Beneath the tender onslaught, she felt the urgency. Hers or his? She didn't know. She was in the center of an erotic storm that consumed awareness of everything except the man and what he was doing to her.

God, the taste of him, the feel of him, the hard heat surrounding her, flaying her senses with exquisite pleasure. She'd forgotten . . . No, she'd just doubted the reality, that anything could so overwhelm her with feeling that she would lose herself completely to it ... to him.

"My God, woman, you make me tremble."

She heard the wonder in his voice, felt the vibration in his body ... or was it her own limbs shaking, about to shatter?

She was holding on to him now for dear life, so it was an easy matter for him to lift her legs and wrapthem around his hips. The intimate contact, the friction as he walked her to his bed, released a heat wave in her loins that had her groaning into his mouth as he continued to ravage her with his tongue.

They fell on the bed together, a bit clumsily, but Georgina didn't notice that James's finesse had once again deserted him beneath a need that far surpassed hers, and hers had escalated beyond anything she'd previously experienced with this man. In short order they were ripping each other's clothes off, literally, and not even aware that they'd reverted to primitive instinct.

And then he was inside her, deeply buried, and her whole body seemed to sigh in relieved welcome.

This lasted all of a moment before there was a stab of alarm when his arms hooked under her knees, something he'd never done before, raising them so high, she was given a feeling of total defenselessness.

But the alarm was so brief it was instantly forgotten, for the position embedded him so deeply inside her, she felt touched to her very core. And the starburst of fire exploded in that moment, sending out waves of tingling awareness from her center to every extremity, but surrounding him, throbbing against him, every shuddering spasm of pleasure felt by him.

She'd screamed, but didn't know it. She'd left bleeding half moons on his shoulders, but didn't know it.

She'd just given him her soul once again. Neither of them knew it.

When Georgina reached a point of knowing anything, it was that she was weighted with sweet languor . .

. and her lips were being softly nibbled on, which led her to believe James hadn't shared that magnificent experience with her.

"Didn't you—?"

" 'Course I did."

"Oh."

But in her mind she said another "Oh," with much more surprise. So soon? Did she want to lose herself like that again? Dare she? But the urge was almost overpowering to do some nibbling of her own, and

that gave her the only answer she wanted at the moment.

Chapter Thirty-nine

"Marriage used to be for gain, don't you know, or to unite great families . . . which would never have applied to us in any case, would it, love? But these days it's back to primitive basics, society's sanction of lust. In that, we're quite compatible, I'd say."

Those words kept coming back to Georgina in the two weeks that followed her fateful surrender to James Malory's finesse, reminding her that she shouldn't have tried to read more into the return of his desire for her. All she'd asked him was what he intended to do about their marriage, if he meant to honor it or get out of it. She wouldn't call his answer an answer. And she hadn't needed to be told that all they shared was mutual lust as far as he was concerned.

And yet, there was so much tenderness in that lust; so often when she lay in his arms she felt cherished . .

. almost loved. And that more than anything else kept her tongue still each time she thought to ask again about the future. Of course, getting straight answers out of James was next to impossible anymore. If his replies weren't derogatory, which annoyed her into shutting up, then they were evasive. And she had learned very quickly that if she tried to bring up what had happened in Connecticut, or even came close to mentioning her brothers, she'd get singed by the fire-breathing dragon again.

So they existed much as they had before, as lovers and companions, with one exception. Touchy subjects were forbidden. It was almost like having an unspoken truce; at least Georgina looked at it that way. And if she wanted to savor and enjoy this time with James, and she did want that at least, then she had to bury her pride and anxieties for a while. When they arrived at their destination it would be soon enough to find out where she stood, if James meant to keep her or send her home.

And it was such a short while. Without having to fight the westerly winds, the Maiden Anne made such good time, she was sailing up the Thames almost three weeks to the day after she'd left the American coast behind.

Georgina had known right from that first night that she was going to be visiting England again, since James had discussed their course with Connie while she was still tucked to his hip. She didn't even have to wonder long why he wasn't returning to Jamaica to finish his business there. That was one of the forbidden subjects, so she didn't bother to ask him, but Connie could be questioned on impersonal matters, and he'd informed her that James had fortunately found an agent to dispose of his property in the islands while he was waiting for his crew to be rounded up. At least she didn't have that to be held against her, too, though she had to wonder if she'd ever know what had really brought James Malory to Connecticut in such a vengeful state of mind.

Once again Georgina had packed James's trunks for him in preparation for departure, this time including her few articles of borrowed clothing. But this time when she came on deck, she found Artie and Henry stationed on either side of the gangplank, both men making no pretense about keeping an eye on her.

She found that amusing. Had she been able to speak of it, she could have told James that he'd never find a Skylark vessel in London harbor. So, he could have been assured that she had nowhere to run off to, if he didn't care to lose her just yet. But he knew that she had no money with her, so setting watchdogs on her was really absurd. She did have her jade ring back, given to her for a wedding ring since James happened to be wearing it on a chain around his neck at the time, but she wasn't going to consider parting with it again.

The ring on her finger was now a reminder of what was so easily forgotten, that she was a married woman. Easily forgotten, too, was her pregnancy, since she was suffering not the least bit of discomfort or sickness with it, nor had she even begun to expand, except for a very slight enlargement in her breasts.

Yet she was now two and a half months along. But she'd never mentioned it again to James, nor had he ever spoken of it even once. She wasn't even sure he'd heard her that day she'd blurted it out in her anger as she slammed out of his cabin.

