Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘Ah, my dove, you’re awakened once more.’ He touched a hand to her bruised face, frowning as she flinched. ‘Forgive my rather brutish treatment, I could not allow you to alert anyone to our plans.’ His fingers slid round to cup the back of her neck, and he crouched low to look into her eyes.

  Georgiana’s fear squirmed inside, but she thrust it down out of sight and forced herself to face Walter Praxton with a convincing façade of calm. ‘Mr Praxton, I’ve already told you that I’m married. Whatever plans you once had, can be no more. Cease this game now, let me go free, and I won’t speak of the matter.’ The firmness in her voice betrayed no trace of a tremor.

  Praxton’s frown vanished, replaced instead by a smirk. ‘Do you think to fool me so easily? I haven’t spent these last months tracing you to give you up to any man, least of all Hawke.’ He leaned closer, until she could feel the warmth of his breath upon her skin. ‘He only married you because his honour gave him no other option. You must be aware by now that he doesn’t care for you.’ Then added silkily, ‘Not as I do.’ The pale eyes looked deep into hers as his lips moved to claim her mouth.

  ‘No!’ Georgiana shrank back. ‘No,’ she said, with a little more control. ‘You’re wrong.’ Her heart hammered within her chest and the blood pounded in her temples.

  A suspicion was forming in Walter’s mind, too horrible for him to fully contemplate. Surely Georgiana did not actually hold any affection for the man she called husband? He remembered her face smiling up at the captain’s in Portsmouth dockyard. His fingers tightened, drawing a gasp from the woman before him. If that was her game, Walter would use it to his advantage. ‘So you seek to bind a man who doesn’t want you, to ruin his life, destroy his standing within his family. You’re promised to me, and always have been. What of my reputation? What of my feelings in the matter?’ He paused, to allow his words to hit their target. ‘You are selfish in the extreme, Georgiana. What cares have you for anyone other than yourself? Not your family whom you left to face your disgrace, nor your betrothed, not even the man that you call husband.’

  Georgiana’s throat tightened. Every word that dripped from Walter Praxton’s tongue played on the worst of her fears. She was selfish and thoughtless. She had treated them all abysmally. He only spoke the truth. She stared at him, voiceless, not knowing that her eyes betrayed all.

  Walter loosed his grip on Georgiana’s neck, knowing her resolve to be perilously close to crumbling. ‘Let me save us all,’ he whispered, his eyes softening.

  Thoughts whirled in Georgiana’s confused mind. She had forced Nathaniel into marriage, had inadvertently set brother against brother, and was about to be banished from Collingborne. What’s more, since she had bared her heart, her husband had taken definite steps to avoid spending time in her company. But she loved him, damn it! She looked into the pale eyes before her and saw the malice and cruelty simmering below the surface. Lust and obsession stared blatantly back. Even as she struggled to hide her revulsion at the fingers caressing her shoulders, she knew she could never give herself to any man other than Nathaniel, and especially not Walter Praxton.

  ‘Mr Praxton, thank you for your kind offer of help, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept it. I will return to my family and cast myself upon their mercy.’ She felt the pressure of his fingers grow until it became almost unbearable, gnawing into her skin. A hiss sounded close to her ear.

  ‘And I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to refuse,’ he breathed, and pressed his hot avaricious mouth to hers.

  Nathaniel knew that what his brothers had to say did not bode well before they even opened their mouths. Henry’s expression was stern and forbidding, a sure sign that he was worried. Freddie looked unusually thoughtful.

  ‘I take it you found no sign of her?’ Nathaniel had not yet removed his caped great coat or gloves.

  Henry shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He watched the strain tighten his brother’s face, pinching the lips white even beneath the yellow light of the candles. ‘Why didn’t you simply tell me that you love her?’ It was a question uttered quietly, but all eyes in the room trained on Nathaniel for his answer.

  Dark eyes glittered within the pallor of his face. The clock on the mantel punctuated the silence in staccato strokes. ‘Because I didn’t realise it myself until today,’ he growled. Long fingers threaded themselves through the deep dark brown of his hair, thrusting the unruly waves back from his face. He started to speak, then stopped, cleared the emotion from his throat, and resumed once more. ‘It would seem that Mrs Howard was correct. One of the maids saw Georgiana leaving the house wearing her cloak, and there were signs that someone had walked across the lawns to reach the shrubbery at the front of the house. It’s dark outside and the temperature is dropping. Georgiana should have returned long since.’

