by CJ Archer
"Stop," she said levelly. "No further."
The figure stilled. She couldn't see a face in the shadows but she knew it was a man by the heavy build, the broad shoulders and the sour odor of sweat wafting on the breeze.
She wrinkled her nose. "What do you want?"
The intruder said nothing but took a tentative step towards her.
"Don't move," she said, "unless you wish to lose your manhood. My aim has always proven true, as one or two gentlemen have discovered to their detriment." It was a blatant lie but it made the intruder pause. "Now, I'll ask you once more. What do you want?"
Still he said nothing.
She silently cursed his stubbornness and the darkness. She couldn't light a candle while holding the pistol so she had to do something else to learn his identity.
She would have to shoot.
It went against her upbringing to willfully harm someone but the man left her with no choice. She needed answers and he was much too large for her to physically overpower.
But when the moment came, she couldn't do it.
That hesitation proved her failing. His hand moved with surprising speed and grabbed at his thigh. He drew something out, up. She could just make out the shape of a dagger.
She squeezed the trigger.
The explosion filled the small room, much louder than it had ever sounded out in the field. Everything, even her teeth, vibrated and the bitter smoke stung her nostrils.
The intruder squealed in agony and clutched his leg. He stumbled to his knees but his free hand still held the dagger although he was no longer balanced enough to throw it.
Georgiana had to make a fast decision. She could either reload, which would take precious time, or wrestle the dagger from him while he was distracted by his injury.
But before she could decide, footsteps pounded down the hallway. Voices shouted, men's and women's. Someone called her name.
"Quickly!" she called out to them. "In my room!"
Grunting in either frustration or pain, the intruder rose unsteadily and hauled himself through the window. He was getting away! Georgiana ran to the window but he kicked out and his boot hit her square on the stomach. She fell back and landed on the floor in an unladylike sprawl.
Fists hammered on the door. Someone tried the handle and found it unlocked then all of a sudden her room was full of maids, footmen, housekeeper, butler, valet and Phillippa, all dressed in various night attire. Lady Weatherby pushed through the gaping crowd, a black fringed shawl wrapped around her shoulders. They spoke over each other.
"We heard a shot."
"Miss Appleby!"
"What happened?"
"Are you—?"
"Get him!" Georgiana pointed to the window.
Two of the biggest footmen hurtled past her, still sitting on the floor, and poked their heads out the window. She hardly recognized them without their livery of powdered hair, knee breeches and burgundy satin coats.
"There's a rope," one of them called back through the window. "Coming from the roof. It's anchored fast, miss, and whoever was out there is long gone."
"Well, what are you waiting for, man!" said Worth, sounding more like a commander of armies than a staid butler.
As one, the footmen rushed out the door like a pack of hounds on the scent of a fox. Their stampeding footsteps retreated along the hallway then down the stairs until they disappeared entirely.
"Miss Appleby!" The marchioness, despite age and infirmary, was the first at her side. She lowered Georgiana's nightgown which had risen to her knees. "Are you injured?"
"No, thank you, I'm well enough."
"We heard a gunshot," Phillippa said, bending over, her long plait swinging past her shoulder and brushing the floor. She waved a candle over Georgiana, checking for wounds.
"I shot the intruder."
"You shot him?" Lady Weatherby said. Her shawl slipped off one shoulder.
"With this?" Phillippa picked up the pistol that Georgiana had dropped when she hit the floor. "My goodness, is it yours? You have your own pistol? How positively thrilling. Oh, Aunt Harry, may I have—."
"No! Heaven help us all if you should ever get your hands on a loaded pistol." Lady Weatherby rose and pulled her shawl tighter around her nightgown. "Give that back to Miss Appleby." Somewhat reluctantly, Phillippa complied. "Worth, where is Mr. Redcliff?" Lady Weatherby asked the butler.
"Asleep, madam," Worth said, still managing to look dignified even when dressed in his nightshirt and cap.
"It's not like him to sleep through a commotion of this magnitude," Lady Weatherby said, frowning. "He was never a heavy sleeper."
