by CJ Archer
"At least we agree on that," he said to her.
Georgiana couldn't speak. Her heart was in her throat, strumming out an erratic beat.
"Redcliff," Sir Oswyn said levelly. "Just the person I want to see. Please explain to Miss Appleby why Lady Twickenham cannot be arrested. She seems to be suffering from a desire to rescue you from the delicious sorceress."
Alex stood alongside Georgiana, his strength anchoring her. "I hate saying it, but he's right." He took her hand and kissed the back of it. His gaze held hers with its heady mixture of fire and ice. "But don't be afraid. I'm not going to die. Not with you by my side."
She blinked at him which was a mistake because it forced a tear to slip from her eye and slide down her cheek. She tried to say something, tell him nothing had changed but she couldn't. Crying was about all she could manage—it all felt so hopeless!
Sir Oswyn cleared his throat. "In case you've forgotten, my office is not some dark walk at Vauxhall Gardens and you are not alone."
Alex regarded him coolly but Georgiana could feel the deep emotions simmering beneath the surface.
Sir Oswyn walked around his desk to join them, his awkward gait making his progress overly dramatic, an effect he no doubt employed on many occasions to slow down proceedings and bring a volatile meeting back under his control. "Now that the Cottesloe mystery has been resolved and you're functioning normally again, I'll be sending you back to Berne within the month."
"I've resigned!"
Sir Oswyn leaned heavily on his cane. "Retract it. Napoleon is on the march again. We need you. Your country needs you."
"There's other good men who can take my place. Fresher ones."
"But your duty!"
"Is here now. With the people who need me. The people I love." He smiled at her. It was dazzling.
And heart-breaking. He spoke out of desperation, out of need. She looked away because it hurt to see into his eyes, his soul.
"But your brother's indiscretion!" Sir Oswyn spluttered.
Georgiana looked from one to the other then realized Sir Oswyn was referring to the information he'd used to blackmail Alex into keep her in his house. Lord Staunton must have done something terrible which the weasel Sir Oswyn had discovered.
And yet he'd not used the information to force Alex to stop smoking opium altogether. Because he knew he couldn't?
"Ah yes," Alex said. He didn't look quite so fierce anymore but the determination was still there. "Staunton and I will petition Castlereagh directly over the charge. We'll take our chances there."
"B, but..." Sir Oswyn muttered. "You can't!"
Georgiana frowned. The Permanent Under-Secretary suddenly looked his true size and as frail as an elderly man. "I think perhaps he's not told you the entire truth, Alex," she said.
Alex nodded, his brow clearing. A knowing smile played around his lips. "You don't want me to go to Castlereagh because you haven't got enough to convict Staunton, do you, Crisp?" Sir Oswyn said nothing. "You told me he committed treason—."
"He did!"
Alex's eyes shone and his smile widened. "But you either don't have the evidence anymore or Lord Castlereagh is not willing to take the matter further. You lied to me to stop me throwing Georgiana out of my house." He began to shake, but from laughter. "Thank you!" He clapped Sir Oswyn on the back, causing the Permanent Under-Secretary to wobble on his unsteady legs. "You should extend your duties to match-making, Crisp, you're rather good at it."
Sir Oswyn scowled.
"Oh and by the by, if you spread a single word about any of Miss Appleby's patients, I'll be sure to whisper a few truths regarding your underhanded methods to Lord Castlereagh." Alex picked up Georgiana's bags and together they left without exchanging another word with Sir Oswyn.
Outside, the morning sunshine glowed valiantly behind a bank of clouds. Georgiana, still reeling, found herself bundled into a waiting hack before she could protest. It wasn't until it jerked forward that she woke up to what was happening.
"Stop the coach."
"Not until we're home," he said.
Home. It sounded wonderful.
But Mount Street wasn't her home, even though she'd begun to think of it as one. "Please, Alex, stop. I can't—."
