Surrender

by CJ Archer

  Aunt Harry moved towards the door, the heavily embroidered border of her black dress effortlessly skimming the carpet as if she didn't walk but floated. "Come along Phillippa dear, there's much to be done."

  Philly fell into step behind the older woman, her movements decidedly jerkier so that she didn't appear to be floating but bouncing on her lavender-slippered toes. "Are we going shopping, Aunt Harry? I must order something to wear to all the balls, don't you think? Something blue to match my eyes, and pink—. Oh, hello. Who are you?"

  Alex, who'd already returned to his correspondence, looked up to see Miss Appleby bobbing a curtsy to his aunt and sister just outside his study.

  "Georgiana Appleby at your service," she said.

  "The nurse," Aunt Harry said. She gave Miss Appleby a thorough going-over, not even attempting to hide her sharp, assessing gaze. What she thought of her wasn't clear from where Alex stood but she could not have failed to notice the pretty face, big eyes and trim figure.

  Miss Appleby bore his aunt's scrutiny with dignity, not blushing once as she had done when Alex regarded her.

  "I wish to speak to you," his aunt said. She returned to the study, beckoning Miss Appleby to follow with a lift of her finger. When all three females were inside, she closed the door and arched an eyebrow at Alex.

  He introduced his aunt and sister with as much graciousness as he could muster under the circumstances. "Did you enjoy your walk, Miss Appleby?" he asked her. "You look quite bright-eyed." Indeed, her dark brown eyes seemed to dance in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  "It was pleasant enough," she said evenly. "How is your head now? Has the ache returned?"

  "It's bearable, thank you."

  "I'll make up a draught for you."

  "I doubt it will work." Nothing except opium could ease his headaches—God knows he'd tried everything.

  "Don't be so miserable, Alex," Philly scolded. She turned to Miss Appleby. "My brother is a horrid patient. I remember when he broke his leg after falling off Scion and had to remain in bed for weeks. He made everyone suffer too simply because he couldn't do anything. I had to play chess with him which ruined the game forever for me. I'll never look at another chess board again without remembering the time he threw it against the wall because I beat him."

  "You did not beat me," he said, wishing he wasn't having this conversation in front of Miss Appleby. "I was winning. Easily."

  "You were not."

  "Children!" Aunt Harry didn't exactly stomp her booted foot but she might as well have. Alex bit back his retort and his sister poked out her tongue at him.

  "It's too soon for me to determine what Mr. Redcliff will be like as a patient," Miss Appleby said with a smile playing around her full lips. "But thank you for the warning—I shall avoid playing chess with him during my stay."

  Philly giggled. Great! Perfect! They'd spent barely a minute in each other's company and already the two of them had formed an alliance. His headache suddenly went from its usual dull ache to a sharp stabbing pain above his left eye.

  "Regarding your stay, Miss Appleby," Aunt Harry said. "How long do you anticipate it will be?"

  "It could be several weeks. It all depends on how quickly Mr. Redcliff heals." She shot him a sideways glance.

  He smiled despite an intense desire to dismiss her, or even better, throttle her slender white neck. Since he'd decided to seduce her, he could do neither except attempt to be amiable and charming. A strenuous activity these days. Although if he was being completely honest, he'd been rather enjoying himself. Exchanging barbs with Miss Appleby was a refreshing change to the somewhat dull routine his day had slipped into.

  "I see," said Aunt Harry. "And what is your opinion on his attendance at social events?"

  Miss Appleby appeared taken aback. "I... That is, I hadn't given them much thought."

  "It is the Season you know."

  Miss Appleby inclined her head. "Of course. I see no harm in it as long as he does not exert himself. If at any stage he feels too ill to go on then he should return home to rest immediately."

  It was as good an answer as any. She'd provided him with a perfectly acceptable way out at least. He'd have to remember to thank her privately later.

  Aunt Harry's eyes narrowed. "He is almost healed, is he not?"

  "His arm is but it's his head that concerns me."

  Aunt Harry humphed. "It concerns me too at times. I'm never quite sure what he's thinking when he does foolish things—if he's thinking at all."