"I think you'll find he's gone out," Georgiana said, with a warning glance to Worth and Trent. "At least, that's what he told me earlier."
"Out! He's gone out? At this time!" Lady Weatherby muttered something unintelligible under her breath.
"Wait until he hears what happened in his absence!" Phillippa said, eyes shining in the candlelight. "He'll be positively amazed that someone tried to abduct Georgiana from her very room and that she shot him."
"I'm not sure amazed is quite the right word," Georgiana said, getting to her feet with Trent's aid.
"We've no notion what the intruder was attempting to do," Lady Weatherby said. "Do not spread rumors about abduction, Phillippa. It's irresponsible."
"Very well." Phillippa chewed her lip. "Besides, if anyone was going to be abducted from their room it would be me, don't you think?"
Georgiana couldn't fault her logic. If Phillippa was taken, her brothers would probably pay a king's ransom to get her back, or marry her off to the abductor. The idea seemed to rattle the girl so Georgiana put her arm around her. "I don't think he was going to abduct anyone," she said. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of what the man had most likely intended to do—kill Redcliff. "He was probably just a thief with more cunning than most. The ground floor is locked up rather securely and these upper windows not at all. He must have hoped this room would be empty. I'm sure I gave him as much of a shock as he gave me."
"Milly," Lady Weatherby said to a nearby maid, "bring Miss Appleby a cup of hot chocolate to settle her nerves."
Milly left but the cavalry of footmen returned, most of them panting heavily, all of them still dressed in their nightshirts or hastily thrown-on breeches and coats.
"Gone," said a rather athletic looking one.
"Couldn't find nobody about," said a stout lad between gasping breaths.
"We reckon he traveled by rooftop to get away from us. It's possible round here."
"Thank you for your efforts," Lady Weatherby said. "Now, everyone return to your rooms, if you please. There's nothing more to be done tonight except inform Mr. Redcliff upon his return."
"I'll do that, milady," Worth said, catching Georgiana's eye. He and the housekeeper dismissed the footmen and maids then followed them out. Trent brought up the rear.
"I think I'll go back to bed," Phillippa said, yawning and stretching.
"Will you be all right here, Miss Appleby?" Lady Weatherby asked. "If not, we can make other arrangements for you."
"Thank you for your concern, Lady Weatherby, but it's unnecessary. I don't think the intruder will return tonight." Even so, she would reload her pistol and keep it by her bed just in case. When Phillippa and her aunt turned to go, Georgiana said, "Lady Weatherby, may I speak to you a moment." Phillippa left and Georgiana closed the door behind her. She pressed her back against the warm wood, its solidness a comfort. "I have a message for Mr. Redcliff which I would be most obliged if you could pass onto him in the morning."
"You can't do it yourself?"
"No. You see that's the message. I'd like you to tell him I've left."
CHAPTER 14
"Mr. Redcliff. I think you'd better wake up, sir."
Alex cracked open an eyelid only to see Trent's ruddy face blocking his vision. It was owlish with concern. "What is it?" he growled at his valet. Surely it wasn't time to rise yet. He still
felt drowsy, a sure sign the opium hadn't completely worked itself out of his system. It must be bloody early. "What time is it?"
"Just after dawn, sir. But Mr. Worth and I thought you'd best wake now. There's been an incident, sir."
Alex forced his eyes open again and wished he hadn't. It felt like sand was stuck to the back of the lids, scraping against his eyeballs. "What incident?" He sat up and fought down the roll of nausea that accompanied the move. The opium definitely hadn't left his body yet. "Answer me, man. What's happened?"
After his enthusiasm to wake him so early, Trent suddenly looked decidedly unenthusiastic about divulging the reason for it. He gulped. "There was an intruder last night, sir. He came in through a window—."
"Last night? How long ago?"
"Three or four hours, sir."
Christ, he'd slept through a burglary! "Is anyone hurt?"
"No one, sir."
