Surrender

by CJ Archer

  He groaned. "Are you trying to kill me?"

  "This is no joke, Alex. I can't do my job properly if I'm distracted by...intimacies. Your full recovery from opium is my prime concern at the moment and I cannot devote myself entirely to the task if I'm fending off your advances."

  "You are trying to kill me." He sighed. "Very well. I agree. But I only promise to keep my hands off you while you're curing me." He leaned closer until his lips brushed her ear. "When I'm better I'm going to put my hands all over you. And my tongue too."

  She suppressed a quiver and led the way out of the dining room so that he couldn't see how hot her face had become.

  In the inn yard, Alex hired a fresh pair of horses to draw the curricle and paid for food and a night's accommodation for his groom. He instructed the lad to return the bays to London the next day then helped Georgiana into the seat and leaped up and sat beside her.

  With Alex's promise still ringing in her ears and her own determination to keep an emotional distance, their journey back to London began awkwardly. It was as if they were strangers again, resorting to inanely polite conversation. She asked how the household fared after the evening's excitement and he told her Phillippa seemed unsettled but otherwise he'd not really noticed.

  "I was in rather a hurry to leave this morning," he admitted without taking his gaze from the road.

  After some prompting, she heard the story of how he'd immediately visited Sir Oswyn upon finding her gone and how he'd deluged him with questions. "Did he say anything about the consequences of my leaving?" she asked, dreading the answer.

  "No. But it doesn't matter anymore because you're coming back." He gave her a gentle smile. "Don't worry. He can't hurt you. I won't let him."

  She relaxed. He was right. Now that Alex had decided to give up opium, Sir Oswyn's threat to expose her was redundant. She felt so much lighter already.

  The conversation lulled again so she turned to admire the picturesque scenery. Everything looked fresh and bright and clean beneath the bold sun. The patches of fields beyond the roadsides were such a vivid shade of green it hurt her eyes, the white wildflowers extra crisp. Perhaps it was the warmth or the prettiness of their surroundings, or perhaps he grew tired of the awkward silences, but Alex eventually seemed to relax and they spent the last half of the journey conversing freely on a wide range of topics, none of which touched on opium or her reason for returning with him.

  Until they were nearly at his Mount Street townhouse.

  The sun hung low in the sky and her sore rear had almost had enough of the bouncing and jolting when London's sprawl finally swallowed up the road. They drove along the Uxbridge Road to Mayfair, jostling for space with carriages of all description, and it was when they'd slowed to a walk behind a cart loaded with barrels that he turned to her.

  "Thank you for coming home with me, Georgiana." He gave her an uncertain smile. "I have a feeling I'm going to need you now more than ever."

  His words made her pause. Fingers of apprehension plucked at her but she dismissed them. Of course she was concerned about the evening ahead, and the next and the next. It was going to be difficult for them both. But as the minutes ticked by, the fingers grabbed and pulled until she could no longer ignore them.

  Need. He'd said he needed her. He'd made the simple statement and she knew it was true—Alex would need her help while he was withdrawing from opium. But what about afterwards when he was well again? Would he continue to need her? Would she have become his next addiction, an opium-substitute, the thing he couldn't do without?

  Just like Lawrence.

  She tried not to think about it. There was so much to do in the mean time, so much to achieve first. Worrying about what would happen between them later wasn't important.

  But the niggling thought kept wedging itself in the cracks of her defenses. She didn't want to be needed, she wanted to be wanted. As a woman not a nurse.

  As Georgiana Appleby, the woman Alex loved.

  ***

  Georgiana's new bedroom was located down the hallway from her old one. It was almost triple the size and a great deal brighter due to the larger windows and subtle golden hues of curtains and bedcovers. The pale cream walls painted with vine leaves twining from the floor up to the ceiling made it feel fresh and somewhat rural, as did the framed pictures of gardens and flowers.

  "You didn't need to move me," she said to Alex. "I was quite content in the other bedroom."