As if he'd orchestrated it, the hack lurched sideways and Georgiana found herself sitting in Alex's lap. His arms circled her and before she could utter a protest, his mouth closed over hers. The tender kiss stole the protest from her lips and all sensible thoughts from her mind. Only foolish ones remained. Ones that wanted him to take her right there on the smelly, stained upholstery of the jolting coach.
Fortunately another lurch disconnected their lips, but not his grasp, and common sense returned with an aching thud. She tried to get off his lap but he held her fast.
"Stop wriggling," he said.
"Let go of me. I want to sit down."
"You are sitting down."
"On the seat."
"The seats are filthy. No lady of mine should sully her skirts on seats such as these, even if those skirts are ugly. It'll be private carriages only from now on."
She sighed. This was going to be much more difficult than the last time. At least then he was prepared to let her walk away.
"Alex, I can't be with you."
His fingers tightened around her waist. He shook his head. "It's all right, Georgiana, I understand about need versus love now. I really do."
"No, Alex, you're not listening to me." She tilted her head back and sighed up at the coach's roof. "Please let me go." His fingers loosened enough for her to extricate herself and return to her own seat. She couldn't quite look him in the eye so she focused on his cravat. "I'm still leaving."
His cravat bobbed up and down with his Adam's apple. No other part of him that she could see moved. He said nothing. The silence stretched so long that instinct kicked in and she raised her gaze to his face.
She regretted it. His elation had slipped away, replaced by something akin to the pain of his opium withdrawal. "No, Georgiana. No. I won't lose you again." He reached over and clasped her hand in both of his. "I need—."
"See!" She snapped her hand away. "You still need me. You only think you love me."
"Bollocks! I know the difference." But his words lost their persuasion when his gaze shifted to the window. His fingers curled into a fist on his knee.
"You don't know," she said, fighting back tears. "I've heard this argument before. Need, need, need. Lawrence said the same thing, Alex. He said he needed me to be with him. So I stayed." The tears won. She let them run down her cheeks since there was no way she could stop them. "And he died."
"I won't die," he shot back, his attention on her once more. She couldn't tell if he was angry or sad or anything anymore. Perhaps he felt all of those and more. She certainly did. "I've given up the opium. For good. You know that."
"It's only been three days."
He handed her a monogrammed handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes. "But it will be for good," he said, voice thick and rich and captivating.
She shook her head. He still didn't understand. "You must learn to rely on yourself again, Alex, and only yourself, not on opium or me or even Trent. We can't be nursemaid to you anymore. I can't—."
"I don't want a nursemaid, I want a wife!"
The air sucked out of her lungs, leaving her gasping for breath like a fish on a dry dock. Then before she could think, the coach rumbled to a stop, the door was flung open from the outside and someone grabbed her arm and hauled her unceremoniously onto the ground. She landed on the dirty road. Pain spiked up her arm to her shoulder but she got to her feet in time to see a huge brown-coated man lunging into the hack. He held a knife.
"Alex!" she screamed.
With sickening speed, the man slashed into the coach. But his arm was halted in mid-swing and then his head snapped back. His hat toppled onto the ground and he reeled backwards but didn't fall. Alex jumped out and grabbed the man's coat front. He landed blow after blow
on his jaw until the attacker's eyes rolled up into his head. Alex let go and the attacker crumpled into a heap in the dirt.
"Fetch a constable," Georgiana said to the driver who still sat on his seat, not looking the least bit interested in assisting.
"Stay," came a feminine voice from behind her. Before Georgiana could react, an arm hooked her around the chest and a blade pressed against her throat. Lady Twickenham's sultry chuckle filled her ear.
"Let her go," Alex said. Blood dripped from his right fist and his cravat was askew but not a drop of sweat troubled his brow and his breathing was normal. Indeed, he seemed to be holding himself still, alert. "It's me you want."
The sharp tip of the blade dug into the skin under Georgiana's jaw. She bit back her flinch.
"Yes," Lady Twickenham said, "but I'm not so sure killing you is the best thing anymore. I rather think you'd suffer more if I killed your loved ones."
