Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover
Page 116
Georgiana nodded. “I believe he will. Quite desperately.”
Caroline smiled. “Don’t you think you should set an example for your daughter, then? And take your happiness?”
Georgiana thought that was a very good idea.
It seemed that nine-year-olds knew quite a bit, after all.
He had swum an ocean in this pool since he’d left her.
Every time he had thought to go to her, to snatch her from her bed and carry her off into the night, to keep her locked up until she realized that her plan was idiocy, to make love to her until she realized that he was the man she should marry and hang propriety and scandal and the damn aristocracy, he went for a swim.
But where there had been deep solace and tremendous pleasure in this place before he had met Georgiana, now there was none. Now, every inch of this pool reminded him of her, standing tall and proud and beautiful in this room. As walked through the room, he saw her standing by the fire; as he touched the edges of the pool to mark his laps, he saw her legs, dangling in the water; as he wrapped himself in a towel and made for his bedchamber, he felt her pretty, soft skin, warm and willing; as he looked up at the sky through the hundreds of panes of glass, he saw her smile.
And everywhere, he felt the loss of her.
He touched the edge of the pool, turned. Swam another length.
For two days, he’d been swimming, hoping to exhaust himself, to put her out of his mind, stopping only to eat and sleep, and barely that, because when he closed his eyes, he saw her. Only her.
Ever her.
Christ.
He had stopped himself from going to her a dozen times, not knowing what he would say. He’d crafted his little speech a hundred times, designed with pretty words to convince her that she was wrong. That he was the right choice, and hang the rest of the world.
And he had regretted his decision a thousand times to stop her from telling her she loved him. He should have let her say the words.
He might have found peace in them.
Might have.
But it was more likely he would have played them over and over until he hated them.
So perhaps it was best.
He cut through the water, his shoulders aching from the movement. Eyes closed, he reached for the wall at the end of his lap, grabbing it from memory as he let himself glide to the end of the swim. It was enough for now, he hoped, throwing his head back, letting water stream down his face and hair one last time before he exited the pool.
He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on a pair of brown boots a foot away. He looked up, his heart knocking in his chest.
Georgiana.
She stared down at him, all seriousness. “May I tell you now?”
“How did you get here?”
“Langley drove me,” she said before repeating, “May I tell you now?”
“Tell me what?”
She sank to her knees, then to her hands, bringing herself closer to him. “May I tell you that I love you?”
He reached for her, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her close. “You may not,” he said, his heart threatening to beat from his chest. “Not unless you mean to say it every day. Forever.”
She smiled. “That will depend upon you.”
He looked into her eyes, trying to read her meaning. Trying not to hope that she said what he thought she was saying. “Georgiana…” he whispered, loving the way her name curved over his lips and tongue.
“I cannot say it every day if we are apart, you see.” Her voice cracked, and he was desperate to hold her. “So if you’ll have me —”
“No.”
He hoisted himself out of the pool, effectively cutting off her words. She gasped as water sluiced off him, and flooded the tile work at the edge of the pool, dampening her trousers and no doubt ruining her boots.
He was on his knees next to her, turning her to face him. “You are stealing my part.” He took her hands in his. “Tell me again.”
She met his gaze, and he lost his breath at the truth in her beautiful amber eyes. “I love you.”
“Untitled scoundrel that I am?”
“Rake. Rogue. Whatever you like.”
“I like you.”
She smiled. “I hope that’s not all.”
“You know it isn’t,” he whispered, pulling her close. “You know I love you. The first moment I laid eyes on you, you stood in the darkness and defended yourself and those you love, and I have adored you since then. I have wanted to be counted among their ranks.”
Her hands were on his cheeks, cupping her face. “I love you.”
“Say it again,” he said, kissing her deep – long and slow until they were both gasping for breath.
“I can’t say it if you are kissing me,” she protested.
“Then save it,” he said, his lips once again on hers. “Tell me when I am through.” He kissed her again and again, the caresses deep and drugging, and every time he lifted his lips from hers, she whispered, “I love you.”
Over and over, the words echoed around him, warming him, until he finally, finally pulled away and said, “It’s always been you.” He put his forehead to hers. “Marry me. Choose me.”
“I will,” she promised. “I do.”
“When?”
“Now. Tomorrow. Next week. Forever.”
He stood then, lifting her high in his arms. “Forever,” he said. “I choose forever.”
And forever it was.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The Fallen Angel
Georgiana stood inside the owner’s suite of The Fallen Angel, watching the floor far below. The casino teemed with gamers, and her gaze fell to the roulette wheel at the center of the room, spinning in a whirr of red and black. A half-dozen men leaned in as the wheel slowed.
