by Kim Bowman
Stop repeating yourself, Georgina.
A glimmer blazed to life in his eyes. “What were the names?”
She shook her head. “Surely this isn’t the information you seek.”
He took her hard by the shoulders, his fingers biting into the smooth flesh of her arms until tears stung her eyes. “Give me the bloody names, and I’ll determine if it is information useful to us.”
“Marcus, Roberts, and…” Her mind spun.
Think. Think, Georgina. What is the name? What is it?
“And?” Jamie insisted.
“Uh… Mooring.”
Yes, it is Mooring.
Jamie grinned and, for a moment, looked like the same young boy who’d come to live with her and her family. When she’d learned he would be living with them, Georgina had twirled in circles with the excitement of having a brother. Until he slapped her. She’d been just seven and still remembered her fat, bloodied lip. She had stared back at him with fear before running off to hide. She’d been hiding ever since.
Jamie’s next words brought her back from the distant memory. “You have done well, my dear.”
“I can’t do any more, Jamie. This is the last time I can help you.”
He trailed the tip of one finger along her lower lip. “Do you know, Georgie? I don’t believe you.”
Terror zigzagged through her like a bolt of lightning. She opened her mouth to plead her innocence, but he tapped her lips to keep her silent. “I believe you want to help the Cause. I believe you want to punish your husband.”
She closed her eyes and prayed he would believe her lies. “I loved him so much. I gave up everything for him.”
“And he’s repaid you by fucking his former lover.”
Georgina gasped with pain at the image his words evoked.
“Will you continue to help us?”
She tamped down the agonizing regret threatening to shred her to pieces. “He is still my husband.” Her father was cruel, evil, and conniving but he was not a simpleton. He would be suspicious if he were to capitulate too easily.
“And I’m still your father.”
Odd, how for the first time in her life he was uttering those words as if they meant something.
Georgina hesitated and then gave a curt nod. “I will.”
He patted her cheek as if she were one of the queen’s terriers. “Good girl.”
Georgina couldn’t let him leave, not without finding out something, anything that might be of use to the duke. “Does it ever feel hopeless to you?”
Jamie raised a brow.
“The plan for Irish independence?” she said hurriedly.
“We’re not alone. There are those with great wealth and power who support the cause, Georgina.”
Her heart kicked up an exited rhythm, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from asking for names.
Her silence was rewarded.
“If you need to find me or are in need of support, Lord Ackerly can be trusted.”
Georgina blinked, certain her ears had deceived her. Excitement made her giddy. How easily he’d handed over a name! It gave her a heady sense of power.
He grabbed her, wrapping a vise-like grip around her wrist. “If you deceive us again, Georgina, there will be no forgiveness. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”
Moisture dampened her palms. She’d known the moment the duke had enlisted her help that what was really at stake was more than her happiness; it was her life. Her throat constricted, and she struggled to force any words out.
“Mrs. Markham?” Suzanne called from within the bookshop.
Georgina quelled a surge of relief and forced her eyes wide in feigned fear. “It’s my maid!” she gasped, her eyes darting around the aisle.
Jamie stiffened. He seemed to want to say more but must have feared the risk of discovery, for he slipped down the aisle and out of sight.
Georgina sagged against the shelving, pressing a hand against her galloping heart.
“Mrs. Markham?” Suzanne called again.
Georgina detected a thread of panic in the maid’s tone. She tried calling to Suzanne but couldn’t get the words out. Now that Jamie was gone, she was overwhelmed by a maelstrom of relief, fear, and anticipation. Her skin tingled until she wanted to scrape her fingernails along her flesh and drive the frayed nerves from her body.
She knew the moment Suzanne found her. The maid gasped. “We must get you out of here.”
Georgina closed her eyes, not wanting to see the questions in the other woman’s gaze. She must have noted the stark violet marks left on her forearms by Jamie’s fingers. She touched the corner of her bruised lip, wincing. Or mayhap her swollen lips. The memory of Jamie’s kiss entered her mind, and a hysterical giggle gurgled deep within her chest. She shivered.
