Divine (House of Oak Book 2)

by Nichole Van

  More’s the pity.

  A quick perusal showed the family wing sadly lacked intruders. From there, she made a thorough sweep of the first floor of the house.

  The library and Arthur’s study were empty, and the drawing room french doors firmly locked. No one hid behind the curtains in the great hall. Billiard balls cast long shadows in the game room, but nothing else was amiss.

  The house seemed decidedly tucked in and asleep for the night. Nothing stirring.

  At least her admonitions to the butler and housekeeper had been heeded. Everything was securely locked.

  So how had someone gained entry?

  She ventured into the guest wing. Though the thought of chaperoning Sebastian was ridiculous, she also wanted to ensure all was well. She saw it all too clearly.

  Lady Ambrosia slowly opens Sebastian’s door, Mr. Snickers wriggling in her arms. Another cloaked woman creeps down the hall, while a third woman drops stealthily from a hole in the ceiling. All nearly vampire-like in their quiet intensity . . .

  Of course, that was just her vivid imagination. No one was there. The hallway of the guest wing stretched empty before her, punctuated by bands of moonlight streaming through the open doors of unoccupied bedrooms. Decidedly loose women and vampire free.

  Georgiana stopped every ten feet or so to listen, but all she heard was the sound of her own breathing and the house itself, wood creaking as it contracted after the heat of the day.

  She continued, peering into several of the vacant guest rooms but saw nothing amiss. Just tidy rooms, breathless and waiting. Not unlike herself.

  Pursing her lips, she entered the rose bedroom—the last bedroom in the wing and the only one with a partial view of the walled garden. It was so named not for the color of its draperies (an uninspired gray), but instead for the profusion of roses which dotted the room: a pair of rose painted vases on the fireplace mantle, the rose painting above the bed, roses twining through the rug on the floor.

  Imagination had never been her mother’s strong point.

  Nor, despite its excellent vantage over the surrounding park lands, was it the sort of room one assigned to a visiting earl. He was firmly ensconced in the blue bedroom across the hall with its large mullioned window and commanding view of the gravel drive and approach to the house.

  Not that it mattered.

  The rose bedroom was empty, everything neatly in its place. Just as the rest of the house.

  How frustrating.

  Georgiana tiptoed over to the window and, depositing the rucksack on the window seat, dug out her night goggles. Even when viewed as an eerie shade of green-gray, the garden was still. Though she could barely see the section of wall where the Jupiter sign had been written, she could tell there was nothing there tonight.

  No one was about.

  It just figured, didn’t it? Her life was always on the cusp of mystery.

  Never firmly immersed in the middle of it.

  Sighing, she stowed the goggles back in her rucksack on the window seat and bent to zip the bag.

  The faintest slip of sound shushed to the right.

  Suddenly, vice-like arms grabbed her from behind, wrapping around her upper arms and chest in a crushing grip.

  Gasping, Georgiana went into instant defense mode, her taekwondo training from the past year instinctively coming out.

  Without a second’s hesitation, she leveraged her weight backward, twisted clockwise and used her right leg to hook her attacker’s left leg and throw him to the ground, catching him by surprise.

  However, her attacker was tall, quick and obviously used to hand-to-hand combat.

  As he fell, he clutched her upper right arm, dragging her down with him, spinning her around.

  A fraction of a second later, Georgiana found herself on her back on the floor, immobilized beneath a large male body with strong hands pinning her arms to the hard wood.

  She fought him for a second, but he was far too substantial and muscled to budge.

  She twisted her head toward the window. If only she could reach her rucksack and the taser inside it.

  “Release me now or I’ll scream loud enough to wake the dead,” she hissed, bringing her face back to him and struggling to free her arms. “How dare you attack me in my own home!”

  The man went intensely still, most likely realizing he held a woman, not a man, pinned to the floor.

  “Bloody hell!” he whispered hoarsely.

  Their combined breathing echoed in the dark silence.

  Georgiana froze, acutely aware of his heavy weight on top of her, the smell of leather and wool and clean soap surrounding her.

  She knew that smell. That voice.

  “Sebastian!” she whispered, relief flooding her body.

  The moonlight streaming through the window outlined the shadow of him above her. He shook his head back and forth and then lowered it.

  “If I release you, are you going to take another swing at me? I would prefer that none of my various parts receive any further damage,” he whispered in her ear, his breath puffing against her cheek. He vibrated with leashed power.

  Georgiana swallowed. When had Sebastian become so strong? And so . . . fierce?

  He was just . . . Sebastian. Good-humored, funny, often obnoxious.

  But fierce?

  “Let me up,” she said, pushing against his hands. “You’re hurting my arms.”

  Without any apparent effort, he sprang upright and, reaching down, pulled Georgiana to her feet. He did not, however, release her arm. His grip was tight and unyielding.

  “Georgiana, are you mad?!” Even in the faint light, she could see his scowl.

  Scowl? Since when did Sebastian ever scowl?

  This night was proving full of surprises.

  “Sebastian! How you startled me.” Georgiana tugged on her arm, testing his grip. He merely grasped her more tightly.

