Surrender

by CJ Archer

  "Well." Phillippa studied the brush's bristles intently. "The other day, when he and I met for the last time he...he asked me an awful lot of...strange questions."

  "Like what?"

  "Like how many rooms there were in the house."

  "This house?"

  Phillippa nodded. "And where they are located, which ones are occupied, that sort of thing."

  Georgiana stared at her. "Good lord! And you told him?"

  Phillippa's pained expression was all the answer she needed. "I didn't see any reason not to. He said he was curious to know if the house was like his father's. He's interested in architecture." Tears puddled in her eyes and her lower lip wobbled. "So he said."

  An awful, sick feeling congealed in Georgiana's stomach. "When did he ask you these questions?"

  "The day before the intruder broke into the house." Phillippa put her face in her hands and racking sobs shook her. "It's all my fault!" she wailed. "I shouldn't have trusted him. I shouldn't have told him anything! I nearly got you killed! Oh, Georgiana, do you hate me now?"

  "Of course I don't hate you." Georgiana pulled a handkerchief from her dressing table drawer and handed it to the girl then wrapped her arm about her shoulders. She needed answers and the only way she could get them was if Philly calmed down. When her tears finally eased, Georgiana turned the girl to face her. "Perhaps it wasn't him. Perhaps it was someone else who broke in. You did say you told him which rooms were occupied and we can safely assume an intruder would want to break in via an empty room. Alas, the one he broke into was indeed occupied. By me."

  The pain on Phillippa's face sharpened. She shook her head weakly. "I told him you were in this guest room not that tiny cupboard. I was too embarrassed to tell him Alex put you in the smallest room used only by the maids of guests."

  Georgiana bit her lip to stop the smile. Despite everything, she found the girl's lie rather endearing. "You made a mistake, Phillippa. We all do it. This man preyed on your innocence in the most despicable way. He used your trusting nature to commit a crime. Thank goodness he wasn't successful."

  "But I should have said something immediately after the break in," she said, her lip wobbling anew. "And I didn't. Oh, Georgiana I was too confused and ashamed and I nearly got you killed." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed again.

  Georgiana shushed her and held her and wondered how a girl from such a respectable and upright family had come to sneaking about with criminal types. "But you've told me now. Don't worry, Phillippa, all will be well. Alex will find this man and bring him to justice."

  She'd expected an objection but the girl simply nodded. "So you're going to tell Alex?"

  "I have to."

  Phillippa winced. "Not Aunt Harry too?"

  "Perhaps she won't need to be informed. But it'll be up to your brother to decide."

  "But you'll ask him not to. On my behalf?" Phillippa grasped Georgiana's arm and squeezed. "Oh, please, Georgiana. Please. He'll do anything you say."

  Georgiana snorted. "Your brother doesn't like being told what to do by anyone, including me. But I will try, I promise." She pried the girl's fingers from her arm. "Now, tell me what the man looked like."

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Well, he's very tall and big. Gigantic really. Dark hair, brown eyes, quite handsome." She frowned. "No, he wasn't terribly handsome. I thought he was at first but I don't think so anymore."

  "Anything else? Any distinguishing features? An accent?"

  "Nothing. He spoke like a gentleman and looked like one."

  Georgiana chewed her lip. An unremarkable gentleman in a city full of unremarkable gentlemen. He could be anyone, although they had one clue—he was English. "Did he give you any indication in your conversations about where he was from or who his connections are?" Phillippa shook her head, close to tears again. "What did you two talk about?" As soon as Georgiana said it she wished she could take it back. There was unlikely to be much talking occurring in their brief encounters.

  "Very little," Phillippa said without so much as a blush or a blink of her damp eyes. "Hunting, horses, this house." She sighed.

  "Not very romantic conversations."

  Phillippa straightened and sniffed. "He could be romantic. He gave me some sweet poems and quite beautiful love letters."

  "He wrote to you?"

  "Of course. All the best love affairs require letters of a romantic nature. It's a requirement I believe."

  Georgiana bit back her smile. "Perhaps there was something distinctive about the paper. Have you still got them?"