  "Aunt!" He tried to admonish her with a look but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. It didn't help that Philly was giggling and he was quite certain Miss Appleby was warring with another smile, damn her.

  "Now that we have established a mutual understanding," Aunt Harry said to Miss Appleby, "I'm sure we shall get along well enough. We'll leave you alone to your affairs, Alexander. Come along, Phillippa, Miss Appleby."

  "I wish to speak to Mr. Redcliff regarding his medicine," Miss Appleby said without moving.

  Aunt Harry's brow forked violently. It was an ominous sign and he silently willed Miss Appleby to acquiesce for her own sake. But she didn't move. Philly drew in an audible breath and Alex tried to think of something to say to dampen the tension that had returned with a vengeance.

  "I simply wish you to walk me to my room," Aunt Harry said. "I have some advice for you regarding the nursing of my nephew. I've had some experience of it over the years and he can be difficult to manage unless you know how."

  "I'm not that bad," he protested. Three sets of eyes turned on him and he sat down in his chair under the weight of their glares. It seemed foolish to argue his case further. He couldn't possibly win. "I shall await your return, Miss Appleby."

  Dismissed, the three of them left. Thank God.

  Georgiana had only just closed the door to Redcliff's study when Lady Weatherby told her niece to "Run along". Lady Phillippa half-skipped and half-walked to the stairs, stopped and stroked the polished mahogany balustrade. She peered over the side, rubbed the balustrade again then tapped it with her fingernails as if making up her mind about something.

  Her aunt cleared her throat and Lady Phillippa turned. Lady Weatherby shook her head and the girl sighed and trotted down the stairs. Lady Weatherby barely moved but Georgiana sensed her relax.

  Then she turned to Georgiana and her person stiffened once more. "You are not married, Miss Appleby."

  "The Miss would imply that I am not. But I don't think that is your point." Ever since her introduction to the tall, imposing woman dressed all in black silk, Georgiana had expected this conversation, albeit not quite so soon. She didn't mind. It was good to clear the air immediately rather than let the issue simmer. If nothing else, Georgiana appreciated the marchioness' directness.

  "You are astute as well as pretty."

  The compliments took her more by surprise than the fact they were having this rather awkward conversation on the landing. She'd not thought 'pretty' would be a word used to describe her when she wore one of her plain dresses. "Thank you."

  "Who exactly are you, Miss Appleby?" The shrewd eyes narrowed and Georgiana had a feeling she was being assessed all over again. She doubted that gaze missed anything. "Are you related to the Applebys of Kent?"

  "Distantly I think. My father was Sir John Appleby, baronet and physician. He died three years ago. My mother is nearly ten years in her resting place. I was their only child."

  The summary of Georgiana's parentage elicited no sympathetic words from Lady Weatherby. Good, because Georgiana wanted none.

  "Do you live in London?"

  "Oxfordshire, Madame. I have a small cottage in Wellbrook."

  "Small? Your father had not the means for a larger one?"

  Georgiana took a step back, struck by the sarcasm in Lady Weatherby's tone. "My father's estate was entailed to my cousin. I receive a modest annuity from the same cousin." She saw no reason not to answer honestly. Mr. Redcliff probably already knew the
details and Lady Weatherby simply had to ask him if Georgiana refused to answer.

  "Apparently not enough to live comfortably," the marchioness said, "or you would not have become a nursemaid."

  Georgiana felt her body clench. She balled her fists at her sides. "I like my work. It is fulfilling and it keeps me occupied."

  "That does not answer my question."

  "No. It does not. Would you like to get to the point, Lady Weatherby, or shall I?"

  The marchioness arched both brows, a gesture that was tantamount to throwing down a challenge. "My point is that you are pretty. And you are clever. And you are not married. My nephew is handsome, clever and also not married." Her blue eyes turned cold and Georgiana was reminded of Redcliff. His gaze could turn equally icy in a blink.

  Lady Weatherby tilted her head in a manner that thrust out her not-insignificant chin. "Your upbringing may have been unconventional by the standards of other young ladies but I don't think you are very different to them."

