by Nichole Van
Georgiana contemplated Blackwell over cool cucumber soup and roasted partridges.
She was officially a double-agent!
And she had thought a silly drawing of a bloodied dagger to be thrilling. This was utterly stupendous!
If only Sebastian were back. What would he make of it all?
Gah! But she wanted to talk to him right now. How long before telephones would be invented?
After all their guests had departed, Georgiana escaped to her room. Pulling out her tablet, she added the whole episode to her My Mysterious Love Letter list.
The note I found in the garden is a code for identifying a secret organization run by someone named Lord Zeus. Lord Blackwell has connections with Zeus and displays the Jupiter/Zeus symbol on his walking stick. Who is Lord Zeus?
Blackwell implied he is being blackmailed by Zeus and needs money to pay him—money Blackwell must not currently have.
Consequently, Blackwell must prevent Sebastian from marrying, thereby ensuring Blackwell receives twenty thousand pounds of the gooseberry money. He will then use the money to pay off his debt to Lord Zeus. Or something like that. Lord Zeus is aiding him in his efforts to do this.
I am now officially a double agent. Eeek!
So many questions. Who was Lord Zeus? Why did he want Sebastian’s and then Blackwell’s money? Did Lord Zeus have a personal vested interest in this too?
And perhaps most important of all:
Who was the agent Lord Zeus had sent?
Chapter 13
On the lane near Duir Cottage
Haldon Manor
September 15, 1813
Birthday in minus 23 days
“Meet me at noon along the road by the second bridge,” she had whispered while leaving the breakfast room, her breath a teasing whorl around his ear.
He was not one to disobey.
Sebastian walked quickly down the long drive leading to Haldon Manor. He had barely seen Georgiana since arriving home late the previous night, but he was most anxious to chat with her. Which was good, as she seemed eager to speak with him.
He had spent the last few days trying to chase down more information about Georgiana’s year away. Nothing had been forthcoming. Phillips and the Bow Street Runner had been unable to find her name on any ship passenger list. Nor did inquiries produce a pseudonym that matched her description.
It was literally as if she had disappeared the previous summer and then reappeared just a few weeks ago.
And then there was the elusive Shatner D’Avery. All inquiries hit a dead end with him too. It was clear that either the man courted Georgiana under a false name or did not, in fact, exist at all.
Sebastian was inclined to believe the latter. Given her reticence to speak of D’Avery, Georgiana had obviously made him up in an attempt to dissuade Sebastian from courting her.
But why? Did she really dislike the idea of marrying him that much? His pride smarted at the thought. He knew he had his faults, but was he truly so unlovable?
He had sent Phillips after a couple more leads which might yet yield answers, but he had little faith. Phillips had begged to return to Haldon Manor with him, obviously tired of the futile chase. But Sebastian wanted to cover every possibility.
The easiest task would be to get an accounting from Georgiana herself. As far as he was concerned, she had some serious explaining to do. And, this time, he would get answers.
He actually didn’t care what her answers were. He just wanted them to be honest ones.
Even though he had only been gone for little more than three days, he had missed her. How was it possible she had become even more vital to him? More important to his happiness than ever?
And what was he going to do when she married someone else? Lock himself up in Stratton Hall and become an eccentric dedicated to gooseberries like the previous earl?
Coming around a curve in the small road, he saw her, framed by trees, pacing across the bridge.
Lovely. So lovely.
Her white walking dress seemed to be made of flowy fine muslin but with a subtle sheen he had never known muslin to have. A teal-blue velvet spencer sat atop the dress, ending just below her ribcage, the color perfectly matched the embroidered ribbons in her jaunty bonnet. The jacket hugged her body, revealing womanly curves that the girl he knew had never had.
She was still slender, but no trace of the girl clung to her.
Their relationship was on a precipice. She was keeping secrets from him, and he needed answers. With his birthday less than a month away, time was short.
A week. He had given himself just one more week to win Georgiana Knight.
Somehow he had to convince her to see him. To look into his soul and notice something worth having.
If he was unsuccessful, he would need to consider the other marriage options before him. One of the Miss Burbanks, perhaps?
His future suddenly floated before his eyes, full of tepid discussions over paper filigree. Not to mention Lady Michael as a mother-in-law.
He barely suppressed a shudder.
His boots scuffed along the path, and Georgiana turned at the sound. Her wide, glorious smile spread resplendently across her face.
His breath caught.
Sunshine. Even on this gray, English day.
A treacherous part of his heart whispered that the warmth of her welcome was unique. That her light shone for him.
Traitorous, wicked heart.
Wanting and needing. Hoping.
He took a fortifying breath as he came nearer to her.
“Sebastian.” She hurried forward, her smile somehow broader still. Stopping in front of him, she clasped his hands. “I am so glad you have come. I have so much to tell you!”
Even through both their gloves, the heat of her grasp scorched.
“Wonderful,” he replied, “as I wish to speak with you, as well.”
She took a step sideways and looked past him, along the lane toward Haldon Manor.
“Did anyone follow you?” she asked.