  He stood behind her in the doorway, having insisted on carrying her valise and medical bag up himself. "I'm embarrassed by my behavior to you on your arrival." He shrugged matter-of-factly and placed the luggage on the small table near the rose-patterned sofa. "This room is more appropriate for a lady of your standing."

  "You did behave abominably," she agreed. "But an apology would have sufficed. I don't mind in which room I'm housed."

  "In that case..." He bowed deeply. "My humblest apologies, Miss Appleby." He straightened and took her hand in his. The connection sent a jolt of tingles through her. "I am so very sorry for my treatment of you in those first days. Perhaps we can start anew, beginning now." The kiss he placed on the back of her hand caressed her skin the way his voice caressed her soul.

  If he continued in this manner it was going to be tortuous keeping her emotions locked away while she helped him overcome his addiction.

  "Mr. Redcliff," she said on a breath, "you are quite the charming gentleman at times."

  His smile hovered over her hand. "No, I'm not. A gentleman wouldn't remind you that you'll be in this room only rarely. You'll be in mine."

  She snapped her hand from his. His smile vanished and he tugged on the front of his coat. The fun, flirtatious moment flittered out of their grasp. The task before them loomed like a snow-capped mountain range. She should have thanked him for reminding her of her place and the task ahead of her. But she could not.

  "I meant..." He clicked his tongue and focused on the ceiling. "I'm sorry. That came out entirely wrong." He gave her a wry smile. "It's not going to be easy being your patient. I'd infinitely prefer to be your lover."

  She smiled at him in return but she couldn't inject any real joy into it. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think it's going to be any easier for me to be your physician. But it's how it must be for the time being."

  "I know." He nodded at her valise. "I'll leave you to unpack. We can dine together if you like."

  "You're not dining out?"

  "Not tonight. I'll inform Aunt Harry immediately that I'll not be joining her and Philly. Then I think an early night is in order, don't you?"

  "I'll fit in with your plans, whatever they are. I do think an early night is a good idea. Until dinner then."

  He bowed again. "Until dinner." At the door, he turned back to her. "Do you mind paying a visit to Philly before she leaves for the evening? I think she'd like to see you. She was quite out of sorts when she heard you were gone this morning."

  Fifteen minutes later Georgiana tapped on Phillippa's bedroom door, relieved she'd not met Lady Weatherby on her way. She was much too tired and her nerves too taut to deflect the sharp barbs the old dragon would no doubt throw her way.

  Upon opening the door, Phillippa squealed with delight and threw her arms around Georgiana.

  "I'm so glad Alex found you and brought you home. You don't know how much I've missed you!"

  Georgiana laughed as Phillippa drew her into her bedroom and sat her down on the canopied bed. "I've only been gone a day."

  "But it has been the longest day of my life." She plopped down beside Georgiana and twisted the peach muslin of her evening gown between her fingers. "Aunt Harry has been in a sour mood ever since Alex left, the maids are fretting about the intruder returning and I... I've been..." She sighed and stopped plucking only to start twisting her fingers around each other. "Oh, I don't know!"

  Georgiana put her arm around the girl. As flattering as it was to think Phillippa's troubles could be alleviated by Georgiana's retu
rn, she didn't entirely believe it. For one, Phillippa's unhappiness had not ebbed. And her fidgeting had escalated to infuriating proportions.

  "What is it, Philly? What's the matter?"

  Phillippa stood. She picked up a length of blue ribbon from her dressing table and held it next to her eyes.

  "A match," Georgiana said, coming up behind her. "Would you like me to fix it in your hair? It would go well with the blue border of your dress."

  Phillippa succumbed to her ministrations but with a pout on her lips. "They are blue, aren't they?" she said, frowning at her reflection in the dressing table mirror.

  "Your eyes? Yes, most definitely." Only a few shades darker than Alex's. "Why?"

  "Oh, no particular reason."

  The girl was a terrible liar. For one thing, she didn't make eye contact and for another, her finger swirled a continuous circle on the top of the dressing table's polished surface. At sixteen, there could really only be one great problem in the gently-born, spoiled life of a girl like Phillippa. Love.