  “You will be the death of me, woman. How could you go creeping around the house dressed like—” He drew her closer to the window to inspect her clothing in the moonlight. “—like a common thief? And in breeches, no less.”

  Georgiana grimaced and twisted her arm in a quick half circle, simultaneously pushing against his forearm, efficiently breaking his hold on her. Taekwondo was proving all sorts of useful tonight.

  “What the hell?” he hissed and grabbed her forearm again. Holding her harder this time.

  With a grunt, Georgiana leveraged her weight forward and then promptly yanked her elbow upward toward her shoulder, again quickly breaking his grip. Simultaneously, she grasped his hand, twisting it out and pulling downward on his thumb, forcing him to the side.

  As before, the fast, unexpected nature of her attack caught him by surprise.

  Righting himself, Sebastian held out his hands. “Enough, Georgie! Pax.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and tapped a foot against the floor, staring at him. Half lit by the moonlight, his face looked decidedly confused. Georgiana was quite sure Sebastian had never experienced taekwondo before, soldier or no. That said, she was also quite sure he could defeat her if he was truly determined.

  When had he become so strong and . . . large?

  Dangerous.

  Georgiana wrapped her arms tighter around her chest as a shiver chased down her spine.

  She was cold. That was all. The tingling she felt had nothing to do with Sebastian.

  Nothing at all.

  He was not thrilling to her.

  He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. Which made his shoulders look even larger.

  He was dressed in a loose shirt unbuttoned at the throat and stuffed into breeches. Hair mussed, chin stubbled and unshaven. His sideburns cut sharply across his cheeks, giving his face a menacing look.

  It should be illegal for a man to look like that. All sweeping romantic clothing and leashed power.

  “What the . . . Where did you . . . I mean, dash it all Georgiana, you fight like a soldier. Where did you learn ho
w to do this? You cannot tell me such maneuvers are now part of a lady’s traditional education.”

  Georgiana grimaced and looked out the window. How could she respond? She couldn’t tell him the truth. What would be believable?

  She needed to think.

  Silence.

  “Another second and I would have put a knife into you,” he said, taking a step closer to her, forcing her eyes back to his. “Blast! This isn’t some sort of game. One of your little fantasies. I have seen war and death and such ugliness . . .” He took in a deep, steadying breath. Even in the dim light, she could see the muscles in his jaw working. “Where did you learn this? Why are you roaming the house in the dead of night? And what, in heaven’s name, are you wearing?”

  She let out a frustrated huff and chewed on her cheek.

  Think, think, think. She needed a good story.

  But for once, her mind was blank.

  This hulking man in front of her scrubbed all coherent thought from her brain.

  The low light cast him into sharp relief, highlighting the width and breadth of him. Catching the drape of the white shirt over his shoulders and chest. The pulse of his breathing in and out.

  He had lived nearly a decade since she had truly last known him. This fact struck Georgiana forcefully now. Tonight, the good-humored boy had vanished and, in his place, was this powerful, threatening man of action.

  Hostile letters, glowing symbols and now a hunky guy had cornered her in a darkened bedroom. She took back everything about her life only being on the cusp of mystery.

  Ah, what a fantastic week!

  Wait . . . Had she just considered Sebastian hunky?

  The air in the room suddenly felt too close, too charged.

  “Talk to me, Georgiana. How did you go from Death’s door to possessing the skills of a trained assassin in little more than a year? I’m not letting you out of this room until I get some answers.” He folded his arms across his chest. Even in the low light, she could see the muscles in his upper arms flex.

  All in all, it was a little mesmerizing.

  Oh, who was she kidding? It was more than just a little mesmerizing.

  Georgiana shook her head, trying to clear it. She needed to stop.

  This was Sebastian. Not some dark, mysterious guy she had just met. This was her old playmate, her friend. The person she loved like James or Arthur. Brotherly affection.

  Nothing more.

  But he says he wants to marry you, a tiny part of her brain whispered. All this gorgeous male-ness could be yours.

  Georgiana quickly pushed that traitorous thought away. And ignored the goosebumps covering her arms.

  “I will wait all night, if I must,” he said after a moment.

  She still had no good answer. He had effectively turned her brain to mush.

  So she said the first thing that came to her.

  “Well, why are you out and about at this hour?”

  If she had learned anything from all her television watching it was this: the best defense was almost always a good offense.

  The smallest smile touched his lips. “I heard someone creeping about and came to investigate. Nice try. Now answer my questions, if you please.”

  They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

  “Someone slipped a threatening note under my door,” Georgiana finally said. “I wanted to find the person who did it.”

  Sebastian let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “And, again, it did not occur to you to wake a footman or notify anyone that there might be an intruder in the house?”

  “I am a grown woman, Sebastian! And if someone threatens me, I feel that I have the right and ability to investigate—”

  “In the middle of the night? In breeches?”

  Sebastian was, once more, shaking his head, hand still pressed between his eyes.

  Georgiana almost rolled her eyes. “Well, of course! A skirt would have been far too confining, not to mention noisy—”

  “Of course.” His voice a wonder of sarcasm. “Foolish me for not realizing. So the only logical thing to do, at that point, was to don pantaloons and prowl through the house?”

