Page 55 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
Georgina dug her fingernails into his shoulders. The pleasure was all-consuming, filling every inch of her body. So intense she could barely make sense of where she was. She was dimly aware of the wanton sounds escaping her lips. Dimly aware she could likely be heard. But she could not find the willpower to care.
Vincent reached down suddenly, his fingers finding the most sensitive place between her legs. A feather-light touch sent pleasure crashing through Georgina’s body and she clung to him, feeling herself tremble around him.
Her climax triggered his, and Vincent’s body tensed over hers. He let out a muffled groan, burying his face against her hair.
He sank onto the bed beside her and reached over to pull her into his arms. Georgina closed her eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall. Feeling her own breathing begin to calm. Feeling the remnants of her climax shimmering through her body.
Somewhere deep in the house, she heard faint voices. Heard the clatter of plates and glasses. A reminder that they would be expected to return to the dinner party soon. Face the reality of what their families expected of them.
And yes, soon she would do that. Soon she would face that reality and find a way to set things right. But not yet. Right now, she would just lie curled up with the man who was to become her husband, and bathe in this fierce and overwhelming gratitude for all her life had become.
* * *
Vincent lay with Georgina in his arms, running a gentle finger through her dark hair. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt entirely at peace. Like he wanted to stay here forever. She looked up to meet his eyes. Gave him a small smile.
I can hardly believe she is to be my wife.He kissed her lips gently. “Are you all right?” he murmured.
She laughed airily; a sound that made his heart skip. “I am a little better than all right.”
How had it taken him so long to come to such a realization? To take his life into his own hands? He and Georgina and Lydia—all of them—they had spent their lives on the paths others had set out for them. Looking beyond that had not felt like a possibility. There would be many bridges to cross, he had no doubt. Many people would ask questions. People who would not approve. But none of that mattered. Because Georgina had agreed to marry him. Everything else was inconsequential.
But he was dimly aware that, inconsequential or not, his mother and the Dowager Viscountess were waiting in the dining room. No doubt with some very pressing questions about where the rest of the party had disappeared to.
As though reading his thoughts, Georgina sat reluctantly. “I suppose we had best show our faces downstairs.” She grinned. “I really do need to save poor Marcus.”
Vincent chuckled lightly, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. “Yes. And goodness knows what tales Lord Renshaw and Lydia have told to account for our absence.” His laughter intensified as he sat on the edge of the bed and hunted for his shirt. Georgina stood over him, her legs intertwined with his, her palms pressed to his cheeks. “What are you laughing at?”
He grinned. “Just the thought of you knocking over the cream jug at my mother’s afternoon tea. Did you really imagine that might turn me away from you?”
She gave a short laugh. “Well. There was never a part of me that wanted to turn you away from me.” She looked at him pointedly. “But I could have if I had wanted to.”
He chuckled. “Could you now?”
“Oh yes. I can be damnably awful when I want to be.”
He let his hands slide over her hips, reveling in the feel of her. “You could not be awful if you tried, Georgina Wyatt. And that I know for certain.”
Hand in hand, they made their way down the passage. Vincent glanced at Georgina. There was a faint frown on her face. No doubt she was agonizing over just how they might explain all of this to her grandmother and the Dowager Duchess.
“Georgie.” Lydia’s blonde head poked out of the sitting room. “In here. Quickly.” The two of them hurried inside. Lord Renshaw was sitting in an armchair by the window.
“What are you both doing up here?” Georgina demanded. “Why are you not at dinner?”
Lydia looked between the two of them. “Your mother has gone out to the grounds to find you, Your Grace. I managed to convince her that I was just dying to become your wife, and she has gone to bring you back in to propose to me. Grandmother is still in the dining room. No doubt she is hounding poor Marcus over why she did not know about Georgie and Peter’s engagement.”
Vincent shook his head with a faint laugh. What a great tangle they had all gotten themselves into. “About that,” he said. “It seems as though I have been played. Is that not right, Miss Lydia? Lord Renshaw?”
Lydia and the Baron glanced at each other, twin looks of guilt falling over their faces.
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” Lydia squeaked.
Lord Renshaw got to his feet, bobbing his head like an overenthusiastic housemaid. “Do forgive me, Your Grace. I… We…” He looked beseechingly up at Vincent, hands knotted together pitifully. “I do hope there is to be no duel.”
Vincent rubbed his chin, deciding to play with the poor fellow a little. After all, Renshaw had pretended to be engaged to the woman he loved. Surely that deserved a little punishment. “Well. I shall have to think on. I do not like being deceived.”
Georgina nudged him in the ribs and gave him a warning look. “Be nice,” she mouthed. Vincent grinned. He could not wait to spend his life with her. Could not wait to have her keeping him in line. He broke suddenly into laughter, clapping the poor Baron on the back before he disintegrated into a sorry puddle on the sitting room floor. “I think we can overlook the duel,” he chuckled. He sank onto the settle, tugging Georgina down beside him. He felt physically incapable of letting go of her hand.
Lydia’s eyes darted between them, alighting on their clasped fingers. “Is it safe to say you have some good news for us, Your Grace? Georgie?”
