Page 17 of Better Not Bet a Bluestocking (Ladies of Opportunity #3)

Georgine’s bedchamber

Fernleigh House

Nine days later—almost midnight

Frustrated , partly because of the cloying heat and partly because Robyn still had not tried to consummate their marriage, Georgine kicked the bedcovers off.

Oh , these past several days, he had been attentive as always, even sharing several more of those soul-shattering kisses and a few breath-stealing caresses too.

But the dashed, obstinate man went no further.

And she knew full well Doctor Tinsdale had not forbidden marital relations.

Even now, heat scorched her cheeks upon recalling the disconcerting conversation.

Blushing and stammering, she awkwardly asked the physician during his last visit if her shoulder had healed enough to permit conjugal relations. He agreed it had, as long as she and Robyn took care with what positions they practiced.

Positions ?

There are more than one?

Well , that certainly provided more education than she expected or needed from the good doctor.

Mustering up every ounce of courage while firmly stamping her mortification into the ground, she then braved asking Doctor Tinsdale if he had conveyed that sensitive information about her ability to participate in intimacy to Robyn .

After giving her a long, considering glance—and she swore he hid a small smile, but his mustache made it impossible to tell for certain—he finally shook his head.

“ No , Mrs . Fitzlloyd . I believe that is a conversation best left to you and your husband.”

Bother and blast .

Surely even a green girl could contrive a more subtle enticement than pointing at the blasted mattress.

Georgine had tried to broach the delicate subject with Robyn .

She truly had.

Thrice , as a matter of fact.

Last week, while playing Backgammon , she had leaned forward and whispered, “ Sometimes , the surest way to win is to take a risk… and put all one’s pieces into play at once.”

“ Indeed ,” Robyn said with a triumphant grin as he trounced her thoroughly. Again . “ I hope you do not use that strategy when placing wagers for the Ladies of Opportunity .”

Smug dolt.

A few days later, when strolling in the garden after supper, she eyed the abundant flower beds before saying brightly, “ Matilda has such a gift with flowers and plants. Though if the seeds had never been planted, we would be standing next to an empty patch, wouldn’t we?”

“ Tis a wondrous thing, how God orchestrated plants to grow.” Robyn plucked a yellow rose and presented it to her. “ For you, my love.”

Georgine had hidden a frown as she sniffed the delicate, silken petals.

Was he deliberately being thickheaded?

She had said seeds , for pity’s sake.

Seeds !

Only last evening in the library, Georgine had become positively brazen as a doxie—or at least she thought she had. She pulled a brown leather volume from the shelf and then sighed.

“ I cannot abide another dull night.” She gave Robyn what she believed was a coy glance and an inviting smile, then added, “ I’d rather do something… more entertaining….”

Robyn plucked the book from her fingertips and skimmed the title.

“ The Merchant’s and Manufacturer’s Commercial Dictionary .” He flipped it open and pointed to a word. “ Wefting : Passing the horizontal threads (weft) over and under the vertical threads (warp) in weaving . ”

“ I doubt, sweeting, that you will find this book the least bit entertaining.” He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he passed the book back to her. “ It might put you straight to sleep, however.”

She truly wanted to box his ears, and might have done so if she had two good arms.

Oh , the odious, wonderful, obstinate, darling, splendid, contrary, endearing, vexing man.

Sighing , she sat up and swung her legs off the bed.

After swiping her unbound hair from her shoulders, she stood, her linen shift settling around her calves. The stifling heat made wearing a regular night rail impossible. As it was, she could scarcely sleep, damp with sweat, not to mention her thoughts constantly wandering to Robyn in his chamber.

Did he sleep in the nude?

She waved her hand before her face to cool her scorching cheeks at such a provocative image.

Curving her bare toes into the cool wood floor, she yawned and stretched, taking care not to over-extend her healing arm. After two and a half months, she no longer required a sling, but that didn’t mean she could cavort about like an energetic toddler.

With the draperies and windows wide open to allow any hint of a breeze to cool the room, silvery moonlight illuminated her chamber.