  Phillippa jumped up and raced to the door. "They're in my room," she said, already in the hallway. "Wait here."

  Georgiana waited. Phillippa must have run all the way to her room and back because she was gone only briefly. She handed Georgiana a bundle of letters tied with a pink satin ribbon.

  "I'm not sure why I kept them," she said sheepishly.

  "Because he was your first love and a girl always keeps the letters her first love gave her." Until she meets her second love.

  Georgiana untied the ribbon and unfolded the top-most letter. It was dated the day after Phillippa's arrival in London. She began reading but only got to the first sentence where the writer compared his love's eyes to a green meadow. It wasn't the incorrect eye color that diverted Georgiana's attention, it was the handwriting. It was elegant and precise with elaborate loops and capitals. It was also feminine. And distinctive.

  She'd seen it before. It was the reference to Hyde Park in the third note that set the bells clanging in her head. She'd seen those two words written together on the back of a card sitting in the silver salver.

  Lady Twickenham's card.

  ***

  Georgiana hated being the one to inform Alex of his sister's romantic liaison with the man who was trying to kill him, but Phillippa refused to tell him herself. Pleading a headache, weak nerves and an attack of the vapors, she fled back to her own room in a flood of tears. Even more, Georgiana hated to be the one to show him the letters and to see his face change from slack exhaustion to cold, vengeful protector.

  And he'd not even heard the worst of it.

  "Do you recognize the handwriting?" she said, nodding at the letters spread out across the surface of the desk in his study.

  He rubbed a hand over eyelids webbed with tiny red veins and picked up one of the letters. The shadows faded from his face. "Louisa!"

  "Lady Twickenham must have written them and given them to Phillippa's so-called admirer to pass off as his own."

  He swore vehemently. "Did she tell you anything about the man? What he looked like?"

  "She said he was huge but otherwise there appears to be nothing distinguishing about him. Why?"

  "The man who followed me and attacked me had a very large build too. He seems familiar but I can't place where I've seen him."

  She chewed the inside of her lip, not sure how to phrase her next question. "This might sound strange, but...could it be Cottesloe?" His eyes narrowed. "Sir Oswyn told me his body was never found and I...I thought perhaps he's not dead after all—."

  "He is." He tilted his head back and drew in a long, deep breath. Georgiana crossed her arms to stop herself touching him and waited until he was ready to speak again. "I'm going to see Louisa," he said. "And then I'm going to destroy her."

  "I'll get my gloves."

  He thrust his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. "You are not coming with me."

  "Yes, I am. Did you get any sleep this morning?"

  "That's not the—."

  "Then you're as likely to be hit by a coach crossing the road as you are falling victim to the man who's been trying to kill you this past week and a half."

  He puffed out his chest. "I appreciate the sentiment but you are not coming."

  She opened the door. "I'll meet you in the hall. And if you don't wait for me I'll find out where Lady Twickenham lives and go anyway." He swore under his breath and she felt a twinge of sympathy
for him. He was still suffering the effects of opium withdrawal and the women in his life were making his recovery a living nightmare. Not to mention events seemed to be whirling out of his control. And if she'd learned nothing else from the last ten days, Alex was a man who liked to be in control. "You do need me there," she said over her shoulder. "Someone must distract Lord Twickenham if he's home."

  His cool gaze flicked from her head to her kid leather half-boots. By the time it reached her face again, it had become warm. Very warm. "Here I thought your distracting techniques were reserved for me."

  "Only the extra special ones."

  He chuckled and she smiled back then raced down the hall to the stairs and up to her room. It looked gray outside so she put on pelisse, gloves and bonnet. At the door she hesitated. Sighed. She went back to the writing desk situated near the window and dashed off a note to Sir Oswyn apprising him of the new information regarding Lady Twickenham.

  She sealed the letter and handed it to a footman before joining Alex in the entrance hall.

  ***

  "Ah, Mr. Redcliff," said Lady Twickenham upon greeting Alex in her drawing room. "So nice of you to call on Lord Twickenham and I. And you brought your nursemaid too." The smile she turned on Georgiana bared far too many teeth to be genuine. "Delightful."