  "In what way?"

  "In the most basic of ways, Miss Appleby." At Georgiana's prompting shrug Lady Weatherby clicked her tongue in grim impatience. "I shouldn't have to remind you that you are here to perform a service. You will not attempt to ensnare him into marriage, is that quite clear?"

  Georgiana tried not to laugh. She'd known the question would be asked the moment she met Lady Weatherby. No, from the moment she'd heard the lady was coming. She certainly didn't blame her. The elderly woman was simply trying to protect her nephew. But still, it was hard not to allow a twitter of laughter to escape.

  "What is so amusing?" Lady Weatherby snapped.

  Georgiana forced herself to concentrate on the serious nature of her employment. It worked and she instantly sobered. "Mr. Redcliff is all those things you describe. But he is also rude, conceited and quite overbearing. In short, I would not want him as my husband for a week and certainly not for a lifetime. I'm sorry to disparage your relation, Lady Weatherby, but you forced my hand. Does my answer satisfy you or do you still think I wish to snatch him from the clutches of eminently more suitable ladies?"

  The marchioness seemed in two minds as to whether she should defend her nephew or be pleased with Georgiana's response. "Thank you, I am much more at ease now." She nodded a curt dismissal and added, "Please see that your opinion of him does not change."

  Georgiana curtsied as if they'd not just sparred like two pugilists. "I cannot foresee that it would." Because, out of politeness, she'd tempered her criticisms of Redcliff somewhat. He was quite simply one of the most offensive men she'd ever met.

  CHAPTER 4

  Georgiana returned to Redcliff's study still not entirely sure if she'd won the battle with Lady Weatherby or not.

  "Give you a thorough lecture on how to handle me, did she?" Redcliff said with a sardonic tilt of his lips. He leaned against the mantelpiece with his elbow nudging a small, lacquered Oriential box and his hand propping up his cheek. A piece of paper dangled from the fingers of his free hand. His long, athletic legs—displayed to perfection in the tight breeches—were crossed at the ankles. In that pose he was the picture of an aristocratic gentleman who could ask whatever he wanted and know he'd receive it. It was only when one looked carefully and knew he took opium that the telltale signs were visible—the shadows, the slight shake of the hands, the slow, careful movements as if any sudden action would turn a dull headache into a screaming one.

  Georgiana caught his piercing gaze and held it because she didn't dare look elsewhere—at those legs for example, or shoulders. Such wide, wide shoulders.

  "Not at all," she said.

  "She's not such a bad old thing really," he said, folding the paper. "She can be a little prickly at first but underneath all that sharpness is a pure heart. She and Aunt Adelaide are trying to do their best with Philly but I'm afraid my sister isn't making it easy for them."

  "And what about you? Are you making it easy for them?"

  "I'm thirty, Miss Appleby. Hardly their responsibility anymore." When she said nothing, his eyes narrowed. "What exactly did she say to you just now?"

  "Nothing I didn't expect."

  "Go on." He had a way of making those two simple words sound like a command.

  "It was a conversation between Lady Weatherby and myself. I'll not divulge its nature to you."

  His mouth set into a disapproving line and his fingers twitched—from the opium addiction or frustration? For a moment she thought he'd press her for an answer but then he smiled, not very convincingly, and nodded. "Very admirable of you." He pulled out a chair for her and she sat. Instead of sitting on the other side of the desk, he pulled another chair closer and lounged in it. Everything he did had an economical yet graceful quality. Beautiful almost, but not subtle. Definitely not subtle with his knees only a whisper from hers.

  She tried to edge away but there was nowhere for her knees to go. She was quite trapped. And from the wolfish curve of his lips, she suspected that's exactly what he'd intended.

  She cleared her throat. "Lady Weatherby wants you to attend some society entertainments but I'm not sure that's a good idea given what you may endure without opium, particularly if the events finish late into the night. Do you plan on going to many, Mr. Redcliff?"

