Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

22. Georgiana

22

Georgiana

G eorgiana thought she might prefer sticking her fingers in fire than this. She stood outside her husband’s bedchamber door, willing herself to knock. She wasn’t nervous per se, but her husband had her all turned around, like she’d donned her dress backwards, or inside out, or upside down, or perhaps forgot it altogether.

And oddly enough, she was feeling a bit glum after playing a raucous game of snapdragon with his siblings. That shouldn’t make a smidgen of sense. But somehow the laughter, the sibling banter, and even the playful teasing had made Georgiana feel terribly alone . Because she had never had anything even remotely close to that. And she never would. Was it odd to feel sad when surrounded by happiness?

The bond the Jennings family shared, the one with snappy quips, knowing what the other was going to say before they even said it… That kind of relationship was something that came from years—decades—of having someone’s love. So, even though the Jennings family had welcomed Georgiana without pause, accepted her into the warm embrace that was their family—an embrace that was sorely lacking in her own family—she was an outsider. She rubbed her chest.

Urgh, again with this bloody hollowness.

And on top of it all, a thick, heavy cloud was settling around her, threatening to choke her and fill her lungs. Because tonight was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow was Christmas. And it would be her first Christmas without Bernie. Her eyes burned, like they were being filled with blasted lemon juice. She closed her eyes and willed the pressure building behind them to go away. She planted her palm against the door and pushed. Pushed all that glumdrum away.

And pushed herself right into her husband’s chamber.

“Whoooop! ” She stumbled, arms flailing, and just managed to stay upright. She hadn’t realized the door would be unlatched . She had merely been going for some solid support, hence leaning on a solid door.

Fitz stood frozen, standing just outside his dressing chamber.

Georgiana’s mouth fell open.

Her husband turned toward her. Which only made things worse. Because her husband—whose head was currently covered by a towel he was clearly using to dry his hair—was stark naked. And facing her.

Her gaze shot to his groin.

The towel fell off his head.

Her husband’s jaw dropped.

And then a blush spread rapidly over his cheeks and down his muscled chest. Naturally.

And though usually her husband struggled for air, this time it was Georgiana struggling. Breathe. Oh goodness, heaven, hell, God, Satan, just…someone, something. Because naked. Fitz. Naked.

Her heart rate kicked up so hard, so fast, she thought it might have leaped out of her chest, performing a jig around the chamber. She barely heard her husband’s words.

“Gigi?” he squeaked. His hands flew to cup himself.

Georgiana bit her lip and leaned back casually against his door. “Whoops,” she murmured, placing a hand over her racketing heart.

What a pleasant surprise. Her gaze slowly drank him in, drank in the surprisingly lean-muscled form she had just begun to discover back in his study. Yes, it was very clear now—her husband swam. A lot. Her eyes locked on his strong thighs, flexing and unflexing as he shifted back and forth on his feet. Her tongue coasted over her bottom lip because…yum. She wanted to lick every lean inch of him.

Her gaze finally made it back to his beautiful amber eyes—beautiful amber eyes and scrunched brows that oozed disbelief.

“Whoops?” Those skeptical brows lifted even further. “You barge into my chamber unannounced, and all you have to say for yourself is whoops?”

Was that a bit of bite in his tone? Reprimand? Visions of him yanking her head back in his study assaulted her. She dipped her chin and blinked at him demurely.

“My apologies. It hadn’t been my intention to do such a thing.”

He shot her an I highly doubt that look. Her face split into a grin. He rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath as he snatched his towel off the ground and—in the most disappointing of fashions—wrapped it around his waist.

“What are you doing here, Georgiana?”

Her smile faltered. That hadn’t come out even remotely friendly. And it wasn’t the good kind of cross. It was the you are a bother cross. Fitz headed to his dressing chamber, and Georgiana pushed off the door and followed him.

She needed to talk to her husband because he had disappeared after the game of snapdragon, saying he was retiring for the evening. And once again, Georgiana had the sense that her husband was isolating himself, that something was wrong. It was past ten o’clock, and he hadn’t visited her. She thought, after what had occurred in his study, he’d be more inclined to visit her now.

But he hadn’t.

Which only fueled her fear that she had been right in thinking her husband wanted nothing to do with her. So, here she was, taking charge, bursting into her husband’s chamber—albeit accidentally—and doing what her husband had said he wanted in his study. They were going to converse. And I really want to converse with you.

She supposed she would find out how true that statement was soon enough.

“I wanted to speak with you, Fitz.” She stopped and leaned against the door frame, unabashedly watching him as he pulled on a pair of smallclothes—his foot got stuck, and he nearly tumbled to the ground. He recovered with a curse and a deeper blush. He was so bloody adorable. And lovely to look at, even slightly covered as he was now. The smalls were loose-fitting, falling to about his knee, and hung low on his hips, dangerously low.

“Do you not have a valet to assist you?” She thought, for safety’s sake, her husband could probably benefit from a valet.

He looked at her, his brows coming together and inching up his forehead in an incredulous climb. “Me? Have a valet? Do you really think someone as nervous and awkward as me would be able to have another person do something as personal as dress me?” He glanced away, but she still heard the softly muttered words. “It would be painful.”

Her heart went soft. There had been so much self-disgust in those words. She thought she might know a way to help with that. When Georgiana needed distraction, fooling around, dalliances, had always worked to push away the melancholy. So, perhaps that was something she could do for him, something they could do for each other.

She tentatively approached Fitz, not because she was nervous, but because she didn’t want him to flee. She stopped before him, her neck craning up to hold his gaze. The scent of soap and pure, unadulterated Fitzwilliam Jennings swirled around her. He was so tall, a few errant, tight curls falling over his brow as he looked down at her. He watched her. Wary. Uneasy. Breathing soft bursts of warm minty breath down to her. She rested her palms on his chest, and heat seared her skin. He flinched but didn’t pull back.

She lifted on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before sinking back down. He did nothing more than stare at her, study her, jaw set and nostrils flaring. She was determined to ease him into bedding her tonight. Things had been so good between them after their encounter earlier. Maybe that was the secret to a happy marriage. There really should be pamphlets on these types of things—for those who didn’t have any real-life examples to guide them.

His chest quivered beneath her palms, his heart softly beating into her skin. What was going on in that mind of his? What anxious storm was he brewing up in there? She opened her mouth to ask—

“Would you let me watch you fuck yourself?” Fitz blurted.

She blinked. So much for discussion.