by Lorri Dudley
Georgia returned her attention to the statue of a Roman sentry in full gear. While Rousseau fell for her ploy, Harrison saw through it. In a way, it was a relief. A life with Edward Rousseau would be always pretending, always impressing. Rousseau’s caricature-like qualities emphasized the faults she’d ignored in the Earl of Claremont.
Life would be just the same with Julien. She would forever live a lie. A new level of fatigue washed over her. Her perfect life, the one she’d worked so hard to attain, seemed to be imploding. Was she doomed to a meaningless life of frivolity? Was there more to this life? Was she willing to settle?
God, please don’t take away my dream. She didn’t want to give up seeing Mama’s astonished face when her tomboy daughter became a countess. Mama would have to relent that her imperfect daughter had bettered herself even above her sisters’ statuses. Mama would then treat her as she did her sisters—paying calls, planning shopping trips…
“Maybe you could pose for me?”
Georgia jerked back to the present. “I beg your pardon?”
Rousseau leaned in until their heads almost touched and continued in a hushed tone. “I have a sculptor arriving with the next ship.” He gazed at her as if she were a plate filled with Turkish delight. “I would love to capture such loveliness for all time. Your replica could be placed in the garden next to the statue of Venus, whom you rival in beauty.”
Her mouth fell open. Half the sculptures she’d seen tonight were barely clothed, and he wanted her to pose for him? Certainly not.
A yank on her arm drew her backward, and Aunt Tessa was pushed forward in her stead.
“Pardon my intrusion.” Harrison’s iron-like fingers clamped on her elbow. “But Miss Lennox and I need to have a private discussion.”
Harrison’s forceful grip brooked no argument as he propelled her around a hedge, toward a twisted tree with low branches. She might have snatched her arm from him, but something about his vehemence made her want to know what he’d say. He almost pushed her to sit on a branch about bench height, then loomed over her, his chest heaving under his double-breasted waistcoat.
“You are treading in dangerous waters, Georgia. Rousseau is a scoundrel, and you need to stay away from him.”
His gaze was so fierce, she had to look away, and a motion beside her offered the perfect diversion. A parrot’s sleeping eye opened, and its red, unblinking gaze peered at them. One claw at a time, it meandered down the branch toward Harrison.
She forced herself to turn back to the man. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You will disgrace your family if you pose for one of his half-naked statues.”
“I’m not a harlot. I won’t be posing for him or any other man—”
“Good. We’re understood then.”
Almost. She had to make him understand that he held no power over her. Even if her traitorous body longed for him to draw nearer. “But I will entertain any man who pleases me, and you will not have a say one way or another. Are we clear?”
Harrison gripped branches on either side of her head. She could feel the tension radiating from his body, and his spicy cologne engulfed her in an intoxicating haze.
“Edward Rousseau isn’t your typical admirer. He’s not a man who will trail along after you, sniffing at your skirts. He doesn’t play by society’s rules. He has no scruples.”
The bird brushed its black beak next to Harrison’s ear and squawked, “Say hello, Oscar.”
Harrison didn’t flinch. His eyes remained glued to hers. With a wave of his hand, he swatted at the bird. “Go home, Oscar.”
The bird backed up the branch but didn’t leave.
“Thank you for voicing your concerns.” Her voice quivered, and she had to clear her throat to maintain her poise. “However, they are unnecessary. I can fend for myself.”
He threw up his hands. “Go ahead try your wiles on him. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She had to show him she was capable. She didn’t need his interference. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Wells.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she stood and attempted to brush past him.
His fingers clamped around her upper arm. “I told you to call me Harrison.”
Georgia’s knees quaked from the deadly tone of his voice, but she kept her composure. “Very well,”—her voice rang out—“Harry.”
He released her as if he’d touched a hot stove. She’d barely taken a couple of steps when he called out, “As long as we’re understood … George.”
She froze. Fury filled her and swept away her snappy reply. She lifted her head and stalked back in the direction of Rousseau and her Aunt.
“Rawack! HarREE!”
A smile twitched on the corners of Georgia’s lips. The bird had just tipped the score back in her favor.
Chapter 18
…I’m grateful for the barrel of sugar. I’m repaying the gesture with a round of cheddar from Colton’s Cheese shop, of which I remember you being quite fond. I must warn you, Lord and Lady Chadwick have appealed to the Prince. A summons is most certain.
—From Lord Liverpool to the Duke of Linton
Oooff! Georgia awoke to the wind rushing out of her lungs as an unruly Max pounced on her, jumping up and down on top of the covers.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead. It’s getting late, and the fishing won’t be as good. You promised we’d go in the boat today.”
“Who let you up here?” Georgia rolled over and encased her head under the pillow to block out the light and Max’s persistence. Whatever had she been thinking to agree to such a thing the day after a ball?
“I came up on my own. Everyone is asleep except Hattie and the servants, but they’re busy.” Max pulled at the corner of her pillow, but she only pressed it harder against her ears.
“It’s not proper for you to be in a woman’s bedchamber.”
“Why?” Max asked.
A flash of pity washed over her. “Never mind.” Max didn’t have a mother. He didn’t know proper decorum.