Suzanne whispered something to her, but it was lost to the loud droning in Georgina’s ears.
The maid took her by the arm and steered her out of the shop and to a waiting carriage. The hum of mundane street sounds played out like the errant screech of a violin chord — deafening. Georgina stepped forward.
“Mrs. Markham!” Suzanne cried, pulling her back just as a phaeton came whirring by.
The fog lifted, and Georgina crashed to the ground. She landed on the pavement with a pained oomph. The passing horses kicked a spray of dust and dirt into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
Several gentlemen hurried forward to offer their assistance, but Georgina climbed to her feet before they could reach her. Throwing propriety to the proverbial wind, she raced to the opened carriage door and allowed the tiger to assist her inside. Then, saints be preserved, the door closed, and she found herself alone with Suzanne.
“Are you all right?” Suzanne asked.
Georgina glanced out the window at the passing scenery. “I have a name for you,” she said. “Lord Ackerly.”
She didn’t answer the maid’s question, because Georgina had a sinking feeling she’d never be all right again.
* * *
For the first time in a fortnight, Adam hadn’t gone out to take dinner at his club or attend some other ton function. Seated behind his desk, he stared down at the note he’d received from his superior. It seemed Fitzmorris needed to meet with him on a matter of some urgency.
At a different point in his life, at a time before Georgina, those words would have galvanized him into motion. Now the whole blasted organization could go hang. Where had they been when he’d been taken captive? With their far-reaching influence, they’d been unable to spring him from Fox and Hunter’s clutches.
The only person he cared to see was his bloody wife.
So, of course, this would be the one night she’d gone out.
He pulled the watch fob from his jacket pocket and, for what was surely the hundredth time that day, consulted the piece. Thirty minutes past six.
Where in hell is she?
Folding up Fitzmorris’s note, he placed it inside the hidden compartment on his desk and rose.
Someone had to know where Georgina had gone.
“Watson!” he bellowed, striding out of the room. “Watson!”
He nearly collided with the old, graying man. “Yes, Mr. Markham?”
“Where in hell is my wife?”
Watson angled his head as if Adam had just asked him to fetch the king’s crown and not the woman he was married to. A nugget of guilt jabbed at him. His disregard had been abundantly clear, not only to his family and the ton but his staff as well.
“Watson?” Adam prodded with a trace of annoyance.
“She went out,” the butler blurted.
Adam briefly closed his eyes. “Yes, I had rather guessed that. Where has she gone?”
“A bookshop.”
“A bookshop?” Adam repeated.
Watson nodded. “Yes, a bookshop.”
Well, now that they’d cleared that away… “When did she go to the bookshop?”
The corners of Watson’s mouth tipped down ever
so slightly. “I’m not sure sir.”
“You’re not sure?”
Watson nodded. “I wasn’t aware I was to keep track of Mrs. Markham’s whereabouts.”
Adam growled at his butler’s subtle disapproval.
For all anyone knew, his wife may as well have gone out hours ago. An inexplicable fear ate at him. He told himself to take a deep breath. When that made no difference in staving off his dread, he made himself take another. There had to be something more to Georgina’s absence. His heart slowed, panicked hurt blinding him.
Good God, what if she’s left me?
Adam pointed a finger at Watson. “I want my horse readied and the address of the establishment.”
Watson bowed his head. “Very well, sir.” He hurried to do Adam’s bidding.
Not even ten minutes later, Adam stood in the foyer, preparing to head out in pursuit of his wife when Watson opened the door.
Georgina swept through, her maid in tow.
She jerked to a stop at the sight of him. Her cloak was drawn tight about her, the billowing hood concealing her face.
His knees all but knocked together in relief. “Where did you go?” The harsh demand conveyed none of that to his wife, however.