Caroline smiled. “Don’t you think you should set an example for your daughter, then? And take your happiness?”
Georgiana thought that was a very good idea.
It seemed that nine-year-olds knew quite a bit, after all.
He had swum an ocean in this pool since he’d left her.
Every time he had thought to go to her, to snatch her from her bed and carry her off into the night, to keep her locked up until she realized that her plan was idiocy, to make love to her until she realized that he was the man she should marry and hang propriety and scandal and the damn aristocracy, he went for a swim.
But where there had been deep solace and tremendous pleasure in this place before he had met Georgiana, now there was none. Now, every inch of this pool reminded him of her, standing tall and proud and beautiful in this room. As walked through the room, he saw her standing by the fire; as he touched the edges of the pool to mark his laps, he saw her legs, dangling in the water; as he wrapped himself in a towel and made for his bedchamber, he felt her pretty, soft skin, warm and willing; as he looked up at the sky through the hundreds of panes of glass, he saw her smile.
And everywhere, he felt the loss of her.
He touched the edge of the pool, turned. Swam another length.
For two days, he’d been swimming, hoping to exhaust himself, to put her out of his mind, stopping only to eat and sleep, and barely that, because when he closed his eyes, he saw her. Only her.
Ever her.
Christ.
He had stopped himself from going to her a dozen times, not knowing what he would say. He’d crafted his little speech a hundred times, designed with pretty words to convince her that she was wrong. That he was the right choice, and hang the rest of the world.
And he had regretted his decision a thousand times to stop her from telling her she loved him. He should have let her say the words.
He might have found peace in them.
Might have.
But it was more likely he would have played them over and over until he hated them.
So perhaps it was best.
He cut through the water, his shoulders aching from the movement. Eyes closed, he reached for the wall at the end of his lap, grabbing it from memory as he let himself glide to the end of the swim. It was enough for now, he hoped, throwing his head back, letting water stream down his face and hair one last time before he exited the pool.
He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on a pair of brown boots a foot away. He looked up, his heart knocking in his chest.
Georgiana.
She stared down at him, all seriousness. “May I tell you now?”
“How did you get here?”
“Langley drove me,” she said before repeating, “May I tell you now?”
“Tell me what?”
She sank to her knees, then to her hands, bringing herself closer to him. “May I tell you that I love you?”
He reached for her, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her close. “You may not,” he said, his heart threatening to beat from his chest. “Not unless you mean to say it every day. Forever.”
She smiled. “That will depend upon you.”
He looked into her eyes, trying to read her meaning. Trying not to hope that she said what he thought she was saying. “Georgiana…” he whispered, loving the way her name curved over his lips and tongue.
“I cannot say it every day if we are apart, you see.” Her voice cracked, and he was desperate to hold her. “So if you’ll have me —”
“No.”
He hoisted himself out of the pool, effectively cutting off her words. She gasped as water sluiced off him, and flooded the tile work at the edge of the pool, dampening her trousers and no doubt ruining her boots.
He was on his knees next to her, turning her to face him. “You are stealing my part.” He took her hands in his. “Tell me again.”
She met his gaze, and he lost his breath at the truth in her beautiful amber eyes. “I love you.”
“Untitled scoundrel that I am?”
“Rake. Rogue. Whatever you like.”
“I like you.”
She smiled. “I hope that’s not all.”
“You know it isn’t,” he whispered, pulling her close. “You know I love you. The first moment I laid eyes on you, you stood in the darkness and defended yourself and those you love, and I have adored you since then. I have wanted to be counted among their ranks.”
Her hands were on his cheeks, cupping her face. “I love you.”
“Say it again,” he said, kissing her deep – long and slow until they were both gasping for breath.
“I can’t say it if you are kissing me,” she protested.
“Then save it,” he said, his lips once again on hers. “Tell me when I am through.” He kissed her again and again, the caresses deep and drugging, and every time he lifted his lips from hers, she whispered, “I love you.”
Over and over, the words echoed around him, warming him, until he finally, finally pulled away and said, “It’s always been you.” He put his forehead to hers. “Marry me. Choose me.”
“I will,” she promised. “I do.”
“When?”
“Now. Tomorrow. Next week. Forever.”
He stood then, lifting her high in his arms. “Forever,” he said. “I choose forever.”
And forever it was.
Epilogue
One Year Later
The Fallen Angel
Georgiana stood inside the owner’s suite of The Fallen Angel, watching the floor far below. The casino teemed with gamers, and her gaze fell to the roulette wheel at the center of the room, spinning in a whirr of red and black. A half-dozen men leaned in as the wheel slowed.
