Page 54 of A Scarred Wallflower for the Duke
He grinned. “Indeed, you are. How could I forget?” He kissed her again, then his lips moved over her cheeks, capturing the stray tears. “I love you, Georgina,” he said. “You are beautiful in every way. And if you allow me to, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you see that.”
She closed her eyes, feeling her heart swell. But there was a part of her that refused to believe something so wonderful could be happening. A part of her whispered that such things were not meant for her. She opened her eyes. Pressed light fingers to Vincent’s cheek, half-expecting him to be an illusion. “Are you certain?” she managed.
He laughed gently. “Dammit, Georgina, I have already asked you to marry me twice. And I would have faced that Renshaw in a duel.”
Georgina could not hold back a laugh. “Lord Renshaw would have run a mile before he accepted a duel with you.” Dare she believe this was happening? Dare she accept that such happiness could truly be hers? She gripped Vincent’s face in both her hands. “Ask me again,” she said with a grin. “Third time lucky.”
Vincent looked into her eyes with a look of fierce intensity. “Georgina Wyatt,” he said, “will you be my wife?”
“Yes,” she murmured, her face close to his. “Nothing would make me happier.”
He pulled her in for a deep kiss and she felt him smile against her lips. “How did an arrogant rake like me get so lucky?”
“Well. It’s like you said,” she grinned. “Rakes make the best husbands.”
“Once they have found the right woman to tame them, of course.”
“Of course.” She pulled him to her, and he kissed her hard, her mouth opening willingly against his. In one swift movement, Vincent lifted her from the floor, pulling her hard against him, his lips not leaving hers. Georgina felt her body respond. A fluttering in her belly. A dampness between her thighs. A fire in her core that threatened to spread throughout her entire body. She sighed against Vincent’s lips. And before she could truly understand what she was doing, she was pushing him backward, out of the sitting room and into the hallway, then through the door of her bedchamber.
Vincent broke the kiss, looking her in the eyes. “Are you certain? Here?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I am certain. I cannot wait for you a moment longer.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Georgina slid the jacket from his shoulders and reached blindly for the row of buttons at his waistcoat. Vincent caught her hand. “Slow down,” he murmured. “There’s no rush.”
“Everyone is—”
“Everyone can wait.”
He kissed down her neck and along the line of her collarbone, turning her gently away from him so he could reach the row of buttons down her back. Georgina could hear herself breathing hard. Nerves and desire and impatience. Her body ached for his with an intensity that almost frightened her.
Vincent released the last of the buttons and her gown slid silently to the floor. His broad hand slid around her middle, teasing her, then he began to work at the laces of her corset.
Georgina looked up at him, wearing nothing but her shift and stockings. She reached for Vincent’s waistcoat buttons again. “I want to see you,” she murmured. This time, he allowed her to rid him of the waistcoat, then slide his shirt over his head. Georgina ran her hands over his firm chest, her fingers teasing the fine curls of hair, and sliding over the taut muscles on his shoulders. She could hardly believe such a man was to be hers.
Vincent dropped to his knees, reaching up over her knees to untie her garters. His fingers teased the bare skin on her thigh, then skimmed over her center, causing her to gasp. He removed his hand, and she groaned in frustration. Vincent chuckled, standing and brushing his lips against hers. “Patience,” he murmured.
He reached for the hem of her shift and slid it over her head. Tossed it to the floor. And she stood before him naked. Her heart was thumping hard, a dizzying mix of nerves and desire—but there was not a scrap of shame. Not a scrap of self-consciousness. For the first time in her life, Georgina truly felt beautiful.
Vincent’s eyes raked over her, taking her in. “You are perfect,” he groaned, kissing her neck, and working his way down over her scarred shoulder, toward the swell of her breasts. “Every inch of you.”
He took her hand in his and led her slowly to the bed. Laid her down gently, holding himself over her. She ran her palms over his broad body, desperate to feel every inch of him, this man who was to become her husband. Vincent reached down and shoved off his trousers, guiding Georgina’s hand down to stroke his hard length. Her feather-light touch brought a groan from deep in his throat.
He shifted down her body, kissing a soft trail up from her knee to her inner thighs. Georgina felt her back arch, felt her breath come hot and ragged. She gripped a fistful of his hair.
“Please, Vincent,” she breathed. “I want to feel you. I cannot wait any longer.”
Kissing her lips gently, Vincent positioned himself over her and nudged her opening, slowly and gently pressing himself inside her. Georgina gasped at the sensation, her breath leaving her as a sharp twinge of pain seized her. Vincent pressed a palm to her cheek, looking down at her with concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.” She clutched hard at his shoulders, trying to anchor herself to him. “Keep going.”
Vincent began to move inside her, slowly, carefully. In seconds, the discomfort had vanished, replaced with a deep, white-hot heat that spread throughout her body. She heard herself moan, heard herself gasp his name.
For so many years, she had been certain she would never know these sensations. Would never know what it felt like to feel a man move inside her. To draw such pleasure from her body. And she had been desperately certain that she would never know what it felt like to love a man and have him love her back.
She closed her eyes, feeling her body move with Vincent’s, hearing their rapid breathing fall into rhythm with one another’s. Hearing them both moan and sigh as they built toward their climaxes.
