe how much she had enjoyed it.
“I expect you to write to the Dowager Duchess at once,” snapped her grandmother. “Apologizing for your terrible behavior.”
“Yes, Grandmother. Of course.”
“And an apology to Lord Renshaw would not go astray either. I am sure I need not remind you that, given your affliction, suitors are extremely hard to come by. You simply cannot afford to lose this chance at a potential match.”
“Yes, Grandmother. Of course.”
