Pretty Persuasion (22 page)

Robert heaved a sigh. "I cannot think what has possessed you, Georgie, but I suggest you sleep it off. We'll talk tomorrow."

Talk? She didn't want to
talk
, damn his eyes.

He slipped into his room and attempted to shut the door, and Georgie suffered a moment's curiosity over why he wasn't staying in the master's apartments. Then she shot out her arm and elbowed her way inside. As Robert lost his hold on the door, she started to nudge it closed, but his hand clamped around the edge right above her head.

She pushed again, putting more force into it. "I'm not going back to my bedchamber."

"You are not staying here." Robert's grip on the door was like a steel vise.

Georgie stilled and leaned against the door. "For the past week you have all but forced me to endure your company. Why do you wish to be rid of me now?"

"Because," he said, "I don't trust you."

Georgie winced. Not that she had actually done much to earn his trust, but it was not as if she meant to trap him into marriage.

She swallowed hard. "If you do not find me desirable—"

He cut her off with a harsh laugh that sounded somehow self-derisive. "No, Georgie. God, if only you knew…" Releasing the door, he turned from her and kept his eyes averted even after he had set his candlestick down on the small table beside them.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Knew what?"

He faced her again, his eyes glittering beneath heavy lids, and the sizzling intensity sucked Georgie's mouth dry.
Oh, yes.
That was how she wanted him to look at her. Except he appeared to want to do more than look; he wanted to touch, to kiss, to consume, and she ached for him to act on that urge.

"You ought to leave." His words came out low and raspy, and it seemed as if he spoke more to himself than her. "Whether I desire you or not is neither here nor there. You ought to—no, you
must
—"

He went silent as Georgie moved closer until they stood less than an inch apart and she could feel the warmth from his body. She raised her hand to the dimple in his chin and ran her thumb down its length. Robert gave a start but did not back away from her touch. His reaction emboldened her, and sliding both arms around him, she curled her fingers in the thick mass of his hair.

She stood on the balls of her feet, hesitating briefly before she kissed that cleft chin and found that his barest hint of stubble did feel rough against her lips. Hot air fanned her face as Robert released his pent-up breath, and a stab of excitement ran through Georgie. It was a heady feeling, to have such influence over him.

And yet, he held himself too rigidly. It struck her then that she did not know the first thing about seduction, leaving her dependent on sheer imagination. So she slipped her hands to his white linen neckcloth and tugged on the simple knot.

"Georgie," he said with a warning growl as she untied the cravat and pulled it from his neck. He put his hands on her shoulders, as if to push her away, but instead he squeezed with restrained force that only encouraged her.

She flattened her body against his, chest to chest, and burrowed her face in the hollow of his neck. Open-mouthed, she tasted the warm velvet of his skin, feeling the rapid throbbing of his pulse beneath her lips. And there it was, the scent that had intrigued her at Gretna when he draped his greatcoat over her shoulders. It was his scent—a subtle and enticing fragrance that stirred her senses.

With closed eyes, she inhaled deeply and knew that she would always have this memory. The memory of Robert, powerful and breathtaking Robert, hers to enjoy for one night without having to tie herself to him for the rest of her life. But, although she tried to find comfort in that thought, it only brought a stab of something that felt far too much like regret.

She drew back just far enough to look into his olive-green eyes, sliding her palms down the lapels of his coat. "I suppose asking you for guidance would be fruitless. I'm not quite sure how to go about this."

"You seem to do very well on your own." He sounded hoarse, and his hands fell from her shoulders. "But, Georgie, you must stop now. I cannot—"

What he "could not," she was never to know, for he trailed off as she fingered his flat, gilt coat buttons. She popped them one by one, then grabbed the lapels to push the dark blue garment off his shoulders. It fit so tightly she had to yank on the fine fabric, making her feel awkward rather than seductive.

The waistcoat she easily unbuttoned, and she finally stripped him down to his shirtsleeves with a flicker of satisfaction. Beginning to tug his shirt free from his waistband, she shifted back and lowered her gaze. She let her eyes climb from his black leather shoes, over white stockings and thickly-muscled calves and ever upward to his thighs and the snug fit of his drab breeches. There was something particularly fascinating about a man in shirtsleeves, something forceful yet almost vulnerable.

