Surrender

by CJ Archer

  She sighed and pulled the bed covers up. He kicked them off and tossed over. It seemed she was to be tortured by his nakedness for what remained of the night. She settled into a chair and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She waited and watched, her heart leaping every time he cried out Cottesloe's name. He was in obvious pain, not the physical kind from the opium withdrawal but another sort, brought on by his tumultuous dreams. It took all her self-control not to wake him and rescue him from the nightmare world.

  Then suddenly he sat up, startling her. If she hadn't been sitting down she'd have fallen back in shock. He turned at her gasp and there was a fleeting spark of happiness on his face, mixed with the disorientation of someone emerging from a deep slumber.

  "Georgiana..." He frowned. "Where's Trent?"

  "I asked him to leave us. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

  He scooted off the bed, giving her a delicious view of all that bare skin. He didn't seem to realize how incredibly distracting it was. How was she supposed to remain detached when his penis was right...well, there?

  "You're staring," he said, looking far too pleased with himself.

  "I'm not."

  "You are."

  "Then put some clothes on."

  "No. This is my bedroom. You leave if you don't want to see me." He put his hands on his hips.

  Oh my. She drew in a breath and lifted her gaze to his face but that was a mistake because even disheveled he was strikingly handsome. "I'm not leaving yet. Not until you tell me what you dreamt."

  "What does it matter? You've ended your employment." His cutting tone sliced right through her.

  "I still want to help you, Alex. And believe it or not, so does Sir Oswyn."

  He made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. "Sir Oswyn can go to hell. I'm not doing this for him."

  "He wants you to be healthy again."

  "Because it'll benefit himself, or so he thinks. He and Lord Castlereagh refuse to accept that I've resigned, but I've had enough of living the double life. I'll not retract my resignation. I want to remain here in England with...with the people I care about. Sir Oswyn only wants to drag me back under."

  She stood and took a step closer but not too close. She didn't want to be sucked in by the force of him. "I'm glad you won't be going back. It's safer here." She swallowed. "I've not weaned you off opium to see you killed by a French spy." He said nothing and she sighed. "Before I go in the morning I'll stop by Sir Oswyn's office and tell him my job is done." She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, then opened them again. Alex was staring at her with a guarded, closed expression. "However I'd still like to know what you dreamt."

  He put on his robe. No more nakedness. She sighed again then caught his smirk out of the corner of her eye. "Very well." He prowled about the room, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. "I killed Cottesloe. There's no doubt about it. But not over Louisa."

  "I knew it!" Then all of his words sank in. "Are you sure you killed him? Perhaps you only think you did."

  "No, I remember it all now. The dream I just had has brought it all back. I discovered Cottesloe's affair with Louisa at the ball, as you know. I confronted him, we argued, he said he loved her. He claimed he did it all for her. When I asked him what he meant by 'all' he ran off. I followed him but by then I suspected something else was going on." He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Remembering or trying to block it out? When his eyes opened again they were darker, fathomless. "For weeks the movements of my spies had been thwarted. Even with Napoleon in exile, there was still a great deal of espionage going on. Every operation we devised was ruined. It pointed to a leak within my network but all my investigations were fruitless. After the ball and Cottesloe's slip, I began to suspect him. When I caught up to him I confronted him. It was raining." He stopped pacing and placed his hands on the mantelpiece and lowered his head between his shoulders.

  "He denied it?"

  "No, he admitted it. All of it. I didn't even have to beat it out of him. He said he did it for love. For Louisa." He turned around and shook his head. "Fool. He said she was spying for Napoleon and he and Louisa were going to run off together when the war was over. I told him he was mad and that's when he hit me. Then he pulled out a knife and I realized he wasn't going to let me get away. He stabbed me in the arm. I withdrew my own knife and in the ensuing scuffle we both slipped on the wet cobbles. I hit my head but before I blacked out I saw my knife sticking out of his chest." He folded his arms, more a hug to ward off a chill than a stance of arrogance.

