Page 76 of The Mistletoe Dare

He moved closer and took her hand, curling their fingers together. “Have I reason to hope, then?”

Georgie reached up and stroked his beard, staring into his dark grey eyes. She was uncertain how much better she had truly come to know him over these past weeks. Her father allowed the visits, but only if they were chaperoned. This was the first time he’d allowed them to walk out alone and only because he’d said even the most ardent lover would rather wait for spring than expose his tender parts to the freezing temperatures outside.

Rochford had been on his best behaviour for his visits, she knew, and that would not be the case if they married, but he had also shown himself to be patient and willing to please her and make himself agreeable. He could do it, if motivated, and that had to be a good sign.

“You have cause to kiss me, I think,” she said, her heart skipping as she saw the way his eyes darkened.

She half expected him to grab hold and devour her, his expression was so raw with longing, but he didn’t. He pulled her close to him, holding her carefully, and pressed his mouth to hers.

Despite the cold, his lips were warm and soft and, oh, she had forgotten just how devastating the touch of his mouth was. Her breath caught, and it was she who deepened the kiss, her heart soaring at the slide of his tongue against hers. She had missed this, wanted this. She could not deny that she wanted him. Her hands caught the back of his neck and she pressed closer to him, wishing the weather was warmer and had not frozen the ground solid. His big hands roamed up and down her back, soothing and caressing and finally settling upon her hips. He pulled her against him, holding her close until a groan escaped him, and he broke the kiss, breathing hard.

“Don’t tempt me to misbehave, love. These past weeks have tested my patience sorely when I can think of nothing but how much I want to kiss you.”

She smiled, pleased by his words, and relieved that his frustration had been as aggravating as her own.

His gloved hands framed her face, and he stared down at her. “You are the most beautiful sight, Lady Georgina Anderson.”

She gave a little snort of laughter. “I can imagine, with my hair blown all over, and a red nose, I don’t doubt.”

He shook his head. “You look like a wild creature, like you belong here and were born to run free among these ruins. I can see that you’re happy here, and I won’t make you be anything that you’re not, love. I won’t ask you to be the Duchess of Rochford in the way my mother has been, but only to be you, and to be happy with me. Do you think those two things are possible?”

Georgie stared up at him and touched his cheek, stroking the ragged scar there as his dark brows drew together.

His voice was hesitant, rough. “I know it’s ugly. It won’t get any prettier either. Do you—”

“Shut up, Rochford,” she said, and rose on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the tortured skin. Gently, she traced the line of his scar with her lips, from his hairline down to his mouth. He was very still, only his chest rising and falling with increasing speed.

She pulled back and cupped his face within hers, as he had done. “I think I begin to see you, Rochford, and I see the beauty here.” She took one hand from his cheek and placed it over his heart. “If you can trust me with the rest, if you can let me in. I think I could trust in you too.”

“I am trying,” he said, and the admission was uncertain, but there was hope in his eyes.

“That’s all I ask.”

“Georgie….”

She heard the tone of his voice, knew what he wanted to ask her, and pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. Not yet.

“It’s my birthday next week,” she said. “Will you come for dinner, to celebrate with us?”

He nodded, and though she saw disappointment in his gaze, he didn’t push her. When he replied, his words were warm. “I’d like that. And what would you desire for your birthday? I shall bring you a gift.”

Georgie pursed her lips, considering this. “I would like you to choose something you think will please me.”

He snorted. “That’s not much to go on.”

She shrugged and gave him a teasing look from under her eyelashes. “How much depends on how well you know me, I suppose.”

“Ah, a test. I see. And if I fail?” he asked lightly, though she heard his nervousness all the same.

She smiled at him, not wanting him to fret. “If you fail, try, try again. You know that much, surely, Rochford?”

“Alden,” he said, looking somewhat abashed. “My name is Alden.”

Georgie watched him, wondering what he preferred. “It’s a nice name, but I’m not sure I can think of you as anything other than Rochford. Not yet, anyway. I shall grow accustomed if you like it better. Which do you prefer to hear?”

“I like the way it sounds when you call me Rochford, but… I should like sometimes to hear you use my name.”

Georgie considered his words and nodded. “Alden when we are alone, then,” she said softly. “Would you like that?”