The Kiss (12 page)

Georgiana kissed him with every ounce of her being. She tried to steady the trembling she couldn't control while he teased the seam of her lips again and again until she opened to him. Sparks of yearning whirled deep within her, her skin aching with desire.
Oh God.
This was so much more than all her dreams over the years combined. Now she was allowing all the longing she had pinned down deep inside of her during the last two decades to escape the confines of her heart.

Georgiana unconsciously clung to his hands the way the falcons mated in the golden rays of twilight on the salty updrafts along Pentire Point, their feet joined in a spectacular sky dance, revolving in mesmerizing arcs as if to triumphantly show their devoted passion to the lesser world below. For when a falcon chose a mate, it was for life.

As that unbearable wish intruded upon her thoughts, she released his hands, released her hold on him.

His shuttered, mysterious eyes searched hers and darkened. "Oh no," he whispered. "We're not finished ... not nearly."

And time slowed to a standstill as he again pulled her to him, this time wrapping her hands above his neck before he bound his own about her, enveloping her in his overpowering warmth as she melted into him. Her lips parted and he possessed her mouth, his tongue penetrating and sure. His breath thrummed against her cheek in time to her own harsh exhales as he tasted her, devoured her in shattering thoroughness while his hands gripped her back and then brushed against the sensitive sides of her breasts. And all the while his intangible, unforgettable scent captivated her senses and made her dizzy with an ache she couldn't define.

She was so very beyond her depth, her nerves soaring with unbearable longing for this to never end. Just when she realized the moan she had heard was coming from her throat not his, he eased his lips from hers and trailed a pattern of kisses past her cheek to nuzzle the sensitive jointure of her neck. His breathing became erratic against her throat and she froze ... in horrified remembrance of Tony's uneven breathing on her wedding night... and of Tony's begging words to think of him always ... not
Quinn.

She tore herself away from him, never bothering to look back as she fled to lose herself in the security of her list of labors. Never bothering to search his expression for the very thing she had wished for, for so long: darkening desire.

It was there in his eyes, but only for a moment when she ran away—a very fleeting instant before he staggered backward and regained his senses.

But then, timing had never been Georgiana's forte. It had always been her downfall.

For the rest of the day and into the evening, Georgiana struggled to keep those moments with Quinn from invading her every thought.

And failed miserably.

His eyes, his embrace, his mouth on hers suffused every corner of her mind—while she took the early twilight air with the widows and through dinner, which tasted like the sawdust littering the chopping block.

Later that evening, as she watched the mist rising from the warm waters of Loe Pool into the cooler night air, she knew she would never be free of him. He had a grip on her that could not be unclasped from her heart.

Her mind was still fevered with thoughts of Quinn throughout a long chat the next morning with Mr. Brown, who seemed determined to humor her and help her no matter what. The ledgers, for the first time in her life, held little interest and much too much detail.

All the while she wondered where
he
had gone. Oh, at first she was glad he was nowhere in sight. Her emotions were too high, her shock at what had happened too new. She needed privacy to regain her sanity and to plan and ponder what would happen next.

Never in any of her dreams had she fully imagined the raw, desperate sensuality of kissing Quinn. Losing complete control of all her senses had never been at stake. His kiss was supposed to have felt like a romantic, dreamy state, not a violent, all-consuming desire to know more—a lot more.

By dinner, when Ata asked for the third time, "Where is dear Quinn?" Georgiana thought she would go mad with nervousness.

Did he know?
Was he staying away because he had guessed her deepest secret—her great feelings for him? Obviously, he was embarrassed and trying to figure out a way to explain his actions.

That night, as she wrestled with the bedcovers in the steward's quarters she wished she were at Loe Pool. But with Mr. Brown's arrival she felt the need to guard the last vestiges of her father's domain at Penrose. Yet she longed to gaze at the stars, and lose herself in the familiar dreams of Quinn from long ago. Dreams that had now been wiped away by the raw reality of his kiss.

