Bound with Passion Read online

  She laughed and kissed them both, then stretched her arms above her, extending her fingertips into wide-spread stars, pale white against the night sky. “I think I feel my energy returning . . . a bit.” She stood up and Trevor watched the light play against her skin, giving it a luminous sheen. “What a mess!” She was peering around, naked except for her shirt, which was torn and disheveled. She looked with dismay at the scattered clothes amid the crushed grass and the overturned dirt from horse’s hooves.

  “I shall wear whatever I can grab.” She bent down and happened to pull up Trevor’s dinner jacket. She put it on and held the too-large lapels closed at her waist with one fisted hand.

  James kissed Trevor’s cheek, shaking him from the reverie he’d fallen into while watching her move and bend like that.

  “Come on, love. Let’s all get inside,” James said to him.

  “Thank you,” Trevor whispered.

  James smiled at him, and Trevor felt all that love wash over him like warm honey. Caressing Trevor’s cheek, James said, “No, darling, thank you.” James kissed him one last time. “Now, up we go.” He helped Trevor stand and they embraced briefly. Trevor sighed into the familiar comfort of this man and made a silent prayer that their relationship would survive—and flourish—with Georgie in their life.

  They walked back to the manor like a trio of drunkards, singing a few bawdy songs, Georgie teaching them some choice epithets in Arabic. They found Cyrus eating a bit of hay near the stables, as if he’d been waiting for them to put him to bed properly.

  The head groom poked his sleepy head out from his upstairs rooms. “M’lord? Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, thank you. Just checking on Cyrus. No need to come down.”

  “Yes, m’lord.” Then the door closed and the three of them smiled at each other like guilty schoolchildren. Trevor and Georgie brushed the horse while James put some fresh straw down, and then they got him settled back in his stall.

  When they reached the front door to Mayfield House, Trevor pulled it open and stepped back to make way for James and Georgie. James continued into the front hall, then turned back to see what was holding up the other two.

  Georgie remained outside the threshold.

  “What is it?” Trevor asked. James came back and stood next to him.

  “I’ve already sent everything on to my mother’s.” She smiled at them, but she looked shy somehow. James reached out and said, “Come with us.” She stared at his offered hand, but still didn’t move. “Just for tonight, Georgie.”

  She nodded at that and took his hand, as if just for tonight was fine, but anything more was simply too much to ask. “All right then.”

  It was not the heartfelt enthusiasm Trevor had so dearly hoped for, but he wanted to take Georgie in any way she was able to give. For now.

  “We won’t bite,” Trevor joked.

  “Liar.” She smiled suggestively in reply. “I most definitely recall a nip or two.”

  If she needed to keep everything in the realm of sexual innuendo and carnality, Trevor could try. For now. At least she’d be in their bed from now on, and they could conquer her body until her mind and heart were finally ready to surrender to the truth.

  They went up the stairs, much as James had hoped they would when he’d been imagining them earlier: three people in love, going to end the day in each other’s arms. That burgeoning hope only lasted until the first landing, when Georgie released James’s hand and bid them good night with cool formality.

  “Good night?” Trevor asked in disbelief.

  “Well . . . uh, thank you? For a very nice evening?”

  James grabbed Trevor’s arm to restrain him before he could reach out for Georgie. “A very nice evening, indeed,” James agreed pleasantly. “We will accompany you back to Camburton tomorrow, to see that you’re properly settled for the next few weeks. How does that sound?”

  Georgie’s face cleared. “Oh, that would be wonderful. I’d forgotten about the trunks.” She laughed as if the whole thing had been a silly misunderstanding. “I was a bit peeved—rousing all the servants and whatnot—but I agree it’s for the best I go back to Camburton. No need to annoy Vanessa, as you say.”

  “Yes,” James said with a smile, still restraining Trevor with that tight hold at the back of his arm where Georgie couldn’t see.

  “Excellent.” She yawned happily and appeared to be nothing more than an innocent, sleepy girl at the end of her own very long party. “I will bid you good night, then. Thank you both. For everything.” She kissed them on the cheek—first Trevor, then James—then turned and walked into the guest room, her aristocratic posture making her torn clothes look like royal ermine.