“Ah, ever concerned about my spotless reputation, my little chaperone.” He winked at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Please. I just have so much to talk about. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
Still holding one hand, she pulled him off the main road and onto a smaller lane that Sebastian knew led to the shuttered dower house.
“Have a care, Georgie,” he said, unable to stop his grin. “What will people think if they see you dragging me into the woods? ‘Tis shocking.”
Deliberately, he leaned his weight backward a smidge. Just enough so that she had to lean forward to keep him coming along with her.
Grasping his hand even tighter.
“Oh stop! You know it’s no such thing!” she laughed but continued to tug him along behind her.
“Upon my honor, Miss Knight, this begins to seem somewhat compromising.” He mock-fanned with his free hand, as if waiving off a fit of vapors. “You are proving yourself a terrible chaperoner.”
Shaking her head, Georgiana stopped and faced him. Eyes full of laughter, the blue of her jacket mimicking their color.
“Chaperoner? I am quite sure that is not a word.” She arched an eyebrow skeptically.
He held her hand even tighter between them and drew her another step closer to him, her skirts brushing against his boots. He leaned down, as if telling a secret.
“Indeed? I understand the remarkably dashing new Earl of Stratton has made the word fashionable and—”
“Remarkably dashing? Really?”
He nodded, eyes innocently wide. “Have you not heard? I thought you read the broadsheets?”
She pursed her ever-so-kissable lips.
“Impossible man,” she muttered and turned, continuing to drag him along the lane.
He smiled broadly at her back, genially going along with her.
“I am just saying you need to be a better gooseberrier, is all,” he said after a moment.
“Gooseberrier?
” She glanced back at him. “Is that another word the—uhm—dashing Earl of Stratton has decided to inflict upon polite society?”
He feigned astonishment. “Why, yes, indeed it is. You are most perceptive, Miss Knight. If you were to meet the man, I am sure you would agree he is the most debonair—”
“Enough, Sebastian,” she laughed, stopping in the road.
She still held his hand.
“Please be serious. You did make me promise to tell you if anything new happened, right?”
Sebastian instantly stilled.
“Have you received more notes? More threatening drawings?” He tugged on their joined hands, pulling her closer to him. Wanting to draw her all the way into his arms.
“No, no more threats, but the most interesting development.” Her words slowed, and she glanced down at their joined hands.
Before she thought to pull away, he smoothly transitioned her hand to the crook of his elbow and gestured for them to continue walking.
“Tell me,” he encouraged.
“Have you ever heard of anyone called Lord Zeus?”
He frowned. “No, I haven’t. What has happened?”
He listened as she breathlessly relayed her story: seeing a symbol on the garden wall, quilling the symbol onto a board, having the odd conversation with Blackwell and his disclosure about Lord Zeus. And then, finally, Blackwell’s assumption that she was in league with this Lord Zeus to stop Sebastian’s marriage.
By the time Georgiana finished, all the hair on his neck stood on end.
“Isn’t it just so exciting?” she asked, practically skipping along beside him.
They had come upon a large opening in the trees. The dower house sat in the middle of the meadow, encircled by a low, stone fence with a stable behind. A small oak, newly planted, stood in the side garden to the right.
He stopped in the lane and pasted on his sternest look. “No, Georgiana, it is not exciting. It is terrifying. You seem to have stumbled upon a deep game Blackwell is playing with some shadowy figure who is obviously up to no good.”
“Exactly!” She bounced up and down on her toes, her eyes lively.
Maddening. Lovely. But utterly maddening.
“Georgiana—” he began, resisting the urge to hold his head in his hands. “Look, you cannot get further involved with this. I have half a mind to bundle you off to one of my estates far away from here and keep you safe until—”
“Don’t you dare! This is the most fun I have had in ages, and until I get to the bottom of why this whole Lord Zeus thing matters—”
“Matters? It doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with you. Or it had nothing until you went and inserted yourself into the mess—”
“What makes you so sure this has nothing to do with me? Maybe it does. Maybe I have things that prove—”
“What things? What do you have?”
She froze, eyes impossibly wide. Caught.
“Georgiana, you are keeping far too many secrets from me. I need there to be some honesty between us. Please.”
She swallowed and darted a glance at the dower house.
Silence.
“Look, I don’t know where you have been for the past year, but we both know it most likely wasn’t Italy. You are here and whole and for that I am grateful, but I just want to know the truth.
“Seb, I haven’t lied—”
“Enough. I don’t care what your answers are. Truly I don’t. Please. Trust me. Confide in me.”
Slowly, he gave her his melting smile. That lazy, smoldering expression his sisters assured him was lethal to the hearts of young ladies everywhere.
It was the last weapon in his arsenal.
How he hoped it would work.
Had he always smiled like that? Georgiana wondered.
Slow and warm, spreading like honey.
That smile took charm to a new level.
It did something to her knees. Not exactly melty, though they were most certainly a little more relaxed. Somewhat wobbly.
That smile chased all coherent thought from her brain.
“I have been to Italy,” was all she could muster.