The front door of the townhouse opened and Worth appeared. Shock registered on his usually bland features. "Sir?" He turned his wide eyes onto Alex.
Alex put up a hand to halt him. "Stay there for now." His lips twisted in a snarl and he lowered his head as if he was battling against an oncoming wind. But then he lifted that ice cold gaze of his and Georgiana didn't envy Lady Twickenham one bit. "Don't make me break a lifelong habit," he said with ominous calm.
Lady Twickenham shifted her weight and tightened her grip around Georgiana. "What are you talking about?"
"I've never harmed a woman but if you hurt her, I will kill you."
He would too.
And then he would have to live with himself afterwards. Georgiana couldn't let him face that particular hell again. But if she tried to move, Lady Twickenham would only have to flick her wrist to sink the blade into the soft skin. What Georgiana needed was a distraction.
As if on cue, Phillippa appeared beside Worth at the door. She screamed. Loudly. Lady Twickenham jumped. Georgiana seized the moment and stomped on the toe of Lady Twickenham's boot and simultaneously jabbed her elbow backwards. A harsh grunt told her she'd hit her target in the stomach. Before Lady Twickenham could recover, she shoved her aside. It was only then that Georgiana noticed the sharp sting in her neck. She touched it. Her hand came away bloody.
Alex stepped in and disarmed Lady Twickenham with little effort. She backed up against the cast iron fence separating the road from the basement steps, her teeth bared, her eyes strangely deadened. Two footmen and the housekeeper appeared on the steps behind her. They looked to their master for directions but he simply shook his head.
"What is all this commotion about?" It was Lady Weatherby, standing beside Phillippa at the front door.
"Louisa tried to kill Georgiana," Alex explained without taking his eyes off Lady Twickenham. He kicked the brown-coated man's lifeless body. "And she hired him to kill me."
Lady Weatherby's lips moved as if muttering a silent prayer as Phillippa squealed again. "It's him!" Her hands flew to her cheeks, bracketing her gasp
"It's not Cottesloe, is it?" Georgiana asked.
"No," Alex said. "This cur worked with me in Berne but as a clerk not a spy and only for about a week."
"He doesn't look like a clerk," Phillippa said, peering down from the doorway.
"He wasn't a very good one. I had to let him go. I assumed he came back here but it would seem he found other employment." He eyed Lady Twickenham. "You tried to make us believe Harry was still alive."
She shrugged casually, elegantly. "When I realized there was some doubt, I used it to my advantage."
"Why did you take his body?"
"I needed to say goodbye properly. I tossed him into the river at our favorite meeting place just before I left Switzerland." She spoke without emotion. Even her eyes were blank, as if all the love she'd once felt for Cottesloe had been thrown into the river with his body.
"What are you going to do with her, Alexander?" Lady Weatherby asked.
"Leave her to Lord Twickenham," he said. "He'll probably have her committed to a private asylum in the country somewhere." He nodded at the windows of the houses across the road. Several faces quickly vanished when they realized they'd been seen. "There are too many witnesses for him not to take such action."
Phillippa made a face. Georgiana agreed with the girl's sentiment—asylums were not the sort of place she'd ever want to send a loved one. But Lady Twickenham was a cold-hearted woman bent on revenge. If the authorities wouldn't arrest the wife of a peer then it was the only option left—the only way Alex would be safe.
"Take her inside and send someone to fetch Lord Twickenham," Alex ordered one of the footmen. He nodded at the brown-coated man still moaning on the road. "And take him downstairs." Two footmen lifted the dazed figure between them. "Tie him up then fetch the authorities. Tell them he's the man who broke into our house the other night."
Lady Weatherby pointed her chin at Lady Twickenham. "Come, Louisa, we'll have tea while we wait for your husband to collect you."
Two more footmen appeared and escorted Lady Twickenham into the house. Her shoulders squared, her back straight, she followed them meekly but proudly. She appeared resigned to her fate.
"'Lo!" the hack's driver called. Georgiana had forgotten about him. He tossed down her valise and medical bag. "Thanks for the show but where's me money?"