  Georgiana twisted her fingers together to stop herself going to him. "What happened when you regained consciousness?"

  "I check Cottesloe's body for signs of life. He was as cold as the stones he lay on. I couldn't remember the actual fight but I did remember our argument at the ball over Louisa, so I assumed I killed him through jealousy or pride or something equally foolish. I couldn't recall anything between the ball and waking up. I managed to find my way home but fell asleep almost immediately the doctor left. I dreamt about the murder—the precise moment of it, not the preceding argument. It was..." He sucked air between his teeth. "...horrible. I awoke and called the doctor back. He prescribed opium and my sleep has been dreamless ever since. Or at least I've only dreamt about what I've wanted to dream about." His gaze locked with hers, burned through her and stoked the ashes in her heart.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You couldn't remember anything about Cottesloe's admission? About being a traitor?"

  He shook his head and dug a hand through his hair. "The worst part isn't that Harry and Louisa's deception aided Napoleon's escape from Elba, the worst part was losing my friend."

  Her fingertips brushed against his sleeve. Quick as lightening, he caught her arm and he pulled her into him. She could feel him beneath his robe, the muscle and sinew, the hardness and the strength. There was nothing subtle or soft about him. He lowered his mouth to hers and they kissed—there was nothing soft or subtle about it either. His lips forced hers apart, making a point, staking a claim. It was just like the rest of him, unforgiving and uncompromising.

  Then he eased back. He didn't break the kiss but it turned tender. His fingers curled into her hair, caressing her scalp. His other hand pressed into the small of her back, holding her in place but not forcefully. He rubbed away the tension in her spine until she was as loose and languid as a rag doll in his arms. Desire, fiercer than ever, spread through her. His robe fell open and she pushed her hand inside, finally allowing herself to feel his smooth skin, stretched taught over all that muscle.

  "Please stay," he murmured against her lips.

  His words awoke her like a slap. With a gasp she stepped back, out of his reach, out of his sphere of influence. "Don't," she said weakly. "Don't do this."

  "I can't help it." He stood with his hands on his hips, his robe gaping open.

  She picked up her shawl which had fallen onto the rug and threw it around her shoulders. "It's best if I go."

  "Best for whom? Me? Or you?"

  She swallowed and looked down at the floor so he couldn't see her eyes welling with tears. "Both of us. This is the way it has to be." Until he wanted her by his side. Until he could love her—if he ever could.

  She risked a glance at his face but it was devoid of expression. Only a small pulse jumped high in his jaw otherwise he could have been wearing a mask of stone.

  His apparent lack of emotion didn't make it any easier for her to do what she had to do.

  "Goodbye, Alex," she whispered and closed the door between them.

  CHAPTER 18

  Alex wasn't in the mood for visitors. North, however, ignored his order to go away and proceeded to set up the chess board in the library. Alex agreed to a game only because North promised to leave afterwards.

  "I just saw the oddest thing," North said, moving his queen's knight. They sat in the armchairs, the chess board between them, a glass of brandy at hand de
spite the early hour. Alex had insisted upon it.

  "Go on," Alex said, studying the ivory pieces. His two rooks had already been taken and the game had only been going a few minutes. He was probably a little too distracted to be a worthy opponent to North. Make that much too distracted—he kept replaying his final conversation with Georgiana over and over in his mind.

  "I saw your nursemaid lugging a battered old valise up Whitehall on my way here. She's not left you already has she?"

  Alex, elbow resting on his knee and chin in his hand, glanced up at North but his friend only had eyes for the board. "Where were you going that took you along Whitehall so early in the morning?"

  "Home. Stop prying and answer the bloody question."

  "She's gone," Alex said. Georgiana had left after breakfast which she'd taken in her room. Alex knew because he'd questioned the servants.

  "You threw her out?" North waved his finger over the board. "Your move." Alex moved a bishop without thinking it through. North snorted, shook his head and took the bishop. "I'll not continue with this game if you're not going to concentrate. Doesn't feel right to take your money."

