Bound with Passion Page 17

  “That looks awfully tight and constricting,” Vanessa had begun.

  But instead of a renewed argument, it had turned out to be yet another seed of their burgeoning mutual understanding. Georgie had simply taken a deep breath and told her mother the truth. “I like it this way, Mother. I am happier when my breasts and back are supported in this type of confining structure. I know it is odd—”

  Vanessa had cut her off with a bright smile of understanding and said, “I love odd! I wish you had told me sooner!”

  Instances of that sort had been happening more and more over the past few weeks, and Georgie now stood in front of her mother, on her wedding day, wondering why she had yet again been in such a rush to get away from Vanessa.

  Alas, they were leaving for Cairo on the morrow, and Georgie decided to be grateful to be parting on such pleasant terms for once, rather than to question why she had such contradictory feelings about it.

  She stared at herself in the mirror one last time, letting her mother adjust a flounce at her shoulder.

  “Of course one’s wedding day, despite every happiness, is also terrifying. I remember when I married your father . . .” Vanessa’s eyes became a little dreamy, and she looked out the large window toward the gray November day. “I already knew then that I loved him, but . . . how can one possibly know the extent?” She turned back and caught Georgie’s eyes in the reflection. “And then those philosophical thoughts were overtaken, of course, by my apprehension—well, to be honest, my anticipatory delight—for the night to come.” Her eyes came back into focus when she smiled at Georgie. “If there is anything you wish to know in that regard—”

  “Oh! You are very kind to offer, Mother. But I am quite sure I have the basic facts.” Georgie rarely blushed when it came to talk of sexual relations, but she supposed this was a moment in every woman’s life that demanded blushing. She was grateful for her mother’s willingness to offer advice on such a private matter, and she was equally grateful when Vanessa nodded quietly and did not insist on providing it.

  Perhaps Georgie really had sold Vanessa short all these years, reducing her to some sort of artistic, frivolous, shallow woman. Perhaps Georgie had been such a skeptic herself that Vanessa’s love of all things romantic had always seemed insincere. Now that Georgie had had her first taste of what could only be described as true romance, Vanessa didn’t seem quite so ridiculous after all.

  “Well, I must say that is a relief,” Vanessa said on a chuckle. “It’s such a personal business, but I couldn’t very well send you into the wilderness without at least letting you know that I am always here to help if you need me.”

  “I love you, Mother,” Georgie said simply. Nora was still holding her left hand, so she reached out her right to beckon her mother. The three of them embraced, and all Georgie could think to say was “Thank you,” in a very soft whisper.

  Archie was waiting for the three of them at the bottom of the stairs. It had been a very hectic few weeks for him as well. Preoccupied with her own plans, Georgie regretted that she had missed hearing many of the details, but it was obvious he was deeply happy—whether from his work or from his doings with the mysterious novelist or both, Georgie was not sure. For this morning, however, he was neither scientist nor suitor, but her beloved twin brother.

  Georgie had already put on her long kid gloves upstairs, but when Archie took her hand in his, she felt the strong connection immediately. They stared at each other for a few long moments, sharing so much in one of those wordless exchanges that had always passed between them, checking one another’s souls.

  “You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen,” Archie said gravely. “And not only due to your spectacular gown and your stunning hat. You, my sister, are simply radiant.”

  “You shan’t make me weep, brother. A bride must not be splotchy and mottled with red patches when she first sees her intended on their wedding day.” Her heart skipped when she pictured Trevor and James.

  “Very well then, you look quite average, and I shan’t say another word about it.”

  She laughed and patted his forearm. “That’s much better, thank you. Now I think we’d best be off for the church so my dear fiancé is not made to worry any more than he must already when faced with the prospect of marrying me.”

  The four of them rode the short distance in Archie’s town carriage from 74 Berkeley Square to St. George’s, Hanover Square. When the carriage stopped out front, the scuttling clouds broke and a dramatic stream of sunlight shone down on the church.