Her body went rigid. “I went to a bookshop.” Her words were nearly lost in the muslin fabric of her cloak.
Watson made a move to retrieve it, but she waved him off and proceeded up the stairs.
Adam’s mouth fell open. Now that Georgina had returned, all his fears had abated, and he was left feeling more than a little foolish.
“Are you dismissing me?” he barked, taking the steps two at a time to keep up with her swift pace. He didn’t like his sweet wife discharging him as if he was nothing more than a wayward servant.
Georgina didn’t pause in her long, slow climb. “Please, Adam. You mustn’t pretend there is anything we have to talk about.”
Her words brought him up short and, by the time he’d collected his confounded emotions, Georgina had gone. The tall maid he’d employed for Georgina paused to shoot him a long, black look before hurrying after her mistress.
It was only as he stared bemusedly after them that he realized — Georgina hadn’t returned from her shopping with any purchases.
Doubts ran rampant.
Something was deucedly suspicious about his wife’s behavior, but Adam was too bloody confused too examine the reason for his apprehension. He couldn’t, however, turn a blind eye to her activities.
If she were betraying him again, God help her, because there would be no mercy on his part.
Chapter 25
Seated behind his desk, Adam stared down at the second letter Fitzmorris had sent round. There was a greater note of urgency in this missive. The other man requested an audience on the morrow. Adam sighed, tossing the sheet onto his desktop. He’d pay Fitzmorris a bloody visit and be done with him.
The day Adam had been dismissed from The Brethren, his role within the organization had been amputated. Like a petulant child, he delighted in ignoring their bloody summons. Except now, he needed the diversion, something to keep his mind from the state of bloody confusion Georgina had plunged him into.
Fighting the urge to bury his head in his hands, Adam gripped the side of his desk. He and Georgina had managed to co-exist in a relatively peaceful existence, which was a tremendous feat considering he’d wanted her thrown into Newgate not too long ago.
Now he didn’t know what he wanted for her.
Or them.
If Georgina had pleaded with him, professed her innocence, he suspected it would have fueled his hatred. She did none of those things. Rather, she moved through their household like a ghost. Her head lowered in an abject misery no one could possibly feign. It made him feel bloody guilty. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty over — it was Georgina who had deceived him — but it made no difference. His stomach roiled with agony until he wanted to reach for her, beg her forgiveness. Until he had to shake his head and think on the ludicrousness of such flawed thinking.
It is Georgina who should be pleading on her lovely knees for absolution.
He told himself that but, since he was being honest with himself, he could acknowledge that he didn’t wholly believe it.
The day she’d returned from the bookshop, her arms empty of purchases, warning bells had sounded in Adam’s ears. All signs had pointed to Georgina being involved in some clandestine act. He’d watched her quite closely over the next week, only to find that she didn’t go anywhere or interact with anyone. It only attuned Adam to the fact that her existence was a lonely one… and his guilt swelled.
Adam sighed. He would get nothing accomplished this day.
He needed to see her. Adam made his way upstairs and nearly collided with her maid.
The tall woman’s cheeks were heightened with a splash of red. Her chest heaved as if she’d been running through the house and, when she spoke, her gasping words echoed his thought. “Have you seen Mrs. Markham?”
The warning bells blared louder. He shoved down the concern radiating from a point deep inside him. “I’m sorry?”
The maid frowned. “As you should be,” she muttered.
Adam blinked. Surely, he’d imagined the affront. “I beg your pardon? What’s your name?”
She tossed her chin back in a show of defiance. “Suzanne. If you’ll excuse me, sir. I have to find Mrs. Markham.”
Had he just been dismissed by a servant? He shook his head. The world was going all topsy-turvy on him. “Just a moment,” he commanded in the tone that had frozen traitors in their tracks.
Suzanne spun around, planting her hands upon her hips. Fire danced in her eyes. “Yes, sir?”
Adam’s thoughts spun.
