Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)

Chapter 22

**A/N: PG-13 to borderline R-rated material ahead!!! I'll give you the asterisks in warning when the part is upon us for those who like their romance on the cleaner side. You can read until then, folks. :) No worries. I gotchu!**

Georgie arrived home and gave her lady's maid the excuse of feeling ill. It wasn't an untruth exactly. She did feel nauseated, and with each passing minute, her bare feet left treads in the carpet from her pacing. Her nightgown caressed her ankles as her eyes flitted to the timepiece on her boudoir.

What else could she do?

Her gaze went unerringly to the balcony and the door that was inched open. Any moment, Thorne - Vincent, she should say, for that was the man who would come for her - would climb up the trellis. If she hadn't been mistaken, that was.

Georgie remembered the promise in Vincent's heavy-lidded gaze at the opera, the lazy, gamine grin. No. She knew with the hair-rising on her neck and the churn in her belly that he would be here.

They would be alone and perhaps...

Perhaps...

This time her gaze landed on her bed, and Georgie turned swiftly on her heel, continuing her incessant pacing.

It had been five years since Vincent had seen her body, and even then, it was a frantic coupling in the dark of the stables. Her skirt had been rucked to her hips, and they had joined with her biting the palm of her hand and his warm breath on her ear.

But that long-ago night was...well, so long ago, and Georgie's body was mapped entirely different. What would he think to see the stretch scars that spread across her stomach or the extra skin surrounding her thighs?

It was ridiculous to be self-conscious of her body. She had never been before, and if she were correct – judging the way Thorne reacted when he had caught sight of her unadorned bosom in the carriage – then she had nothing with which to concern herself.

And heavens, don't get her started on how she should greet him this evening.

Did one lie on the bedcovers in a seductive pose perhaps? And if she did, should the sheet cover her nude form or her clothed one? For that matter, would it appear too wanton of her to remain unclothed or too untried if she remained in her nightgown?

Oh, botheration!

Her hands fisted in the fabric of her bedclothes as a headache bloomed in her temples.

She was being ridiculous. Heavens, he still might not come a'tall.

The clock chimed one of the clock and Georgie stilled, her head back on her shoulders as she released a wary sigh. When she glanced up, her face glowed in the looking glass on her boudoir. The long auburn strands of her hair glinted about her face like fire and made her appear that much more pale. Shadows flickered, making her eyes appear sunken into her sockets and framing the bruises beneath. Which only glowed all the fiercer against the pockmarks of her scarring.

Drawing her hand to her lips, Georgie pressed on her mouth which glared red in the low light. Her gaze struck her own eyes in the mirror. They gleamed with a luminescence that could be fright. Or excitement. She didn't' know which was which anymore. They were all so intermingled that her hand came down and her arms wrapped around her middle.

That's when a sound came from outside.

Georgie's head swiveled in that direction, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear, taking a deep breath before letting it slip out, unheeded. What if she feigned sleep? Maybe he would leave, and she could avoid her fears altogether.