  Georgiana gave her an equally false smile in return. "Isn't it."

  Lady Twickenham's shrewd gaze swept from one to the other. Her nostrils flared. A rat smelling danger. But then she sank onto a rose-patterned armchair, all grace and elegance and beauty. Whatever else she proved to be, she was extraordinarily attractive with porcelain skin, large green eyes and wide mouth.

  Georgiana glanced at Alex. He appeared unmoved. If he thought her beautiful, he didn't show it. "Is Lord Twickenham home?" he asked.

  "Not at present. But please stay. Sit down." She indicated the sofa opposite. "Tea will arrive shortly."

  "This isn't a social call, Louisa."

  "Oh? Is it medical?"

  "Medical?"

  She lazily waved a hand at Georgiana. "Why else would you bring your nurse?"

  "To stop me from breaking that pretty little neck of yours."

  A thick pause smothered the room and put out the flame of polite conversation. Lady Twickenham's fingers curled on the covered arm of her chair and her lips thinned. "I see." She rose again and stood by the unlit fireplace, her hand resting on the top of the wool-worked fire screen.

  "Let me come straight to the point," Alex said. He strode across the room but stopped just short of arm's length from Lady Twickenham. Georgiana remained by the door, out of the way but still where she could see their hostess's face. As much as she wanted to join Alex and lend her support, this wasn't her fight.

  "Please do," Lady Twickenham said. A knock at the door heralded a footman carrying a tea tray. He set it down on a nearby table and lifted the silver teapot but Lady Twickenham halted him with a raised finger. "Leave us," she said. He did. "Continue," she said to Alex.

  "I want to know why you sent someone to break into my house."

  "Alex! What a diabolical thing to say." The shock on her face was plain. She was either a good actress or she truly was innocent.

  Alex tipped his head back and sought something on the chandelier dripping from the central ceiling rose. Patience? "Don't. I'm tired, I'm angry and I DON'T want to hear your lies, Louisa." He heaved a heavy sigh, as if this were an old conversation and he'd long ago given up hope of finding answers. But Georgiana felt the force of his anger. It radiated off him like a heat wave. The air crackled with it. "I don't believe anything you say anymore. Not since your true nature was revealed to me in Berne."

  Lady Twickenham's sneer of disdain twisted her features, obliterating her beauty as if it had been wiped off with a cloth. "Spare me your sermonizing. You of all people cannot judge me."

  "I'm not here to judge you," he said with a casualness that Georgiana didn't trust in the least. "I told you—I'm here to kill you." If Lady Twickenham believed him she didn't show it. She tilted her chin, as if inviting him to strike it. "I know you sent someone to kill me," he said.

  "Sent someone?" she mimicked. "Do you really think I need to send anyone to kill you?"

  The room fell silent. The unspoken name hung heavily between them, a tangible thing that could be plucked from the air and flung around the room. Cottesloe.

  "Don't play games, Louisa," Alex said coolly. "He's dead. I know he is."

  "They never found his body," Lady Twickenham said.

  "I've often wondered why you took it," he said. "Now I know—so you can play this puerile game."

  "It's not a game, Alex."

  "No, it isn't. You crossed the line when you involved my sister in your scheme."

  Lady Twickenham laughed, a brittle, humorless sound. "Good lord, don't tell me you actually care about the little twit. She's so gullible!"

  "ENOUGH!" Alex seized Lady Twickenham's chin and for one terrible moment Georgiana thought he really would break her neck. It would only take one twist of his powerful wrist. Lady Twickenham must have thought so too because her eyes widened in genuine fear.

  But Alex let her go with a grunt and took a step backwards. Lady Twickenham's skin turned white then flooded red where he'd gripped her. She bared her teeth at him in a grimace.

  "Why?" Alex said quietly.

  "Do I even need to tell you?" She scoffed at him. "You're stupid as well as blind."

  "Tell me!"

  Someone knocked on the closed door. "Everything all right, milady?" came a strong male voice which Georgiana recognized as belonging to the solidly built butler who'd let them in.