  ‘She must have met with an accident,’ piped up Mirabelle. ‘Perhaps she’s twisted her ankle and cannot get back from where she has fallen.’

  The earl spoke up. ‘Nathaniel and I have scoured the grounds. She’s not to be found.’

  ‘Then maybe she walked farther than you searched.’ Mirabelle would not allow herself to think the worst.

  A calm voice spoke. ‘Captain Hawke, may I be so bold as to suggest that you check Georgiana’s wardrobe.’

  ‘There’s nothing missing,’ replied Nathaniel rather tersely and moved towards the door, before pausing to address his father. ‘You don’t think…?’

  ‘No, not without her bags.’

  More to alleviate the awkward silence that followed his father’s words than anything else, Freddie spoke up. ‘Rather peculiar coincidence in the village. That chap Praxton, who visited with Georgiana’s father at Farleigh Hall, has been staying in Collingborne of late.’ Nathaniel paused mid-stride, but Freddie rambled on, oblivious to the spasm of tension that seized his brother’s body. ‘Spoke to the landlord of the Fox and Hounds. Praxton’s been a good customer. Apparently has business in the area. Fancy him turning up in this neck of the woods. Strange.’ He was just starting to give the matter the full weight of his consideration when he glanced up to see an unfathomable expression cross Nathaniel’s face.

  ‘Walter Praxton!’ he exclaimed harshly. ‘His presence might well explain the situation!’ It seemed that a knife twisted in his heart, and the breath knocked from his lungs. ‘Georgiana was betrothed to Praxton before she wed me.’ The words scraped raw his already bleeding heart, but he refused to let his family see just how deeply the wound had pierced. ‘Even now her travelling bags lie packed and ready in her bedroom,’ he uttered by way of explanation.

  ‘Ah,’ said Henry softly. ‘You think she has deserted you.’

  Evelina Howard shook her head in denial and stepped forward to speak. ‘Captain Hawke, surely you could never believe such a thing?’ And for the first time Nathaniel saw a flicker of worry cloud the woman’s eyes.

  ‘Run off with Praxton?’ queried a confused Freddie.

  A peel of ironic laughter sounded within the room. Five pairs of eyes riveted to the source—Mirabelle Farleigh. The small woman leapt to her feet, ringlets shaking, mouth wide and incredulous.

  ‘Mirabelle!’ Henry’s voice sounded stern. He moved towards her, saying to the others as he did, ‘She’s overwrought and has become hysterical.’ His hand closed gently over her arm but she threw it off with, what her husband thought to be, surprising force.

  ‘I most certainly am not.’ She pulled away from Henry and towards Nathaniel, who was trying and failing miserably to disguise the fact that he looked like a man who believed the bottom to have just dropped from his world. ‘Men!’ she snorted. ‘Sometimes they’ve not one ounce of sense in those great oversized bodies of theirs!’

  Mrs Howard was smiling and even the earl had reverted to a marginally more relaxed stance.

  ‘Mirabelle, contain yourself!’ commanded her husband with growing exasperation.

  Lady Farleigh paid no regard whatsoever to Henry, who was trying to coax her away from his brother. S
he planted herself like a small rock before her brother by marriage. ‘Nathaniel,’ she said, ‘remember when you saved Georgiana from drowning in the Borne?’ She did not wait for his answer. ‘Did you suppose that she slipped and fell? Of course you did. Well,’ the lady concluded, ‘you were wrong. She jumped into the river rather than submit to Mr Praxton’s advances upon the river bank.’

  Nathaniel’s brows lowered and he stared at Mirabelle in confusion.

  ‘Precisely why did you suppose that any woman would run away from home, alone, and by mail coach? Oh, and end up pretending to be a boy aboard your ship?’

  The dark eyes shifted accusingly to his father. ‘Does everyone know the entirety of the story?’