Alex closed his eyes and let the nausea run its course. Everyone was well. Thank God. If someone had been hurt...
He opened his eyes again and rubbed a hand through his hair. His stomach had settled but his head felt like the punching bag down at Gentleman Jackson's saloon. "Was the intruder captured?"
"No, sir. He escaped out the same window." Trent cleared his throat and glanced at the washstand in the corner of the room. Steam rose from the ewer and a folded towel sat beside the basin, the razor on top of it.
Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a moment to concentrate on his breathing and fighting back the giddiness. "Was anything taken?"
"No, sir."
"What happened? Was he scared off?"
"Yes, sir. I would think he was terribly scared." Trent took up the razor and a smile stretched his round features.
"What's so damned amusing?" As far as Alex could see, there was nothing amusing at all about the event. His home had been invaded, his guests and servants could have met with danger, and he hadn't been able to do a bloody thing about it. He'd been asleep for God's sake. The house could have collapsed around him and he'd not have noticed.
He pulled on his robe and splashed water on his face. "Well?"
"Nothing, sir." Trent's smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He cleared his throat again.
Alex wiped his face with the towel then regarded his valet closely. "There's something you're not telling me. What is it?" Trent didn't meet his gaze. "Tell me!"
Trent's Adam's apple bobbed furiously and his naturally reddish complexion faded to white so that the freckles stood out like paint splatters. "I, er, well, I was going to wait until you were dressed and then I believe Lady Weatherby wished to tell you—."
Alex threw the towel so hard at a chair it toppled over and hit the floor.
Trent made a small sound at the back of his throat and stared wide-eyed at Alex as if he expected the razor to be turned on his own throat. Then he spoke all in a rush. "The intruder came through Miss Appleby's window but she shot him and he took flight."
Another wave of nausea punched Alex square in the gut. He swayed and had to catch hold of the washstand to steady himself. He closed his eyes and fought down the panic.
Georgiana.
Christ. He had to go to her. He strode to the door and wrenched it open.
"Mr. Redcliff! Wait!"
Alex shot him an impatient glance over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"It's Miss Appleby. She's... er..."
"What?" He rounded on the valet. A terrible foreboding gnawed at his insides, worse than any craving for opium. He suddenly felt light-headed. God no. Please let her be safe. "You said no one was hurt."
"Nobody was," Trent said quickly. "Only the intruder."
Relief swamped him but the unease wasn't washed away entirely. Something was still very wrong. "You said she shot him. How?" He'd taken her pistol but she must have procured another one. How she'd managed that on her own in Mayfair he didn't know and doubted Trent would have the answer. Thank God she'd overcome the obstacles confronting a lone woman in a gun makers and bought another one. If she hadn't... He shivered and clasped the robe tighter.
"I'll tell you while you dress for the day, sir. Then I think Lady Weatherby wishes to see you."
"To hell with her, I'm going straight to see Georgiana." But his valet was right. He couldn't wander about the house with nothing on beneath his robe, so with a grunt he returned to the washstand. He would allow Trent to dress him but he wasn't wasting time on shaving. Then he would make sure Georgiana was indeed safe. He wouldn't be satisfied until he saw for himself. "I want to know everything that happened. Don't leave out a word."
By the time he was dressed, Alex was ready to find Georgiana. More than ready. And after he spoke to her he was going to walk around Mayfair until the so-called intruder showed himself. It was while Trent had been relaying the events of the evening that Alex realized the person who'd entered the house through Georgiana's window was most likely the man who'd been following him and had tried to kill him. To break in through a third floor window was the work of someone who knew what they were doing and someone intent on taking more than the silver, safely locked away downstairs not upstairs. Perhaps the bastard thought the small bedroom was empty and therefore was the safest entry point into the house.
Georgiana would be moved out of there today. This minute. He should have done it days ago. Her room was entirely too small anyway. He'd put her there on her arrival to annoy her. It had been a petty, childish attempt to get her to leave and he wished with everything he had that he could take that decision back. Even with his aunt and sister staying there were two better bedrooms he could have put her in. If Georgiana knew it, she'd not once complained or requested to be moved.