She glimpsed herself in the carved mahogany cheval glass.

Pivoting until the mirror reflected her entire form, she stared.

Was there something wrong with her—beyond her healing shoulder?

Is that why Robyn hadn’t tried to bed her?

She understood his reticence in the beginning.

After all, they had married under duress, and her shoulder was not healed. Plus , she hadn’t exactly been warm and receptive…

In point of fact, she’d behaved like a lamb led to slaughter and had stipulated no relations for six months.

Off -putting, to be sure.

Cocking her head, Georgine took ruthless inventory of her reflection in the glass.

Of average height, her figure tended toward willowiness, yet she was not without feminine substance.

Her eyes were her best feature.

Her attention lit on her shoulder, and she pulled the light fabric of the shift aside, baring her scar.

The jagged two-inch mark had become a pinkish-white pucker.

Ugly , but an improvement from the screaming crimson of weeks ago.

Would Robyn find the scar repugnant?

Squaring her shoulder, she notched her chin upward.

There was only one way to find out.

Before Georgine could talk herself out of her rash decision, she marched to her chamber door, flung it open, and proceeded down the dark corridor.

Robyn’s room lay at the end, facing the rear of the house.

She refused to allow herself to speculate on his reaction…or hers if he rejected her.

Chest tight, her heart beating against her ribs like a captured lark in a cage, and her breath coming in shallow rasps, she edged along the carpet, using the wall to guide her in the dim light.

The house breathed with its own quiet life.

A sultry wind drifted through the open windows, stirring the heavy curtains so they whispered against the walls.

Each languid gust carried the faintest sigh, a cooling caress against the oppressive heat.

From deep within the timbers, the wood answered with muted creaks, as though the beams shifted in their sleep.

The floorboards flexed here and there, stretching and settling with a contented sigh.

Halfway there, she almost turned tail and ran back to her bedchamber.

She set her jaw.

You are made of sterner stuff.

If you play the craven now, you shall regret it in the morning.

More than just the morning.

When had she begun to love Robyn so irrevocably?

At what moment had he become essential to her very existence?

Why did his nearness—and the longing for more—command her every thought?

Georgine’s love compelled her forward.

She must know, one way or the other.

Once outside Robyn’s door, she paused, willing her heart to steady to a normal cadence.

What would she say to him?

As she raised her hand to knock, the door swung open.

Robyn stood there wearing a black and gold striped banyan, tied at the waist, but gaping open, as if he’d thrown it on in a hurry or as an afterthought. No slippers covered his feet, peeking from the robe’s hem.

Was he naked beneath his robe?

She swallowed, nervous but excited too.

A lamp burned low in the background, the meager light failing to reach the chamber’s corners.

Over his broad shoulder, Georgine inspected the purely masculine decor.

Buff walls with polished wood trim framed the chamber. Dominating the room rose a mahogany four-poster, hung with heavy bottle-green damask, shot with gold bed curtains, and spread with a matching coverlet.

Cream pillows softened the display, while the same green-and-gold draperies stirred in the open casement windows. A Turkish carpet in bottle green, crimson, black, and gilt anchored the room.

His bedchamber suited him.

Her attention dropped to the light smattering of silky curls upon Robyn’s chest, and she had the most peculiar urge to graze her fingertips through the curly hairs. Her stomach—and lower still—tautened in a foreign, but not unpleasant, fashion.

Instead , she let her hand fall to her side.

Upon seeing her standing at the threshold of his chamber, hair tousled as if he had tossed and turned for hours as she had, his warm brown eyes widened.

“ Georgine ?”

He raked his hooded, sleep-heavy gaze over her, pausing a half-second too long at the dark shadows her light chemise failed to conceal completely.

“ Is something wrong?

“ Are you ill?

“ Does your shoulder pain you?

“ Should I call for the physician?”

His questions came rapidly, one after the other, giving her no opportunity to answer.

“ Shh . ” Laughing , she put two fingers on his mouth, both astounded and exhilarated at her daring.

