My Lady of Deception

by Christi Caldwell

  Hunter had touched Georgina. What else did he do to her? The silken whisper slithered around his brain, eating at his insides like a cancer. The idea of Hunter claiming Georgina—his lips on hers, his hands cupping her full breasts—ravaged him. “Did he hurt you?” Adam’s voice emerged raw and gruff with emotion.

  Georgina’s chest heaved. “No,” she said quickly—too quickly. She quickly stood and backed away

  Her hasty retreat hinted at the lie.

  Adam tried to quell the surging sense of panic. “Georgina?” This time his voice seemed to penetrate whatever horror held her in its grip.

  She shook her head slowly then touched her lip, drawing Adam’s attention to the bruised, swollen flesh.

  And he knew. Before she even said it, he knew.

  “He kissed me.”

  Rage warred with jealousy in his chest. It robbed him of speech. Hit him like a physical blow. He couldn’t understand it. With his feelings for Grace, it shouldn’t matter who Georgina kissed. Yet it did.

  There was a wild, hunted look to Georgina, and she remained rooted to the floor.

  His heart climbed up into his throat. “Did he do anything else?”

  Her chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. “He touched me,” she said quietly. She started to touch her chest and then her hand fluttered back to her side.

  A loud humming filled his ears as imagined scenes flashed behind his eyes: Georgina with her skirts thrown above her waist; Georgina held down, defenseless while Hunter plowed between her legs. Adam’s body jerked.

  He forced words out past numb lips. “Did he…?” He couldn’t finish the thought. God help Hunter; when Adam secured his freedom, he’d rip the bastard’s entrails through his throat.

  She seemed to follow his unfinished question. “No,” she said quickly.

  The empty hopelessness in her brown eyes ate at him. Hunter may not have violated her, but he’d still left an indelible mark. Adam could not bear seeing her like this; as if her inner light had been extinguished by his assault. A woman with her courage and strength deserved to live in a world of happiness and hope, untouched by the ugliness visited upon the world by greedy, manipulative men. When he spoke, he kept his tone calm and even. “Come here, Georgina.”

  For all that had happened between her and that monster, she didn’t hesitate. She took a step toward him. Then another. And another. She froze when nothing but the span of a hand separated them.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes formed wide moons. “Why?” She wet her lips.

  Because he didn’t want her to believe a kiss was vile and ugly. Because she deserved to know gentleness in an ugly, cruel world. “Will you allow it?”

  Georgina remained silent so long he thought she might not answer. The tick of the clock punctuated the quiet. She gave a tight nod.

  “Lean close to me. I will not hurt you,” he whispered as though speaking to a skittish mare.

  Her breath, a blend of honeysuckle and tea, caressed his skin.

  With infinite gentleness, he claimed her lips. The kiss lasted no longer than three heartbeats, perhaps.

  Adam pulled away and placed a lingering kiss on her brow. “Run away from this place. You do not belong here.”

  Her lids fluttered open and she placed a hand against his chest.

  His heart flipped over at her gentle touch. God, he wanted her lips again. He could no more stop the yearning than he could halt a runaway phaeton with his bare hands. “Will you sing to me?”

  She paused and tilted her head ever so slightly. “Sing?”

  “Yes, you know? You put music to words and—”

  Georgina giggled, sounding for the first time since he’d known her, like a carefree young miss. She slipped the remainder of the ropes off his wrists. “What are you doing?” she squeaked as he stood up and settled his hand around her waist. Blood rushed through his legs and he gritted his teeth at the weakness months in captivity had wrought.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” he lied. He twined his free hand with hers and found strength in her touch. “Go on then,” he urged.

  She started to sing and Adam nearly lost his footing. It was probably the inactivity that made him careless. He had to remind himself to count steps but Georgina Wilcox possessed a voice that would have made choirs of angels weep with envy. She closed her eyes, as if she’d drifted off on the soaring notes.

  This is how he would remember her. If he died tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, or even if he was freed, he’d think back on this moment. Christ, he wanted her…

  Her lashes fluttered open. A pale pink colored her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to his shirtfront as if embarrassed by the joyous interlude they’d both stolen.

