Page 26 of Winning the Wallflower's Heart
Her husband.
Two days later,Ellis watched Georgiana as she strolled by the collection of paintings surrounding them. Her attention lingered on each piece, carefully cataloging each brushstroke for later like a glutton fearing sudden famine.
He’d gone over this plan a dozen times before finally arranging it, nearly convincing himself she wouldn’t want to visit. But the moment he saw her expression as they stepped inside the small, private art gallery, he knew he’d been right to take the risk.
“How are we the only ones here?” she asked, finally turning toward him. Her deep-blue gown only drew his attention to the soft pink of her cheeks from the brisk winter wind outside. He could smell her bath oil and the fresh polish on the dark inlay floors.
“Sir Walter owed me a favor.”
“And he allowed you to reserve the entire gallery for us to walk through?”
A strange warmth flooded his chest. Or maybe his cheeks were growing hot.
“I thought you’d appreciate seeing it without interruption,” he said simply, trying to keep his tone light. “No wagging tongues or patrons pushing us to move along.”
Her brown eyes met his, soft and shining, and full of… admiration?
Damn it, if he didn’t want her to look at him like that always, from now until his dying day.
“Thank you, Ellis,” she murmured. “This means… well, it’s beautiful and so thoughtful of you. I know you must have other business to?—”
“Spending time with you is what I need. The club will be fine.”
She quirked an eyebrow, and he chuckled.
“Shaw has everything well in hand. I promise.”
He didn’t even believe himself, but she was kind enough to pretend. Georgiana nodded, then returned her attention to a sixteenth century Dutch landscape in front of them. Her brows drew down in concentration.
Ellis swallowed, clearing his throat, and forced himself to look away for a moment, grounding himself. “You’re remarkable, Georgiana. The way you see the world, the way you always search for the light.” The words surprised him, but they felt right, honest. He took a deep breath before saying, “I want you to know that.”
Her cheeks grew red, this time not because of the frigid cold of London beyond these walls. She brushed her hand over his arm, completely disarming him, and he froze even as she leaned in.
“This is the first time I’ve felt seen in some time,” she whispered, almost hiding the quiver in her voice. “What if, when we attend the Duke and Duchess of Abinger’s ball in a week’s time, the rest of London sees something else?”
“Then I’ll make sure they know exactly who you are.” His voice was rougher than he intended, edged with a protectiveness he couldn’t deny.
She relaxed at his words, her shoulders dropping slightly. Ellis reached for her hand, lifting it gently to his lips. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re worth knowing. My favorite.”
Her fingers lingered in his grasp, soft and warm, and he felt a pull toward her that was impossible to ignore. This was his chance to let her in, to believe in something that was frighteningly close to love. And as he looked into her eyes, he found himself finally willing to risk it.
“You don’t have to say that because we’re married, Ellis. I don’t need your?—”
He dropped her hand and gently knocked his fist against her chin, drawing her attention upward before he leaned down and kissed her. Soft, her lips were so soft and inviting against his. Perfection. She sighed as he snaked his arm around her back and drew her against him, the two of them kissing for some time alone in the gallery, there among a sea of paintings.
For now, nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER 8
Georgiana stoodat the foot of her bed, staring at the two dresses laid out before her—one a vivid scarlet red, the other, the softest pink.
“Go on now, pick,” Esther urged from behind her.
Georgiana scratched at her shoulder, already hating the lace on her stays, even if they did help enhance her bust.
“Well, the red is lovely,” she said. “Gorgeous, really.” She thought Ellis would love that, but she kept that bit to herself. “But I can’t stand the thought of walking into a London ballroom in a red dress.”
“All the more reason to wear it, darling,” Hester said, scooping up the dress and holding it up to Georgiana’s frame. “It’s beautiful on ye.”