  "Yes, thank you, Curtis," Lady Twickenham called out. If the butler left, he did so silently—Georgiana didn't hear retreating footsteps. "Let me explain," Lady Twickenham rubbed her palm over the top of the fire screen's polished wooden frame. "You scared Harry away from me that night you two fought."

  "Don't talk like he's still alive. You know I killed him."

  She waved a hand in dismissal. "I know no such thing. All I do know is, I haven't seen him since then. You scared him off and I wanted to make you pay for that so I hired a man to get to someone you love. Your sister was the obvious target. An eye for an eye, a loved one for a loved one. Fair, no?"

  The only movement Alex made was a slight narrowing of his eyes. "Your man tried to kill me on more than one occasion."

  She shook her head and gave him a rather pathetic, pleading look. "I simply set him upon your sister, nothing more. You must believe me, Alex. I'd not harm you in any way. I couldn't."

  "You're a vicious woman." He shuddered violently. A remnant of his opium withdrawal or something else? "Did you love him?"

  Something about the triangle bothered Georgiana. It wasn't that she didn't understand how Alex could have lain with such a witch—he was a man and men were easily led by their male parts—it was more to do with Lady Twickenham. If she loved Cottesloe enough to seek revenge for his disappearance, why had she carried on an affair with Alex at all?

  "I loved him," Lady Twickenham said. "And you scared him away. All because of stupid, petty jealousy."

  "Jealousy," he spat. "You think I was jealous? No, Louisa, I wasn't jealous I was..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Possessive, I suppose."

  Lady Twickenham bared her teeth again and Georgiana thought she might leap at Alex and tear him to shreds like an animal attacking its prey. Perhaps she truly had been in love with Cottesloe.

  But the terrible, sad situation left a bitter taste in Georgiana's mouth. It was all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. To think Alex could kill someone was one thing, but to think he could kill out of either jealousy or possessiveness? Ridiculous. Especially over a woman he seemed to have no real affection for. Whether he actually did it or not was irrelevant—he believed he did it.

  "No, that can't be right." Georgiana had been silent so long her outburst caught the others by surprise. They stared at her as if she'd just floated in throug
h the window. "You're both speaking as if you killed Cottesloe," she said to Alex. "I know you think you did, but I find the notion absurd."

  "Georgiana—."

  But his words were cut short by Lady Twickenham's derisive snort. "How touching." She sauntered past Alex, the lazy sway of her hips mirroring the confidence in her voice. She came up to Georgiana and rested a hand on one out-thrust hip, a mocking smile on her lips. "He's seduced you, hasn't he?" She clicked her tongue. "Alex, you rake. And so soon after you fought over me, possibly to the death."

  "He didn't kill anybody!" Georgiana regretted racing out of her room so quickly and forgetting her pistol. Its presence might have doused Lady Twickenham's swagger. "If Cottesloe was his friend then he didn't do it. He wouldn't have killed someone he cared about."

  Lady Twickenham spun and raised her eyebrows at a rather pale Alex. "She really is very sweet and trusting. Much too sweet for you, dear man. Best to cut her loose before you break her heart, don't you think?" She turned back to Georgiana and leaned closer, conspiratorially. "Or before he kills you too."

  Forget the pistol, Georgiana could scratch her eyes out well enough without it.

  "Let's go," Alex said, beside her in the time it took to blink. He still looked terribly white and sweat beaded on his brow but his strength hadn't waned in the least. He gripped her arm so hard she gasped. His fingers instantly relaxed.

  "Lady Twickenham must be brought to justice for her attempts on your life," Georgiana said.

  "And how do you propose to do that?" the witch herself said. "I admit to the letters, that's all. I can assure you I didn't try to kill you." She gave him a simpering look. "The very notion is too horrific to contemplate!"

  As much as Georgiana hated admitting it, Lady Twickenham was right. The letters weren't enough. Not against the wife of a peer. "We won't rest until you're stopped. You cannot go about London attempting to kill my...my patient."

  "Your patient, my dear, doesn't deserve your puppy-like devotion. He's a black-hearted villain with no understanding of what it means to love, to be loyal." Lady Twickenham sat and picked up the teapot. "Don't turn your back on him, Miss Appleby. He might put a knife in it."