Inching closer again, she took a firmer hold on the white linen and pulled it free of his breeches. Hoping for his cooperation, she meant to remove the shirt entirely, but her knuckles brushed bare skin—hot, smooth skin that stretched taut over the muscles of his flat abdomen and brushed away her every need besides that of exploring further. Her hands skimmed under his shirt, and Robert shuddered like a statue come alive. Air whooshed from her lungs as he pushed her against the door, pinning her there as it slammed shut with a thud that jarred her bones. Her breasts flattened against his chest, his thigh wedged between hers, and she felt his hardness press into her, hot even through the barrier of their clothes.

Georgie parted her lips to gulp in much-needed air. She tilted her head back, waiting and wanting to feel his mouth on hers. But he only bent until their foreheads and noses touched, his face so close his features blurred and every exhalation hit her in soft, warm wafts of breath that penetrated her skin and sent a flood of desire through her body.

"Why am I resisting you?" he murmured, bracing his hands on the door behind her.

"I don't know." Georgie swallowed. Her mouth was dry, her chest heavy.

"You don't know what you're doing." His voice was rough with certainty—and regret.

Tightening her hold on him, she stroked the wide expanse of his back under his shirt. She brushed her fingers down the curve of his spine, resisting the urge to rake her nails over his skin. She'd scratch him, make him angry, if that's what it took to cut through his hesitation.

"Then show me," she whispered.

He caught her lips on a groan, and Georgie opened to him, inviting him to probe deeper. The meeting of tongues still felt foreign to her, a sensation that thrilled as much in its novelty as in the sheer carnal pleasure of it. More stirring than the sweep and thrust, though, was the moisture and the penetrating intimacy it brought. And as if she absorbed it, the dampness trickled through her and pooled at her center.

The hem of her nightdress crept up, and she moaned into his mouth as his rough palm found her naked thigh. His other hand followed, and he wedged them between her and the door to cup her bottom. He tore his lips from hers and bent to nip at her neck, his touch sliding between her thighs. A shock shot through her at the first stroke of his thumb, bringing her to arch against him on the tips of her toes. As if deciding it an invitation, he pushed aside the edge of her wrapper and closed his lips around her breast through her nightdress.

His hot, wet mouth; the firm, swirling pressure; their bodies crushed together. The jumble of sensations fused into one that left her dizzy, panting, disoriented. Closing her eyes, she sank into the moment, the sheer bliss of releasing the leash of restraint. "Oh, Robert!" she cried, followed by a sound that burst from deep in her chest and echoed in her ears as something frantic and not quite herself.

Bloody hell.
Robert stiffened, then pushed away. What the devil was he doing? "You ought to leave," he declared, though he knew it came out more as a plea than anything. "God knows I cannot make you go. But you really must."

"Why?" she demanded.

Why, indeed?
He had a million different answers. They were all logical, good reasons why Georgie should not even be in this room, let alone doing such a marvelous job of seducing him. Of crushing his resolve with that maddening combination of daring, curiosity, and uninhibited passion.

He wanted her so badly he trembled and shook. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to the bed, toss up the flimsy fabric of her wrapper and nightdress and bury himself inside her.

Still, he wavered. His instincts told him not to make love to her until they had discussed marriage and reached an understanding. And this was not the right moment to bring up the subject. She'd most likely say just about anything to have her way right now.

Have her way—with him. God, the things she did to him.

Then again, why was he hesitating, when bedding her meant ruining her for any other man? She'd have no choice but to marry him. And it was what she wanted, besides.

Bloody hell. He wasn't thinking clearly. He couldn't think clearly when she stood there, looking at him with eyes glazed and kiss-swollen lips.

"Well?" She widened her eyes in question.

He struggled to remember what she had asked him and what he had decided to reply. She ought to leave because… "You have failed. I have not been seduced."

Georgie pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing into two tiny slits. "Then I must redouble my efforts, mustn't I?"

