Juliet danced toward the door. “Oh, I must write to him at once and tell him the good news!”
Georgie watched her sister’s rapturous departure with a sense of utter fatigue. The day’s events had left her exhausted. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a lie down before dinner.”
“Of course.” Mother nodded absently, already deep in thought about how to handle Juliet’s forthcoming betrothal and, presumably, the wedding of the decade.
“We missed all the fun,” Seb said gloomily, as soon as Benedict strode into the Tricorn’s dining room. “Willis and his men nabbed Johnstone while we were larking about in Hampstead with your woman.”
Benedict stopped in the doorway. “What? Truly? Bloody hell.” Biting back a howl of frustration, he crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a generous splash of brandy, and took a healthy swallow. The alcohol warmed his belly but did nothing to ease the bitter taste of disappointment. “There goes five hundred pounds of reward money, then. Bollocks.”
He sank into a comfy leather wing chair beside Alex, who nodded in confirmation.
“We stopped in at Bow Street after we left you. They’ve got Johnstone and another of his men in thecells. Admiral Cockburn was there questioning them, but neither one was talking.”
Benedict groaned. That five hundred pounds could have started the repairs on Morcott’s stable roof or paid off a chunk of mortgaged land. Damn it all. Why in God’s name had he tried to impress Georgie by refusing to take her money? He couldn’t afford such stupid, quixotic gestures.
“I told Cockburn you knew someone who could sail the submarine down to Woolwich,” Seb said. “Didn’t tell him it was a girl, of course. He thinks all women are useless gossips, like his wife. He would have refused on principle. So I told him you’d found a lad who was a powder monkey at Trafalgar. He said to go ahead.”
Benedict closed his eyes and rested his head back against the chair. He tried to feel some sense of satisfaction that Johnstone had been contained and the scheme to rescue Bonaparte foiled, but he failed miserably. Patriotic sentiment was all well and good, but it didn’t solve any of his financial problems. Or the conundrum of his wife.
“I’ll tell Georgie,” he murmured. “She can meet us at the Ore Street warehouse one night this week.”
She’d be delighted, he thought with an inward smile. The challenge of sailing an unmanageable boat down the Thames in the dead of night was exactly the kind of caper she’d relish. At least with Johnstone in custody, the risk to her would be minimal. As long as the damn thing floated, she’d be fine.
His blood still boiled when he thought about the danger she’d been in that afternoon. Thank God her cousin hadn’t had time to molest her. He doubted he’d have been able to restrain himself from killing the bastard if he had. Georgie was his wife, even if only a few people knew it. It was his duty to protect her. He should have been with her. She could have been killed.
Ben took another deep draught of his drink. The thought of the rest of his life without Georgie in it was unimaginable. As provoking and disruptive as she was, he couldn’t contemplate a world without her vitality, her determination, her sly sarcastic wit. He needed her. Not just as a temporary diversion, but as a permanent requirement for his future happiness.
He’d never thought he’d find a female he could trust and admire as much as Alex and Seb. He’d had no female friends, only acquaintances, lovers. Sex and friendship had been neatly compartmentalized in his mind—women in one camp, men who’d earned his respect in the other. But Georgie had broken down those barriers; she was both friend and lover, temptation and muse.
He gazed moodily into the fire. Did she feel the same way about him? Or was she just using him—an experienced male she found relatively attractive—to rid herself of her unwanted virginity and gain worldly experience? He ground his teeth. No. She might not love him, but she certainly desired him. She wouldn’t have responded so ardently to his touch if she didn’t want him. Wouldn’t have given herself to him without trust.
Was she still thinking their time together was limited? That she’d be moving on to another lover in a couple of months’ time?
Never. Not while he drew breath.
She was his wife. And heaven help him, he wouldn’t give her up to anyone else.
Benedict stilled as the irony of the situation struck him. He’d been thrown into a marriage of convenience with a stranger, exactly as his parents had been, but that was where the similarities ended. His parents had had nothing in common. No shared interests, no underlying bond of compatibility. They must have felt some momentary attraction, at least in the beginning—they’dmanaged to sire two sons, after all—but they’d barely tolerated being in the same county by the end of their marriage.
It wasn’t like that between Georgie and himself. Yes, there was lust, a sizzling animal attraction that continued to stun him. But more than that, they shared a love of adventure, found the same things funny. She was full of wild ideas and schemes. He could see himself being interested in her, fascinated by her, for the rest of his days. He didn’t want to stand up in church in a few weeks’ time and have her think he waspretendingto love her. He wanted her to know that he meant every word, that he was sincere in his desire to be joined with her forever.
Was it fate? All he knew was that he’d dodged more bullets than one man should reasonably have survived, so somewhere the cosmological odds must have been in his favor. Maybe this was the same. He’d found the one woman he could be happy with. With whom he could break the pattern set by his own parents.
The fire crackled and reality made an unwelcome, crashing return.Impossible.His lack of money would always be an insurmountable obstacle. He couldn’t even give her the title her mother so desperately wanted. He could give her nothing but himself, and how could that ever be enough?
“You’re frowning,” Seb murmured unhelpfully.
“Shut up.” Benedict glared at him, but it was without heat.
Unease and despair bloomed in his chest. Time was running out—only a few short weeks of the season remained. He and Georgie would announce their engagement, marry, and then she’d leave him. She’d go back to the wilds of Lincolnshire or set off on some years-long grand tour of Europe without him. And he’d have to lether go, loving her, wanting her. Unable to burden her with the admission of his love.
He might as well cut out his own heart.
Alex refilled his glass and gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. “Women, eh?”
Benedict grunted.Carpe diem, that was his motto. He still had a few weeks left with her. He would enjoy each moment as it came. His knee started to bounce, his foot tapping in a jiggle of impatience as he calculated when he could see her next. Make love to her next.
He wanted a full night with her, not a few furtive, stolen hours. He wanted the luxury of time to savor her, to learn the feel of every part of her, from the smooth, fragrant valley between her breasts to the texture of her nipples under his tongue. He wanted the creamy skin of her inner thigh, the sleek, supple muscles of her belly, and the warm, heaven-scented slickness at her core. He wanted to hear the sounds she made, that sharp intake of surprise followed by a moan of pleasure.