  All the while, he stumbled through the waltz, guiding her through the motions of the scandalous dance still not practiced in fashionable ballrooms in England, until Georgina laughed with breathless abandon. At one time he’d moved with grace, but his captors had stolen even that from him.

  “What is this?” Her question pulled him back from the bitterness of his captivity and failings.

  Adam managed a wry grin. “This is dancing.”

  She laughed again, the sound as pure and clear as bells ringing. “It is terribly improper.”

  Could there be anything more improper than a man being abducted and strapped to a chair like a filthy beast? He thrust aside those musings, not allowing them to intrude on this. “It is called the waltz. And most respectable hostesses would agree with you.” For this wasn’t about him, but rather Georgina and offering her a small sliver of happiness.

  “Where did you learn such a thing?”

  Adam stumbled once more, his legs stiff from ill use. “In the ballrooms of Paris.” He squeezed her waist and she picked up his cue.

  Georgina resumed her jaunty song and he twirled her in dizzying circles around the room until she was gasping for breath and singing was no longer possible.

  God, in this moment, he was—content. With her in his arms, he could forget the horrors of his life—if even for a moment. When had he last known this happiness? His mind churned slowly. Grace. The muscles of his stomach contracted. Not since Grace had professed her love. The memory staggered him. The backs of his knees slammed into the nightstand, the abrupt movement making Georgina trip over his feet.

  They crashed down atop the feather-down mattress in a twisted heap of legs and arms. Her frame bounced several times beneath his. Adam braced his arms over her to keep from crushing her. He should move. He should roll to the other side of the mattress. Instead he brushed back a damp tendril from her brow. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

  “Go?” Her voice was breathy from their exertions.

  “If you could leave this place?”

  A simmering heat pulsed in his veins. His body poised so close to hers. The sound of his ragged breathing filled his ears and almost drowned out her quiet response.

  Almost.

  He wished it had. Wished he hadn’t heard the cynical edge that should never have been part of the lovely Georgina’s words. “Why should I bother, Adam? Dreams aren’t real.”

  Her words pressed on his heart. This is what she believed? “You must have dreams.”

  “Bah,” she scoffed. “They are for small children.”

  No, they weren’t. Dreams represented hope. Even in the direness of his circumstances he clung to something. For to lose hope would mean the end of him. “Wouldn’t you want to see Paris?”

  “We’re on the cusp of war with France,” she pointed out. “I hardly think Paris would be my most logical destination.”

  He chuckled. Ever practical Georgina. Too practical. He waved his hand. “Fine, Rome then, or Greece? Don’t you want to see the world?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug.

  Adam trailed a finger along the satiny smooth skin of her cheek. An almost simultaneous awareness of the intimate
nature of their position registered. Adam’s whole body went on alert. His shaft, pressed against the vee of her thighs, hardened. Roll away from her. Set her free. Instead of doing the honorable, gentlemanly thing, he lowered his arms and pressed himself closer to her core.

  Her throat bobbed up and down.

  Get up. Think of Grace. Except, he’d been too long without a woman.This all-consuming desire was nothing more than a physical hunger. That was what he told himself.

  “Adam?” she whispered.

  It was a lie. He wanted her. “Georgina?” That word, her name, emerged as a hoarse groan.

  The door flew open and slammed against the wall. In unison, he and Georgina looked toward the entrance of the room.

  Adam awkwardly shoved himself to his feet, damning his unsteady legs. “Hunter,” he growled.

  Georgina scrambled up to a standing position.

  Hunter trained his pistol on Adam, but his enraged eyes were fixed squarely on Georgina.

  Adam stiffened as he switched his gaze between his captor and the young maid. It would appear he’d found the bastard’s weakness.

  “What are you looking at?” Hunter snapped.

  And because it would infuriate the other man, he smiled. A deliberate, knowing smile.

  Hunter’s eyes lowered. He murmured, “Leave, Georgina.”