Alex paid him and the coach rolled away. They were finally alone, something she'd been dreading. Alex breathed out a ragged breath then turned to Georgiana. "You're hurt." He touched her throat, a frown drawing his brows together. "It's stopped bleeding. Come inside and we'll put something on it. You need to rest."
"It's only a scratch." She expected him to protest but he simply nodded. "Thank God that's over." She shuddered.
Alex rubbed her arm. He wanted to hold her against his chest, feel her heart beating with life but it's not what she wanted. He could see it in the way she wouldn't meet his gaze.
Georgiana picked up her valise and medical bag.
"You're still going," he said flatly.
She nodded. "So you understand why?"
"No." How could he understand when the woman who made him want to get out of bed the morning, who inspired him to give up opium, was choosing not to be with him?
How was he going to get through the nights now? And the days.
But he didn't tell her because he suspected it was the wrong thing to say. Why did she have to think so much about everything? Why couldn't she just feel and listen to her heart? And stay.
He'd been right and North wrong—she didn't feel what Alex felt. He'd read too much into their love-making after all and this was her way of telling him she didn't love him.
She'd certainly not reacted the way he expected when he'd declared he wanted a wife. All the eligible girls of his acquaintance would have thrown themselves at him if he'd said that to them, but not Georgiana.
He clamped down against the painful twist of his insides. "I know nothing I say will keep you here." He folded his arms to stop himself grabbing her and dragging her inside where she belonged. Not a good tactic, Redcliff.
She simply nodded. "Good bye, Alex."
"Let me carry those," he said, reaching for the bags. What else could he say?
She refused to let them go so they performed a tug-of-war over the luggage. "I prefer to do this alone," she said. "I'll hire another hack on Park Lane."
He let his hands fall limply to his sides, dead weights. They ached. Everything did, his chest most of all. Not from a thundering heartbeat—that part of him had stopped functioning altogether—but from the hole she'd cut into it with her rejection.
She turned and walked away, the ribbons on her hat fluttering in the breeze, her hips swaying seductively. And the hole grew larger and larger until he thought it would swallow up his heart entirely. It might as well. What use was it now?
CHAPTER 19
Exactly three months, five days and twenty-one hours after Georgiana left, Alex awoke in the bedroom kept for his us
e at Longmore Manor feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. It took him all of one second to realize it was because he'd not woken once during the night. It was his first nightmare-free sleep since giving up opium. The dreams about Cottesloe's death had been gradually getting fewer since Georgiana left and now finally it would seem he'd shaken them altogether. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
If only the weight would lift from his heart he could be whole again.
He went down to breakfast and found Aunt Harry nibbling toast in the small dining room, a copy of The Lady's Magazine open beside her. "Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Phillippa is still asleep, Staunton's in his study, the children are with their governess and mother in the garden, and your Aunt Adelaide wanted an early start this morning."
"An early start to where?" he said, heaping his plate with sausages, toast and poached eggs.
"Into the village. A new selection of fabrics are due at Cliffords' this morning and she wanted to be the first to view them."
"The drapers'?" He sat down and cut off a piece of sausage. "But she could have sent one of the maids. Or better still, have Mrs. Clifford bring a selection here."
"You know Adelaide," she said on a sigh. "She likes to do it this way. Gets her out of the house, she says." Aunt Harry sipped her tea. "I think she only does it to learn the latest gossip."
He smiled—well, almost—and popped the sausage into his mouth.
Aunt Harry watched him over the rim of her cup. "You look different today, Alexander."
He felt different. Like he could achieve anything. "In what way?"
She returned her cup to its saucer and regarded him with curiosity, which was an odd expression on Aunt Harry because she was never curious about anything. She always seemed to just know. "You've not been yourself ever since you returned from Switzerland. You've been like a baited bear on a leash, hardly smiling, never joining in. Not willingly. You grew worse after Miss...after we left London. Until today." She cocked her head to the side as if trying to work something out. "Is there a reason for this change?"