  Vanessa, apparently unable to help herself, exclaimed, “You see, even the sun gods are smiling on you, my darling girl.” Vanessa looked back, her eyes bright with emotion, and kissed Georgie on her cheek. “Just think, the next time I speak to you, I will be speaking to Lady Mayson. And all I can think now is Trevor is the luckiest man in London.”

  “Oh Mother—”

  “Shhh, my dear.” Vanessa held both of Georgie’s hands in hers. “Nora and I will go in now. You and your brother must wait a few moments and then make your entrance.”

  Georgie thought she really was going to cry after all. Why did it take this unexpected engagement for her to finally develop an appreciation for her mother’s love?

  As if sensing her thoughts, Vanessa leaned in close to Georgie one last time and whispered, “I don’t care how or why it happened, but we have found each other at last, Georgiana, and I will always be grateful for it.”

  Nora reached for Vanessa’s hand. “Come, my love. The church bells are about to toll eleven, and we need to be inside.”

  Vanessa nodded at Nora and then took one fleeting glance back at Georgie, both of them smiling quickly, something small and new and precious between them.

  The door to the carriage shut and Georgie took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves and collect herself. She’d spent the past week in London avoiding Trevor and James—avoiding her own feelings if she were being honest. Finally, she could no longer escape the truth of it all: entering that church represented far more than some paper arrangement.

  “Are you ready?” Archie asked in a low voice, all seriousness. “We can ride on if you’d prefer.”

  She turned her head and opened her eyes slowly to look at her brother, her soul’s mirror. Her heart had been beating like a small fluttering thrush all morning—sometimes cheerful, sometimes fearful. Staring into her brother’s eyes put a stop to all that. He knew her. He knew how and why she did things; he understood her and accepted her, contradictions and all. And it came to her in a flash that if her intelligent, kind brother could manage that, perhaps she wasn’t unknowable or incomprehensible or unacceptable after all. Perhaps she was even lovable.

  “You are the best brother. You look at me with all that patience and love, and it gives me hope—albeit very slim—that I might find a similar place in someone else’s heart.”

  “I’m fairly certain you already have. Trevor, and I daresay James, will be very good to you, Georgie. I think the burden will be on you to feel you deserve it.”

  She nodded slowly. “I think you’re right.”

  “Then let us go in,” he said with renewed enthusiasm, “and make an honest woman of you.”

  Trevor and James stood at the front of the church, side by side.

  Viscount Mayfield had been in a seething rage when Trevor had casually informed him that of course James was going to stand up with him during the wedding ceremony. Ever since his mother’s death, Trevor had learned that it was always best to give his father what he would consider the most upsetting bits of news while they were in the subdued reading room at White’s. Surrounded by the dukes and earls whose favor he had spent a lifetime currying, the viscount would never permit himself even the slightest show of temper in that location. Yet the signs had been there and quite familiar to Trevor: the vein at the side of his father’s neck had bulged, his left eye had twitched ever so slightly, and his lips had tightened almost imperceptibly.

  When a sha
ft of bright sunlight came through the tall panes of glass at the front of the church, Trevor caught a glimpse of his father seated in one of the raised pews. The viscount was either concealing it rather well today, or some of that rage had faded. Regardless, Trevor felt he was both protector and protected having James by his side, and he would not have forfeited that feeling for anything.

  Trevor turned from his father to look briefly at James, and of course James had also turned at the same moment to glance at Trevor. They smiled at one another—keeping their hands loose at their sides—and Trevor wished for an imaginary future when he could embrace this man on an altar like this, as a show of his love and respect for their union.

  James must’ve sensed it, his eyes softening and his lips tightening with emotion. They looked at each other for a few seconds more, and then everyone’s attention was drawn to the back of the church.