  She hesitated.

  “Now,” the young traitor roared.

  Georgina flinched, but remained rooted to the spot beside Adam.

  Adam leaned close to her ear. “Go. I will be fine.”

  She chewed her lip. Her soulful, brown eyes clouded with desperation.

  Adam gave a small nod.

  She turned and marched up to Hunter. “Remember what we agreed upon.”

  Hunter frowned, his gaze focused on Georgina as she sailed past him. And Adam was left alone with the beast.

  “Did you make love to her?” Hunter’s question gave him pause.

  He blinked and stared at the man moving toward him. He stalked Adam, all but springing forward on the balls of his feet to get his hands on him. Never had the name “Hunter” been more apropos. Hunter moved the pistol to his other hand and dealt Adam a swift right hook that would have impressed Gentleman Jackson himself. “I asked you a question.”

  Adam flexed his jaw. Christ, that hurt. Still it was an interesting turn of events. As he’d suspected, his captor had feelings for Georgina. Adam shouldn’t have cared but, strangely, he did. Adam assumed a relaxed pose. He walked over to the window and folded his arms across his chest.

  “I asked you—”

  “Oh, I heard you,” Adam murmured in casual tones. “It would hardly be gentlemanly of me to answer such a question.”

  Hunter rushed him. His reflexes dulled by captivity, Adam took a step back, but not before Hunter planted another fist in his cheek.

  Adam crumpled to the floor with a groan. Blood spurted out his nose and made a sticky path down his cheek. Stars danced behind his lids. He forced them back.

  Hunter towered over him. “You are not to touch her. Is that clear?”

  From his work with The Brethren, Adam had learned the truth. Be it lords, ladies, or enemies to the Crown, everyone had a weakness. It would seem Georgina Wilcox was Hunter’s. Could Adam exploit that valuable piece of information? Could he use Georgina to attain his release? No, he realized with sickening despair. In a short time, Georgina had come to mean too much to him. He’d never be able to use her…even if it meant his freedom. He gave Hunter a pointed look. “I’m not a coward who would force himself on a woman.”

  Hunter kicked him in the stomach.

  All the air left Adam on a swift exhale. Through the agony lancing through him, he forced a grin. “Feeling guilty?” he rasped. “It appears you’re not a total monster.”

  His captor brought his leg back, but Adam wrapped his hand around Hunter’s ankle and yanked the other man down. Hunter hit the floor with a grunt. His gun skittered just out of reach.

  Adam’s heart kicked up a fast rhythm as he stared at the gun that represented freedom. Enlivened by this desire for freedom, he struggled through his weakness and managed to land a neat right jab. Hunter hissed then, with a triumphant yell, overpowered Adam. His captor raised his knee and buried it in Adam’s gut.

  Adam fought the flood of nausea as Hunter, gasping for breath, dragged Adam back to his chair and strapped him to the hard piece of furniture.

  He retrieved his pistol and returned, glaring down at Adam. The gun dangled at his side, taunting Adam. So close. He was so close to it. If he could only reach out…

  Hunter jabbed a finger in his direction. “I want you gone. I don’t care if you’re sent back on your merry nobleman’s way or buried beneath the ground. Give me the information and I’ll free you.”

  Hunter’s words were a lie and they both knew it. Hunter would kill him because he knew too much. He knew what they looked like. Knew their code names.

  Gasping for breath, Adam forced one of his “merry nobleman” smiles. “I don’t have the information you seek. I’ll say this. I will get out of here and…” He lowered his voice. “And when I do, Hunter, you’d better run. You had better run as fast and far as your pathetic legs will carry you, because I will gut you alive like the scum you are.”

  Perhaps it was the deadly calm in Adam’s words, but all the color leeched from Hunter’s face. “That may be, but you’ll be dead as well.”

  Adam raised a single eyebrow. “We shall see about that.”

  A vein pulsed at the edge of Hunter’s temple. Then a lascivious smile turned his lips at the corner. “You seem so very arrogant about Miss Wilcox’s affections, but remember you are the one who is tied up and,” he leaned down so he was nose to nose with Adam, “I’m free to fuck her whenever I choose.”