  ‘Don’t seek to change the subject,’ instructed Mirabelle. Henry’s hand tightened around her arm. ‘Georgiana did all of these things to escape Walter Praxton.’

  ‘But—’

  Mirabelle gave him little chance to speak. ‘Yes, she was betrothed to the man, but it was most certainly against her will. Her father intended to force the wedding, leaving Georgiana few options. When she fled, she was intent on making her way here to Collingborne.’ She looked round at the earl. ‘She wanted my help, and would have had it had it not been for the Impress Service.’

  ‘I say, Georgiana’s a bit of a dark horse all right!’ Freddie had perked up substantially at the revelations. Even the quelling look pressed upon him by his father failed to staunch the flow of admiration. He whistled and exclaimed, ‘What a girl!’

  When Nathaniel still had not spoken, Mirabelle rounded on him. ‘And aside from all of that, Nathaniel Hawke, how could you think she would run off with anyone else when it’s as plain as the nose on your face that she’s head over heels in love with you!’

  Nathaniel’s face drained of any last vestige of colour.

  ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ demanded Mirabelle on seeing the haunted look flit across his countenance.

  ‘Nothing at all, aside from the fact that, from what you say, it’s growing increasingly probable that Georgiana has been abducted by Praxton.’

  Georgiana choked as Walter attempted to pour half a tankard of wine down her throat. The cold liquid splashed over her mouth, cascading down her chin and neck to stain her gown dark wet. The rough fingers that had prised open her bruised mouth moved rapidly away as she set up a chorus of coughs and splutters. By the time she had regained her breath her cheeks were as red as the wine that stained them.

  ‘Come, now, Georgiana, don’t resist so. The wine will warm you against the night chill, and—’ he paused and looked at her, desire clear in his eyes ‘—help you to relax. It will make things a deal easier for you.’

  ‘I don’t want it,’ she spat at him.

  A wicked leer struck his face. ‘You’re then as eager for me as I am for you? Come, sweet dove, let Walter warm you.’ His hands slid over her shoulders, travelling slowly down to skim her breasts, outlined starkly by the clinging wet fabric of her dress. ‘But first we must get you out of these wet clothes.’

  Dear Lord help her! Praxton meant to ravish her here, a scant two miles from the house that contained her husband. Nathaniel! Nathaniel! She wanted to cry his name aloud, but knew that to do so would only incense Walter further. His fingers loitered by her nipples, causing the gall to rise in her throat. A thick wet tongue snaked across her lips, trying to breach the fortress of her mouth. For a moment she thought she would wretch from the sickening assault, but managed to pull herself away from his lips. ‘No! Stop! Mr Praxton, we must …’ The words faltered as he reached round to her back and started to unfasten the buttons of her gown. ‘No!’ she exclaimed as she tried to remove herself from his grasp. But there was nowhere to go and, with her hands and feet still bound, there seemed little to help her evade his attentions.

  Cold air prickled the skin beneath the thinness of her shift following the trail of Walter Praxton’s fingers. ‘Mr Praxton, stop this madness at once!’ she pleaded.

  ‘You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this night. How much I’ve wanted to plunder your soft white body.’ His breathing had grown somewhat laboured and uneven.

  ‘If you have any regard left for me whatsoever, do not use me like this. Please.’ She relaxed a little as he stepped away, thinking to have found some vestige of honourable behaviour within him. But she was much mistaken. As Walter Praxton peeled off his finely fashioned coat and loosed his neckcloth, she saw the manic gleam within his ice-pale eyes and knew that all was lost. He would not stop until he had what he wanted. And the thought of exactly what it was that he wanted brought a black desolation to her soul. From deep within she drew a tiny spark of courage and fanned it with thoughts of all that Nathaniel had done to save both her reputation and her life. The flame burned brighter. She saw the bulge within Walter’s breeches, watched while his fingers moved to unfasten them, gulped as he moved towards her.

  ‘You always were a cowardly bully, Mr Praxton. Did you never wonder why I would do anything rather than marry you?’

  Walter Praxton stopped in his tracks, a frown of annoyance darkening his golden looks. ‘Mutinous thoughts planted in your head by that blasted Mrs Tillyard. Even your stepfather admits his folly in sending you to her. Of course, he was never strict enough with you, always gave in to the wants of that foolish mother of yours. I won’t make the same mistake.’