“Come on, you lazy bag of bones. It’s time to fish.”
That was it. She’d had enough of the Wells men telling her what to do. With one hand, she grasped the pillow and walloped him with it.
A smile broke out over Max’s face, making his freckles bunch together. He grabbed her other pillow, jumped on the bed, and roared the war cry, “Pillow fight.”
The white bag of fluff walloped her head sideways, so she attacked his legs and knocked him down on the bed, then tickled him until he couldn’t breathe.
“Say I’m the master of the pillow fights, and I’ll stop.”
“No!”
She tickled harder as he squirmed. “All right, all right,” he exclaimed between giggles, “You’re the master pillow fighter.”
She let him go, and he darted off the bed. His chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath. He sucked in a large gulp of air. “But, you said we’d go fishing in Papa’s rowboat.”
An hour later, Georgia found herself being rocked back and forth by the waves in a small rowboat anchored not far from shore. The sun shone high in the sky and bore down on her as if intending to fry her like a piece of bacon. She clutched her fishing rod with one hand and mopped at the beads of sweat that ran down the sides of her face with her sleeve. If only she hadn’t ruined her other pink day dress playing that game in the dirt with the school children. She had no choice but to don her last unscathed pink gown, the one made out of a thick weave linen lawn.
Stifling a yawn, she glanced at Max, who was clutching his fishing pole and staring into the water with a determined scowl. Besides a few sunfish not big enough to keep, nothing was biting.
“Max, I think it’s time we called it a day.”
“Just a little longer. We can’t go home empty-handed.”
“I think we must admit defeat.”
“Please, I can feel one’s about to bite. A big one. Pleeeease.”
His brows tilted up into an A formation, and he peered up at her
with an expression that made even the saddest puppy look mundane.
“Fine, but merely fifteen minutes more, then it’s time for refreshments in the shade.”
His face lit up, and he fumbled to recast his line.
Georgia covered a full yawn with her hand. The late hour when she’d returned from the ball, along with the heat and the steady rocking of the rowboat, lulled her into a trance. Her back and bottom ached from sitting on the bench seat in the small dinghy. She leaned to one side and then another, trying to get comfortable.
She eyed the bow. There was just enough room for her to lie down. It wouldn’t be lady-like, but no one except Max would see.
After crawling over the edge of the bench, she settled into the bottom of the bow, seeking shelter from the harsh sun. She folded her legs under the seat, but being able to spread out the tiniest bit felt luxurious. “Holler when something tugs the line, and I’ll help reel it in.”
She shifted her bonnet so it covered her face. The waves gracefully raised and lowered the boat, reminding her of the waltz she’d shared with Harrison. She relived the dance in her mind, his strong arms holding her, sweeping her around and around the room. He’d looked very distinguished in his formal attire. There had been no padding built into the lining of his jacket, which allowed her to feel the solid mass of muscle rippling beneath her fingers.
There was more to Harrison than an island school teacher. His demeanor and the way he held himself bespoke of quality. Being an estate manager would have placed him on the fringe of polite society, if not closer.
He’d said he left because of his wife’s memories, but why did he not maintain the same lifestyle he’d held in England? Could there be some truth to Mr. Rousseau’s accusations that he’d been exiled? What could he have done to anger the King so? No, it was more likely that he’d gotten himself into financial trouble in England and escaped to the island to avoid debtor’s prison.
Either way, he was here, and there was no mistaking the way he made her heart race.
A spray of water doused her face, jolting Georgia awake. Hot rays of sun blinded her eyes, and she squinted against the pain. “What?” She wiped the water out of her eyes. “Where are we? What’s going on?”
Another wave crashed into the boat and slammed Georgia against the side. She shot up to a seated position in the bow and held on to the sides with both hands.
“The waves are too rough.” Seaspray and tears dripped down Max’s cheeks. “I can’t row us out of this inlet.” He wrestled with the oars and strained against the waves. His pale face was a mask of terror.
“Get into the center to balance the boat,” she commanded as she took the oars from him and slid into his position. “What happened to the anchor?”
Max’s bottom lip quivered, “I wanted to get a little closer to the inlet. That’s where all the biggest fish go. I thought I could catch one then row back out quick, so I raised it.”
“You what?” She spun to face the boy.
Tears pooled in his wide eyes, and a sob escaped his throat.
But she didn’t have time to worry over him now. She had to get the boat under control. Throwing the anchor back out now would be futile. She’d just maroon them in breaking water.
Georgia strained against the wild sea that spun their boat about like a leaf. Large rocks protruded out of the water on either side. She rowed with all her might, but as soon as she gained some ground, a violent wave would push them back.
A swell pitched the boat to the right, and Georgia pulled away from the rock. Another wave crashed into their side, partially filling the dinghy with water. Her arms ached, and a searing pain shot through her shoulders with each wrench of the paddles. The wooden oars blistered her soft hands, and her soaked bonnet hung in front of her eyes. She tilted her head back and measured the narrow strip of beach between the two rocks. If she timed it right, she might be able to ride a wave most of the way into shore. They’d have to swim the rest. She turned to Max.
“You told me you could swim, but are you a strong swimmer?”