  “Thank you?” Trevor asked in an incredulous whisper, sounding more gutted than James had ever heard him.

  “Come on, love. It’s going to take more than a right good rogering to move that mountain.”

  Trevor shook his head a couple of times in disbelief as James guided him back to their large master suite. After the two men entered the privacy of their room, they washed each other gently with water and soap from the basin.

  “I just don’t understand how she could bid us good night and say thank you after what the three of us experienced out there tonight,” Trevor said.

  “Really? You don’t understand how she could see it—or wish to see it—as nothing more than a physical, albeit enjoyable, foray?”

  “Of course I know, or at least some part of my mind tells me, the way she reacted was perfectly normal—for Georgie. But there was nothing normal about what happened out there.” Trevor turned to look at James. “Please tell me I was not the only one who felt like something profound and wonderful was taking place under that tree, under that sky, among the three of us?”

  “Of course you’re not the only one who felt that, Trevor.” They were lying naked under the covers by then, facing each other in the familiar comfort of their large tester bed. “I know what I felt and it was unlike anything. But Georgie—” James cut off when he realized he didn’t know how to finish that thought; he did not want to hurt Trevor, but he had to prepare him for the worst.

  “You really believe it is possible for someone to be that far removed from their own heart?” Trevor asked quietly.

  “That’s just it. Georgie is not removed, as far as she’s concerned. At this point, she truly believes . . . ” James paused again and tried to think of the nicest way to say what undoubtedly sounded like petty cruelty. “Perhaps it is easier for her to believe that she was simply born without certain emotional circuits. That way, she never has to feel.”

  “But she does feel, damn it! You can see it in her eyes, and the way she grips her fists. You can see it in the flush of her skin when she’s angry or aroused.”

  James reached for Trevor’s cheek and cupped his face. “Those are all a show of feelings. If she can clench her fist, or have a climax for that matter, she manages to somehow express the feeling without ever having to actually feel it in her heart.”

  Trevor rolled onto his back and gazed up at the central floret and pleated silk that radiated out to the edges of the canopy. James stared at his handsome profile for a few moments and then slipped onto his back as well. He reached for Trevor’s hand beneath the coverlet and wove their fingers together. They both lay there, looking at the forest green and gold brocade fabric that had reminded James of Trevor’s eyes when he’d chosen the pattern.

  The two of them had become like an old married couple—or rather, a couple who loved one another so dearly that they would never subject each other to the inherent misery of being an old married couple. James felt an unfamiliar tendril of fear. After eight years together, this was the first time they had ever crawled into bed with even the slightest hint that something—someone—was missing.

  James felt his throat constricting with sadness. He turned back on his side and slid one leg over Trevor’s warm thigh. “Please kiss me good night.”

  When Trevor turned
to look at him, his eyes were likewise full of sadness. “We can help her,” Trevor said. “I know we can. No one deserves to go through life feeling alienated or afraid of who they really are.” Trevor’s eyes softened and he even managed a small smile. “Ironically, you were the one who taught me that, James Rushford. Do you remember?” Trevor leaned in and kissed James with tender gratitude.

  By the time Georgie woke up, it was the unconscionable hour of ten o’clock.

  “Well, that was certainly a very brief journey.” Mrs. Daley scowled while Franny opened the curtains and looked nervously over her shoulder toward Georgie stretching her arms and rolling her head from side to side on the pillow.

  “Merely a postponement,” Georgie said with a scratchy morning voice. “I will be relocating to Camburton Castle presently. I had a bit of unfinished business with Lord Mayson and Mr. Rushford last night.” Smiling at poor, innocent Franny, Georgie let herself sink deeper into the luxurious linen sheets. Why had she never noticed that they were delectably soft against her skin? In fact, she might need to stay in bed until noon just to give these sheets the appreciation they deserved.

  “Franny,” she ordered sweetly, “do be a dear and bring me a tray of hot chocolate, two coddled eggs, four slices of thick toast, and a rasher of bacon.”