  Bile climbed up Adam’s throat. Rage nearly blinded him.

  In mocking fashion, Hunter winked. “In fact, I think I’ll go see the lovely Miss Wilcox now.”

  The door closed on Hunter’s taunting laugh.

  Emmet is using his own funds to purchase weapons that are being manufactured by an Irish sympathizer in Bristol.

  Signed,

  A Loyal British Subject

  Chapter 4

  Adam had not gone mad.

  Yet.

  After three months of captivity, the thing that kept him from relinquishing control was not Grace but Georgina. He scrubbed his hands over his rough beard. Grace’s features were becoming less clear in his mind. Adam reached for the charcoal and scribbled an image onto the paper. Grace’s face began to take shape.

  Except the heart-shaped lips he drew were too full. There was too much of a curl to her hair. And there was a faint birthmark at the corner of her mouth that most certainly didn’t belong there.

  His stomach clenched in a vise-like knot as Georgina’s face materialized on the paper. He gasped and ripped out the page. Wrinkled it into a ball and tossed it aside. Somewhere along the way, Grace’s face had dissipated in his memory and there was nothing Adam could do, aside from mourning the loss of a far simpler time.

  The door to his prison opened. Hunter nudged Georgina inside then locked the door behind her.

  She stood, poised by the doorway. Her words came out hesitant. “Adam?”

  He reached for another page. His fingers trembled over the sheet. Closing his eyes, he tried to call up memories of the precious lines of Grace’s face. Adam made another attempt. When he’d finished, he sat back and assessed the result.

  The woman in the sketch did not possess Grace’s lean, lithe form but rather well-rounded hips and buttocks. He dragged the page out of the book, taking a perverse glee in the tear, and tossed it to the floor beside the other.

  He didn’t look at Georgina as she moved deeper into the room, but then he didn’t need to. Her wide-eyed expression stared back at him from the bloody sketchpad.

  His body went motionless as he realized there was just one more page in the book. With a roar, Adam tosse
d it against the wall. It hit with a loud thump and fell open on its spine.

  Finally, he allowed himself to look at Georgina. All the color had left her cheeks. She moved with sure strides across the room and proceeded to undo his bindings.

  When he caught her gaze, she focused her attention on the mess littering the floor.

  “Georgina,” he began hoarsely. This woman who bathed him, fed him, sat with him and kept him from descending into complete madness wasn’t deserving of his fury.

  Georgina shook her head. “It’s fine.” She continued to clean.

  Adam blinked at her. Oh God, the sight of her on her knees at his feet did something to him. Her lips were mere inches away from his aching shaft. If she glanced up, she would see his erection reaching out to her, begging.

  Georgina sank back on her heels in a flutter of skirts. She was an enchantress weaving a potent spell over him.

  Don’t do it. Do not look at her lips. If he looked, he would begin to imagine those tantalizing dreams that kept him from sleep at night: Georgina on her knees, her sweet mouth wrapped around him as he urged her on. He needed her. It had been too long since he’d made love to a woman. He glanced at her lips. The glance became a gaze. And he was lost.

  Adam stood so fast, the chair went crashing to the floor. The room dipped with the suddenness of that movement and tingles shot down his ill used legs.

  Georgina scrambled to her feet. “What’s wrong?” Then she did the absolute worst thing she could have done in that moment. She trailed the tip of her tongue over those sinful lips.

  With a groan, he pulled her into his arms. She tipped her head back to look at him.

  Her eyes were wide, giving her a look of an unblinking owl.

  Is it fear? He would’ve wagered his brother’s entire holdings it was desire that flared to life in their brown depths.

  “Adam?” His name emerged as nothing more than a whispery sigh and he lost the fight.

  He kissed her as he’d dreamed about since she’d first entered his room, a Joan of Arc bent on saving him. He plundered her mouth as if it were the last time he would ever kiss a woman. She opened her lips and he slipped his tongue inside.