by Nichole Van
“Lord Stratton can kiss my—”
Shatner bit off his sentence and lunged for Montrose’s rapier, whisking it out.
Everyone gasped.
“So what is this satisfaction you demand?” Shatner growled.
Mrs. Withering and Miss Cartwright clapped excitedly.
“Ooooooh, Miss Knight, how thrilling! You didn’t tell us you had arranged a duel too.” Mrs. Withering seemed poised to go off in raptures.
And then she let out a little scream of horror as Shatner swiped the sword at Sebastian’s head.
With thinly concealed contempt, Sebastian backed up a few paces. Casually, he shrugged out of his green coat and handed it to Miss Cartwright to hold. He then ran a finger around his neck, loosening his cravat. Even in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, he was a magnificent figure. Captain Wilson immediately handed his own sword to Sebastian.
Swishing their respective swords, the men faced each other.
“You should know, Lord Stratton,”—a world of sarcasm in that name—“that I spent nearly a term in the fencing club at Oxford. My mates said I had real talent.”
Sebastian cocked his brows at Shatner’s arrogance. “Indeed. How fascinating. I, however, did not learn sword fighting at university—”
“Ha! Exactly. Probably couldn’t even get your sorry carcass accepted—”
“I learned fencing the old-fashioned way. Through actual fighting.”
Shatner let his sword point dip and shook his head. “You have got to give up this ridiculous ruse—”
“Eleventh Light Dragoons, I say,” Captain Wilson inserted, popping his head between them. “Lord Stratton served with the Light Dragoons. Said he took a bayonet on the peninsula fighting those Frenchies—”
With a grunt of disgust, Shatner feinted toward Sebastian, testing him. Sebastian stepped out of reach with an almost casual air.
Having seen enough of the two men at each other’s throats, Georgiana ran between them.
“Enough, both of you. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” She held out her hands.
Shatner snorted. “This enormous idiot has been trying to steal you away from me—”
“I have done nothing of the sort.” Sebastian shrugged. “Miss Knight is fully capable of knowing her own mind. But far be it from me to deny you satisfaction.”
Shatner held his sword high, strained, aimed toward Sebastian’s chest. For his part, Sebastian held his own sword loose and low, the casual stance of a man used to weapons and combat.
Grunting, Shatner lunged, intent on ramming the sword into Sebastian’s heart. Georgiana squeaked and stepped back.
With striking economy of effort, Sebastian smoothly sidestepped and with two well-placed taps of his own sword, flicked Shatner’s weapon out of his hands, sending it clattering to the flagstone floor.
“What?! How did you—”
Magnanimously, Sebastian gestured for Shatner to pick up the sword.
“Try again,” he said, dryly. “This time, keep your weapon a little lower. Had this been an actual fight, I would have run you through the heart by now.”
With a grunt, Shatner picked up his sword and instantly lunged.
Georgiana watched the men parry back and forth. Sebastian clearly had Shatner well in hand. Despite his size, he moved quickly, deploying strokes with military precision.
She could clearly see him as a warrior in red regimentals, commanding his men, fighting the French with lethal brutality. Bold. Relentless. He would have been a formidable enemy on the battlefield.
Forget Mrs. Withering—she might go off in raptures herself.
As it was, Shatner posed little challenge. Sebastian sent the smaller man’s sword skittering across the floor again two seconds later.
“I warned you to hold it lower,” Sebastian said helpfully.
“You—you—” Picking up the sword, Shatner let loose an ear-sizzling stream of profanity most of which focused on Sebastian’s manliness. Or the lack thereof.
Sebastian gave a patronizing tsk tsk—nonchalant and calculatedly pitched to be enraging.
“How disappointing, D’Avery. A true gentleman does not need to resort to profanity to give a cutting retort.”
Shatner responded by slashing at Sebastian’s head. Easily, Sebastian deflected the blow.
“Allow me to illustrate.” Sebastian looked upward for a second—thinking—and then made a sweeping gesture. “‘Pon rep, I heard tell a half-wit gave you a piece of his mind, and you, sirrah, have been dashed desperate to hold on to it.’”
Miss Cartwright giggled. Georgiana kept her lips pressed firmly together. Smiling would not help this situation.
With a particularly violent oath, Shatner rushed at Sebastian again, who neatly parried and danced away. Cool and collected, eyes intent.
He was obviously enjoying himself immensely.
Shatner continued to swear. “You obnoxious—”
“Well, if you must profane, at least be creative about it,” Sebastian said.
Shatner lunged. Sebastian flicked the blade away.
“For example,” Sebastian continued, “His lordship said you were a great asset. I informed him that, alas, he was off by two letters.”
Captain Wilson let out a loud guffaw.
Still swearing, Shatner darted toward Sebastian.
“No? That one did perhaps require a little too much thought.” Sebastian danced away. “Allow me to be more direct: I once considered you a pain in the neck. But now I find my opinion has sunk much lower.”
Mrs. Withering tittered behind her hand.
Shatner paused, breathing heavily. Glared.
“Another?” Sebastian offered. “I understand you enjoyed playing horse as a child. Your friends portrayed the front end, but you were just yourself.”