His lips presented a tantalizing paradox—unexpectedly firm, yet also silken soft.

How Georgine yearned to have those lips upon hers again.

“ I am fine, Robyn .” Then added when a doubtful pucker wrinkled his forehead. “ Truly , I am.”

The two creases on his forehead revealed he remained unconvinced. “ I cannot imagine a reason you are not abed at this hour unless something is amiss.”

In for a penny, in for a pound .

Georgine inhaled, bracing herself. “ Nothing amiss that sharing your bed would not remedy.”

There .

She had said it.

Asked her husband to bed her.

Well , practically said it.

She wasn’t so audacious or bold as to demand he take her to his bed and rid her of her virginity.

Yet if subtlety failed— again — Georgine supposed she could topple onto the mattress, tug her shift scandalously high, and hope he took the hint.

Robyn’s eyes went impossibly round, and if the moment hadn’t been so fraught with tension, and her nerves were not dancing about like drunken sailors, she might have laughed at his flabbergasted expression.

A moment later, smoldering fire lit his eyes, and he regarded her with half-closed lids, a primal smile of delight splitting his face. “ Forgive my blunt speech, but I want to make certain I understand, sweetheart. You wish to come to bed with me?”

“ Oh , for pity’s sake, Robyn .

“ How forward must I be?

“ I’ve hinted for days.”

She threw her hands up in frustration, her shoulder twinging the merest bit at the sudden movement. “ At this rate, I half-fear I shall expire of old age before you think to tumble me properly.”

Laughing heartily, Robyn threw his head back, his Adam’s apple standing out against the strong column of his throat.

Chagrined , she stiffened. “ It is not that funny.”

Embarrassment made her voice sharper than she had intended.

“ Come here, darling.”

Robyn pulled her against his chest.

As always, he smelled superb, and there was something deliciously wicked about rubbing her cheek against his chest hair.

Why had no one ever mentioned how tantalizing and seductive a man’s chest could be?

“ Don’t take offense, sweet.” His voice had become a throaty purr, and a shiver of awareness sluiced through her. “ I assure you, I’m more than delighted at your forwardness.”

Georgine angled her head upward, expecting to meet his humor-filled gaze. However , her stomach plummeted to her feet when she recognized desire, raging and barely constrained, simmering in his irises instead of jollity. “ You don’t mind?”

“ Mind ?” Firming his embrace, Robyn spoke into her hair. “ Good God , no. I’ve marched down that corridor dozens of times these past days, only to turn around for fear you would not receive me.”

Georgine could not prevent her jubilant smile before admitting shyly, “ I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you would come. Doctor Tinsdale assured me my shoulder does not prevent intimacy as long as we are mindful of certain positions.”

“ He did, did he?” Distinct irony weighted Robyn’s husky tenor.

“ I don’t know what he means by positions.” She crinkled her nose.

Robyn chuckled again. “ I do.”

His tender expression grew serious as he searched her face. “ Are you certain, Georgine ?”

“ Absolutely .” Placing her palm against his bristly jaw, she nodded. “ I love you, Robyn .”

“ Thank God .” He closed his eyes, his thick lashes a dark fringe on his high cheekbones. When he opened his eyes, she gasped at the adoration shining there. Touching his forehead to hers, he whispered hoarsely. “ I’ve loved you for so long and didn’t dare hope you could ever come to love me too.”

Tears blurred her vision. “ I truly do. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I want to be your wife in every way.”

“ I would carry you across the threshold, but I fear I’d injure your shoulder.” Keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, he guided her into his bedchamber and shut the door with his other hand.

As they approached his massive bed, she glanced upward. “ Robyn ?”

“ Aye ?”

“ What , exactly, did Doctor Tinsdale mean by ‘different positions?’”

Robyn untied the ribbons on one shoulder of her chemise, then bent to kiss her bare skin.

She gasped and clutched his banyan.

Lord , have mercy .

“ Why don’t I show you, my love?”