  "I didn't throw her out, she left of her own accord."

  "Of her own accord? What'd you do to her?"

  "I got better."

  North tapped a finger against the corner of his mouth and his eyebrows flattened. It was his serious face, the one he put on when he was trying to work something out. "But you weren't really that ill to begin with. Those injuries hardly required a full time nurse."

  Proving that North had missed nothing as usual. "She wasn't a nurse. She was more like a physician but without the qualifications. She specializes in opium addictions."

  "Ah. I see." He frowned and appeared to be contemplating the game, but then he suddenly looked up. "Actually I don't see. Your ability to withstand pain is quite remarkable. Are you telling me your injuries hurt so much you needed opium to function?"

  "I didn't take it for my injuries, I took it for my..." Alex sighed. "My nightmares. They were...bothering me."

  "I see," North said again. He picked up his glass but instead of taking a sip, he rested his elbow on the chair's leather arm and dangled the glass from his fingers. "Do you know why I thought it odd to see Miss Appleby carrying her luggage down Whitehall?"

  Alex shrugged. He wasn't in the mood for North's games.

  "She was turning into Downing Street, which was strange in itself, but what really struck me was how unhappy she seemed. Miserable in fact. I thought you and she must have argued. And since I knew how you felt about her—."

  "How do you know how I feel about her?"

  "Good lord, man, your seven year-old nephew can play better chess than this and you need to ask me that?" He sighed. "When Miss Appleby was nearby you only had eyes for her. You've not even looked twice at any of the girls your aunt has thrown at you, and you're always distracted. Always. As if you'd rather be with her than me." He pressed a hand to his chest. "My sensibilities are deeply wounded."

  "Your sensibilities can go to hell."

  North raised his glass in salute. "All in good time. So, now that we've established that you love her, why aren't you going after her and dragging her back here?"

  Alex should have said something about North's caveman attitude towards women but he was struck dumb. Love? Him? With Georgiana?

  Oh.

  Hell.

  He shot up, knocking the edge of the chess board and scattering the pieces over the Persian rug. He spun towards the door but didn't take a single step. He turned back to North with a sigh. "I can't go after her," he said, rubbing his hand through his hair.

  "Why not?" There was a distinct curve to North's lips. The devil found Alex's predicament funny. Just wait until it happened to him.

  "Because...because I don't think she feels the same for me as I do for her." Alex explained about Georgiana's fear that he only needed her the way he'd needed the opium. He didn't tell him about her other lover's death. "If she had any feelings for me in return then she wouldn't care for semantics."

  If she had any feelings for me...

  The cruel words struck him like a hammer, smashing him into little pieces.

  North pursed his lips and huffed out a breath through his nose. "Here's the interesting thing, Redcliff. I've seen the way she looks at you and if I know anything about women, I'd say she does have feelings for you."

  "How did she look at me?"

  "Like you were a forbidden treat she couldn't have."

  Alex sat heavily again. "Then...why leave me like this?"

  "Perhaps she feels it'll do you some good."

  "That's what she said." Even as he said it, a niggling thought chipped away at the wall he'd built around himself ever since her departure. Her kisses had been genuine and their love-making filled with raw, intense emotion. The best actress in the world couldn't falsify that.

  "Are you all right, Redcliff? You're looking a little pale."

  Alex stood. "I've got to tell her how I feel."

  North looked pleased with himself. "Splendid!"

  "Worth will see you out." Alex reached the entrance hall in four strides but was intercepted by Aunt Harry. "Not now, Aunt," he said, holding up his hand as she began to speak. "We'll talk later." He didn't pause to see her reaction but opened the front door and left without bothering with hat, gloves or coat.

  ***

  Sir Oswyn squinted at Georgiana and puckered his lips in thought. They sat in his office surrounded by stale air smelling faintly of dust. "I received your note," he said. "So Lady Twickenham is spying for the French, eh?"

