Signed,
A Loyal British Subject
Chapter 6
Adam, Blakely, and Stone had made their escape in a firestorm; now all that remained were the dying embers of inactivity. Georgina had learned early on that silence was never a good thing.
As expected, the explosion came fast.
Father shoved the kitchen door open and scanned the space. “I’ve been calling. Why didn’t you answer me?”
Georgina wet her lips and took a step backward, placing the kitchen table between them. “I—”
“Why is the cellar door open?” he snapped. He rushed over and slammed it closed, turning the lock in place.
A giggle of hysteria bubbled up from her throat.
“What’s so funny, gel?”
Mayhap she could leave before her deception was discovered. If she could get Father to go into the cellars to visit his recently released prisoner, she could make her escape to the waiting carriage.
A roar more fitting a savage beast reverberated from the floor above, followed by footsteps thundering down the stairs. She flinched.
Jamie ran into the kitchen.
And Georgina accepted that all hope of escape was gone.
“She set them free!” he shouted.
Georgina turned on her heel to flee. She made it past her father. Jamie wrapped his hand tightly around her forearm, cutting off the path to freedom.
He shoved her.
Father caught her and turned his glare on Jamie. “What are you talking about?”
Jamie spit. “Markham’s gone!”
Father cursed. “When?” He shook Georgina until her teeth rattled. “When?” He looked to Jamie. “Go see if you can stop them. There are three men and two of them badly injured! They cannot be far.”
Jamie rushed to do his bidding.
Please let Adam be free.
“It is too late. They are long gone,” she lied, praying it would quash Father’s efforts and provide Adam with much-needed time to escape.
Her father slapped her across the cheek with a speed and intensity of a man twenty years his junior. She went down hard, landing at the base of her tailbone. Pain radiated along her spine. His face blurred before her eyes.
Georgina tried to shove herself backward, away from him, but her back met the kitchen wall.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Blood seeped from the corner of her right nostril. It traveled a moist path down to her lip. She opened her mouth and it trailed in. She gagged, which was why she didn’t see her father rear back and kick her with the tip of his boot until it was too late.
Her hip absorbed the shock of his attack.
Georgina curled up on her side, wrapping herself in a ball.
She knew this latest transgression could not be forgiven. Father wrenched her by the hair and dragged her to her feet.
She cried out as the strands tugged at her scalp line. She looked around the room for help in vain. Adam was gone and Georgina was as she’d always been—alone.
Her father shook her until Georgina feared he’d knock her teeth loose. “I asked you a question!” he roared.
Georgina’s head swam too much to make sense of any questions. “What?” she managed through numb lips.
“Did you free him?”
She met his question with stony silence.
He threw her away from him and she collided with the table. The hard oak bit into the flesh of her hip. She reached behind her and gripped the edges to keep from falling.
Her father brought his fist back. She hunched her shoulders, bracing for the blow.
Jamie appeared, granting her a reprieve.
Father turned his attention to him.
Jamie nodded. “It’s as you feared. They’re gone. All of them. Stone. Blakely. Markham. The guard Roberts is dead out back.”
Adam is free!
Georgina’s heart warred between joy and aching loss. Adam would no longer know hurt at Jamie and Father’s hands. Now only she remained a prisoner to pain.
Adam will return for me.
Hope crested in her breast. There was no one more honorable and he’d pledged to help her. He would return.
An image from the sketchpad surfaced in her memory. He had Grace and now his freedom. There was no reason for Adam to return.
With a curse, Father slapped her across the face, but the pain of losing Adam was so much greater than any assault she could suffer at his hand.
Georgina inched around the table, placing the surface between them. Through cracked and bleeding lips, she smiled.
In his quest to get to her, he nearly leaped across the furniture. Georgina turned on her heel and staggered away.
Jamie caught her against him.
She jammed the heel of her slipper into his boot. Her ineffectual attempt at escape seemed to amuse him. He chuckled against her ear, the sound cold and merciless. He snaked a hand around her waist and jerked her against him. His hard shaft pressed against the small of her back. A shiver of revulsion coursed through her body as she realized he was aroused by her struggles.
Georgina stilled.
“We’re not happy with you, little dove,” he whispered into her ear. He dug his fingers hard into her hips.
“It was Stone!” she cried out, desperation guiding her lie. If she could convince them he’d acted alone, mayhap she could escape punishment.
Jamie shoved her at Father and Georgina was grateful to trade one beast for the other.
“Liar!” Father cried. “When did you free him?”
The lie sprang easily to her lips. “Yesterday.”
Her father raked a hand over his bald pate. “Christ! What have you done?”
She held up a hand. “Surely you must see that you could not keep them here?”
“You traitor! Those men raped and killed my mother!”
“They did not!” she said, her tone desperate to her own ears as she tried to reason with him. “Not all Englishmen are guilty for the crimes of a few.” Her bravery was rewarded with a fist to the side of her head.
A humming filled her ears. She drew in a deep breath.
“We have to go, Jamie.”