  Mrs. Daley had her hands fisted on her hips as she watched the young maid make a swift exit from the room. “Since when do you take breakfast in bed like a viscountess?” Daley sniped.

  Georgie plumped up two of the pillows behind her and sat up straighter, keeping the bedsheet and coverlet modestly over her breasts. “You are the one who was so concerned about whether or not I was behaving like a proper lady, so you can’t very well take umbrage when I do what proper ladies do.”

  “There is nothing proper or ladylike about you this morning!”

  Georgie lifted her chin and smiled. She imagined she looked quite a lot like her mother, Vanessa, at her most imperious.

  Mumbling something that sounded distinctly like harrumph, Mrs. Daley fussed about the room, plumping pillows on the settee and punctuating her tasks with sighs and exhales of obvious disapproval. When she was ostensibly finished, Mrs. Daley was forced to turn and face Georgie before leaving the room.

  As much as the housekeeper probably wanted to depart with nary a comment, such behavior would have overturned every law that she herself had taught Georgie regarding proper manners. “If you won’t be needing anything else, ma’am, I’ll be—”

  “Oh, but I will be needing something else, Mrs. Daley. As you can see, I am in desperate need of another bath. Please have one brought up and filled with the hottest water as soon as possible.”

  Mrs. Daley appeared to have very many choice things to say to that, but all she allowed herself was, “Yes, m’lady.”

  As Mrs. Daley left the room, Georgie was fairly certain she heard her say something along the lines of now I’ve gone and created a monster.

  After Daley had left and shut the door behind her with a firm little snick, Georgie got out of bed and strolled over to the large oval looking glass situated to the right of the fireplace. She rarely gazed at her naked self, taking little interest in the curves or texture of her own body. But this morning, she fancied a good, long look.

  She had not made time for even the most cursory rinse at the basin last night when she’d returned from that wild romp under the tree. No wonder Franny had looked so frightened and Daley had looked so appalled this morning: Georgie was as filthy as a pig in muck . . . and as contented.

  She had mud and grass stains on her arms and neck; her fingernails were black with dirt—the image flashed in her mind of digging her nails into the earth in that moment of crying out, and it brought her body instantly to life. She tamped down the memory, and continued to take an accounting of her physical appearance.

  Her breasts looked swollen, and her shoulder—dear God, was that a bite? She moved toward the glass to make a closer examination. Sure enough, the arc and indentation of teeth were neatly imprinted on her pale skin. Georgie took a moment to admire the savage mark. She let her finger trail fondly across the small reminder of their love. Because that’s what it was. As much as she wanted to pretend it’d been nothing more than an animalistic mating in the wild, even she—with her diagnosable paranoia when it came to intimacy—had to confess that it had indeed been an act of love.

  She stared at the looking glass, her hands absentmindedly caressing her body and revisiting the sites of all that primitive passion—scratches on her inner thigh from James holding her in place, bruises on her hips from Trevor’s strong fingers. She looked down at her shins and knees, scraped and scuffed, from where she had knelt. Her lips . . . She touched the swollen flesh with the back of her hand and gasped.

  She tried to tell herself that all of these marks were no different from the aches and sore muscles she’d experienced after a hard race or a long trek through the Atlas Mountains. Or even one of her more sensual assignations in the back alleys of Cairo. But as she stood there trying to examine herself with methodical detachment, her body was heating and tingling from the touch of her own hand. When a brief knock sounded at the door, she turned gratefully away from the glass.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “It’s the footmen, come with the bath,” said Franny in her tentative voice.

  “Hold on a moment, Franny.” Georgie reached for the robe that Mrs. Daley had kindly left over the back of the chair near the fire. Tying the cloth belt tight around her waist, Georgie walked over to the door and pulled it open to let in the four men who were carrying the large copper basin. Franny scuttled in behind them.

  Trying to sound only vaguely interested, Georgie asked Franny, “Is Lord Mayson up and about?”