His heart clenched at the thought of what could have happened because of his pride—and because of his opium-induced stupor.
Fuck.
He could have lost someone he...someone he cared about because of his stupid, pig-headed determination to obliterate his nightmares.
It was time to own what he'd done in Berne. Time to face the consequences both in life and in the dream world. He already knew he'd killed Cottesloe, and that was the worst wasn't it? Even if it wasn't, even if there was more, he had to do it.
Had to give up opium.
He would not risk losing Georgiana, or anyone, again.
That he was doing the very thing that would cause her to leave—if not immediately then soon when he was free of his addiction—struck him like a hammer blow to the chest. But he would do it, starting tonight. He must.
He would simply have to find another way to keep her by his side.
"Hurry up, Trent," he said, lifting his chin to allow the valet to tie his neckcloth.
"I'm going as fast as I can, sir."
Alex clenched his fists and clamped down on his frustration.
"There. Done. Anything else, sir?"
But Alex was already at the door. He couldn't get out fast enough. "Yes. Get rid of my opium."
Trent's jaw dropped. "Your... Oh. Um..."
"I know you know where I keep it. Destroy it." He didn't wait to see Trent's reaction. He walked into the hallway but was met by his aunt. He bit down on a groan. His back teeth made an audible click. "Good morning, Aunt Harry, I'm in rather a hurry so if—."
"Alexander, I need to speak to you."
He moved past her and headed for the stairs. "Walk alongside me."
"This is a private matter."
He stopped and drew in a breath to fight the impulse to continue. "What is it, Aunt Harry? I need to see Georgiana. About last night." He didn't need to elaborate. He saw the anxiety of the evening etched into the fine lines around her mouth and eyes. She'd not slept well. The responsibility she'd taken on in his absence had weighed heavily on her. He acutely regretted his curtness with her just now. "It's all right, Aunt. I'll take care of everything. It won't happen again, I promise." He took her hands and squeezed them.
He felt but didn't see her small shiver. "Last night was
an ordeal, Alexander. One I don't wish to repeat. Nor does Miss Appleby, I'm sure, although she handled herself admirably if somewhat surprisingly."
"I heard about the gunshot."
She waved off his comment. "What I have to say is not about the intruder." She indicated the door to his study. "We ought not to speak out here."
"Not now. I can't stop. I really want to see Georgiana. I need to know—."
"But that's the thing."
"What thing?" Again that sick, sinking foreboding pressed down on him. Something was wrong. He wanted to see Georgiana. Now. He tried to let go of Aunt Harry's hands but she held them in a firm grip.
"She's gone, Alexander. Miss Appleby left an hour ago."
Alex's heart ground to a halt. Everything went still, silent, numb.
Then he broke into a run.
"Alexander!"
He ran to Georgiana's room, interrupting the maids stripping the bed and cleaning out the fireplace. They stared at him, apprehension in their big eyes, but he didn't have time to convince them that their master hadn't finally lost all control. He ran down three flights of stairs into the hall and shouted for Worth who for the first time in his employment hadn't sensed that he was needed. The butler did, however, appear immediately upon Alex's shouted summons.
"Miss Appleby," Alex rasped through his burning throat. Speaking, like breathing, had become as difficult as climbing a rocky mountain. "Where is she?"
"She's gone, sir. She left the house an hour ago with her valise."
"Where was she going?"
"She didn't say, sir." Worth's sharp features softened. "I'm sorry, sir."
White-hot rage flashed behind Alex's eyes and turned his body into a raging furnace. It rushed through his veins with startling ferocity, leaving a trail of bleak ruination behind. "So you bloody should be! Why in hell didn't you find out where she was going? Didn't you think it strange that she would leave while it was still dark outside? Well? And why didn't you offer her one of my carriages, man? That way I would know where she was going." His tirade made him feel a little better but not much.
"I, er..." Worth swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't able to act according to your wishes."
