by Meara Platt
“Thank you.” She hesitated a moment. “I’ve lost all sense of time. How long have I been away? What day is this?”
“The fifteenth of February,” Saron said, his manner far gentler now. “You’ve been missing for almost two months.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “I must see my father right away.”
*
Georgiana sat in the imposing Draloch carriage with her hands tensely clasped on her lap. The ducal crest emblazoned on the gleaming black carriage had stunned her for a moment. It was the same crest drawn into Bloodaxe’s back and the sight of it had brought a jolt of yearning that had yet to subside. Her heart was still racing and her composure was dangling by a slender thread that would snap at any moment.
“We’re here,” Saron said, his brow furrowed in concern. “Perhaps I ought to go in first and ease your father into the news of your return.”
Georgiana thought it was an excellent suggestion. In truth, she’d been worried that the sight of her would shock him into apoplexy. He was not in the best of health, one of the reasons she’d decided to give in and marry the Marquis of Linwood, a man she didn’t love. At the time, she’d felt it was important for her father to know that she would be settled and cared for, and perhaps he would even see a few grandchildren before he passed on.
Indeed, his health was delicate. Anything in him might rupture. He didn’t have a strong heart and she wasn’t certain how much of a surprise he was able to endure. She was relieved that Saron had taken on the responsibility of easing her father into her return. He was the right person for the task. He’d been stolen as a child and understood the upheaval and strain of loss and recovery better than anyone else. “Yes, it is a good idea.”
She sat in the carriage with Anabelle, glad to have made her acquaintance and knowing they would become good friends in time. She’d wed a dragon shifter and yet managed to hold her own in the marriage. More than that, she’d kept her good nature and that was no easy thing to do against the dark power of a dragon.
They didn’t have long to wait before her father ran out of their townhouse, wrenched open the door to the carriage, and swept her into his arms. “Georgiana, thank goodness!” He was openly weeping.
Soon, so was she.
Her father invited Saron and Anabelle to stay for supper, giving them no opportunity to beg off before ushering them all in. In truth, Georgiana felt it was for the best that the duke and duchess remain. There was much to explain, and at the same time, so much that she could not explain. Indeed, she hoped Saron would take the lead in relating details of her abduction and return. Her father would never believe stories of the Dragon Lords or the Fae. It was best to keep the details simple.
“Your daughter was the unwitting victim of an intrigue gone bad,” Saron related when they sat down to supper and the soup course was served. “I cannot say more, for it is a matter of the highest sensitivity. I do not have royal permission to reveal more.”
“Ah,” her father said, “a top-secret matter. Involving Napoleon, no doubt?”
“It was a clandestine matter.” Saron spared her a glance. “One of my operatives rescued your daughter.”
“His brother,” Georgiana said, not wishing all to be completely swept under the rug. She stared into her bowl as she spoke. She’d eaten little of the leek soup that had been hastily cobbled together by their able cook. “He was very brave and he saved me. It is thanks to him that I am unharmed.”
Saron shot her a glower.
Her father’s eyes widened in surprise. Perhaps he appeared to be horrified. “Draloch, I did not know that you had a younger brother. I only know of… the elder, Arik. A very good lad. One of the best. You were but a child when he died.”
Georgiana closed her eyes and groaned. So stupid of her. Stupid, stupid. Of course, he’d remember Arik. He’d negotiated their betrothal, after all. “Brother-in-arms is what I meant. Of course, the duke does not have an actual younger brother.”
“No, only an elder,” Anabelle said, setting down her spoon. She hadn’t eaten much either. Georgiana supposed it was because the topic was not an appetizing one.
Her father patted her hand affectionately to gain her attention. “Georgiana, my dear. I never told you about Arik Blakefield. You may have heard whispers about him as you grew up and made your way in Society, but I did my best to hide his existence from you.”
He stared at all of them as though about to relate shocking news. “Draloch, did you know that your brother, Arik, and my Georgiana were betrothed when she was but an infant? Then both of you disappeared and all sorts of disquieting rumors began to emerge. Wild gossip of devilry and pagan worship.”
Saron nodded. “I heard those wild rumors as well.”
“But as you can see, His Grace and I are happily married,” Anabelle chimed in.
“And very much in love,” her father said with a nod of approval. “The story we finally heard is that you were both ill and that you survived but your brother did not. By that time, my wife and I were most concerned that more had transpired than a mere illness. We did not trust your parents to tell us the truth and thought it best to keep Georgiana and ourselves away from your family.”
“You did well, Penrith. My childhood was not a happy one and my parents were… they were not the loving sort as you and your late wife obviously were. It is plain to see that Lady Georgiana loves you very much.”
Her father beamed and patted Georgiana’s hand once more, for he’d kept it clasped in hers as though needing the tactile assurance that she was real and had returned. “I’ll ask no more questions. I can see that my daughter is well.” He frowned and his face became flushed as though he were embarrassed. “Ah, em… Georgiana, if you feel the need for us to summon a physician to…”
“There is no need, Father. I was unharmed… in every way.” Dear heaven, she hated that he was worried about this delicate topic. “However, I cannot marry Oliver.”