  A single trumpet played as Archibald walked Georgie down the center of the church, where many friends and acquaintances were also standing as they passed. Suddenly, Trevor felt like a too-tall mast on a too-small boat, on the verge of capsizing. He had seen Georgie last night at yet another celebratory dinner at yet another splendid townhouse in Mayfair, but they hadn’t had a chance to really talk or be together, the three of them, since that raucous carriage ride a few weeks ago. Trevor’s heart began to pound, a slow, hard, rhythm against his rib cage, drumming in his ears and pulsing in his fingertips.

  Once again, Georgie had transformed herself. This time, she was the elegant, innocent picture of the perfect aristocratic bride. With each step of her approach—her hand resting lightly on Archie’s forearm, her gaze fixed on Trevor’s—Trevor saw some new detail that made his heart thump harder. The ivory silk bonnet was close around her face, framing her cheeks and making her rosy lips look even more luscious; the shirred fabric that was meant to impart modesty across her bosom only served to draw his attention to her magnificent figure; the wide satin ribbon high and tight above her waist immediately had him picturing how his large hands would look and feel when they spanned her and how long and powerful her legs were beneath the endless fall of sheer fabric.

  By the time she was standing next to him in front of the pastor, he was nearly overcome with desire. Archie passed her hand into his, and Trevor felt it like a lightning strike—at first a shock, and then a magnetic, continuous jolt that he might never be able to let go of.

  And then everyone and everything simply faded into the background: the reverend’s pattering voice, the shuffle and murmur of the crowded church. All Trevor could see or feel, hear or touch, was Georgie on one side and James on the other.

  Perhaps his prayer of a few minutes before had been granted, because—regardless of what the congregation saw or what the reverend said—Trevor Mayson married both Lady Georgiana Cambury and Mr. James Rushford on that bright November morning.

  The rest of the day passed in a flurry of champagne and toasts and hard slaps of congratulation on the back. Vanessa and Nora had done a splendid job of organizing the celebration after the wedding. Even though Trevor had made fun of the endless meetings about fabrics and flowers and foibles, he realized that every piece of candied fruit, every Spanish almond represented the love of a mother for her daughter.

  Sooner than he could’ve imagined, the day had passed into night, and the guests were sprawling in drunkenness throughout the splendid Camburton residence on Berkeley Square.

  “After these many weeks apart, are you trying to postpone having to bed me?” Georgie whispered. She had never been far from his side, but this was the first time she had actually spoken soft and close so only he could hear. Up until then, she had laughed with old friends or parried with diplomats about the true state of affairs in Cairo, often holding Trevor’s hand or resting hers on his shoulder or forearm. He loved how it felt to be out with her in public, to be allowed to touch her, to declare their union in those small, tangible ways.

  Throughout the day he had frequently cast his gaze around the rooms to make sure James was likewise enjoying himself. Trevor needn’t have worried. They’d often spoken about how Trevor didn’t think he himself would’ve been able to remain so sanguine if he’d been in James’s position—publicly unacknowledged.

  They were blessedly different in that way. Perhaps due to the cold, heartless nature of James’s upbringing, he rarely felt slighted as an adult. James assured Trevor that what the outside world thought of the three of them—or, more likely, didn’t think—could never alter the truth.

  In fact, the moment Georgie whispered that suggestive question into Trevor’s ear, he spied James laughing merrily with Sebastian and Pia across the ballroom. Georgie also looked in that direction, and James must have felt the pressure of their gazes upon him. He turned slowly and lifted his chin in acknowledgment. Trevor smiled and leaned slightly toward Georgie, but kept his eyes on James.

  “I think we are all quite ready for our wedding night, Lady Mayson, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely, my lord.” He looked at her as she spoke: her eyes sparkled, the burnished amber making her look even more like a predatory tigress. “All of my things have been delivered to your hotel, and I am ready to join you . . . both,” she added, and Trevor felt his heart pick up speed yet again. “Let us say our thanks and good-byes to my mother and Nora, and your father, and then be on our way.”