  Indeed, it was an affliction that crossed social and age borders, but to a sixteen year-old it was everything.

  "Did your gentleman friend not notice your eyes?" Georgiana pressed.

  "He thought they were green. I came up behind him in our meeting place and covered his eyes with my hands. When I asked him what color mine were he said green." She pulled a face. "Such a revolting color. Slime at the bottom of a pond is green."

  Georgiana suppressed a smile. "Perhaps he didn't mean quite that shade."

  "I don't think I'm in love with him after all."

  Thank goodness! Finally the girl was seeing sense. "Did he hurt you?"

  "Does a broken heart count?"

  Georgiana drew Phillippa gently into her arms. "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you," she said. "But I believe it's for the best. I don't think he was the right man for you."

  "I don't think so either. In fact, I think he has been quite deceptive." She pulled away and turned her back on Georgiana. Their gazes met in the mirror's reflection. Her eyes were huge.

  "In what way?"

  Phillippa shrugged and broke the connection. "It doesn't matter." She laughed but it wasn't very convincing. "Rest assured, Miss Appleby, you won't have to concern yourself over me again. I've learned my lesson when it comes to men."

  Did any woman with the capacity to love ever really learn her lesson when it came to men? In her own situation, Georgiana wasn't sure. "So you won't see him again?"

  "No. Whatever was between us is gone. Poof!" Phillippa touched the ribbon in her hair. "Thank you, it looks so pretty."

  "You're pretty, Philly." She kissed the girl's cheek and regarded her. The ribbon, arranged across her hair in a bandeau and fixed beneath her pinned curls, set off her eyes beautifully. "Enjoy the evening. And don't think about the horrid man anymore."

  "Gladly."

  ***

  Dinner with Alex wasn't quite what Georgiana had expected. He insisted they serve themselves and the footmen dutifully left them alone. Interruptions from servants would have been rather welcome however since the conversation stalled almost immediately. Georgiana tried to begin many topics but Alex seemed preoccupied and offered little in return for her efforts. Eventually she allowed the conversation to dwindle altogether and they ate in silence.

  Not that much eating transpired. Alex didn't seem hungry and Georgiana certainly wasn't.

  "I hope Mrs. Cook isn't affronted by our lack of appetites," she said, arranging her peas into a neat circle with her knife.

  "At least it won't go entirely to waste. The housekeeper, Mrs. White, regularly feeds a large family in St. Giles with our leftovers."

  "Is that why there always seems too much for you and your guests?" Her heart expanded as another piece of the Alexander Redcliff puzzle fell into place. Of course he would provide for others in such a subtle way. He was the white knight in disguise—a result of his spying?

  "One of your peas is escaping," he said.

  She picked up the pea and threw it at him on impulse. He dodged it easily. "Are you trying to avoid the inconvenient truth, Mr. Redcliff?"

  "What truth would that be, Miss Appleby?"

  "That you are really not the cantankerous old man that you purport to be, but are in actual fact soft-hearted and generous."

  He picked a pea off his plate and rolled it between his finger and thumb. "Old? How ungenerous of you! I'm not much older than your youthful self, Miss Appleby." He made a great show of studying the pea. "As to your use of the word soft, I must warn you that no man wants it to be associated with any part of himself, thank you. I think an apology is in order."

  "For calling you soft-hearted?" She picked up another pea. "I think it's an apt description so I will politely refuse to apologize. If you don't mind."

  The smile he gave her was filled with boyish devilment. "Apologize, Miss Appleby, or I'll have to punish you."

  She eyed the pea between his thumb and finger. "No."

  He flicked the pea at her but she moved to the side and it flew past her shoulder. She laughed. He grinned. She threw her pea and it hit him on the forehead. She laughed harder.

  "A lucky shot," he said, picking up another pea. "Oh dear, what happened there?" He pointed to her plate.

  She looked down and a pea bounced off her hair and landed on the floor. "That was devious," she said, smothering a laugh.