Georgina noted the tightly drawn lines at the corners of her father’s mouth, the telltale tick of the vein bulging from his temple. Goodness, he was nervous. As long as she’d known him, she’d seen him cruel, unbending, and vicious…but never nervous.
“Get Roberts into the cellar,” Father instructed Jamie.
Jamie hurried from the room, sparing her a single, black look.
She looked to her father. “Where are you going?” She bit down hard on her lower lip, wincing when she further bruised the flesh.
Be quiet, Georgina. Just be quiet.
Father leaned down. His fetid breath, a blend of French brandy and garlic, wafted over her face. “You won’t get a single piece of information from me, you whore.”
The blood drained from her cheeks.
Her father’s gaze narrowed on her, dark and threatening. “Do you think I don’t know about you and Markham? Even the guards outside heard your cries.”
A wave of humiliation slammed into her. It seemed sacrilege that anyone should have heard something so precious, so private. She tilted her chin back and glared at him. “I thought it was to help the mission.” It was, of course, a lie. Nothing she’d ever done with Adam had been to help her father.
“But it never was, was it, Georgina? It was all about having that bastard scratch your itch,” Father taunted. “Did you fancy yourself in love with him? Were you foolish enough to think he loved you?”
His jeering tone dug at her like a knife.
He twisted and turned the blade infinitely deeper. “Did you think he would take you with him?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook. Rage fairly seeped from his trembling frame. “How does it feel to know you’re nothing but a damn fool? How does it feel to know that when presented with his freedom, he left without giving you a backward
glance? How does it—”
She tossed her chin back and spit at him.
He felled her with a single blow.
She crashed to the floor. Her head thumped against the base of the table. Consciousness receded like the tide going out to sea. She fought to keep her eyes open.
At least Adam is free, she thought, before fading into blackness.
* * *
When Georgina came to, she became aware of several things all at once. One was the inky black sky, which indicated she’d been unconscious for quite some time. The other was the eerie hum of silence.
She pushed back the cobwebs wrapped around her sluggish mind and struggled to her feet.
The stabbing pain pressing on her ribs nearly brought her to her knees. She smothered a cry with her hand and winced. Her cheek ached like the devil. Georgina inched toward the kitchen door, which stood ajar. Closing her eyes, she struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
The floorboards creaked and her eyes flew open. She winced at the sudden movement, but then her heart stilled.
A tall, muscled stranger filled the entryway.
Through swollen eyes, she studied the imposing figure. His had been the face to haunt her dreams since he’d been shot dead in the kitchen. Apparently the sins of her past had come back to greet her.
“Hello, Miss Wilcox,” he murmured. “My name is Nathaniel Archer.”
Georgina fainted.
* * *
Outside of Bristol
Adam could scarce believe he was free. The wheels of the carriage that brought him to his next destination churned at a fast clip. It was the only sound in the harsh silence of the carriage. Blakely and Stone remained silent for which Adam was eternally gratefully. There was nothing he cared to discuss with them, just then.
When the sun had begun its descent, heralding the end of the day, the coach rocked to a sudden halt.
Stone shoved the door open and leaped down. He reached back and offered a hand to first Blakely, then Adam.
Adam paused. He stared at the lone farmhouse.
“This way,” Stone directed.
They walked the remaining distance to the thatched cottage. Stone knocked once.
A stocky man, several inches shorter than Adam greeted them. He passed a cursory glance over Adam and his upper lip curled back in obvious disdain. “Is this him?”
Stone nodded. “Yes.”
“Lucien Bennett at your service,” he drawled.
With his aloof coolness and nasty condescension, Adam suspected Bennett was at nobody’s service.
“Come in, come in,” he said at last.
They filed inside the farmhouse. Bennett led them through the cozy space too small for a room full of gentlemen of their stature, to what appeared to be a makeshift office. A fire roared from within the hearth. Flickering shadows danced on the walls and played off the worn leather sofa and winged chairs.
Out the corner of his eye, Adam detected a figure stepping forward out of the shadows. His body stiffened as he mentally prepared for an attack.
“Hello, Adam.”
The tension left his body.
“Fitzmorris,” he gasped. His knees grew weak beneath him.
Fitzmorris had been the one to recruit and train Adam for The Brethren all those years ago. A sheen of tears filled the usually unflappable Fitzmorris’s eyes. “We’ve got you back, Adam. It’s going to be all right.”
His friend was wrong. He’d never shake the horror of the past three months.
Fitzmorris took him by the elbow as if he were a small child and guided him over to one of the seats. Adam collapsed into its folds. The springs groaned in protest.
Someone handed him a drink. He downed it in one swallow, not even feeling the burn of the brandy. His glass was immediately refilled. This one he sipped. He savored the tingle in his mouth. The warmth spread down his throat, soothing, calming.
He stared into the dark brew and started. Georgina’s face stared back at him. The tumbler fell to the floor and liquid sloshed onto his boots.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder. Adam cried out. He reached for his captor’s fingers and squeezed.
Fitzmorris’s hiss ricocheted through the barren farmhouse.
Sanity returned.