“Cannot?” Her father grew concerned once more.
“Will not,” she amended. “My absence has made me realize the mistake our marriage would be. I don’t love him, Father.”
“No, I never got the sense that you did. You accepted him because you thought it would make me happy.”
“You’ve always had my best interests at heart. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. Nor does Oliver love me. I think it is my dowry that he loves most.”
Her father shook his head and gave a mirthless laugh. “Then he is a fool, Georgiana. You are the treasure, not your trust fund or my title. Are you certain about this?”
She nodded. “I am.”
“Then I shall summon him here tomorrow and deal with disposing of your betrothal. I fear he will not take it well.”
Saron allowed the butler to remove his soup bowl and then turned to Georgiana’s father. “If you wish, I shall accompany you. The dark rumors about the Draloch family can be put to good use. Linwood will not give you a problem if he sees the Dragon of Draloch standing by your side.”
Georgiana nodded enthusiastically. “It is a good suggestion, Father. Oliver is known to be a prankster. Who knows what vindictive jest he might play on either of us? He isn’t a bad fellow, but he can be petty at times. And who knows if he will behave as a gentleman and even allow us to end the betrothal? The duke’s presence will assure it.”
“Very well, you’ve convinced me. Yes, Draloch. I would appreciate your coming with me.” He shook his head and sighed. “Odd how life has come full circle. Georgiana, I wish you had known Arik. He was a good lad. I think you would have loved him.”
Georgiana maintained her smile even though her heart was about to burst with grief. “I know I would have, Father. You chose well for me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Georgiana paced in front of the parlor window of the Wethersby townhouse impatient for Saron’s carriage to roll up the street. She was leaping out of her skin and eager to learn the outcome of the conversation he and her father had
held with the Marquis of Linwood. “Georgiana,” Anabelle said, setting down her cup of tea and easing her awkward frame gently onto the settee, “your fidgeting won’t make them return any faster.”
“I know, but neither will sitting quietly and sipping tea calm my nerves.” She drew her woolen shawl tightly about her shoulders, for the rose silk drapes were drawn aside and a chilly wind howled through the thick panes of glass even though the window was closed. The day was unusually cold even for February, and she felt the draft of a stiff breeze prickle against her cheeks. “I appreciate your waiting with me, Anabelle. But how can you remain so calm? Saron picked up my father hours ago.”
The men had arranged to meet the marquis at noon at his home, and now it was almost four o’clock and still there was no sign of them.
Anabelle chuckled. “Saron and I fought for months before we’d ever met each other. And we fought for months afterward. A few hours is nothing. These matters are delicate and will take time. Who knows? All might have progressed splendidly and now they’ve gone off to your father’s solicitors to draw up the contract ending the betrothal.”
“Or to the bank to secure the funds to pay off Oliver,” she muttered, doubting Oliver would be gracious or honorable about losing the chance to marry a wealthy duke’s daughter. He’d been lured by her funds and would likely demand a hefty price to be bought off. Perhaps she was judging him too harshly. His family had wealth of their own and he was no pauper. At least, he spent as though he had blunt to burn. His father must have provided him a generous allowance.
She peeked out the window again and saw nothing but a gray sky overhead and a street coated in white, the remnant of this morning’s snow still on the ground. Hoofbeats and the clatter of a carriage suddenly caught her attention. In the next moment, the duke’s carriage drew up in front of her home. “They’re here.”
She wasted no time in scurrying to the front door ahead of their butler and throwing it open. “What did he say?”
Her father and Saron, showing more discretion than she had shown, ushered her back into the parlor and closed the door behind them. Georgiana settled beside Anabelle and took hold of her hand, finding she needed a bit of Anabelle’s confidence.
“It went surprisingly well,” her father said, striding to one of a pair of decorative cabinets lining the wall and opening it. He kept his decanters of port and bottles of whiskey in there. “Care for a drink, Draloch?”
Saron nodded. “Port will do for me.”
Her father grabbed two crystal wine glasses and poured the dark ruby liquid into each of them. “I feel like downing the entire bottle,” he muttered, handing one of the glasses to the duke. “He agreed to end the betrothal. There will be no marriage.”
“Thank goodness,” Georgiana said in a whisper. “But at what price, Father?”
“It cost me nothing. That’s the part that makes me uneasy. His father holds a tight rein on the family wealth. Linwood isn’t wealthy in his own right and I know he has debts. I offered to pay them off, but he declined.”
Georgiana felt bad about that, but was heartened that Oliver had proven himself to be more honorable than she had expected. Indeed, far worthier than she’d given him credit for. “Oh, dear. Perhaps your presence,” she said, nodding toward Saron, “had more of an effect on him than we realized. You do have a fearsome reputation. He must have been quaking in his boots.”
Her father nodded. “I shall wait a brief period and quietly offer again to pay his debts.”
“And I shall write him a letter,” Georgiana said with a nod. “I owe him at least that much. Now I feel terrible that I misjudged him. It doesn’t change my mind, of course. But he always played these silly pranks on his friends that I considered childish and annoying. I’m glad there’s more to him than I believed.”