  "I have to employ devious tactics. You're much too clever to fall for regular ones."

  She scooped up a handful of peas and threw them all at once across the table. He ducked but was showered in peas. He burst into laughter and scooped up a handful from his plate.

  Georgiana shrieked and dove under the table just as peas pelted her chair.

  "Coward," he said, suddenly appearing under the table too. His grin made her heart soar.

  "This is incredibly immature, Alex," she said, fighting against a smile.

  "Yes but you started it, dear lady." He clicked his tongue. "And I used to think you were such a staid matron too. How wrong of me."

  "Tight, I seem to recall you saying."

  He plucked a pea out of the folds of his neckcloth. "You are neither tight nor staid, Georgiana." He reached across and tugged her short puffed sleeve as if it were a dirty rag. "So why wear such dull clothes? You should wear something light and pretty. Something full of sunshine and laughter."

  "I'd like to see the look on the mantua-maker's face when I ask for such a garment."

  "I'll buy you some new outfits."

  "You most certainly will not." She climbed out from under the table and went to sit down, only to see that her chair was covered in peas. "These clothes are appropriate for a woman in my profession. I wish to be taken seriously."

  "I take you seriously. Particularly when you're not wearing anything at all—I take that very seriously indeed."

  "Stop it or I'll throw more than just peas at you."

  He eyed the potatoes with mock seriousness. "Very well, I surrender. Cold potatoes make quite a weapon." He brushed peas from the tablecloth onto his palm and returned them to his plate. "We'd best remove the evidence of our little lapse in decorum. Don't want the servants thinking we were having any sort of fun."

  Together they picked up all the peas then Alex held the door open for her and bowed as she moved past him. "An early night?"

  She nodded. "I'll come to your room. Have you told Trent?"

  "He knows to leave me alone all night."

  "No matter what he hears coming from your room?"

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. His good humor had completely vanished. "He knows."

  She left and returned to her room where she read, or tried to, for an hour. When the moon outside her window had risen above the rooftops, she gathered up her medical bag. She dismissed the idea of changing into her nightgown. She wouldn't get much sleep and she didn't want to tempt Alex in any way. Her plain, staid brown dress would do.

  She made her way to his room, c
oming across no one. The house felt quiet, empty, even though it was filled with servants either already in their bedrooms or still below stairs. Alex opened the door at her knock. He wore a robe but she couldn't see what he wore beneath it. She hoped he had on a nightshirt—she didn't need the distraction either.

  "Do you have a headache yet?" she asked him.

  "Always. But it's not severe." He took her medical bag and placed it beside the foot of the bed. "Now what?"

  "We wait. Shall we read?"

  He sighed. "I'm alone in my room with a desirable woman and I have to read. Not my idea of an enjoyable evening."

  "We could talk."

  "A more enticing proposition than reading but still not the stuff of my fantasies."

  She smiled. "It's all I can offer."

  With a wink, he sat on the bed and leaned back against the pillows, his legs stretched out before him. He patted the space beside him. "Come sit with me and tell me about your parents, your childhood, anything. If making love to you is off the list for tonight then I'd like to learn more about you."

  She settled on the bed, leaving a gap between them so they weren't touching. "I can give you the long version since we have time."

  Georgiana was surprised to see that he didn't nod off once during her story. She didn't think her life was particularly interesting but he asked a lot of questions and interjected occasionally with comments but on the whole he listened closely. It wasn't until almost two hours had passed that she noticed his body stiffen. It was nothing more than a stretching of his legs at first but it was sudden and coupled with a sharp expulsion of breath.

  "Are you all right?" she asked, kneeling up beside him. "We could try one of my powders."

  He shook his head. "Keep talking."

  She sat down again, prepared to be guided by him and his body's limits for now. So she continued talking although she'd lost the thread of her story and she suspected he was no longer listening anyway. Even when the first beads of sweat appeared on his brow and his fists clenched and unclenched as nausea and cramps must have gripped him, she kept talking.