Just now, Georgina pulled James's heavy Garrick coat closer about her to ward off the chill. The harbor was a bleak-looking place in the middle of November. Cold, overcast, the day was as gloomy as her thoughts were becoming as she waited for James to join her.

What, if anything, awaited her here?

* * *

Georgina remembered Piccadilly. She almost mentioned it to James, that she and Mac had stayed in the Albany Hotel, which the rented carriage had just passed. But one look at her husband's expression changed her mind. He'd been like that since they left the ship, actually since they'd first sighted England.

She didn't bother to ask what had turned his mood so dark. He'd just give her some careless remark that would tell her absolutely nothing, and that would only irritate her. And she was trying her best not to aggravate the situation by giving her own gloomy mood free rein. But she would have thought James would be glad to be home. She knew he had family here, even a son . . . Good Lord, how could she have forgotten that? He had a seventeen-year-old son, a boy only five years her junior. Was James worried about having to explain why he was coming home with a wife? Would he even bother to explain?

Was he even bringing her home?

For God's sake, this was utterly ridiculous, when a little communication would put her mind at ease . . .

or not, as the case might be. "James—?"

"We're here."

The carriage stopped just as he said it, and he was out the door before she'd even gotten a look out the window. "Here, where?"

His hands reached back in to lift her down to the curb. "My brother's townhouse."

"Which brother?"

"Anthony. You'll remember him. Dark as sin, I believe you called him once."

Her brows drew together with a sudden suspicion that released all her pent-up anxiety in a burst of anger. "You're dumping me here, aren't you? You haven't the guts to take me home with you, soyou're leaving me with your rakehell brother. Which is it you don't want to explain to your son, that I'm an American or that I'm your wife?"

"I despise that word. Call yourself anything else you like, but kindly strike that word from your vocabulary."

That he said it calmly only infuriated her more. "All right. Will whore do?"

"Preferably."

"You bastard!"

"My dear girl, you really must curb this propensity you have for swearing. And as usual, you've managed to air our dirty laundry for the delectation of the masses."

The "masses" happened to be Dobson, Anthony's butler, who had diligently opened the door before it was required of him, having heard the carriage arriving. Georgina blushed profusely to have been caught shouting profanities. But to look at the stoic-faced Englishman, you'd have thought he hadn't heard a word.

"Welcome home, Lord Malory," he said as he thrust the door open wider.

At that point, Georgina almost had to be dragged inside. Despite her boy's clothes, which couldn't be helped, she had so wanted to make a good impression today of all days, what with the possibility of meeting James's family. But then he hadn't denied he was going to drop her off here with Anthony, and everything she'd ever heard him say about this brother, and what she'd seen for herself, had led her to believe he was as disreputable a fellow as James was, so what was the difference? She had no care to impress him. Still, servants gossiped, and this one likely knew the servants of the rest of the family. Devil take it, she could kick James for making her finally lose her temper.

And James could have kicked himself for making things worse with her, but he couldn't seem to break the habit of a lifetime. But she was so bloody thin-skinned. She ought to know by now he didn't mean it.

But he was damned annoyed with her.

She'd had more than enough time to give him some clue about how she felt about him now, but not one bloody word had passed her lips on the subject. And he'd never felt more insecure in his entire life. The only thing he was sure about was that she desired him as much as he did her. But he'd known too many women not to know that that meant absolutely nothing where their true feelings were concerned.

The truth was, she hadn't wanted to marry him. She'd told her brothers so. She'd told him so. She was

going to have his baby, but still she'd flatly refused to marry him. She'd had to be forced right along with him, and everything she'd done since had led him to believe she was just biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to run from him again. And now she'd have all the opportunity she could want, which put him in a devil of a bad temper. But he hadn't meant to take it out on her. He ought to apologize . . . damned if he would.

"I don't suppose my brother is at home this time of day?" James inquired of Dobson.

"Sir Anthony is at Knighton's Hall, I believe, for his customary exercise in the pugilist ring."

"I could do with a bit of that myself just now. And Lady Roslynn?"

"Visiting the countess of Sherfield."

"Countess? Ah, that's right, Amherst wed Roslynn's friend not too long ago." His eyes locked with Georgi-na's before he added, "Poor man," and he was satisfied to note that her expression of embarrassment switched to one of anger. "And is my son at school, Dobson?"

"He got sent home for the week, my lord, but Sir Anthony has already filed a complaint with the headmaster, and his lordship the marquis is also looking into the matter."

"And the lad was likely totally to blame for whatever it was they say he did. Damned scamp. I leave him alone for a few months—"

"Father!"

Georgina turned to see a young man practically flying down the stairs and then slamming into the brick wall that was her husband, and apparently his father, though it was not a foregone conclusion by any means. The boy didn't look all of seventeen as she'd been told, but much closer to her own age. Was it just the height? He was as tall as James, though not nearly as broad of frame. He was more on the slim side, yet his shoulders promised to get wider. He was being crushed right now in a bear hug, and laughing, and she realized with a start that he bore no resemblance to James at all, though no one could deny he was just as handsome.

"But what's happened, then?" Jeremy was asking. "You're back so soon. Did you decide to keep the plantation?"

"No," James said. "I just found an agent to dispose of it, is all."

"So you could hurry back? Missed me, did you?"

"Get that grin off your face, puppy. I thought I'd warned you to stay out of trouble."

The boy gave Dobson a look of reproach for spilling the news so soon, but he was grinning unrepen-tently again when he looked back at his father. "Well, she was a prime piece. What was I to do?"

"What did you do?"

"Just had a bloody good time, is all. But they weren't very understanding about finding the wench in my room, so I told 'em she followed me back, that she refused to leave without making a fuss."