Swallowing hard, Robert backed up a step. Damn her determination. He didn't think—no, he
knew
he was not man enough to withstand her. It almost seemed as if she'd be easier to rebuff if she actually knew what she was about. Then he mightn't be so curious to see what she'd do next, nor half so aroused by the sheer anticipation of it.

"Ah, no, you must nah—" His brain crashed as she reached for her wrapper. She quickly untied and shrugged it off, and he lost all sense of coherency when she started on the tiny buttons at the neck of her nightdress. One by one, they were undone, opening up to show a perfect V of pearly white skin. She brushed the fabric aside and began to pull the nightdress past her shoulders, but then she faltered.

Robert let his attention drift reluctantly back to her face. She hesitated only for a moment, and then, with a slight upward tilt of her chin, she tugged on the nightdress again.

He fought back a smile.
That's my Georgie.
He was powerless to do anything but admire her sheer bloody-mindedness.

And admire her figure, revealed suddenly in all its naked glory as the nightdress fell in a pool around her feet. God, she was lovely. Inch upon inch of irresistible lines and shapely curves, of dips and valleys in all the right places. She was sensuality incarnate and infinitely more exquisite than he could ever have imagined.

With a rush that drained Robert's head of blood and sent a blast of desire straight to his groin, he knew this was it: he was done for. No turning back now. He had to have her now, tonight.

She shifted closer toward him. "What do I do now?"

How did she manage to sound so naïve and so wanton at the same time? Though the arousal humming through his body had him hungering to feast his eyes on every bare inch of her, he forced himself to focus on her face. "I suppose you could remove yourself to the bed," he said, trying to sound debonair and undoubtedly failing.

"Hmm. Very well." She sidled past him, and the scent of rosewater lingered in the empty space she left behind. How long had it been since a woman's scent had filled his bedchamber, since he had shared his sheets with a soft, female body? Too long, and yet not long enough for the memory not to bring small stab of pain, one that he nevertheless managed to banish more easily than ever before.

He did not intend to lose a single glimpse of her to darkness, so he grabbed the candlestick off the table and turned toward the crimson-draped bed. And what a heavenly sight awaited him there. She had not lain down and buried herself under the blankets like a shy maiden—oh, no, not Georgie. She had turned back the blankets and crawled onto them, and there she perched, kneeling with a straight spine and an expectant gleam in her eye. Wisps of raven hair had fallen loose, framing her face, and a faint blush colored her freckled cheeks. Well-rounded breasts, perked high with pebbled nipples above a slender waist that curved enticingly down to the flare of her hips.

He had seen beautiful women, women who were well formed and sensuous, but Georgie was simply perfect. Her breasts were slightly uneven, but they were not flaws—they only completed the picture of perfection. She was Georgie—his Georgie—and the sight of her waiting for him on his bed almost brought him to his knees.

Her lips twitched a smile. "Does this mean I have seduced you?"

Oh, and didn't she look smug all of a sudden? He put the candle down on the night table. "You have won me over, certainly."

"Seduced," she stated firmly, slipping to the edge of the bed where she grabbed his shirt and yanked him closer. "How did I do it?"

"Do what?" He raised his arms as she tugged the linen up over his head.

"Seduce you." The shirt sighed onto the floor, and Georgie put her palms on his chest, stroking tentatively. "When, precisely, did it happen? What did I do?"

"What does it matter?"

"I just want to know." She stared at her own hands, combing the hair on his chest, fingering a circle around one nipple.

Robert shifted uncomfortably. His breeches were too tight, growing more so by the minute.
Touch her, you fool. What are you waiting for?

Her warm breath rushed out and fanned his shoulder as he reached around and cupped her bottom. Round and soft—oh, God, so soft, and molding so perfectly to his hands. Her arms came around his neck, and he put his mouth to her ear and whispered, "I suspect I was doomed the moment you decided to do this, Georgie."

She uttered a hushed "Oh," sucking in her breath as he nipped at her earlobe. His palms filled with the smooth, plump flesh of her bottom, he brought her flush up against himself, where her belly both eased and increased the heavy ache of his arousal.