Chapter 4

Four

E ven though only a few hours remained until dawn, Crispin went to his wife's bedchamber and stripped off his clothes and crawled into the bed beside Georgiana. He needed to be with her. He needed the comfort of her body, the wisdom of her words.

She put her book aside and turned into his embrace, and he rested his chin on top of her head.

"Oliver is a very lucky man," his wife said, her cheek against the ginger pelt on his chest.

Crispin snorted. "Lucky I didn't throttle him."

Georgiana pulled away from him, something she almost never did. She stared up at him with the big, blue eyes that always undid him.

"Don't say that. He's your friend. And a threat like that is beneath you, Bey. "

Yes, his wife liked when he became her savage Beowulf during their love-making, but she had high expectations for how he conducted himself as a civilized father and a duke.

He tugged her back into his arms. "Yes, of course, I wouldn't have killed him, sweetling." He paused. "But it's a good thing Alexander wasn't there. I'll have to get to the boy first thing and calm him down, tell him Oliver has offered for Hen's hand."

Georgiana sighed. The heir's hot temper was a frequent source of worry for both of them, and they often discussed their hope that Alexander would mellow with age. But, so far, no luck. The young man was still a veritable petard, ready to go off with very little provocation.

"Yes, please. No duels. Oliver will let Alexander kill him and that would break his sister's heart."

Oliver didn't have a sister. Crispin frowned. "Whose heart?"

Georgiana rolled onto her back and stared up at the canopy. "Hen's."

Crispin should be well-used to feeling he was three steps behind his wife's nimble brain, but her quick leaps still surprised him.

"Why would Hen's heart be broken?"

Georgiana reached out and brought his hand to her mouth and kissed the knuckle that had a scar on it from when he had knocked out the tooth of his archenemy.

"We'll try to get as much sleep as we can this morning, and the four of us will go to the bishop tomorrow morning. An ordinary license. Then they can be married in a sennight."

Georgiana must have already decided the issue was settled and Henrietta should accept Oliver. Crispin hoped he could come around to his wife's way of thinking, but a marriage between his friend and his daughter still seemed unnatural to him. Perverse. A mismatch of the most grievous kind. And not just because of the difference in their ages, but because of Oliver's dark past. And because his sunshine daughter was all unblighted innocence. Until tonight.

Shit.

He needed to get to the bottom of why his wife was so calmly accepting of this marriage while he was still tormented.

"Why did you say Oliver was lucky?"

She closed her eyes. "If you could pick a wife for your friend, what would she be like?"

Crispin thought of Oliver's first wife and shuddered. His greatest regret might be introducing his friend to Miss Violet Winter. Then he thought over what little he knew of Oliver's second wife, the former Miss Emily Wilkes.

Neither of those women had ever given Oliver anything close to what Crispin had with Georgiana. The largest stroke of good fortune in his very lucky life had come over two decades ago when the most desirable woman Crispin had ever seen also turned out to be the love of his life.

"Bey?"

He squeezed her hand. "I'd pick someone like you. Beautiful, loving, caring, capable, thoughtful, honest."

She rolled towards him, keeping ahold of his hand, clasping it to her bosom. "And I'd pick someone like you. Someone who likes him. Someone who is full of fun and vim. Someone who is all heart and fair play. You are his friend, after all, and that's what a wife should be, first and foremost."

Crispin might not share his wife's genius, but he wasn't stupid. Georgiana was saying Henrietta was a combination of the two of them and would make a good wife for Oliver.

He pushed a stray blonde curl behind his brilliant wife's ear. "But the more important question is whether Oliver will be a good husband for our Hen."

Georgiana gave him a soulful look, the kind she couldn't help but give when she pitied Crispin's lack of understanding.

"She answered that question for herself a long time ago, Bey. She wants him. Haven't you seen the way she looks at him?"

Crispin was astounded. "What?"

"She has only ever had eyes for him."

"A long time?"

"Five years or so."

Crispin had no idea girls could be interested in men while they were still so young.

Georgiana smiled wistfully. "During her Season, I worried she would never be happy with another. No one seemed to please her. So, at least, this puts one of my fears to rest."

Crispin was still struggling with the idea that his little girl might want a man. An adult man. A man his age. His friend.

"You have to tell me if Ellen and Amelia have set their caps for anyone. Lord Marsburn, maybe?" Lord Marsburn was in his ninth decade.

Georgiana giggled. "Amelia, I think, will be a late bloomer like her mother. Remember I thought I should have been a nun in the Middle Ages until I met you?"

"And Ellen?"

Another deep sigh. "I love Ellen, of course, but she's pure trouble with a capitalized, illuminated T . I can't start worrying about Ellen right now, Bey, or I'll never get to sleep."

"Yes, no need. There'll be plenty of time for that in the years to come. And as always, we'll muddle through it together. Go to sleep, wife."

He turned down the wick on the lamp and punched his pillow a few times as Georgiana rolled away from him. But it was only to pull off her nightdress and settle into her favorite position for sleeping. On her side, scooted back against him, her naked, plump bottom resting on his groin, her back against his chest, drawing his arm around her soft waist so they were coiled together as tightly as two people could be.

Thank God he had his duchess to explain things to him. Maybe this marriage between his friend and his daughter would not turn out to be the ill-fated, deviant thing he had thought it would be.

And perhaps Henrietta would somehow put right the wrong done to Oliver by her parents, long ago.