Surrender

by CJ Archer

  A few minutes later he hopped off the bed and strode to the furthest side of the room near the window. He pushed his hands through his hair, lowered his head and groaned. It was a low, rasping sound that didn't seem human.

  She came up behind him but didn't touch him. It wasn't easy. Seeing those wide shoulders slumped and not be able to press her cheek to them tested all her resolve. "I can mix up a small amount of opium with a non-addictive herbal powder. There's no need to completely stop taking it yet if this is too hard."

  "It's not too hard!" He huffed out a breath and tipped his head back then forward again. The muscles in his neck corded.

  She reached out to sooth them but pulled back. No touching. Not yet.

  "The sooner I'm free of the opium, the sooner my life can return to normal," he said. "I don't want this to take weeks, Georgiana. I can't afford to wait. So please, no more opium. Not even in small doses." He suddenly spun round and she stepped back. His face shone with sweat, his lips thin with pain. Damp hair clung to his forehead and a muscle throbbed in his cheek. The icy blue eyes that had pierced her so fiercely in the past were now clouded and red-rimmed.

  "Whatever I say tonight," he said, advancing on her, "promise me you'll not give me any opium. Nothing." He licked cracked lips. "Even if I beg you."

  "I promise." She took his hands in her own. They were cold, clammy and she could feel his tremors even though she couldn't see his body shaking.

  "And whatever I say to you," he whispered, "don't believe it."

  "I understand. Now, the best way to keep your mind off your pains is to keep busy. Let's take a turn about the room."

  They took many, many turns around the room, pausing when the nausea became too much or the cramps made movement difficult. She told him to rest on the bed while she wrapped a blanket around him. It didn't stop the shivering. After a few hours he vomited into the bedpan and seemed a little better. At least it gave him enough strength to shout at her to leave him alone.

  It seemed like a good opportunity to fetch fresh water for both drinking and washing as well as wine, so she went belowstairs.

  "Where the hell have you been?" Alex shouted at her when she returned to his room.

  "You told me to leave," she said, setting down the tray on the small round table. "How are you?"

  "How do you think I bloody am?" He hunched into the blanket, wrapped tightly about his body, and scowled at her. With his dark hair pulled in all directions by his fingers, bruised eyes and brooding manner he could be easily mistaken for a barbarian living in the remotest mountains. "I might have told you to leave but that doesn't mean I wanted you to."

  "You're right. You did warn me not to believe everything you said." Whatever he wanted to hear she would say. These first few days were not the time to assert herself. "Can I pour you a drink of wine? Or water?"

  "Wine. A lot of it."

  She filled the glass to the top. He drank it in one gulp and held out the glass for more. She refused. "You can't substitute one addiction for another, Alex."

  His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. The knuckles gripping the glass went white and she feared the stem might snap. He took a step towards her but she stood her ground.

  With a grunt, he placed the glass on the table then padded across the floor to the bed. He sat down on the edge and put his head in his hands, disturbing his hair even more.

  "Tired?" she asked, sitting next to him. They'd both been traveling all day and it was already well after midnight.

  He nodded without removing his hands. "You?"

  "I'll manage."

  "Lie down," he said. "Get some sleep."

  "Not until you do."

  "I won't sleep."

  True enough. He probably wouldn't get more than a few snatched minutes. Insomnia was one of the symptoms of withdrawing, perhaps the worst. Without sleep, every other symptom became monumental.

  His hands dropped away from his face and dangled between his knees. "Get some sleep, Georgiana. At least one of us needs to be sensible."

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. He may be shivering with cold sweats but she felt hot. "Very well, I will leave just before the servants rise. That way, as long as Trent is discreet, there'll be no cause for gossip."

  "I don't care about gossip," he said, lips hardly moving. His fingers scrunched into fists and his face paled beneath the shadows. She waited, wanting desperately to touch him, cradle him until the pain went away. But she remained distant.