  She relayed her conversation with Alex to him, including everything that had been revealed by the nightmare. He seemed intrigued more than surprised. Had he suspected the truth all along? Or only recently.

  "In love with Harry Cottesloe," he said with a shake of his head. "So he really is dead?"

  "It would seem so."

  "What a waste."

  "Have you questioned her yet? Or better still, had her arrested?"

  "No." He picked up his cane from its resting place against the edge of the desk and tapped it on the floor. His clerk scurried in and peered over his spectacles from the doorway. "Show Miss Appleby out, Phillips, then come back and take dictation."

  "Show me out?" she said before Phillips could get a word in. "But...but what are you going to do about Lady Twickenham?"

  Sir Oswyn's bushy brows rose. "I'll not discuss national affairs with you, Miss Appleby. Our business is concluded."

  "No. It's not. I won't leave until I know she's no longer a threat to Alex."

  "Redcliff can take care of himself—."

  She slammed her hand down on the desk. A piece of paper sitting on a nearby stack fluttered before settling again. "He is in danger, Sir Oswyn, because of his dedication to his duty and his country. It's your responsibility to ensure his safety."

  "I didn't say I wouldn't ensure it, just that he can take care of himself." He waved a finger at Phillips who backed out of the office and closed the door. "I appreciate your concern for your patient, Miss Appleby, but I must tell you again that I cannot discuss this matter further with you."

  She sat back in her chair, the air knocked out of her. "You don't know what to do with her do you?"

  His squinting eyes narrowed further. "Whatever are you implying?"

  "She's much too powerful. Or her husband is." He looked away. She leaned forward again. "That's it, isn't it? Lord Twickenham has friends in high places and you can't prove anything against his wife. You're going to bury this, aren't you?"

  He flattened his wayward eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger.

  "Aren't you, Sir Oswyn?"

  He sighed, as if her demands were a trifling nuisance he had to deal with. "I'm not going to bury it as you put it. I'll have a word to Lord Twickenham about his wife's activities. I know him well and I can assure you he would be horrified to learn Lady Twickenham has been spying for the French. Horri
fied. He'll do everything in his power to stop her from doing it again because I will make it clear that he cannot afford the scandal. Furthermore, I'll have her watched. All her correspondence will be inspected, her visitors monitored, her servants bribed. Nothing will escape my attention." He sighed heavily and he suddenly looked like a weary old man who needed to sleep for a hundred years. "Believe me, Miss Appleby, it galls me greatly to let her get away with this. I lost one good man because of her, nearly two, and countless operations were sabotaged. But my hands are tied. There is nothing more I can do."

  "I see. So the country will be safe from her but what about Alex? She might give up passing national secrets but I doubt she'll give up trying to kill him. She doesn't strike me as the sort of woman who can discard her vengeance the way she discards an old pair of gloves."

  "Miss Appleby," he said, sounding bored, "there is nothing more I can do. We don't have enough evidence." He clasped his hands on the desk and pressed his thumbs together. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot of work to do."

  "I do mind. I'll not leave here until you set in motion something to stop Lady Twickenham. Call your clerk back in."

  Sir Oswyn's thumbs stilled. He leaned back and rubbed his thigh. "I could have you forcibly removed."

  "And I could spread rumors about Lady Twickenham's activities and your unwillingness to have her arrested."

  "That would be unwise—for you. You're not the only one who can spread rumors."

  She flinched as if he'd struck her. He might as well have. If it became widely known that one of her patients had died after becoming her lover, she'd never work again. She'd be condemned to a life of poverty.

  Sir Oswyn rose and took up his cane. "Do not test me, Miss Appleby."

  "You, you...wretch!"

  The door opened and she expected to see the clerk enter to usher her out but Alex stood there, looking formidable yet so utterly handsome. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful to see him one last time, thankful for the interruption or perturbed that she'd not made a clean break from him after all.