Am I really going to address her impudence? Christ, I’ve gone stodgy.
“Where the hell is my wife?” he barked.
She gave her head a toss. “If I knew that, sir, would I be asking you?”
He strode down the hall toward Georgina’s rooms, asking over his shoulder, “Have you searched her chambers?”
The maid pressed her lips into a firm line. “Yes, sir,” she said, but not before Adam saw the way she pointed her eyes to the ceiling.
Adam paused outside Georgina’s chambers and threw the door open.
Suzanne hovered in the doorway.
Adam strode through the immaculate room, knowing implicitly what his wife’s maid had already verified—Georgina was not here.
He frowned, turning in a slow circle. His gaze landed on her armoire.
Adam threw open the oak doors and began tossing aside dress after dress, examining the contents until they littered the floor in a colossal heap of satins and taffeta. He stomped over the garments, his boots crinkling the expensive fabrics.
“What are you looking for?” Suzanne asked, suspicion lacing her words.
Adam ignored her question. He stopped beside Georgina’s faultlessly made bed and tugged the coverlet off, tossing it to the ground.
The maid gasped.
A familiar red leather book peeked from beneath Georgina’s pillow. Adam frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Absently he looked through the book when one particular page snagged awkwardly on a lone scrap of paper.
His heart quickened.
“Sir?” Suzanne pressed.
Adam removed the sheet and unfolded it to read the damning words. His stomach felt as if he were being pitched around the deck of a small vessel on a stormy sea.
Four o’clock.
Ye Old Bookshop.
Leave your maid.
Ever Yours, H
H.
An image surfaced of Georgina wrapped in Hunter’s arms, the other man lifting her skirts and fucking her while she cried out with longing for the man who’d stolen Adam’s freedom and destroyed his life.
A filmy layer of pain and fury descended over his eyes, blurring his vision. His fists tightened convulsively around the paper, crinkling it into an un
recognizable ball. With a roar that tore from somewhere deep within his heart, Adam tossed it across the room and slammed his fist into the coverlet.
Goddamn her.
“Sir!” Suzanne cried when he spun around and all about flew from the chambers.
He raced down the stairs, bellowing for his carriage.
~~~~
Four o’clock.
Ye Old Bookshop.
Leave your maid.
Ever Yours,
H
Georgina stared across the bustling street at the bookshop.
It had been ten days since she’d had her first and last meeting with Jamie. She’d not heard hide nor hair from him or the duke.
Until this morning. She’d had to work quite hard to slip out without Suzanne noticing. The maid clung to her side like an aged vine wrapped about an old oak. Now, part of her wondered at the wisdom of setting off alone. The duke had made it quite clear that Suzanne was to accompany her everywhere.
He’d not however indicated what she should do if Jamie requested a meeting and ordered her to leave Suzanne behind.
She’d had the better part of the day to analyze the prudence of her intended actions. In the end, she had rationalized that if she were to provide the assistance the Crown needed then she would have to take these added risks. Thus far, she’d only obtained a solitary piece of information for the duke — the name, Ackerly. She’d pledged to help the Crown and her efforts had proven ineffectual.
No longer.
Squaring her shoulders, she set off across the street and entered the bookshop. Georgina managed a quiet greeting for the merchant, who tried in vain to engage her in conversation. Her nerves were too frayed to muster pleasantries, and she wandered in silence down the long rows.
She stopped in front of a shelf and stared at the book directly in her line of vision. Othello.
Her lips turned in a sorry rendition of a smile. Shakespeare’s work seemed very apropos. Take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest is not safe.
With a sigh, Georgina set it aside.
In the nearly three weeks since Adam had discovered her betrayal, he’d tempered the stinging vitriol he directed her way. He’d also not indulged in spirits since the day in the library when she’d slapped him. Their names had also appeared less and less in the scandal sheets, though that had more to do with their retreat from society’s peering eyes.
