Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

10. Fitz

10

Fitz

W hy don’t we start with a kiss?

It seemed the logical place to start. Even Fitz could admit that. And he wanted the press of her lush lips against his. Desperately. There was just one problem.

Him.

Fitz had been nervous about tonight. He kept telling himself that his natural instincts would take over. He had bedded women before. The number of which might only require one hand, but still the number wasn’t zero . He couldn’t speak for the others because they had been hurried, drunken, one-night encounters, but he knew with utmost certainty his mistress was very happy with his conjugal abilities. Adelaide had always been honest with him. When he did something she liked, she told him. When he did something she didn’t like, she told him. He appreciated that about her. There was no guessing. Less anxiety that way.

He blew out a breath. He knew his way around a woman. He could do this. He could bed his wife.

But this was different from Adelaide. And that was ignoring the fact that there was some elusive element to his wife that had his heart heaving and his lungs beating a mile a minute. Wait. That wasn’t quite right. He groaned. She made him a blundering, brainless, bottle-headed buffoon.

Besides that nonsense, this was different because there had been a comfort in knowing that if he took a wrong turn, his mistress would guide him back en route. What if he did something Georgiana didn’t like? Virgins didn’t know to voice concerns, did they? She would just endure. She wouldn’t even know what felt good. Did she even know what an orgasm was? Goodness, what if he couldn’t make her come? Oh God. He hadn’t thought of that.

There went his breathing again.

He tried to reorient himself. A kiss. Start with a kiss, she said.

She was blinking her overlong blonde lashes at him.

Because you have been staring at her like a lobcock.

Right. Response required. “A most excellent proposal.”

She gave him the same look she’d made when he had said ‘sexual congress’ earlier. And he didn’t think it was a good look.

Just get it over with, Fitz . He was sure once they got this first kiss out of the way, things would get better. They couldn’t possibly get worse.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

She froze.

He froze.

They stood there, lips pressed together, frozen.

Frozen.

Oh God, this is bloody awkward.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he knew he was supposed to move. Lips were supposed to pass over lips, hands were supposed to caress over curves. But instead sweat beaded up on his back, his hands grew damp, and his mouth grew dry. Now he was terrified to touch her with wet palms. His palms were not what was supposed to get wet.

His mind raced and the blasted thing wouldn’t stop. Thoughts barreled forward that were doing little to help his current frozen predicament. The kinds of thoughts where he over-analyzed all of her reactions since he had entered her chamber. He had detected anger and frustration. Disappointment. That one had especially stung. Too familiar a reaction. And just before this kiss? He had detected panic. He thought her eyes might have even gotten a bit glossy. Which meant tears.

How long have we been standing here?

And then things got worse.

Her lips moved tentatively over his. Her small hand settled on his abdomen.

He squeaked and jumped away. Jumped away from the heat that seared his stomach at her touch. The only blessing in all of this was that he managed to break the most awkward kiss known to man.

If he wasn’t the one in this situation, he’d be impressed by the amount of awkwardness. Award-worthy. Perhaps the King would bestow a title on him for it. The Earldom of Awkward. The Marquess of Muck. The Baronet of Bumblefuck.

He dared to peek at her. She sat there on her ivory bedding, large, green eyes blinking at him, little lines forming between her blonde brows.

Bloody hell. He had squeaked . His face flamed. He wished the flames would just consume him right then and there.

“I. Shurrr. Go. Shurrgoh.” He stepped back, swallowed, and tried again. “I should go.”

And then he fled, the taste of cinnamon and spice lingering on his lips.