Sebastian gave an encouraging sweep of his sword.
“You see, D’Avery, that is how it is done. Now you try.”
Suddenly, Sebastian grinned. Slow and decidedly wicked.
Terrible, awful, magnificent man.
How could she not adore him?
Shatner grunted again, panting heavily. “Yeah, well, calling you dumb would be, uh, an—an insult to—to . . . stupid people,” he said.
Sebastian nodded, condescendingly encouraging.
“A decent effort. Though a little sluggish on the delivery and not terribly creative.” He gestured with his rapier as if thinking. “I prefer something like ‘I say, old chap. I hear you were shot through a forest of stupid and didn't miss a tree.’”
Georgiana giggled. A little too loudly.
Shatner whirled to glare at her.
She swallowed her mirth, slapping a hand over her mouth.
Sebastian tapped Shatner’s blade, drawing his attention back.
“Careful, steady now. T’would be a terrible disappointment if your brains went to your head.”
With a roar, Shatner lunged again, swinging wildly. Sebastian created a net of arcing metal around himself.
“I hear tell you are nobody's fool, but perhaps someone will take pity and adopt you.”
“You immature piece of—”
“I fail to see why you are so angry with me, Mr. D’Avery,” Sebastian said, parrying again and again, his blade flickering, holding Shatner at bay.
Grinning impishly.
“You have taken my girl and—”
Shatner lunged, blade slashing, which Sebastian, again, sidestepped, extending his boot as he did, sending Shatner sprawling spread-eagle to the floor. His sword skittered well out of reach.
Biting her lips to keep from laughing, Georgiana rushed into the fray.
“Enough! Enough, both of you.” She looked at Sebastian warningly—a look marred by her smile—and then knelt beside Shatner who had rolled onto his backside, still winded, glaring up at Sebastian.
Sebastian studied them, sword held loosely at his side.
All mischievous grin and effortless charm.
Tall, imposing. A fortre
ss of strength.
Every inch the complete darling man she adored.
“We’re leaving. I have had enough of this—this farce,” Shatner said, scrambling to his feet and clutching Georgiana’s hand in his clammy one. “C’mon.”
Georgiana tugged her hand free from Shatner’s.
“No,” she said. “No, I will not be leaving with you Shatner. Not now. Not ever.”
Still breathing hard, Shatner regarded her with wide eyes. Terrified. Panic-stricken.
“No—no! You can’t do this to me, Georgiana.” He ran an anxious hand through his hair and grabbed her wrist again.
“Shatner, I’m breaking up with you.”
“C’mon, please. Do you want to kill me?”
“Kill you? Please.”
“No, you don’t understand. I will die . . .”
“Don’t be so melodramatic—”
“You’re killing me, Georgie. I will be hunted down and killed—”
“Shatner, that makes no sense whatsoever—”
“No, no! Please. Just talk to me. Let’s work this out—”
“Shatner, people break up all the time. I’m sorry but we both need to move on.”
“Georgie, c’mon, please.” He pulled her toward the door, away from Sebastian and the rest of the room.
She grimaced and looked down, intending to tug her wrist away from his moist hand.
And then froze, gasping in surprise.
There. Just above his wrist. The mark of Lord Zeus, tattooed into Shatner’s arm.
Branded into his skin.
Stark and severe in black ink. Unmistakable.
For once, every single hair on her body stood on end. Shock. Horror.
Shatner noticed her noticing.
She brought her eyes back to his. Huge and stunned.
Yanked her hand away.
“We’re through, Shatner. Done.”
She turned her back to him. Walked back across the room to the fireplace, hugging her shaking arms with her hands. Any lingering doubts or sense of remorse evaporated.
“Georgiana, please. Let me explain,” Shatner’s voice pleaded from behind her.
And then Sebastian’s low rumble. “I believe the lady asked you to leave, D’Avery.”
The blood rushing loudly through her veins drowned out the rest of the conversation.
Shatner? And Lord Zeus? How was that even possible? Her mind boggled with unanswered questions.
Dimly she heard Shatner say, “Tomorrow, Georgiana. I’ll call you tomorrow. We can work this out,” before the door slammed shut.
“What an exciting meeting.” Mrs. Withering fanned herself. “Lord Stratton you must really come more often.”
Chapter 20
In the car
Herefordshire countryside
Later on September 21, 2013
Birthday in minus 17 days plus two hundred years
Georgiana was upset.
Tremendously, entirely overset.
Sebastian watched the dark lights flash along the highway as she drove. She had yet to speak more than monosyllable words to him.
Tonight had not been his finest hour. Baiting D’Avery like he did, mocking him, toying with him.
All week, he had been floundering in a sea of pounding emotions: frustration, loss, heartache, despair, anger. Seeing Georgiana in the twenty-first century and realizing all hope was truly gone, that she would never be his. And, then, losing his heart even more fully to her.
Just when he thought Fate could not be any more cruel, it somehow found a way to up the ante.
But tonight . . . it had just felt so blasted good to be himself again. To be properly dressed and in a situation where he marginally understood the rules.
