This story takes place in England, 1760, some years before lady Georgia sadly married Lord Walter Pearson at the young age of sixteen. Four years later, Lord Pearson tragically lost his life in a duel to his former lover's husband. Now, widowed fro...
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The widowed Lady Pearson stood flush in the threshold between Francis' indoor bath house and his bed chamber unmoving. Her long, raven strands were slightly dampened and clinging onto the robe she had borrowed from him a few moments prior. Her hands met each other near her mid-section causing her to take on a bishop like appearance. She almost looked heavenly, like a heavenly dark angle that had fallen right into his room and right into his life. Her chocolatey brown eyes danced around fiercely in the candle lit room ever so slightly, but her expression remained blank and shock like and her eyes were blinking, mere adjusting.
She had noticed Francis was rather more undressed himself. Well, not completely. He had already shrugged out of his boots, waist coast, cravat, and three-piece suit with it now being only a one piece; just trousers which most likely aren't the same ones he was just wearing moments before and the thought of the duke-she meant Francis being naked was definitely unbearably thought worthy. She hadn't been alone with a man in over five years. She had thought that, that type of need for a man wasn't really possible.
She had never wanted her husband in such a way and after his death she never wanted for any man, but how could it possibly be that the man who was in front of her who was seemingly half naked in the candle lit room irking something most unusually deep inside her core that she never knew even existed? She was no stranger to what happens between a man and woman in the marital bed, but she had never even thought of the act being enjoyable or even enticing at the least.
Her eyes suddenly fixated on the darkened smoothed ripples and fine grooves and muscle toned curves of Francis' broad chest. His shoulders were probably what intrigued her the most, they stood out with all their great strength on display, and she suddenly wondered how those arms would feel encased around her, but she had already known from their first encounter at the sweet oasis that his strength was more than a lion. No, she never met a man who looked so strong, almost beastly but in a broodingly handsome kind of way. The pulses in her brain were somehow working in her lower abdomen and almost lower.
"Lady Pearson." He said again reassuring her presence. Which was well assured, as she stood steadily in front of him. Heart slamming in her ears. Fingers twiddling around each other nervously.
"Please, you may call me Georgia if necessary."
If necessary? She was most definitely a cynic. He chuckled. "Georgia, then." Francis said with a crooked smile before putting his hands up in defeat and taking a few steps backwards.
Something about the way her name rolled off of his lips and settled on his tongue and the look in his eyes, warm and inviting unsettled her. So instead, she glanced out the heavy draped window noticing the continuous heavy pitter patter of rain.
"It's still raining." Georgia told him numbly. "Why did you not put a shirt on?" She couldn't help herself from asking the view was almost too tantalizing.
