Miss Darcy Falls in Love (22 page)

“I love you,” she whispered.

He captured the teasing fingers that massaged his scalp and played with his hair, drawing each tiny tip to his lips for light kisses. He grazed over the underside of her fingers, bestowed nibbles along the way, paused to reverentially kiss the gold rings on her finger, and then traveled on to her palm and delicate wrist. She moaned faintly, her eyes liquid with rising passion.

“I love you, Georgiana, with all my soul.”

And then there were no more words. Kisses and caresses commenced at a languid pace that rapidly escalated as their mutual hunger consumed them. The lovely but intrusive gown was discarded. Their hands were everywhere, provoking and inflaming. Lips were not content to remain in one place for too long, although their mouths were inevitably drawn together for fervent kisses. They writhed, limbs tangled, and the entire surface of the bed was encountered at some point as they endlessly shifted in order to touch another part of the other.

He stroked over her hips and back, fingers twining in the silky hair cascading down her slender back as she swayed above him, moving in a rhythmic fashion that drove his passion to rapturous levels. Observing the drugged expression of unrestrained pleasure and love inundating her face, while simultaneously feeling each movement searing his sensitized nerves, led to the inevitable glorious conclusion. She arched her back, nails digging into his shoulder as she cried his name in ecstasy. The taut pressure in his body was on the brink of a violent release of pleasure, the groan already formulating deep in his throat and back arching when he pulled her body onto his chest, crying in purest joy as he relinquished control and gave in to the unleashed power of his love…

Sebastian jolted awake, his strangled cry of her name ripping through the chamber. The sheets were a knotted mess under his sweat-soaked skin and the damp nightshirt clung to his flesh. Ragged respirations burned painfully in his lungs. The vivid dream of Georgiana and the sweet fire of pleasure that raged in his loins consumed his thoughts. So amazingly beautiful were the images and so stunning the rapture that it was several moments before his dazed mind realized it was a dream.

“Oh, sweet God!” he rasped, drawing his knees up to ease the sudden agony. He had never been so aroused or so weak with desire, and the interrupted, enviable ending, while the dream was still so clear in his mind, created a pain unlike anything ever experienced. His body pulsated with the need to hold her tightly as the tremors of his love abated and his heart felt near to bursting with the comprehension that her presence was a fantasy. He groaned in misery, unable to calm the tumultuous seas crashing within.

Lurching to his feet and swaying, it was a moment before he was able to stagger to the dark window. He leaned against the cold stone, knees buckling and body sliding to the floor. Stars flashed before his eyes and his head swam from lack of oxygen, heartache, and confusion.

“You are a fool, Butler,” he admonished in an audible murmur. “You are in love with her. Utterly, passionately, eternally, and all the rest.”

Tears welled in his eyes, a faint sob catching in his throat.
And
it
is
too
late
because
she
loves
another.

“You need not worry, Caxton,” Sebastian whispered, his breath a vapor in the chill. “I am not in a place of competition, as her affections are not directed toward me. I have what I wanted. A friend.” He laughed bitterly, and then covered his face with his long-fingered hands and succumbed to his misery and self-pity.

Chapter Fourteen

Dissonance Accelerando

Miss Darcy? You have a visitor.”

Georgiana glanced up, her eyes instantly shining in hopeful anticipation. “Who is it?”

“Miss Foster-Riggs. She is waiting in the salon.”

Georgiana nodded, her face falling into the melancholy pose she could not seem to prevent when alone. She sighed, pressed her fingertips against the persistent ache inside her forehead, and closed her moist eyes. A few moments were necessary to collect her scattered emotions before feigning cheeriness before her guest.

We miss you, dearest sister.

All of our love and devotion,

William and Lizzy and the boys

Tracing a fingertip over the signatures etched upon the letter in her hand, Georgiana fought the tears.
How
I
wish
they
were
here!
But they were far away, not that their presence would change the web she discovered herself entangled in. With each passing day, she yearned for the security of Pemberley, the beloved manor’s thick walls a sanctuary she dreamed of regardless how naïve the sentiment.

Entering the salon, her heart did lift at the sight of her waiting friend, genuine smiles breaking out as they clasped hands.

“Dearest Georgiana! I pray I did not disturb your rest?”

“Not at all, Josephine. You are always welcome and I have all afternoon to rest. Please, sit and have tea with me.”

“If you insist, but I shall not keep you long. I need my rest as well! I intend to revel in tonight’s entertainment long into the wee hours of the morn!”

Miss Foster-Riggs sat on the settee across from Georgiana, inspecting the signs of sadness and crying on her friend’s face. “I am surprised to find you at home, actually. I thought sure your gorgeous baron would have whisked you off for a ride or something.”

“For the thousandth time, he is not my baron. You are as bad as Zoë and Yvette.”