  “Oh yes, m’lady, he’s been up these four hours.” Franny was showing the footmen where to place the tub. With a low chuckle, Georgie realized Mrs. Daley had installed a four-panel screen in the room, which Franny and the footmen were now adjusting so the precious future Viscountess Mayfield would no longer be taken unawares by unannounced visitors while bathing.

  Several more footmen followed soon after, with bucket upon bucket of steaming, fragrant water. After the last man had finally departed, Mrs. Daley returned and shut the door behind her. Georgie looked over at Franny, hoping for a quick glance of female collusion, but Franny had her eyes downcast and was wringing her hands together nervously, until Mrs. Daley dismissed her.

  “You have put me in quite the position, Lady Georgiana.” Uh-oh. Formal. Mrs. Daley was in full battle mode: apron starched, mobcap perfectly placed at the top of her head, hands clasped with firm assurance at her waist. “I simply cannot stand by and watch Mayfield House turned into some wild den of iniquity!”

  “Mrs. Daley—”

  “If I may?”

  Georgie could easily ignore the woman, pull rank and send her from the room, but the truth was she respected her and wanted to hear what Mrs. Daley had to say. Even if she didn’t plan on returning to Mayfield House, she didn’t wish to burn every bridge on her way out. “Do go on, Mrs. Daley.”

  “Thank you. Now, I know it is not for me to say, but my lord and Mr. Rushford are two of the kindest men who ever walked this earth. And I don’t even quite rightly know how to put it into words—” Mrs. Daley looked beyond Georgie and out the large windows to the wide expanse of Mayfield Park. A few seconds passed as the woman tried to compose her thoughts. Then she turned to Georgie and said, “I can turn a blind eye to many things—ha! You can’t even imagine all the things to which I have turned a blind eye in my thirty-two years of service here—but as long as I am here, I’d hoped you’d show respect for this house and for my lord and master.”

  Georgie was trembling. She had faced off any number of wicked adversaries in the Sahara, but she had never been as shamed as she was at this moment. Her mind went blank and all she could think was lemon cake. Her bawdy double-entendres and debauched appearance upon waking had come off as disrespe
ctful. And Georgie was contrite.

  “Mrs. Daley,” Georgie said as she dipped a very proper and very heartfelt curtsy. “Please accept my sincere apology for my behavior these past few days.” She stood up straighter and continued. “Everything has been happening rather quickly, as you know. And I believe I’ve been rather wild.” Georgie repressed a smile when Mrs. Daley made no attempt to disagree with her. “I promise I shall not abuse your—or Lord Mayson’s—hospitality in the coming weeks, before we depart for London and our marriage is official. I shall be a model of propriety.”

  Mrs. Daley nodded once. And that was the end of it.

  “Very good,” the housekeeper said in her bullying way. “Now let's get you into that tub and erase all evidence of—” The housekeeper pursed her lips, shook her head, and said, “What I mean is, let’s get you ready for lunch and get you back to your mother’s, where you belong.”

  Trevor did his level best to maintain a sense of normalcy. Both he and James had arisen with the sun—James to visit the factory and some of the cottagers who did their work at home, and Trevor to the west pastures to make sure the hay baling was coming along without incident. They often met up in the drawing room for a brief chat after the morning’s tasks, and today was no different. He reached out to touch James when he passed near the writing desk where James sat composing a letter to his mother. He let his hand rest at James’s nape, touching the skin just above the edge of his cravat. “Have you had a nice morning?” he asked.

  James finished the sentence he was writing, then set down the pen. He looked up at Trevor with a slow, inviting smile. “I haven’t felt this refreshed in ages.”

  Trevor leaned down and kissed his soft, smiling lips.

  A slight cough near the entrance to the drawing room startled them both into a standing position, James nearly kicking over his chair as he stood.

  Lady Georgiana Camburton was a glorious sight to behold. Trevor couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face, “Well, aren’t you a picture?” he declared as he strode across the room to greet her, then bowed and kissed her hand. He never ate much for breakfast and he had definitely been feeling a bit peckish, but the way his stomach felt just then had nothing to do with the missed morning meal.