He nodded, the smile still pasted on his face. All charm and ease, as usual.
“Italy. You have already asserted that in the past.” He nodded. “Would you care to elaborate more? How did you find the journey? What ship transported you?”
He rolled his hand. Go on.
She paused and glanced at Duir Cottage. She hadn’t realized this was her destination.
That she would have to tell him everything.
The house hadn’t changed much over the intervening two hundred years. Golden stone with a gabled roof and peaked front door. Ivy starting to grow up its walls.
It stood where once an ancient oak tree guarded the time portal. The tree was no longer, but its wood had been used to construct the house. The front door paid homage to the old oak with a stylized tree carved into its warm surface. The branches of the etching curved sinuously across the panel, bending and twisting.
Suddenly, she wanted Sebastian to know. The thought surprised even her. She wanted him to understand her and what had happened over the past year. Wanted to pull her phone out of her stays and take a photo of him, wanted to march him down to the cellar of Duir Cottage and let him feel the powerful thrum of the portal.
He was her friend. He would believe her, right?
He noticed her studying the cottage. With her hand still tucked into his elbow, he led her over to the stone fence surrounding the house.
Calmly, he removed his gloves and then his beaver hat, dropping his gloves inside and placing his hat on top of the fence.
Unbidden, Georgiana watched his hands as he did this. Long fingered and elegant, yet broad through the palm. Strong. She could see the callouses on his palms, evidence his life had not always been one of ease.
And when had he become so striking?
His brown eyes pools of warmth, side whiskers cutting narrow and thin across his cheeks. Hair a light chestnut color, glinting with hints of red and gold. Broad shoulders filling out his tight green coat. Spotless white cravat at his throat.
Georgiana was quite sure every member of her Bosom Companions of the English Regency reenactment group would go into a collective swoon at the sight of him.
She barely repressed a sigh herself.
This was just Sebastian, she reminded herself. Not a handsome leading man from a BBC costume drama, no matter how much he looked the part.
He leaned back and half sat on the stone fence, bracing his hands to either side, legs extended in front. Lowering himself just enough to be more eye level with her.
He lifted a questioning eyebrow, mistaking her silence for reticence.
“Georgie, please. You could have been on the moon, for all I care. I just want truth.”
She studied him. That small freckle next to his left eye. The slight curl in his hair as it fell on his forehead in the Caesar haircut he favored. The shadow of stubble already touching his cheeks.
“And if I say I was on the moon?”
“Is that the truth?”
She smiled, a mirthless, sad little thing. “No, but the truth is no less strange. Are you sure you want to know?”
His gaze turned wistful. “I just want honesty between us.”
She stared sightlessly at Duir Cottage. Where to begin with her tale?
“Shall I tell you my guesses? Will that make things easier?” he asked.
He surprised a laugh out of her.
As if!
“Please, be my guest, Sebastian. I assure you, the truth has probably not occurred to you, but I’m curious to see what you think.”
His expression was decidedly skeptical. “Well, I cannot say I have a clear idea of where you have been. I do, however, know what is not true.”
“All right. Let’s start with that.”
“Shatner D’Avery—ridiculous name, by the way—does not, in fact, exist.”
�
��Of course, he exists.”
“Georgiana, please, give it a rest. I thought we had agreed to be honest with each other.” His voice ever so quiet. “There is no solicitor in London who goes by the absurd name of Shatner D’Avery. I had a Bow Street Runner look into it.”
She stared at him, her stunned eyes eloquent.
“You did what? Why would you do that?” Her voice climbed with each question.
“Because I wanted to see who you would choose to marry. I guess I wanted to assure myself this D’Avery fellow was worthy of you.”
“Despite all your affection, I am not your sister and—”
“Does Arthur know about this D’Avery?”
“Naturally.”
“And has he inquired after the man?”
She stared at him.
“Honestly, I cannot for the life of me understand what this has to do with anything, Sebastian.”
“This is your life we are talking about, the man you are supposedly considering marrying, and yet every time I try to get a straight answer—”
“What do you want to know? Yes, I had consumption. Yes, I was gone for a year. Yes, I was cured by miraculous medicine. Yes, I visited some remarkable places: most of Europe, including Italy, America, the Bahamas. I even made it as far as Thailand—I mean, Siam—”
“Enough, Georgiana!”
He pushed off of the wall and came to his full height. Held up a hand, cutting her off.
Suddenly he was the menacing man from the rose bedroom: tall, broad, pulsing with barely leashed power.
All traces of the charming, happy-go-lucky boy gone.
He stared at her—dark, brooding—eyes intent.
Her breath caught.
“Give it up, will you please? We both know you could not have traveled to so many places in a single year. Europe is in chaos, torn apart by war. A boat to Siam alone would take well over a year there and back. Not to mention the French naval blockade. Why do you not tell me—”
“The answer is difficult. It’s hard to explain—”
“Try. I'm an intelligent man. Use small sentences if you must.”
“Sebastian—”
“If there is to be any hope of a future marriage between us, there needs to be honesty—”