And then D’Avery had arrived. The man who had practically been Georgiana’s betrothed—someone Sebastian should respect out of good manners, if nothing else. A decent man who Sebastian had taunted and mocked and publicly shamed.
It was not Sebastian’s finest moment.
She was withdrawn, obviously thinking. Trying to sort out some emotional upheaval.
Had his behavior contributed to Georgiana’s decision to break off with D’Avery? Was she angry with him for portraying D’Avery in such a poor light?
Or was she just sad over the end of the relationship?
Regardless, it cut him to see her so upset. Particularly knowing he was partially to blame.
He wanted to hold her, cuddle her up against him, warm her toes and let her pour out her hurt and anger into his chest.
Let her grieve for the loss of a man who was not himself.
Come here, Georgiana, let me hold you and kiss away the memory of that other man . . .
What a despicable cad.
He leaned his head back against the seat, trying to breathe normally.
It was no good. The pain pressed in on his chest.
They turned down the now familiar lane, and Georgiana parked the car in the gravel driveway. Duir Cottage loomed in front of them, windows black. The enormous oak tree in the garden moved slowly in the cool night air.
Darkness engulfed them.
To his right, she sighed. A sad, lost sound.
He angled toward her in his seat, her face an inky silhouette against the window.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, soft and low.
He had expected many words from her.
Yelling, ranting. Helpings of much deserved guilt on his head.
But an apology?
No. That he had not anticipated.
He let out a gust of air.
“Whatever for?” he asked.
Turning sideways, she reached for him, instantly twining their fingers together, pulling his hand onto the center console between them.
“For the scene with Shatner, for being such an idiot, for dragging you into this mess . . .”
He nearly laughed at the irony of it.
“It should be me saying those things to you—”
“Really? What on earth do you have to apologize for?”
Even in the dark, some thread of light caught her golden hair, giving her head a faint aura. He could see her puzzled expression.
“I—I was hardly kind to Shatner tonight and for that—”
She gave what could only be described as a grunt.
“Ugh! Shatner.”
“I am sorry for the way I treated him—”
“Please don’t apologize, Seb—”
“I am sure the entire evening proved a shock and—”
“That’s an understatement.”
Staring down at their hands hidden in the darkness, she gently rubbed her fingers along the length of his palm.
Sending gooseflesh skimming the back of his neck.
After a moment, she nestled her smaller hand into his larger one, holding it tightly.
Sebastian took in a shuddering breath.
“Georgie . . . I’m sure in time you will move past this loss—”
She laughed. Shook her head.
“No—no, that’s not the problem.”
She let out a gust of breath, still shaking her head.
Sebastian waited for her to continue.
“He had the Zeus mark on his arm.” Words said stonily. Toneless. “No, not just on his arm. Tattooed into it. Like a branding iron.”
Sebastian reared his head back, a hiss escaping him.
“What?! How is that even possible?”
Georgiana gave a mirthless laugh.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Heavens, what a twist—”
“I know it’s supposed to be thrilling—I mean, how could such a thing not be thrilling—but instead it’s confusing and troubling. How is he involved in this?”
“Oh, Georgie . . . that’s terrible. And from Shatner, no less.” He squeezed her hand, trying to give some comfort. “I am sure in time your heart will heal, that you will not feel this . . . betrayal so keenly—”
She grunted, still shaking he
r head.
Back and forth, back and forth. Rubbed his hand again.
“I am so . . . so sorry. So terribly sorry I have involved you in this muddle—How can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive you?”
She shrugged.
“Without this mess, you would probably be back in 1813 pursuing some perfectly normal woman and resolving the issue with the old earl’s will . . .”
He trapped her hand in his. “No, no Georgie—”
“I am so confused, Sebastian. There is so much I don’t know . . . So much—”
She stopped.
Something touched his face in the dark.
Her hand. Caressing. Tender.
Her fingers threaded into his hair.
“Georgie,” he managed to say. Hoping his voice didn’t sound whispery and faint.
It did.
Funny how difficult it was to speak past the yearning ache spreading through his chest.
A second hand followed her first, until both her hands were running through his hair, caressing his cheek. Long, languid strokes.
“What am I ever to do?” she choked. “So impossible . . .”
She leaned toward him.
He felt her breath against his ear, his temple.
Her lips brushing feather-light against his cheek.
So impossible.
The air stampeded from his lungs in a violent whoosh.
She didn’t stop.
His eyelids. Kiss. His nose. Kiss. His chin. Kiss.
And then . . .
And then his mouth.
Ah!
Her lips were a wonder.
Pillowy. So unutterably soft. Moving gently over his.
Beseeching. Asking.
Lovely.
With a groan, he wrapped a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth more firmly into his. Demanding more. Needing more.
He was only human, after all.
Georgiana returned his kisses, measure for measure, hands clutched around his neck.
Somehow in all his imaginings—and there had been many of them over the years—he had never stopped to consider how she would taste.
But it hit him now with startling force.
Honey sweet. Liquid.
Sunshine and warmth and happiness.
She tasted of every hope, every want.
He framed her face in his hands, angling his head to drink more of her.
More of her sweetness. Her courage.