  “Exactly!”

  He gave a frustrated grunt and lifted his head to stare out the window. The muscles in his jaw jumped in the faint light.

  Why had she never noticed his magnificent jawline? Like chiseled granite. Would it feel hard if she reached out and touched him?

  She blinked.

  Honestly, this was getting out of hand. The sooner this conversation ended, the better.

  Maybe.

  “Georgiana, I have half a mind to march you down to your brother’s bedchamber and allow him to deal—”

  “You are not striking the proper tone here. I thought you were supposed to be the master of charm, the easy-going earl, always with a ready quip—”

  “There is nothing humorous about this. I am a soldier, Georgiana. Trained to hunt and kill. And when I see clandestine figures in dark breeches, I assume that something nefarious is going on.”

  “Yes, something nefarious is going on—”

  “Georgiana, you are giving me a headache.” He went back to massaging his forehead with his fingers.

  “Sebastian, you are entirely overreacting. It is perfectly normal to investigate when mysterious people leave one threatening notes in the middle of the night.”

  “And the hand-to-hand combat maneuvers you have so skillfully demonstrated for me?”

  “Well, a woman does need to be able to defend herself.”

  He stood, still shaking his head in the moonlight.

  “Instead of sneaking about on your own, why didn’t you wake me for help? Again, I’m a soldier. Fighting is what I have been trained to do.”

  Oh.

  Silence.

  “I . . . uhm . . . didn’t think of that, actually. That might have been a good idea.”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. Not mesmerized by how the barely-there light skittered across his hand as he pressed his fingers between his eyes.

  “Are you deliberately trying to drive me into an early grave?” His voice a weary sigh.

  Sebastian nursed the bridge of his nose for another minute. She was talking in circles. Purposefully trying to confound him. He felt torn between kissing her witless and strangling her.

  Somehow he had forgotten this was how Georgiana regularly made him feel.

  “Calm down, Seb. I am a perfectly capable swimmer. ‘Tis not my fault the skiff sank. Though I am quite disappointed the lake monster turned out to be simply a submersed tree.”

  “Oh Seb, don’t be ridiculous. The common English adder isn’t that venomous. How could I be Cleopatra mourning Marc Anthony without a snake?”

  “Heavens, Seb, you are completely overreacting. The roof tiles were only slightly slippery from the rain. Besides, now your sister thinks the vicarage is haunted! Isn’t it diverting?”

  He drew in a ragged breath, trying to calm his shaking nerves.

  Blast!

  He had seen the dark figure stealing down the hallway and had come prepared for battle. Every instinct tense, his heart pounding. Instead, he had found himself on the floor on top of a decidedly female form.

  And then to realize that it was Georgiana.

  His brain was still trying to deal with the shock.

  The soft warmth of her body, the thrum of her pulse under his hands.

  The sheer smell of her—roses and fresh air and something elusively Georgiana.

  He had hugged her, to be sure, several days ago in the meadow, but that had been nothing to this. The entire experience seared into his brain.

  He was utterly rattled.

  He could have seriously hurt her. A part of him still wanted to throttle her.

  Again, where had she been for the past year? He knew enough of combat to realize that someone, somewhere had trained her to fight. But why? And when?

  This man that she
possibly loved?

  She had seemed so much the same old Georgiana that he had known: insatiably curious, imaginative, sunshine.

  And yet, somehow, she wasn’t. He should have realized she would change too. Heaven knew the past several years had changed him. War had a way of doing that.

  That said, Miss Georgiana Knight was most certainly hiding things from him.

  Important things, if he knew her.

  “You mentioned something about a note?” he asked, lifting his head to look at her.

  That was a mistake.

  She was impossibly lovely. Moonlight raked through the window, illuminating her hair which had slipped out of the dark cap she wore and was now coming out of its braid, giving her an impish, disheveled look. Her leather jacket was cut short and seemed to be edged with metal in the front. And the breeches . . .

  The less he thought of those, the better. Where had she found this absurd outfit?

  Too many questions. Far too many.

  “Oh, the note.” She twisted and pulled a piece of foolscap from behind her. Did her breeches have pockets behind?

  No. He was not going to think about her breeches. No, he was not.

  She extended the foolscap to him and then laughed softly, pulling it back.

  “There’s no light. You can’t read it. Basically, it says that unless I send you away, something bad will befall me. It’s actually fairly feeble as far as threats go, but it does include a drawing of a bloody dagger this time which is an improvement, I must say. The notes before this one were positively infantile—”

  “I’m sorry. Did you just say notes? Plural?”

  Georgiana blinked.

  “Did I forget to mention that?”

  Sebastian shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

  “Well—yes—this is the third note, you see. I received two others earlier this week, but they weren’t nearly as menacing. I mean, this one at least gave me gooseflesh. The dagger was a nice touch and—”

  “Dagger?!” Sebastian was quite sure his voice raised an octave. It was not his most manly moment.

  “Yes, as I said earlier, this note included a dagger—” His wide eyes clearly alarmed her. “—Not a real dagger, of course. Just a hand-drawn one. The blood dripping off it was a bit much. It all seems a little amateurish—”