Page 58 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
“Draw me,” said Georgina. “I want something to remember this moment by forever.”
After a day of celebrations, she and Vincent were finally alone in their bedchamber at Levinton Manor. Light rain had begun to fall, gently pattering against the windows. Lamplight cast a warm, rusty glow over the room. Already, the place felt like home.
Vincent pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. “Do not worry.” He grinned. “I shall make it a night that is impossible to forget.”
“Still as cocky as ever, I see,” Georgina teased, looping a finger into his silky cravat and tugging it loose.
“Would you wish for anything different?”
“Not a thing.”
Vincent traced a finger along the edge of her jaw. “When I met that beautiful masked lady in the sitting room at the masquerade ball, all I wanted was to see her again. I never imagined she would become my wife.”
“Well. Things do not always turn out as we imagined them to,” she said with a smile. “I never for a second imagined I might be lucky enough to have a husband. Let alone one as wonderful as you.” She swallowed heavily. “And nor is there anything to say that you will fall ill before your time, like your father and his father before him.” Georgina tried to keep the emotion out of her voice. She could not even bear to imagine what it would feel like to lose Vincent. The idea was utterly unthinkable.
He smiled, pressing his lips against hers. “Indeed, there is not. And I plan to be around for a little longer yet.” He laced his fingers through Georgina’s, his voice growing serious. “I know you are right. Things do not always turn out as we imagined them. You and I are proof of that. And I know we have no control over what fate has in store for us. But I have no intention of doing anything other than growing old with you. Watching our children grow and having children of their own.” He kissed her shoulder. “Speaking of children. We have a marriage to celebrate.”
Georgina laughed, nudging him away. “The drawing first. Although you can remove my gown. I shan’t be needing it.”
Vincent grinned. “Is that so?” He turned her gently so he could reach the row of buttons down her back. “I must say, you have come a long way from that lady who would not remove her mask for me at the masquerade ball.”
“I have,” Georgina agreed. “And it is all because of you.” Her wedding gown fell to the floor with a sigh. “And my corset,” she told him. “Take it all off.”
“You are going to make it very difficult for me to concentrate,” Vincent growled.
She looked over her shoulder. “That does not sound very professional,” she teased.
He captured her lips with his. “I make no promises to be professional.”
With her clothes in a heap on the floor, Georgina made her way to the vast curtained bed, while Vincent went to the drawer for paper and a pencil. There was something thrilling about being in a state of complete undress, while her husband had not yet even removed his jacket. She felt intensely vulnerable, but there was something pleasurable about it, about being vulnerable with this man she loved so deeply. With Vincent, she no longer felt the need to hold herself together. No longer felt the need to always be in control. In fact, as she had come to realize, there could be something immensely blissful about allowing oneself to lose control every now and again.
Vincent stood beside the bed, peering down at her with blatant lust in his eyes. “Lie down,” he told her. “Like this.” With a hand on her bare arm, he eased her toward the pillow. “Lean up on your elbow. Like this.”
Georgina did as she was told. Already, she could see Vincent’s arousal straining the front of his trousers. She had never felt more appealing. He ran a hand over the curve of her body, over her hips, and along the top of her thigh. She felt her skin come alive. Felt her own arousal beginning to pool between her legs.
“Draw me,” she breathed.And quickly. She knew there was every chance she might crumble. Might demand he throw down his pencil and join her in bed.
Vincent gave her a wicked grin, and Georgina knew at once that this was a game. “As you wish, my darling.” He pulled an armchair across the room and sank into it, beginning to sketch impossibly slowly.
Georgina closed her eyes. She ached to feel his hands back on her body. Ached to feel him inside her again. But she had insisted on this. She had started this game. And she was determined to see it through.
Vincent’s pencil scratched across the paper at a snail’s speed. “Are you nearly finished?” she asked impatiently.
“Not even close.” His blue eyes sparkled. “I am sorry, but I know you wish for the perfect portrait to look back on and remember the day. An artist cannot be rushed.” He did not attempt to hide his smile. “Although I do feel as though your position is not quite right.”
He approached the bed again, nudging one of Georgina’s legs upward so her knees were bent toward her chest. His hand slid over her thigh and found the dampness between her legs. Georgina could not hold back a moan.
“Better,” said Vincent, returning to the chair and picking up his pencil again.
Georgina closed her eyes. Her chest was heaving, her breath ragged with desire. She could no longer hear the scratch of Vincent’s pencil over her noisy inhalations. Nor did she care an inch about the drawing any longer. All she wanted was him.
Vincent returned to the bed again. “Perhaps this arm above your head like this.” He lifted her arm, then traced a finger across her collarbone and down over her peaked nipple. A desperate desire coursed through her. Georgina grabbed him, pulling him into a fierce kiss.
“You win,” she said breathlessly. “We shall finish the drawing later.”
Vincent grinned. “I was always going to win. I do not know why you even bothered trying.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the floor.
“You are so cocky,” hissed Georgina, between kisses. She yanked his shirt up over his head. “And arrogant. And infuriating.”