Saron regarded her thoughtfully. “I think your first impression of him was correct. What struck me as odd about our meeting is that he never once asked after you.”
Her father shook his head. “But we started our conversation by assuring him that Georgiana was returned unharmed.”
“Still, he asked no questions.” Saron turned to her. “Yours may not have been a betrothal forged in love, but you were to be his wife. You disappeared mere hours before your wedding. Even the wedding guests will be asking more questions than he did once they learn of your return. More important is the question of his honor. Had I been the intended bridegroom, I would have asked to see you if only to make certain for myself that you were not injured.”
Anabelle took his hand. “My love, who is to say how one might respond to such news? He might pay a call on Georgiana once he has had a chance to think matters through. Perhaps he believes she wants nothing more to do with him.”
Georgiana groaned. “Oh, dear. I ought to write to him at once. I was so caught up in my own circumstances that I didn’t consider how the ton might view our broken betrothal. I don’t wish to make him a laughingstock.”
Her father swallowed the last of his drink. “I’ll put in a good word for him.”
“So will Saron and I,” Anabelle said, arching an eyebrow at her husband as an obvious warning not to countermand her wishes. “There will be unpleasant gossip about you as well. Unfortunately, quite nasty rumors will abound. You were gone for two months. Society is not as forgiving to ladies as it is to gentlemen. Indeed, not forgiving at all.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I won’t–” Georgiana stopped herself before she’d said too much. She meant to return to Lord Bloodaxe, but how could she explain it to her father? Negotiating an end to her and Oliver’s betrothal had sapped his strength. She could see that he’d lost his vigor and his hands were shaking.
How would he respond when she told him that she’d fallen in love with a demon, no matter that he’d once been Arik and was now a Dragon Lord? The news would kill him.
She’d only intended to spend a day or two before asking King Cadeyrn to return her to the Underworld, assuming he had the power to send her there. But she’d have to put those plans aside for now. Her father needed her and she couldn’t simply disappear mere days after showing up. “There’s time before the Season hits full stride to worry about the gossip and address it. Most families won’t return until late March or early April. Some even later. I’d rather return to Penrith, anyway. I have no desire to partake in the social whirl this Season.”
Her father reluctantly agreed. “I’ll engage additional footmen to guard you. You may have been abducted by mistake, but I won’t take the chance that it may happen again.”
Georgiana nodded.
How was she to tell her father?
Hiding the truth from him was despicable. But was telling him the truth any better? By the end of the day, she retired to her bedchamber and continued to mull her course of action. She decided to sleep on the matter, hoping that she would awaken with a plan in mind about how much to disclose to her father.
Georgiana was still contemplating her course of action the following morning, another bleary day, when the Wethersby butler interrupted her musings by knocking at the parlor door. “Lady Georgiana, a messenger just delivered this note. He is awaiting a reply.”
She took the offered envelope and saw that it was from Oliver. “Thank you, Hawkins. I’ll respond at once.”
She was pleased that Oliver had written to her.
Her father had retired to his study after breakfast, and she’d come into the parlor intending to write to Oliver as well. Instead, having trouble deciding what to say, she’d whiled away the hour simply staring out the window and watching the icy rain fall, hoping inspiration would soon strike.
It hadn’t.
“It’s quite ugly outside, Hawkins. Escort the messenger into the kitchen and ask Cook to offer him tea and a bite to eat. I’ll be done shortly.” Once alone, she went to her writing desk and withdrew her notepaper, quill, and inkpot before opening Oliver’s missive.
But once she’d read it, she knew her answer was simple. His
mother had invited them to tea tomorrow afternoon and in his note, he pleaded with her to join them. He felt it was important that they break the news to his family together. He hoped it would soften the blow, for his parents thought quite highly of her and had looked forward to welcoming her into the family. If she were willing, he’d come around in his new phaeton and drive her to the Cranfield residence. It would give them a few minutes to talk in private beforehand.
His phaeton was not appropriate for cold weather, but Georgiana knew she’d be warm enough in her cloak, hat, and muff. Also, she’d be seated on the driver’s bench beside him for everyone to see, so there was no question of lack of propriety. The Cranfield residence was not far from here. It would be a short ride.
She wrote back her acceptance.
*
Bloodaxe sat with his captains on the dais of his dining hall merely picking at the roasted venison on his plate. Only a few days had passed since he’d last held Georgiana in his arms and already his ache for her was growing unbearable. But to show weakness in front of his soldiers was impossible.
“Lord Bloodaxe, is anything wrong?” his capable steward asked, offering to refill his goblet with the honey ale he’d probably imbibed too much of already.
“No, Thomas. Just thinking ahead to the next battle.” He hoped the explanation would appease anyone listening. His men had to remain disciplined and strong to fend off the constant raids and ambushes planned by Brihann. They had to know his mind was on those raids and not on the golden-haired girl he could not get out of his dreams.
“Very well, my lord.” Thomas refilled his cup and those of his captains as well. “But while you’re thinking, may I instruct the nymphs to begin their entertainment? Your men are growing restless.”