He nodded, eyes as wide as the bright sun.
“All right, we’re going to ride the boat in with the next large wave.”
“What about the rocks?” His voice quavered.
“I’ll use the oars to push off the rocks.” She secured her grip on the poles.
A white, fizzling wave loomed behind them. “Max, hold on!” she shouted and started rowing as hard as she could in between the two jutted rocks.
The wave lifted their small boat and tossed it into the air. For a suspended moment, Georgia caught sight of Mt. Nevis, its lush peak rising into the clouds. She even glimpsed Papa’s bungalow before the top of the wave curled into the skiff. The stern dipped as the bow lifted, but Georgia kept them from turning over by pushing off the rock to their right with her oar. A loud crack sounded as the bottom half of the oar broke off.
The little boat spun into the left outcrop. The front of the craft crumpled and splintered, and water flooded over the remaining wood. Another wave lifted them, flipping the boat.
Georgia screamed and grabbed for Max as she and the boy tumbled overboard.
The rushing water roared around her ears, pressing her down under the surface as she struggled to orient her position. Where was Max? She’d not been able to reach him before the waves swept him away.
Her lungs burned as she pressed her mouth shut against the salty deluge. She clawed at the sea, kicking her legs to reach the surface, but the heavy weight of her sodden skirts slowed her progress.
At last she breached the water, sucking in a deep breath of salty air. Her arms slapped the waves as she frantically spun in search of Max. Another wave pummeled her from behind, pushing her back down. Something pounded into her stomach.
Max! She wrapped an arm around him and fought with all her might to get to the surface.
Harrison slowed his horse and narrowed his eyes as he strained to see into the distance. A small boat bobbed among the breakers.
A boat in serious trouble.
“Who would be crazy enough to row into treacherous waters?” Whomever it was, the boat was in danger, and any survivors would need assistance. Digging his heels in, he spurred his horse into a gallop. That area was known for riptides and large rocks that could snap a boat into matchsticks.
He rounded a sand dune topped with waving sea grass and caught his breath. The craft ricocheted off a rock, spun around, and flipped over, spitting its passengers into the turbulent waters. A flash of pink stopped the blood in his veins. He spurred his horse to a gallop. Georgia was on the boat, and if Georgia was there, then…
Max!
He didn’t remember leaping from his horse or storming into the water until he was up to his waist in the churning surf. “Max!” He scoured the sea for the pair of them. Georgia’s head broke the surface, and she sucked in a loud gulp of air. She struggled, and then her head submerged again. Seconds later, Max popped up where she’d gone under.
“Max!” Harrison plowed through a breaker. His son’s pale face rose and fell on the swells. Even at this distance the boy’s terror was clear.
Max caught sight of him and screamed, “Papa!”
“Here.” Harrison struggled against the ocean’s fury. His boots braced against the sandy bottom as the waves repeatedly crashed upon him, soaking his shirt and impeding his forward progress. Max’s small arms slapped the water as he struggled to stay afloat. The boy was still at least two wagon-lengths away. Another wave crested, drenching Harrison’s hair and flooding his eyes and mouth with salt water. He spit out the briny tang. Please, Lord. Help me get to them in time.
Between swells, he caught a glimpse of Georgia’s head as she came up for air before another wave crashed over them. Woman and boy disappeared, and his heart stopped. He dove under the frothing breaker. When he resurfaced, Max and Georgia had risen to the surface again and sputtered, but at least their heads were above water. Harrison lowered his face and swam, extending his
arms with long, quick strokes and kicking with all his might.
The churning water roared in his ears, drowning out the thunderous beating of his heart. He lifted his head to get his bearings but didn’t stop swimming. A thunderous crack of splintering wood sounded as the ocean sucked the already-damaged boat back up against the rocks, pummeling it over and over until debris floated around them.
“Papa!” Max screamed again and fought in Georgia’s arms to swim toward Harrison.
She must have heard Max’s shout because her gaze shot toward Harrison. A look of sheer relief swept over her features. Then the next breaker washed over them, but Harrison was almost within range. She pushed Max in his direction, and Harrison reached him within a few strokes. His son clung to him like a starfish, and Harrison hugged him tight. “It’s all right. Papa’s got you.”
He turned to find Georgia watching. She didn’t see the wave sneak up behind her.
He opened his mouth to warn her, but the wall of water hit her with full force. “Georgia!”
Her eyes rolled back as the water swallowed her whole.
“Max, hold on.” His son’s arms tightened around his neck, nearly choking off his air. Harrison braced as the same wave walloped them, pushing him back toward the shore.
He searched the water churning around them until he spied a swirl of pink. Reaching under, he felt around until he connected with something soft, then grabbed hold and pulled.
Georgia’s head split the water as he yanked her up by her collar. She sputtered and gasped, and he struggled to keep his grip on her without going down himself. Max slid around to his back so he could get a better hold on Georgia. At last she stopped struggling, and he turned to swim toward shore, but her sodden dress weighed a ton and slowed his pace.
The blasted woman seemed determined to swim in her gowns.
At last his feet struck sand, and he struggled to find his balance. Both his son and Georgia were like limp weights as he strained to walk through the water.
