Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

31. Georgiana

31

Georgiana

G eorgiana wandered down the hallway of her husband’s small London town house. It was brightly lit with gold wall sconces and cream wallcoverings. There was no artwork, no bric-a-brac, no portraits, no personal artifacts. No signs of life. The entire house seemed that way, actually. Except for her husband’s study, one wouldn’t have realized someone lived here.

Which she supposed wasn’t surprising given what she’d learned about her husband in their short time together—goodness, it had almost been a fortnight, hadn’t it? Fitz seemed to focus solely on his Italian translations. It looked like it would be up to her to make this town house feel like a home. What exactly that home life was going to look like…was still in question.

Because when she had arrived an hour earlier from Kent, her husband had been noticeably absent. The butler, Pemberton, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hutchinson, had received her in his stead. Pemberton was a thin, middle-aged, refined gentleman with neatly cut brown hair. Very formal. Very butler. Mrs. Hutchinson, on the other hand, was the opposite of the butler in every way—hair frazzled, cheeks rosy, wearing an apron that appeared to be smudged with coal dust.

The housekeeper, who spoke almost too fast for Georgiana to catch what the woman was saying, provided her with a quick tour. They had a small staff: a cook, a footman, and a maid. The maid, whose name was Jane, or Elaine—or maybe it was Lorraine?—regardless, the young woman could assist Georgiana in any lady’s maids duties Georgiana would require until she found a suitable one for hire. Despite the matron’s harried demeanor, Mrs. Hutchinson was jovial and quick with a smile, and made Georgiana feel welcome.

Much more so than her absent husband.

Georgiana worried her lip and halted outside her husband’s study. He was finally home. He hadn’t sought her out, which she was trying not to be too hurt about. He had said he had urgent business, so was most likely busy. She understood what that meant from growing up with her father. It wasn’t rare for her father to completely forget she and her mother existed. Honestly, some days she had rather hoped her mother would forget she existed.

Right now, her husband’s nose was inches from a book, spectacles dangling dangerously. Fitz was so absorbed with his reading he appeared about to fall into the book, so it wasn’t all that surprising he had forgotten about her. It didn’t make it hurt any less. It actually hurt a great deal more. Because he had been all she could think about since their night together—goodness, since their betrothal, really. He’d wormed his way into her heart and her mind just like the curly-haired, freckled bookworm he was.

Felicity’s words floated back to her. Give him a chance. Georgiana thought she might need to give her husband a whole bushel of chances.

She tipped up her chin, cleared her throat, and stepped into his study.

Her husband squeaked and flipped the book shut with a thwack . He hastily shoved the book in the top drawer of his desk, a blush rapidly spreading over his cheekbones.

He popped up, bashed something—his knee?—on his desk, cursed, and then blurted, “G-Georgiana. You’ve arrived, then.”

What a greeting. Her heartbeat dwindled, but she forced a smile. “Yes, Fitz. An hour or so ago.” She didn’t know whether to feel relief that the only reason he hadn’t come looking for was because he hadn’t been aware of her arrival—or hurt that he had been completely oblivious to the fact. Hadn’t been waiting in anticipation for her. Like she had for him.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” His gaze darted around his study, apparently unable to find a place to land.

“Yes, smooth travels. We were fortunate the weather has cooperated, and we haven’t received any snow lately. It was a quick, half-day journey.”

“Excellent. Excellent.”

They stood there awkwardly; him finding his ceiling fascinating and her twisting her skirts in her fingers. Evidently, he wasn’t going to invite her inside. How had they reverted to this? They had seemed to be making such progress. She thought he was becoming more comfortable around her. But this? This was just as bad as her first week at his country estate in Kent.

“You look well.” He said it to the ceiling.

She thought he might have meant it for her, though. And she was going to count that as a small victory.

She dared to approach him. Perhaps she could make him more comfortable. She had no idea how to navigate a relationship, romantic or otherwise. He was always more at ease after a bout of lovemaking. He seemed to like her then. She ignored the pang in her gut that thought caused. Plus, she’d always wanted to be tupped on a desk. Yes, that was probably the answer. A tupping. Lust had never failed to make her feel, to make her forget.

She stopped before him, ivory skirts swirling around his gray trousers. His amber gaze finally settled on hers, and a breath puffed from him, his entire face softening with what she really hoped was longing. A face going soft could only be a good thing, right? All she knew was the way he was looking at her, those rich, amber eyes swimming with indecipherable emotion, had her heart melting.

She reached out and took one of his clenched hands and slowly pried his fingers apart and ran her thumb over the back. Staring at him, she whispered, “I missed you, husband.”

He nodded.

Her lips quirked. Not really an applicable response.

She went up on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before gently falling back down. He sucked in a breath and stilled. She waited, pleading with her eyes, pleading for him to kiss her back.

Pleading for him to want her.

Want me.