  She held his gaze. ‘You seek to inflict your will on others through the use of violence and intimidation and money. Without those three bedfellows you would have nothing!’

  ‘I’m a successful businessman, Georgiana, rich, good looking, all in all a highly desirable catch. It seems that it’s only you that cannot see what’s before your very eyes. Just think, you’ll be the envy of young ladies all across Hampshire when they learn that you’re my wife.’ He was at her side, tugging down the arms and bodice of her dress until only the rose-stained damp shift stretched across her breasts veiled her body from his gaze.

  ‘You’re mad if you think that I’ll ever wed you. I’m wife to Nathaniel Hawke and there’ll be no place you can hide when he discovers that you’ve defiled me.’ She flung the words at him, knowing that, whether Nathaniel loved her or not, he would always see justice done.

  He laughed, an evil sound that rasped at her taut nerves. ‘Defile? I promise to have done a damn sight more than that before this time tomorrow.” His hands groped at her breasts, kneading them painfully beneath his cruel fingers.

  She refused to cower, had done with pleading. Her eyes met his forcefully, without fear. ‘Do what you will, but know that I feel nothing for you, neither love nor hate, just the grey emptiness of nothing, which is exactly your worth. All my love lies with my husband and, whether you rape me, or beat me, or kill me, you’ll never change that.’

  One hand wrapped itself painfully in the dark silky ebony of her hair, pulling her up until their faces were so close that they shared the same breath. ‘You have been a brave wife to him.’ A smirk played across his lips, the candlelight glinting in his golden hair. ‘But will you be so brave a widow?’

  It seemed that her heart had ceased to beat. She gasped air into her constricting lungs. ‘No!’ she shrieked. ‘You are no threat to Nathaniel. He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be!’

  The blow landed hard against her temple, stunning her wits, collapsing her body. ‘Bitch!’ he cursed. ‘How little you know.’ He saw the storm clouds gather in her eyes. ‘What would you give to save his life? Yourself? Would you beg me?’ His mouth moved to a smile and his fingers danced around the neckline of her sodden shift.

  What it was that drew Nathaniel towards the far side of Beacon Hill he could never be sure, but the growing sense that Georgiana called him urged him on. Through the blackness of the night the candle lantern illuminated little, but as the heavens smiled on him the thick cover of clouds rolled back to reveal a huge opalescent moon. Silver light bathed the countryside so that the small group of riders made good progress. The earl wanted to
split up, make a sweeping check of up to old Tom’s farm in one direction and John Appleton’s in the other. But Nathaniel was steadfast in his refusal, adamant in his determination that they search Beacon Hill before all else. Then he saw it. The faint hint of light emanating from the woodsman’s hut within the copse of trees. And even before they had spurred their horses a fraction closer, he knew that Georgiana was within.

  They dismounted and left their horses, creeping quietly forward through the frozen brush until they reached their target. Through the somewhat battered looking wooden door the murmur of voices could be heard, a man’s laugh, mocking and loud, a woman’s denial, vehement, disgusted. Nathaniel did not wait to hear any more. The door gave way beneath the ferocity of the combined weight of his and Henry’s kicks. The sight that met his eyes ignited in Nathaniel a fury and fear that escalated beyond all control.

  Walter Praxton was kneeling upon the bed, golden hair glowing in the candlelight, shirtless, in the process of loosing the fastenings on his breeches. Beneath him lay Georgiana, her face white and pinched, her gown ripped open, a thin stained shift moulded to her breasts. For the merest fraction of a second Nathaniel paused to assess the scene, then moved in a fluid motion to deliver first one resounding blow and then another to Praxton. The younger man pitched to the floor, limp and helpless beneath the weight of Nathaniel’s towering rage. Dark eyes glowered with implacable anger and he would have pressed his assault further had it not been for her whisper.

  ‘Nathaniel?’ Her voice was small, strained, as if she could not be sure that the man before her eyes was a mirage of her own making or of flesh and blood. All thoughts of Praxton were forgotten as he reached down, cradling her in his arms.