“Well, he does occupy much of your time. We women have difficulty capturing your attention for ourselves these days. But we persist!”

“Indeed, you do and I am grateful.”
I
only
wish
Mr. Butler was as proactive,
she thought with an angry scowl. “You should know that I delight in my hours spent with you and the others as greatly as in the company of a man.”

Josephine laughed, waving her hand airily. “I am not so convinced of that! Nor can I blame you for seeking the baron’s company. And, in light of the desire to charm and devastate at a glance, I have come on a purpose.” She began peeling the layers of satin fabric away from the bundled she held in her lap and continued her narrative. “Your enraptured baron shall need to join the collection of gentlemen unable to resist you. Remember, I spoke of the perfect hair ornament to complement the gown you have chosen for tonight’s ball? Well, here it is.”

Lying within the folds of white satin was a narrow circlet of gold finely wrought in a design of numerous thin strands curved and woven together with inlaid lapis lazuli and blue chalcedony. The deep, violet blue of the lapis lazuli blended stunningly with the milky-blue of the chalcedony, the polished pieces delicate and integrated beautifully.

Georgiana gasped. “Oh, Josephine! It is exquisite! And perfect! But far too fine for me to be comfortable borrowing. What if something were to happen to it?”

“Pish! It shall be securely nestled amid that mass you call your hair—which we all envy with a jealousy most evil in nature—so where could it go? But you have nothing to fret over anyway, as I am giving it to you as a gift. No, spare your breath! With my hair and complexion it was a horrid choice in the first place.” She patted her lush locks of fiery red, the porcelain skin that forever appeared faintly blotched with red veins and bright freckles, no matter how thick she powdered, instantly flushing as if knowing it was being discussed. “What my great-aunt Sylvie was thinking I’ll never know, but now she has parted this world, God rest her soul, so she will never know that I have given the hideous thing away.”

The “hideous thing” was placed onto Georgiana’s head, perching precariously at an angle atop the smooth daytime chignon, but regal and splendid nonetheless. The twinkling gemstones of varied shades of blue accented the multifaceted slivers of blue in Georgiana’s pale eyes, lovely even with her day gown of canary yellow.

“There,” Josephine declared. “You are a vision. The baron shall fall to his knees in devotion, laying his life at your dainty feet. Every woman will be green with envy, myself included. And Mr. Butler will be cursing his stupidity for not snapping you up sooner.”

Georgiana jerked. “You and your delusions, Josephine,” she denied with a shaky laugh. “No one will notice me at all. And I doubt if Mr. Butler will be attending. He is quite busy these days.” She said the last faintly, using the excuse of rewrapping the circlet to distract and busy her trembling hands.

Josephine shrugged. “Too bad. He will be missing the event of the winter. The de Valdays throw the most divine galas.”

“You exaggerate outrageously, dear Josephine. Nothing could compare to the Fercourt or the Lauraguais extravaganzas. And I am yet recuperating from the Chamilly affair. This will be sedate in comparison.”

Josephine gasped dramatically. “I certainly pray not! I intend to dazzle and dance until my feet bleed.”

“Monsieur Sainte-Mesme is agreeable to this? His feet are up to the task? Or does he plan to allow other gentlemen free access to his fiancée?”

“He is enraptured and will do whatever I desire,” she declared with a toss of her head, and then dissolved into girlish giggles. She clasped on to Georgiana’s hand. “I shall so miss you, my dear friend. Our time has been far too short. Why, oh why must your baron take you away?”

“For the last time, he is not my baron, and I am returning to England with my family, as we have planned all along.”

“Yes, yes. But you will marry and burrow into life as a proper English wife, and I shall never see you again!”

“I have no intention of marrying anyone in the near future, Josephine. And worry not, as we will keep in touch, write letters, and surely Monsieur Sainte-Mesme will escort his new bride to London next year. Besides, you will be the devoted, proper wife long before me.”

Josephine frowned, gazing intently at her friend. “You seem sad, Georgiana. In fact, you have not quite been yourself for over a week now. Have you and Lord Caxton quarreled?”

Georgiana sighed, her fingers reaching to rub her temples. “No, we have not quarreled. All is well, I suppose. I am not as convinced as he is regarding our relationship and am growing weary of having my caution dismissed.”

“He does not mean to push, Georgiana, I am sure of it. Lord Caxton is a good man and deeply in love with you, any fool can see that.”

“I know. He is a wonderful man and I care for him very much. It is just so fast and overwhelming. I need time, Josephine, and perhaps distance.” She shook her head, smiling wanly. “I am making no sense, I am afraid. And I am sounding like a petulant child.”

“You are homesick.”

“Yes. And tired, with a headache and persistent ringing in my ears.”