Quinn rubbed his jaw and moved the ledgers to the edge of his barreled walnut desk. He leveled a stare at John Brown.

The older man mopped his brow. "My initial impression?"

"If you please, sir."

"The lass is a better man than I."

"She's no man," he said quickly, without thinking.

"You've noticed, have you?" Mr. Brown chuckled the hearty laugh Quinn had warmed to a little too quickly, he thought with exasperation.

Living at Penrose was making him vulnerable. He, of all people, should know better than anyone the dangers of trusting someone.

Quinn forced himself to relax his clenched hands. "She can't continue on as before. She can't—"

He was interrupted by frenetic rapping on the study's door.

"Come."

The frazzled form of Fairleigh's governess entered, her hands shaking and clenched in front of her. "My lord, I regret to inform you that your daughter has led me on a merry chase again and I have searched everywhere for her." Two bright spots of color mounted Miss Biddleworth's cheeks.

The imp. "Hmmm. Did you try the stables?"

"No, sir. I assumed after your admonishment she would refrain."

He raised his eyebrows. "With my daughter it's better not to assume anything, Miss Biddleworth."

Mr. Brown chuckled again, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Sir—" the older governess began.

"What about the falcon mews?"

"Sir—"

"Or the hay barn? There's a rope swing tied to the rafters—"

Miss Biddleworth did the unthinkable and interrupted her employer. "Sir, I am trying to tell you that I'm giving notice. I'm sorry but I cannot continue." She rose up to her most formidable governess stance, which was somewhat comical given that her knotted hair was losing its battle with the pins. "I have the luxury of speaking quite plainly to you, my lord, as I've decided to retire to Somerset and live with my sister. Your daughter is incorrigible. Never in my thirty years have I seen a child so spoilt and so slow and unwilling to learn."

The governess, having allowed her rude thoughts to escape, something she had obviously never dared do in the last three decades, quickly lost steam.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add, Miss Biddleworth?" He kept his voice deceptively measured.

"I would request someone to take me to the village for the next mail coach."

Quinn promised full payment of her quarterly wages despite the circumstances and bid a polite good-bye to the last in a series of six governesses in as many years.

"Allow me to escort you, ma'am," Mr. Brown said. "Say in one hour? Would that be sufficient?"

The governess nodded haughtily and departed, closing the door none too lightly.

"You seem to enjoy feisty females, Mr. Brown."

"As do you, my lord."

"There you are wrong. I
endure
headstrong females. I do not enjoy them."

"Well, begging your pardon, but with a daughter such as yours, you might reconsider." The old man looked like he had more to say.

"Spit it out, Mr. Brown."

"Then there's the matter of Georgiana Wilde— or is it Fortesque?"

"Tread carefully, sir. I rather think you have your own worries, considering what Ata will think if you're seen escorting the governess about the countryside."

"Don't worry about me, sir. I've known the devil's grandmother for five decades. Nothing can frighten this old body of mine."

"You're a brave man, Mr. Brown. Braver than I."

"I don't know, my lord. I've faith in you to see the pleasure a woman of substance can—"

He didn't let the old man finish. "That'll be all, Mr. Brown."

A quarter of an hour later, Quinn's stride lengthened as he made his way past the barn doors, a few stray strands of hay on his clothes. He broke into a run as he allowed fear to curl around the edges of his mind.
Loe pool.
She wouldn't. Not after he had expressly prohibited Fairleigh to go there alone. She couldn't swim. She couldn't...

As he entered the downhill slope of a large stand of trees above the lake his gaze snagged on two figures in the far distance—one willowy and dark, the other petite and blonde.

He tried to regulate his breathing as he stopped and watched the pair, but residual fear for his daughter hampered the effort. At least that was what he told himself. He had resolutely kept Georgiana from his thoughts for the last day and a half.

That kiss ...

Well, his reaction was to be expected. It had been years since he'd given in to his baser needs. Years since he'd sworn off females—including his wife, and even those women offering favors at very favorable rates at the best brothels in the worst parts of town.