  When his ragged breathing returned to normal, she said, "Nevertheless, I want to stay with you until you get some sleep tonight," she said. "Tomorrow I'll rest in my room for a few hours while Trent watches over you." Hopefully he would sleep a little. And dream. She needed him to dream again in order for Sir Oswyn to find out who was responsible for Cottesloe's death—and who was trying to kill Alex now.

  However, despite her conviction to remain awake, exhaustion overtook her at some point during the night. She awoke while it was still dark to his shouted, "No!". At first she thought he was battling another bout of nausea and cramps but when she found him curled up beside her on the bed, shivering beneath the blanket, his eyes squeezed closed, she realized he was asleep. And dreaming.

  She pulled further away even though every instinct, every piece of her, ached to draw nearer. She wanted to fold him into her arms and hold him against her breast, caress the hair from his forehead and tell him she would not let anything bad happen.

  But she did not.

  She watched him. Listened. He mumbled something she couldn't hear then groaned. More mumbling followed and she could make out Cottesloe's name twice. Then suddenly his legs stretched out, his body stiffened and his hands flew to his face, not covering it but as if he was looking at something horrible on them. "God, no!" he shouted.

  Then someone hammered on the door.

  CHAPTER 16

  "Alexander! Alexander! Is something wrong?" It was Lady Weatherby. She must have heard Alex's first shout and come to find out if he was all right.

  Georgiana swallowed her curses.

  Before she could silence the vigorous knocks, Alex awoke. All the words she wanted to say to Lady Weatherby came spurting from his mouth with far more venom than Georgiana could have mustered. He rolled over and got up. Without looking at Georgiana, he staggered to the door like a drunkard.

  "I was having a bad dream, Aunt Harry," he said without opening it. "Go back to sleep."

  There was a pause then, "Can I get you anything?"

  "No, thank you." He glanced at Georgiana, still sitting on the bed. "I have everything I need."

  Apparently satisfied by his answer, Lady Weatherby bid him good morning. Alex came back to bed, flopped on top of the covers and groaned.

  "Are you still in pain?" Georgiana asked him.

  "Yes." He shivered.

  She placed the blanket over him and tucked the edges into his body. He caught her wrist and she allowed him to gently pull her close. It was an intimacy she should not permit but did anyway because, well, she wanted it. After a terrible night it was a relief to feel the pulse of life throbbing through him.

  "Thank you for staying," he murmured. "It's not a very pleasant thing to experience from your perspective."

  "Even worse from yours I imagine."

  That elicited a tired smile. "Thank you anyway."

  She nodded and sat upright again. "Tell me about Cottesloe."

  His eyes widened. A shudder wracked his body and his eyes closed again until it passed. She placed her palm over his heart—its beat was strong and regular.

  "Where did you hear...? Ah. My dream."

  "You said his name repeatedly. And as I've told you before, if I can determine what haunts your dreams then perhaps I can help you."

  He pressed his fingers into his eyes as if he could grind away the ache behind them. "He was a friend of mine. We worked together in Berne. He died."

  She'd not expected him to tell her that much. It was somethin
g of a breakthrough. But so far he'd not told her anything Sir Oswyn hadn't. "How did he die?"

  He threw off the blanket, drew his legs up and rested his arms on his knees. "He was killed after we'd both attended a ball."

  "The same night you acquired your injuries?"

  His gaze focused on the blanket between them. "Yes." He turned away, just enough so she couldn't see his eyes.

  "Who killed him?" she asked.

  "They didn't find the killer." No admission of guilt or innocence.

  She'd not really expected one.

  "Is that what your nightmare was about? His death?"

  "No. Not his death. I dreamt an eight-legged creature with Cottesloe's face was going to swallow me. Either that or kiss me."

  "Oh." She didn't quite succeed in keeping the disappointment out of her voice.

  He turned to her with a frown. A muscle twitched high in his jaw. "Is the only reason you stayed tonight to discover what lies behind my opium habit?"

  "Not the only reason, no. But it's very important to the healing process that I discover why you smoke it. I know you understand that. I must find out what happened to you in Switzerland. What you did—or think you did."