“Then you must rest,” Josephine declared authoritatively. “Sleep in a darkened room will restore your vigor and prepare you for tonight. Do not fret so, dear Georgiana. Everything will be just fine, you’ll see!”

Minutes later, Georgiana sluggishly climbed the stairs toward her bedchamber.
Everything
will
be
just
fine.
The same advice offered by Mrs. Annesley. Yet she did not feel as if
anything
was fine. Her heart ached more than her head, the weariness that consumed her one of the soul as well as the body.

Mr. Butler had apparently disappeared. He had not returned to the de Valday townhouse since the day he shared his hymns. She still had the leather portfolio in her possession, the music and lyrics of each one now memorized from uncounted hours poring over them. Yet their composer was nowhere to be found. He never appeared at any of the functions she attended and offhand comments by others conveyed the same curiosity regarding his absence elsewhere. The lively presence of the Marchioness of Warrow proved that nothing serious could have befallen him, allaying Georgiana’s worst fears.

Georgiana was alternately torn between sobbing dismay and fits of anger. It was unconscionable to abandon a friend in such a manner, and she had her moments of extreme vexation when vivid images of delivering the tongue-lashing he deserved would give her an odd strength. But primarily she felt grieved beyond the words to describe. She was unbelievably hurt at his apparent indifference, crushed by feelings of inadequacy and doubt in her judgment.

The terror of having her deepest fears confirmed—that is, that she was entirely wrong regarding his friendship—prevented her probing the situation. She knew that discovering he was happily passing his time elsewhere, with someone else, would devastate her, so she avoided Lady Warrow’s presence, ignored the troubled glances the marchioness sent her direction, and did not inquire amongst their mutual friends.

And with each passing day, the sense of profound loss escalated.

Then there was the matter of Lord Caxton. He maintained his constant attention but did not press her to formalize their arrangement, of which she was thankful. However, she was not sure if that was due to understanding deference or because he presumed her acquiescence. His subtle phrasings and assumptive familiarity pointed to the latter.

She enjoyed her hours with the unfailingly humorous gentleman. His masculine presence never failed to move her, his handsome virility breathtaking. Yet twice, he had leaned in as if preparing to snatch a kiss, Georgiana pulling away, not out of alarm at the improper maneuver, but because of the image of Mr. Butler that jolted through her mind.

She cared for Lord Caxton, she was certain of that. So why did she experience flares of annoyance when he fervidly expressed his affection? Eventually, she realized her anger was not directed at him but at the persistent feelings for Mr. Butler that interfered with total relinquishment to the passion and future Lord Caxton freely offered.

“Damn you, Sebastian Butler!” she muttered to the air. Sinking into the mattress and already succumbing to the beginnings of sleep, the questions continued to swirl.

Is
my
love
for
the
baron
not
able
to
flourish
because
I
am
madly
in
love
Mr. Butler? Or do my emotions toward the dashing older man simply not run deep enough?

The constant strain of trying desperately to figure it out while nursing an aching heart and maintaining a pose of frivolity amid the nonstop entertainments wore on her. A long, drugged-like nap, followed by a cleansing soak in water hot enough to redden her delicate skin, could not erase her dulled senses. She dressed in her new gown, stared at her reflection as the maid coiffed her waist-length hair into an elaborate array with the circlet a crowning glory, and left the room a vision of beauty.

It was all a daze.

Her brain was addled with clouds obscuring lucid thought. The pressure behind her forehead and ears had escalated, a faint buzzing sound further disturbing her concentration, and her muscles ached. Some tiny part of her rational mind knew she was sick, but drive and determination forced her onward. The de Valdays had planned this soiree to honor their dear English friends, Lord and Lady Matlock and Miss Georgiana Darcy, as a farewell spectacular. Very soon, they would be returning home and Georgiana did not know whether to leap for joy or cry.

***

The carriage belonging to the Marchioness of Warrow rattled along the busy streets of nighttime Paris. The marchioness sat on her seat, the layers of fabric elegantly swathing her lush figure draped perfectly to prevent wrinkles. Her posture was one of serene dignity, her lined face composed, but her eyes displayed a pronounced concern as she stared out of the shadows toward the fidgeting young man across from her.

“Thank you, my boy, for agreeing to escort me tonight.”

Sebastian Butler nodded, not removing his gaze from the passing scenery. “Of course, Grandmother. It is my pleasure, you know that.”

Under other circumstances she may have smiled and teased at his use of the word
pleasure
when his tone so manifestly lacked anything remotely joyous, but she saw no irony in the situation. The marchioness was an old woman, but one who counted keen discernment and mental acuity to the gift of physical vigor granted by the Almighty. Nothing missed her penetrating gaze and inclusive ear. And when it came to matters concerning her family and those she loved, her assiduousness was formidable.