Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

49. Georgiana

49

Georgiana

G eorgiana’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and she blinked away the sleep blurring her vision, her peach-hued bedchamber gradually coming into focus. And what did she see when her vision finally cleared? The most beautiful view. A bleary-eyed Fitzwilliam, staring back at her.

“Good morning, husband.”

Fitz blushed to the tips of his ears, the color nearly identical to the color of the curtains surrounding her four-poster bed. “Good morning, wife.”

She grinned and rolled to her side, her hand lazily drifting up his taut stomach, over his chest, to fluff lightly in his dusting of amber chest hair. “Truly, Fitz, you are blushing? Last night, you fucked me multiple times at a brothel and told me to suck your cock like a needy whore.” Mmmm. The filthy things her awkward husband said. It did it for her. She squeezed her thighs together, her eyes fluttering shut. “It was utter perfection. And you came on my breasts.” She shivered.

Ugh, and that third time? She wasn’t sure if it had been their admissions of love, or her husband was just ravenous for her. But her muscles were still sore from the thorough pounding he’d given her afterwards. She winced at the tender throbbing on her arse. It might be a bit uncomfortable to sit today. Her husband had finally let go of his reservations and spanked her like she’d wanted. Hard .

She tilted her head, studying him, his blush still deep, but with the way his eyes had darkened she thought it might also be from arousal.

“You, my little crimson crustacean, were utterly depraved . Yet, we wake up this morning and you are blushing and bashful?” She traced her finger down his adorably freckled nose.

“Crimson crustacean?” His eyebrows lifted, his lips tilting up in the sweetest boyish half-smile.

She shrugged her shoulder not buried in the mattress. He was her lobster. He’d just have to deal with that.

“This is me, Gigi,” he said hesitantly. He let out an exhale, his breath a soft puff dancing over her cheeks. “I am awkward and an idiot. I may have brief flashes of confidence, especially in the heat of the moment when I can battle away my nerves, but at my core, I am always this man. This man will always resurface.” He looked away, gnawing on his bottom lip.

She frowned, and her heart squeezed. That word—idiot—and others like it, were so flippantly thrown around, and while her husband may sometimes act foolish, he wasn’t an idiot. But he truly believed he was. That there was something wrong with him. When he was perfect.

She gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. “You are not an idiot, Fitzwilliam Jennings. Having difficulties with social interactions does not make you an idiot. Stumbling over your words does not make you an idiot. We all have strengths and weaknesses. I love you, Fitz. You. Weaknesses and all. All versions. Whichever one shows up, bumbling or bold.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, making a mental note to remove that word—and all others like it—from her vocabulary. She would continue to assure him for the rest of their days that he was everything she could ever want. That he was the opposite of lacking. That, without a doubt, no one could ever compare to him.

“I love you, too, Gigi.”

Her body sighed in a warm, happy thrum. She was finally where she belonged.

A muffled bellow reverberated through the door. “Georgiana!”

Georgiana’s chin jerked back, and her gaze flew to the door. The door that burst open, a swirl of light-gray wool coat barging in.

“Felicity!” Fitz squeaked, his face, ears, neck, and chest blooming a deep red.

Georgiana smiled fondly. Her poor lobster.

Felicity paused, her gaze bouncing between the two of them. Her amber brows inched up her forehead. Her stare landed on Georgiana, and she crossed her arms. “We are supposed to leave for the foundling home in thirty minutes.” That tone had been nothing short of accusatory.

Shite. Was it really that late already? Clenching the bed linens to her chest, she scurried over her sputtering husband to grab his pocket watch on the nightstand. Half past ten. Double shite.

“Have y-you never heard of kn-knocking! Is there no b-bloody privacy in this g-godforsaken family?” Fitz’s incredulous stammering echoed through the chamber.

Felicity waved him off. “There is no such thing as privacy in this family. You know that, Fitzy.”

Georgiana giggled at her slack-jawed husband.

“W-what if we had—What if”—he flapped his hands frantically—“What if we had been …” He glared at his sister.

She tilted her head at a cheeky angle. “What if you had been… making the beast with the two backs? Dancing the blanket hornpipe? Joining giblets? Doing the featherbed jig?”

“Basket making?” Georgiana threw in.

Fitz threw her a crimson glare that screamed traitor.

“If you were busy in Georgiana’s mutton?” Felicity asked.

Georgiana choked. Fitz wheezed. She broke into uncontrollable laughter.

Fitz reached for his pillow and pulled it over his face. A muffled, “Kill me, just kill me, put me out of my misery,” drifted from the white cushion he was currently trying to suffocate himself with.

Georgiana drew in a deep breath, waving a hand in front of her face. “Dear God , Felicity. That was—I have no words.”

Felicity was wearing a face-splitting grin. She took a small bow. “You’re welcome for your daily dose of entertainment. Honestly, I hadn’t thought there would be any issue barging into Georgiana’s chamber. Given we have plans . And I figured if you two were shagging, you’d be in Fitzy’s room.” She shrugged.

“Give us a moment, Fliss. To make ourselves decent,” Georgiana said.

Felicity winked and left.

Georgiana turned to her pillow covered husband. “Fitz? Caro? Are you well?”

A strangled groan was his reply.

She gently pulled the pillow from his face. To be met with her husband’s eyes squeezed shut tight, mouth in a down-turned grimace.

“That really wasn’t all that bad. She could have walked in on the…actual act. Even I might not be able to look at her after something like that.”

He slowly opened one eye and peered at her. “You’re going to the foundling home?”

She nodded. She knew what Fitz was referring to. The foundling home. As in the Duke’s foundling home. She had pried a bit more from her husband last night about his worries and insecurities. She hoped he understood her visiting the foundling home had nothing to do with the Duke. But they were walking on a fragile new foundation.

He rolled his lips in, his eyes studying the peach canopy of her bed. “Would it be all right if I joined you?” His words were slow and laden with uncertainty. He glanced at her. “I don’t want to intrude. If this is sister-bonding between you and Flick. Or if—”

“I would love for you to come!” She pounced on him, caging him in between her arms. And the little bumbling rascal’s gaze dropped straight to her bare breasts. She rolled her eyes. What a rogue. “Eyes up here, love.”

His gaze shot up, and he smiled sheepishly at her. “Apologies. You have lovely tits, micetta.”

She chuckled. This man. Her heart was fit to bursting with how much she loved him.

“I think it would be lovely if you joined us. Felicity wants to have a snowball fight. And I am sure the boys would love to have a man to visit with. Perhaps you can even teach them some Italian.”

He frowned, his gaze turning inward. “That’s interesting.”

Her eyebrows lifted, and she stared at him in bemusement. Interpreting her husband was a constant puzzle. “Interesting?”

He nodded and met her gaze again. “Perhaps I can make a habit of it. Visiting the foundling home to teach them Italian.” He shrugged. “It might be useful for them in some capacity.”

“That is a fabulous idea, caro,” she murmured. Her husband—so genuine, so kind. She pressed a kiss to his lips and jumped from the bed. “Now, let us make haste!”