Page 21 of His Wicked Little Christmas
Dex took her hand, turned it palm up, and started drawing deliberate circles that caused her skin to heat, her body to burn. “Believe it or not, my responsibilities are luring me to London as well. A legal issue with a tenant on one of the Yorkshire estates requiring consultation with the family’s solicitor. Also, there’s a government committee I’m scheduled to discuss the Wales expedition with, details of the start date, funding, equipment, and such. I can do much via messenger, but not all. The correspondence back and forth regarding each is killing me.”
She blinked, lifted her head. “Yorkshire estates. As in two?”
He drew up his leg, hooked his arm around it, and propped his chin on his wrist. She completed a comprehensive study from his unruly hair to his very masculine toes, unable to check the impulse. His skin, still damp, glistened in the firelight. His body was simply breathtaking, and her fingers itched to touch.
He sputtered out a laugh. “I’m supposed to talk to you while you look at me likethat?”
Her cheeks flushed as she lifted her gaze to his. If he laughed again, she would punch him.
“Georgie, you’ve no idea the hardship this ducal title brings. More responsibility than funds allow for. I’m to be burdened with two residences in London, two estates in Yorkshire, Markham Manor you’re acquainted with, plus a charming castle of sorts in Ireland to round out the bunch. Accountability for the village here, which you know I’ve been reviewing improvements for. I’ve only visited the Irish castle once and plan to take my charming bride there, conceivably for an entire summer as a research project on the Cliffs of Moher has been presented to me. The first Duke, a staunch Royalist, fled there after being expelled from the House of Lords in 1642. The home is haunted, the whole bit. And lovely, from my memory. Romantic.” He sighed, his lids dipping low, his lashes a neat sweep against his skin. “I’d hoped to have her, the duchess, that is, travel with me to Wales for an upcoming expedition, too. Not many wives accompany their husbands on these excursions, that’s true, but for the right woman, the absolutelyperfectone, which is what I’m tasked with finding, it could be advantageous for both parties. It could be, dare I dream,fun.”
Georgiana squinted as he pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter. He was tempting her with what she sought to reject. Dangling all that appealed before her, likeheappealed, every last bit of him. His flat tummy, his chest covered in what she’d determined to be the ideal amount of hair, his wickedly charming smile, those eyes.Oh, she did love his eyes. His wit, his sly humor, his intelligence. Hair no man in London could claim, in shades of ginger and gold. “You are a scoundrel,” she groused.
He shrugged, scratched his chin with his thumb. “I propose we table this discussion until Twelfth Night because I want to triumph, which is, at present, not occurring. Six days to ponder our noteworthy circumstances and what each of us wants from the other with two hundred miles of terrain separating us. A fair distance, that.”
Her mind whirled, her thoughts dizzying. This was another roundabout proposal—the most enticing one yet. Lots of pull without all the push. “Your father?”
“His condition has improved enough that I can leave for a few days, and these issues aren’t going to disappear because I wish like bloody hell they would. And I can’t help him, much as I find I’d like to. I’m doing no good pacing his bedchamber an hour each day and talking to the walls.”
“What of your promise?”
“I plan to fulfill my promise.” He leaned to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath left her in a soft sigh Dex wouldn’t miss. He looked away, his jaw clenching. “In London, it seems.”
“What I’m hearing is you expect I’ll miss you so much I go blind.”
His laugh was clipped but exuberant, surprising them both. “I’m not sharing the details of my plan, darling. What kind of strategy is that?” He leaned even closer, his lips skimming hers. More the fool, she didn’t move away. “Perhaps I’ll roam the cobbled city streets searching for the perfect duchess. Since your beloved society has not provided able assistance.”
She made a sound, either a groan or a sigh, and his pupils expanded, flooding those gorgeous eyes. Then he was kissing her, hand tangling in her hair and drawing her against him, bare skin melding as they reached and strained. Gasping breaths and desperate appeals. Sizzling contact with a bite, nothing sweet about it.
Before the world dissolved into hazy hues, she shoved him back. He’d been lowering her to the rug, and she knew where the party went from there. “Six days.”
His lips parted as he blinked. “What?”
Poor man, she thought, kissing himself senseless. “Six days. And we meet on neutral territory.”
He paused, considered, nodded. “January 5. The British Museum. Natural history room. One o’clock.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. Only a man of science found a museum romantic. “They only conduct personal tours, Dex. You have to have connections, be a member. I tried once before to gain entry and was denied.”
His answering grin was hypnotic. “Georgie, half the rocks in the place are mine. I can gain entry. I’ll send my carriage for you, let’s make it noon.”
He believed he had her. Wrapped nice and tight, when this was the first time she’d been free. Having a delicious love affair, no husband in sight, her own means of income, however trivial.Free. That was quite something to consider giving up. Vexing, arrogant male. “I’ll get myself to the museum at one o’clock without your assistance, thank you. I have transport, pitiful state the carriage is in, but it’s mine.”
Dex pulled her into his arms and rolled her to her back, his laughter echoing off the crack in the ceiling and smooth as silk, slipping right through it. “Not going to give an inch, are you, Georgie girl?”
She brought his lips to hers, whispered against them, “Darling, what kind of strategy would that be if I did?”
Chapter Ten
Dex missed her enough to go blind.
He’d come to London the day after Georgie and done some very embarrassing things since then. Ridden by her townhouse twice, visited her favorite bookstore and a tea shop on Strand she frequented. Searched the gossip sheets for a mention of the Ice Countess, popped in White’s, which he loathed, perusing the betting book in the event she was listed. Even made an appearance at an excruciating musicale in the hopes she’d be in attendance. These endeavors doing nothing but creating a heightened state of unease—because the woman hadn’t said no, but hadn’t, in any manner, saidyes.
Then, there were the gifts. Delivered to Georgie’s residence like clockwork.
Somehow, he couldn’t help himself.
He’d never had anyone to court or shower with, well,love. Dogged, when he finally put his mind to the process of courting. And starry-eyed, which was an absolute surprise. A hard knock to his plan to stay hidden all this gallivanting around, shopping for fripperies, and peeping from carriage windows. The damned broadsheets had made mention of his attending the musicale and maybe even the bookstore. Marked as looking for a duchess, which was right in a broad sense.