  "Not if I can help it. Why?" He suddenly grinned. Good lord, but his smile could strip a woman of her wits if she wasn't careful. "Concerned I might find a pair of lips to rival yours?"

  The chair tilted, and her with it. It must have. What else could explain the pitching of both the room and her stomach? "I beg your pardon, Mr. Redcliff." It came out breathy and deep and not at all like her own voice.

  He leaned forward, that disconcerting grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth. And then it suddenly vanished and he was all seriousness as he stared at her lips.

  "I meant a pair of lips pursed as tightly as these." Before she could regain a measure of composure, he reached out and traced his thumb along her lower lip. Such a light, insignificant touch and yet she felt it through her entire body. A rippling wave of warmth with its centre between her thighs.

  "They really don't deserve to be always pulled so firmly together," he went on, his voice a low rumble across the gap between them. A gap that grew smaller. And smaller. "They should be left to their natural fullness." His whispered words brushed her forehead and his thumb moved from her lip to the corner of her mouth as he cupped her cheek.

  She should push him away, do something, say something. But he might as well have chained her to the chair. She couldn't move. Not an inch. Even her breath caught in her throat. The only part of her that seemed to be working was her heart, pounding out a native beat against her ribs.

  "These are the sort of lips that should smile and pout and..." His eyes fluttered closed. "...kiss."

  Blood pumped along her veins to the staccato tune of kiss me kiss me kiss me. Her head felt dizzy and light, her skin tingled everywhere and an ache like nothing she'd ever known throbbed at the most basic level. There wasn't a shred of her that didn't want him to kiss her.

  Finally, finally he closed the miniscule gap and it was...amazing. All the other kisses she'd known were a tuneless noise in comparison. Kissing Redcliff was like a symphony.

  His tongue gently parted her lips, dipped into her mouth, teased and tasted. And she let him. God help her, she let him do whatever he wanted. It was as if her mind had been wiped clean of all sensible thoughts, leaving only an awareness of what he was doing with his tongue. And his fingers. They slipped from her cheek to her throat, sliding across her flesh as if she were made of silk. Down to the dip at her collar bone and to the swell of her breasts. He cupped one. The warmth of him soaked through her layers of clothing. She wanted more. Wanted to feel skin against skin. Wanted to touch another human being in the most intimate way just once more.

  But the memory of another time and another man broke through, unwanted and yet vivid, pushing out the madness. She shoved Redcliff's hand away, broke the kiss and leaned a
s far away from him as the straight back of the chair would allow. It was not nearly far enough but it would have to do.

  "I..." She couldn't think of the right words. Perhaps there weren't any. "This isn't right."

  Then why did it feel so good?

  He sat back and watched her through half-lowered lids, his expression unreadable but his breathing deep. The hand that had cupped her cheek and then her breast fluttered around his mouth as if he were trying to capture their kiss before it was simply a memory.

  Memories. Damn them. But at least one memory had served a purpose and stopped her from making the same mistake twice.

  Alex watched Miss Appleby's face change from the softness of post-kiss languor to recognition, alarm and finally outrage. Pursed, controlled outrage of course, not the explosive kind that made you forget who you were and say inappropriate things. Unfortunately. He would like to hear inappropriate things come out of Miss Appleby's mouth.

  A very tasty mouth it was too. Tasty and surprising.

  Kissing her wasn't supposed to feel like that. Like something...new and fresh and...natural, as if it was exactly right. He'd become lost in that kiss. He'd forgotten time and place and felt like he didn't have a care in the world. For the first time in an age he'd been oblivious. It was a wonderful feeling.

  "Do not presume that I am here for anything other than what I've been employed to do," she said.

  He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry." He'd meant to kiss her of course. No, not entirely true. He'd meant to try and kiss her. He'd expected to fail.

  Miss Appleby's response was entirely unexpected. She was supposed to back away sooner, before their lips even met, and admonish him for his reprehensible behavior. Then she should have stiffened her spine, lifted her nose in the air, and stormed out of his study and hopefully his house. Admittedly that last part had been on the optimistic side but the first had been entirely reasonable based on the type of woman he'd pegged her to be.