Page 114 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

“You will not stay?”

“There is no need. You will have the protection of your family and I am only prolonging the parting.”

“Is it because of your mother that you will not consider the possibility that this love might be true?”

“I do not want to repeat what my parents experienced and they had been married twenty years when she separated from him.”

“And we have not known each other even a fortnight,” Georgie reminded him and herself.

“This may not be real after all,” Damian acknowledged.

“It may only be real for now,” Georgie agreed.

Georgie stared into his blue eyes and wanted to cry. At least they had said what was in their hearts and they both feared the same, and neither of them was a fool.

“I want to touch you but because of your sunburn, I fear that I will cause you pain.”

“My arms are not nearly as tender as they were earlier.”

He searched her eyes as if hoping to read the truth, but Georgie would rather risk the discomfort than go without being in his arms.

And then, he kissed her. Sweet, possessive, loving. His touch was gentle as he caressed and kissed her. First her lips, cheeks, then neck—slow and deliberate as if he were memorizing her body. She did the same and explored Damian in a way that she hadn’t taken time to do before because she wanted to remember everything about him so that she could hold this night dear and in her heart for years to come.

When they finally came together and he filled her, tears came to her eyes. She had never felt this loved and she hoped he did as well.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Seagulls cried above as they walked away from the ship and hailed a hackney to take them to the newly opened Gresham Hotel that also served as a coaching inn. Damian had been told that it was a more elegant lodging for gentry and was becoming fashionable.

He and Georgie had talked long into the night, and she understood his fear and she shared it. Instead, they shared stories, affection, and their bodies, knowing that their days together were limited.

The hotel was not so very far from the docks and when they did arrive, he noted the difference in those coming and going as being more fashionable and likely wealthier than those who normally rode in a mail coach. Not that it mattered to Damian, as he was wealthy and had been born to privilege and had just as much right to be here as anyone else, even if his appearance was rather rumpled.

He took the two valises and then escorted Georgie inside to first request a mail coach schedule.

“Where would you like to travel?” the proprietor asked.

“Tullamore.”

“That mail coach is due to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Are all the seats taken?” Georgie asked.

The proprietor studied her and then frowned. “No, they are not. I can direct you to a hotel where you may stay for the night.”

Damian glanced over at Georgie and wasn’t certain if she blushed at the man’s rude behavior because her face was still burned.

“We shall stay here.” Damian took his purse from his pocket. “I am Damian Wynd of Trade Wynd and this is my wife. We have just arrived from Scotland and would like a room.”

“Yes, of course,” the man practically stammered. “I will see to it right away.”

He called a servant forward who took their bags then led them up the stairs to another level, then down the hall to a room at the end. After their belongings were placed inside, the servant quietly retreated, closing the door behind him. Only then did Georgie go to a mirror.

“I cannot really blame him. Your clothing is wrinkled and my hair needs to be washed, brushed, and arranged, and then there is my very unladylike sunburn. He was probably quite scandalized.”

“He still should not have treated us in such a manner,” Damian grumbled.

“He rectified the matter as soon as he learned your name.” Georgie turned from the mirror. “Is it the Wynd name or Trade Wynd that earned his respect?”