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And in private, even my love and sweetheart.

Georgine rather enjoyed the tenderness. It made her feel cherished, and that was a unique experience for her. No male, assuredly not Father, had ever made her feel precious and secure.

In truth, unexpectedly and much to her surprise, she rather enjoyed being married to Robyn.

Thus far, he’d been the epitome of kindness, patience, and attentiveness. If she didn’t know he had been forced into the union, she might be fooled into believing he cared for her as much as she had finally admitted she cared for him.

How could she ever have considered him her nemesis?

Well, perhaps nemesis was too harsh a term, but troublesome and bothersome were not.

Was it only now, with her guard down, that she allowed herself to see him through undistorted lenses?

She still hadn’t decided on the terms of her bet with him because the truth of it was, she had no desire to wager against their happiness. She wanted to embrace it, treasure it, see it grow into something meaningful and magical.

“Or are you talking to yourself again?” Robyn teased.

“I do not talk to myself, as you well know.” A half-smile played around her lips. At one time, his teasing would have irked her. Now she found his roguish charm endearing and amusing. “No. It’s a little frog. We frightened the starch out of each other.”

“A frog, you say?”

“Come see.” She half-turned and held out her damp fingers. “He or she is a little thing. I think it’s a baby.” Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, “How did you find me?”

Robyn chuckled, the sound rolling over her like a soft silk wrap. “When I couldn’t find you in your bedchamber, I assumed you had asked Nelly to help you dress and made your way to the garden. It’s where you usually are in the morning.”

“How astute of you.” Robyn had ordered several new gowns for her—all with front buttons and laces, since Georgine still couldn’t lift her arm high enough to have a gown slide over her head. A condition, Doctor Tinsdale had warned, might be permanent.

It was bad enough that Robyn had been forced to marry her, but to be stuck with an invalid…Georgine kicked that ugly thought to next month.

The sky-blue and white striped morning gown she wore, with its ruffled sleeves and hem, and embroidered ribbon encircling her waist, made her feel pretty…desirable even.

The appreciative glint in Robyn’s eyes as he raked his intense gaze over her caused a little thrill to zip along her veins. Not so long ago, his intense scrutiny would have peeved her. That was not her reaction these days.

No, indeed.

“I had no idea I was marrying a morning sparrow.” He bent and kissed her forehead. “I confess, I quite like it. I, too, enjoy the early hours.”

That was something else he did—dropped kisses on her crown or forehead or cheek, but never tried to do more. And the truth was, she very much wanted him to do more.

Much more.

And acknowledging that didn’t shock her as much as it would have mere weeks ago.

This past month and a half, as they’d spent time together, she’d discovered she not only liked Robyn—a lot—but he stirred feelings she wasn’t quite certain what to do with.

Except she wanted him to kiss her.

That much she knew beyond a doubt.

She took a step nearer to him on the pretext of flicking a piece of lint from his lapel.

A very wifely thing to do.

He smelled marvelous: sun-dried linen and Castile soap, with the faint crispness of starched cloth and a whisper of bergamot from the pomade in his freshly brushed hair. And sandalwood, of course.

Had someone bottled masculinity, rakishness, and charm?

She inhaled deeply, savoring his essence.