They had been the last he had sworn off. The temporary corporal relief hadn't been worth the possible consequences, and he just couldn't bring himself to continue down that silken path.

Perhaps, he thought ruefully it was why he had chosen on a whim to settle at Penrose for a while. He could more easily avoid the blatant invitations from the marriage-minded mothers and the wayward wives of his acquaintances in town.

He had thought every sort of female behind him. He had always taken pride in his ability to hold himself in check—ruthlessly—no matter what the issue. Celibacy had not been nearly as difficult as he had thought.

Until...
that kiss.

The starkness in Georgiana's expression—a sort of abandoned yearning had been nearly unbearable to witness. If he only had the nerve to admit it, he likely feared the rawness he'd glimpsed because his soul was empty of everything save that same emotion. He mercilessly dismissed the odd feelings the thought brought.

He sighed and looked at Georgiana and his daughter. It appeared they were painting, of all things—something he'd enjoyed doing many years ago. Well, at least they weren't in the pigsty. Or wading in the lake water.

He continued on his way toward them, noticing paint-stained aprons, their unbound hair, and exuberant laughter. With Miss Biddleworth's defection it was glaringly obvious he needed to find someone to take on the daunting role of supervising the proper education of his hoyden of a daughter. Someone who could provide a sterling example of femininity for Fairleigh while instilling in her a thirst for knowledge through the habit of reading, as well as a desire to learn embroidery, music, and the necessary household arts. Someone the very opposite of Georgiana.

"Fairleigh," he said when his daughter looked up. "You are to return to Penrose and remain in the schoolroom until you finish the work Miss Biddleworth set before you this morning."

"But Papa—"

"And then," he cut in, "you are to spend one hour on your needlework followed by one hour at the pianoforte." He hardened his heart to his daughter's pained expression. "And after, you are to pray for forgiveness for forcing Miss Biddleworth to hand in her notice."

His daughter smiled radiantly. "Well, Papa, I rather think you should be thanking me. She never taught me a thing. I will be saving you a good deal of money and I don't need a governess or tutor anymore. I haven't needed one for years."

He resisted the urge to throttle her. "Fairleigh," he warned. "You are to do exactly—"

"Georgiana and I," Fairleigh interrupted, "were just discussing your performance."

He started.

"Your apology to her," his daughter clarified when he couldn't make his mouth function. "She said that you kissed her quite—"

"Fairleigh, perhaps I can discuss with your father the idea of allowing you to paint again tomorrow if you do as he says right now." Georgiana stepped from behind her easel, her face a blaze of color despite her sun-darkened complexion.

He looked from one to the other and thought, not for the first time, that it was a quirk of nature that men ruled the world and not women.

"Fairleigh Fortesque, you have precisely to the count of three to start running toward the schoolroom. And if I don't find you there when I return, then I shall force you to select a fine birch switch with which to tan—"

"You would
never,
Papa." His daughter searched his face. "Well, you never did before. You're just annoyed old Beetleface quit. I'm certain—"

"One ..." he said ominously.

"But Papa, really—"

"Two ..."

His daughter glared at him imperiously and then turned and trotted away, her posture saying everything she dared not utter.

"What happens when you reach three?" Georgiana asked quietly.

"I'll answer that if you tell me what you told my daughter."

Georgiana tilted her head in such a way that the sunlight caught the bronze filaments in her eyes, which matched a few sun-bleached strands of hair near her temples he had never noticed before. Her skin was the color of honey and he found it oddly alluring. The pale, translucent faces of ladies he had known now seemed sickly in comparison. She cared not a whit for her complexion; her hat lay dangling from its ribbons along her back. Only the tattoo of an unseen vein beating erratically along her neck gave away her ill ease.

"She is very persistent," Georgiana replied.

"Really?" he drawled.

"Oh, bother. I was trying to be kind. I like her very much, despite the fact that she has more energy than I ever possessed. I'm sure you know she shows much artistic talent."

"Yet little inclination toward reading, writing, or anything requiring self-discipline to improve her mind or prepare her for her eventual duties in life."