  They crossed the ballroom to where Viscount Mayfield, Nora, and Vanessa were engaged in what appeared to be a pleasant conversation. Once again, it seemed that Nora White was able to bring out something good in even the most coldhearted of men.

  “There you are, my dear!” Vanessa said to Georgie.

  “Mother, I believe it’s time we must go.”

  Trevor thought Vanessa looked simultaneously crestfallen and delighted, if such a thing was possible. He snaked his hand around Georgie’s firm waist and pulled her tight into his side.

  “She will always be your daughter, Lady Camburton, but now she is my wife.” He thought for a moment that he had gone too far—Georgie stiffened slightly, and he suspected she was angry he had spoken of her in that possessive, objective way. Instead, she surprised him—delighted him!—when she leaned closer and rested her head gently on his shoulder and said, “He is quite right, Mother. My place is with my husband now.”

  Trevor turned, tilting his head to get a better look at her gentle expression. She appeared to be some combination of drowsy, tipsy, and happy. She looked like an angel.

  “Perhaps you won’t resent your mean old papa, then,” his father said, a bit too loud from drink. “Since it’s thanks to me you’ve ended up with the bonniest lass in Derbyshire.” Even though Viscount Mayfield said it with more than a hint of spite, Trevor could only hear the goodness.

  A brief, uncomfortable silence was cast for a moment, before Trevor turned to his father with an easy smile and said, “You are absolutely right, Papa. It is entirely thanks to you that I shall fall asleep tonight the happiest man in England.”

  Having clearly expected a verbal sparring match, his father was taken aback and merely replied with a blustery, “Yes, yes, yes.” After saying their good-byes, the bride and groom left the grand ballroom.

  A few moments later, Trevor and Georgie were in the front hall, with the sounds of the ballroom receding behind them. James emerged from another set of doors and joined them, and they made their way out of the brightly lit townhouse and into the dark comfort of the barouche for the ride over to their hotel in St. James’s.

  James had enjoyed the day, but dear Lord was he looking forward to this night. The three of them hadn’t been alone together in weeks, and the tension in the carriage was electric.

  “I have missed you both terribly!” Georgie exclaimed on a dramatic sigh after the carriage door had shut and the horses began trotting. She reached for Trevor’s knee across the narrow space that separated them, but he swatted her hand away.

  “Neither one of you may come near me,” Trevor chided. “I have not r
equested an extended carriage ride this evening. In fact I am hoping that this is the shortest carriage ride between Mayfair and St. James’s in the history of London transport.”

  James began to remove his gloves, slowly tugging on each finger as he spoke. “Feeling a bit eager, are you, Trevor?”

  “Eager is one word for it,” Trevor growled, staring from James’s hands to his lips to his eyes and then across the carriage, perusing his bride with the same hungry look. “Ravenous is more accurate.”

  James was quite tempted to make a nuisance of himself—maybe lean his head toward Trevor’s lap or let one of his bare hands slide casually across the squabs to rest on Trevor’s inner thigh—but the poor man did look like he was about to burst, and James agreed that it would be a shame to waste all that bursting in the back of a cramped carriage when a very large, very comfortable bed awaited them. So they rode in silence for the few minutes, staring at each other longingly and letting the desire simmer between them.

  The Primrose Hotel was aglow with streetlamps and brightly attired footmen. Barely waiting for the carriage to come to a halt, Trevor swung open the door and the three of them leapt from the carriage as if escaping from a swarm of deadly insects. Barreling through the lobby without sparing a glance or word to anyone in their path, they raced up the stairs to the large suite of rooms.

  James felt giddy with joy and anticipation, the sound of Georgie’s laughter winding around them and buoying them up as they nearly fell over each other in their haste. She had pulled up the hem of her dress slightly, fisting the white satin so as not to trip as she ran.

  Trevor almost threw the door to their suite off its hinges when he opened it with exuberant force. A valet and another servant awaited them in the main room. One of them opened his mouth, probably to offer food or drink, but was immediately interrupted by Trevor.