  "What I think I did?" He barked a harsh laugh and stood. "Why are you pushing me to remember? Isn't it enough that I'm ceasing the opium now?" He rested his knuckles on the edge of the bed and leaned closer, giving her one of his cold, cruel glares. "No more, not even in small doses. Isn't that cure enough for you?" He straightened. "What more do you want me to do?"

  She knelt up on the bed. He backed away but she got up and followed him until he was pressed against the wall. "I want you to stay off the opium forever, Alex. The nightmares aren't going away and I don't want you relapsing in a month, six months or a year because of them."

  "I won't." He sounded a little calmer.

  "I can't be sure of that unless I help you face your demons."

  One side of his mouth lifted in that devilish smile of his. "Then you'll just have to stay with me until the dreams stop."

  She sighed and closed her eyes. They were tying themselves in knots and she felt much too tired to untangle herself. "It might reveal the identity of the person trying to kill you too."

  There was a long silence then he said, "If that is the case—and I'm not sure the two things are connected—then I will stop him on my own. Without your help. It's much too dangerous for you to be involved." He turned, cutting off her protest, and parted the curtain. The inky sky was streaked with crimson and gold. "It's dawn. Get some sleep, Georgiana. I'll ring for Trent to stay with me until your return if that makes you feel better."

  She hesitated. Sleep, the nectar of Gods. Maybe she would feel better after a nap. Maybe... "What will you tell your Aunt and sister today?"

  "That I have a headache and need to rest. As my nurse you'll be with me of course." His body stiffened and a shiver racked him.

  "A cramp? Perhaps I should stay—."

  "Go." He folded his arms, his fingers closing over his biceps as if to warm them. "I'll be all right."

  She picked up the blanket and wrapped it around him from behind. His fingers brushed hers as he grasped the ends closed. Before she could move away, he turned and his lips caressed her forehead.

  "Until later," he said.

  "Until later."

  ***

  The next three days took on an otherworldliness as Georgiana stayed with Alex during the nights and returned to her own room in the morning. She slept little but he slept less. He was irritable with her and Trent although the valet never complained and she suspected there would be a fat bonus with his next wages.

  In spite of the wretchedness, the three of them fell into a rhythm of sorts where Alex was kept occupied when he was well and comfortable when he was not. At the end of the third day, Georgiana could see the end in sight. The nausea and cramps had ceased, the bouts of shivering grew less violent and even his headaches had returned to a more bearable level. She felt immeasurable relieved.

  Unfortunately his nightmares were still of the outrageous variety populated with strange creatures although Cottesloe always seemed to feature in them in some way. None of the dreams specifically touched on his murder in Berne and so Alex's memory of the event remained buried.

  Or so he said.

  After the third night, Georgiana met Lady Weatherby in the hallway as she made her way back to her room in the early morning. It was the first time she had seen the marchioness since her return to London and it caught her by surprise.

  "Is he well?" Lady Weatherby said. No preliminaries, no polite niceties, just straight to the point. Georgiana expected nothing less and she was rather glad of the lady's direct nature. She was much too tired to play games.

  "He's much better. The worst is over."

  The lines around Lady Weatherby's mouth and eyes flattened and she blinked rapidly. "Very good."

  Georgiana bobbed a curtsy and made to move around her but Lady Weatherby's sharp voice pinned her to the spot. "He told me he had a headache. I wanted to fetch a physician but he said he didn't need one while he had you."

  Georgiana had no right to feel slighted by the implication that a more educated man could do better—Lady Weatherby thought she was a nurse, and admittedly Georgiana hadn't learned her skills in any university. But it still rankled.

  "A physician could have done nothing more. And rest assured, Lady Weatherby, he is much better today. Trent is with him now but you can see for yourself if you like. He's probably still awake." With raging insomnia, he would be awake for some time. The other symptoms may have lessened but the sleeplessness could last for weeks, particularly if he didn't want to fall sleep.