He released his friend. “I’m sorry,” Adam managed between labored breaths. He raked a hand through his hair.
“Think nothing of it, my boy,” Fitzmorris said in hushed tones.
I’m an animal. A savage beast.
His gaze flitted among the men. Stone looked on pityingly, Fitzmorris with concern. Blakely couldn’t meet his eyes. The unnamed stranger eyed Adam like he was a despicable cur.
Fitzmorris followed Adam’s stare. “Mr. Bennett is ‘The Delegator’.”
“The Delegator”, one of the key figures for The Brethren, served as counsel to the elite organization. Members rarely saw or heard from “The Delegator”.
Bennett cocked his head. “You wonder why I’m here.”
Adam waited.
“You’ve served us well, Markham.” The words rang hollow.
Shame rose in Adam’s throat. In being captured, he’d failed. It didn’t matter that he’d been drugged. It had been his error. He deserved Bennett’s scorn.
“This is as good a time as any to free you from future missions,” Bennett was saying.
Adam gave his head a shake. “What did you say?”
Bennett tugged his gloves free. He beat them against each other, looking bored.
Rage clouded Adam’s vision. He surged to his feet. “This is how I’m to be repaid for my service?” He took a step toward Bennett. “After almost three months of captivity, this is all you have to say?”
Fitzmorris and Blakely caught Adam between them. “Calm down,” Blakely said quietly.
Adam pulled free with a bitter laugh. “I was drugged by a member of the brotherhood and turned over to Fox. You do know that?”
Silence met his question.
He looked at each of them, stunned. “Fitzmorris?”
His friend glanced away.
Adam’s gaze flew to Grace’s father. “Blakely?”
Blakely gave an imperceptible shake of his head.
With a growl, Adam spun away and presented them with his back. They didn’t believe him and he was too bloody exhausted from his efforts to fight them on the truth.
“Markham, I’m being patient with you because of your ordeal, but I expect a certain degree of respect,” Bennett said in clipped tones.
A muscle ticked in Adam’s cheek.
Bennett continued. “You’ll need to spend some time here and then you can return to London.”
“How long?” Adam squeezed out between clenched teeth.
“All in good time, Markham,” Fitzmorris assured him.
He paced the floor and listened to their plans for him.
He would remain in this ramshackle farmhouse. He’d have Stone and Fitzmorris for company. He’d return to London in two months, at which time he’d be reunited with his family. Adam stopped in front of Blakely. And Grace. He’d be reunited with Grace.
Adam looked away, unable to meet the man’s eyes. Guilt snaked around his belly. During his captivity he’d thought of Grace. But it had been more a sense of guilt that had dragged her memory into his thoughts. At some point, Georgina had stolen a spot inside his heart and made him question everything he’d thought he’d known to be true.
Bennett tugged on the lapels of his black coat. “So it is decided.” He made a move as if to leave.
“Bennett,” Adam barked.
His superior froze.
Adam looked the cold bastard in the eyes. “There is a woman. A maid. Her name is Georgina—”
“Wilcox,” Bennett finished for him. He slashed the air with his hand. “No need to worry. We’re well aware of Miss Wilcox. She’ll be taken care of.”
Adam glanced over his shoulder out the grimy windowpane.
Bennett insisted The Brethren
would see to Georgina.
When Adam wanted nothing more than to be the one to return for her and secret her away from the hell she’d been left to dwell in.
Emmet will accompany Fox to France to discuss the predicted resumption of the Anglo-French War. Orders have come down for Fox to kill the British spy in his possession prior to departure.
A Loyal British Subject
Chapter 7
For nearly a fortnight, Georgina wavered in and out of consciousness. Her every moment was bathed in pain. Her every dream was an alternating universe of happy memories with Adam and the pain of her father’s fists.
Then there was the faceless ghost who’d carried her off to his underworld to torture her for her sins.
Her body shuddered as cruel fingers poked and prodded at her, and she retreated deeper and deeper into oblivion—embracing it, welcoming it.
But just when the pain threatened to carry her off, a kind and sweetly caring voice would call her back. In her dreams, the woman cared for her as if she were a small girl—the mother Georgina had always yearned for, and just the dream of that was enough to keep her within the cocoon of unconsciousness.
At last, she forced her lids open.
“Georgina? My dear, can you hear me?”
Georgina burrowed into the downy mattress. She didn’t want to acknowledge the question, because the agony of merciless hands on her body would follow.
“Georgina?”
She tried to turn on her side.
Gentle hands held her down. “Your ribs were very badly sprained, my dear. It’s best if you lie on your back,” the voice murmured.
With sheer determination, Georgina opened her eyes. She squinted as a bright shaft of light penetrated a small windowpane, nearly blinding her. Rays of sun beamed off the satiny silver of the stranger’s hair. She had to be an angel. There was no other accounting for how she knew Georgina’s name.
Georgina forced words past her sore throat. “Am I dead?” She didn’t imagine angels would weigh anything, but still the mattress dipped under the plump woman’s weight. A wide, white smile creased her cheeks.
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