  The marchioness raised her chin. "I admit I doubted the wisdom of your presence here. Lord Staunton and I were prepared to call out Dr. Henderson if this went on much longer." She pointed her chin at the door. "I shall go in and see for myself but if he is indeed better then I suppose..." She cleared her throat. "I suppose a thank you is in order. Alexander wouldn't have made it easy for you, I'm sure. He can be a rather trying patient."

  Georgiana smiled and gave her another small curtsy. She'd not have believed it before but Lady Weatherby's thanks meant a great deal.

  "However you do understand, Miss Appleby, that this changes nothing."

  "Pardon?"

  "You've not forgotten our brief conversation at the beginning of your stay here?"

  Ah. The don't-trap-my-nephew-into-marriage conversation. "I've not forgotten. And I don't expect anything to change. Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired and I want to sleep."

  "One more thing."

  Georgiana sucked in a breath between her tightly drawn smile. "Yes, your ladyship?"

  "Is Alexander well enough to attend a ball tonight?"

  Good lord! Alex had battled illness and his demons for three days and she wanted to thrust him back into the marriage market already! Although to be fair, as far as Lady Weatherby was concerned he'd simply had an excruciating headache for three long days. She didn't know the full extent of his agonies.

  "Go and ask him," Georgiana said. "If he says he's well enough then by all means I won't stop him." Alex's dangerous moods might have diminished without opium to fuel them but he wasn't likely to go somewhere he didn't want to. "Good day, Lady Weatherby."

  Georgiana left without looking back although she heard the knock and Trent's pleasant greeting. She didn't hear Alex's voice at all.

  ***

  Georgiana slept into the early afternoon and awoke with mixed feelings. Alex wouldn't need her for much longer, but his life was still in danger. His dreams hadn't revealed the identity of Cottesloe's real killer or the man trying to kill him. Indeed thanks to his insomnia, he'd had few nightmares. Soon he would resume his normal activities, laying him exposed to another murderous attempt.

  She took a light luncheon in her room, after which footmen appeared with a large bathtub. Alex must have ordered it for her. Maids filled it from bucke
ts carried up the stairs, built up a small fire in the grate and helped her wash and dry her hair. Slipping on a clean chemise and stockings and her gray dress, Georgiana felt a little more human than she had when she'd crawled into bed that morning.

  She sat at her dressing table with a deep sigh and picked up her brush. "Another success," she said to the portrait of her father, staring back at her from the frame with a ridiculously stern expression. "So why do I feel so sad?" This last she said to her mother's image. Sometimes, like now, she missed them both with a terrible ache.

  A knock at her door gave her no time to dwell on her problems. She opened it and Phillippa bounded in on the tips of her pale blue slippers.

  "Oh, Georgiana, thank goodness you've cured Alex. Aunt Harry and I have been so worried these last few days. We've dared not go near his room for fear of overhearing the agonies he must be enduring." She plopped down on the bed causing her curls to bounce. "Although I did sneak by his door once." She screwed up her nose. "Didn't hear a thing."

  "He's much better now. His full recovery will take some time but he's over the worst. It was quite a severe, er, headache."

  "Good. Now." She suddenly hopped up and maneuvered herself behind Georgiana. "Let me brush your hair. It's so beautiful."

  "It's just brown."

  "But a beautiful brown. Like chestnuts. Or walnuts. No, honey. Yes, that's it, honey." In the mirror's reflection, Georgiana watched Phillippa's gaze following the brush as it slid through the hair. She seemed absorbed by the task. She was certainly silent for what amounted to a long time—for Phillippa. "There's something I need to tell you," she finally said. "Something I should have told you earlier but...well, I didn't." She chewed her lip and her brushing became more vigorous. "And then when I decided to tell you, you weren't here, you were with Alex."

  Georgiana placed a hand on Phillippa's to stop the brushing before all her hair was pulled out. "I'm here now. What is it?" But she knew already—Phillippa's gentleman friend, although he was no true friend and hadn't behaved very gentlemanly. If he'd compromised the girl in any way, Georgiana would hunt him down herself. Then she'd hand him over to Alex.