by Nichole Van
“Ah, that makes more sense,” Georgiana agreed, gesturing toward the Captain and drawing his still-glazed eyes to her. “Clever, Phillips. Getting both money and revenge. Always a winning combination. What was the nature of the revenge?”
“Horrid,” Sir Henry rumbled. “Two weeks ago, Stratton sent his Bow Street Runner after the case. The Runner turned up evidence that Lord Harward’s death was anything but accidental. The carriage axle had been cut through causing it to snap, sending the carriage careening and killing Harward and his family.”
“How dreadful!” Georgiana gasped.
Phillips glared at them in hostile silence.
“So he then hunted down Sebastian as the heir?”
“No. We still think that was a coincidence. Phillips was just fleeing the nastiness of Miss Franklin and Lord Harward.”
Georgiana nodded. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Captain?”
Phillips merely clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.
She shook her head and gestured toward him. “So let’s continue this story. You ferreted out some indiscretions in Lord Blackwell’s youth—we don’t need to know them, by the way, your lordship”—said as an aside to Blackwell—“and used that leverage to force him into helping you and Lady Ambrosia prevent Stratton from marrying. Once Stratton failed to meet the criterion outlined in the will, twenty thousand pounds would go to Blackwell and then on to you. Further avenging your father and giving you a nice nest egg.”
Still nothing from Phillips.
“And then you bludgeoned the Prince Regent to death and stole the royal jewels—”
“What the blazes?!” Phillips interjected, instantly sitting taller.
“Just wondering at what point you would contradict me. I take it everything else is true.”
Phillips ground his teeth, his pointed silence her answer.
“Well, this most certainly has been an entertaining evening,” Blackwell said. “We will need to bring Linwood and Knight into this matter. As magistrates, they will head up the rest of the investigation and prosecution.”
Sir Henry nodded. “Agreed, Bertie. It has been nice to finally get some answers and understand how Tangert has been involved with this mess.”
“Indeed, Sir Henry.” Georgiana shook her head. “Imagine it. Gooseberries were part of this whole mystery from the beginning. Who knew such an innocent little fruit could be so nefarious?”
Sir Henry gave his characteristic booming laugh, mustache twitching.
“Ah yes, m’dear,” he said affectionately, patting her arm. “Now you finally understand their captivating appeal.”
Chapter 26
The library
Stratton Hall
Warwickshire
October 7, 1813
Late evening before birthday
The fire had died low, casting the library into deep gloom. Only the candelabra at Sebastian’s elbow provided a small pool of light. After days of rain, the weather had finally lifted, leaving the night air chill, hinting at winter. The firelight flickered, casting weary shadows on the books and dark wood.
A large window to the left of the room rattled.
Sebastian had arrived only that afternoon. In his haste to rush to Lyndenbrooke, his horse had come up lame, forcing him to spend the previous night in a cramped inn.
Once arriving, he had gone first to Lyndenbrooke only to find Georgiana was not there. And, even worse, she had not visited Lyndenbrooke for years, since before her illness.
After his desperate, mad dash to reach her, the devastation—the depth of the deception—left him speechless.
The housekeeper at Lyndenbrooke must have thought him a little crazed, as he stood in stunned silence, dripping wet in the front vestibule, looking all too much like a fool. The pity in her eyes had not been flattering.
He had then ridden the two miles to Stratton Hall nearby. But with the late hour, returning immediately to Haldon Manor was not advisable. He would wait for first light.
He had come to the conclusion that the love letter was a dupe, obviously a decoy sent by Lord Zeus, luring Sebastian away from Haldon Manor before Georgiana ‘returned’ from Shropshire. Part of him was relieved she was still in the twenty-first century. At least, she was safe.
But . . . it also meant that Georgiana had not, in fact, returned.
The despair sat bitterly in his throat as he stared into the fire. For nearly thirty-six hours he had believed. Had thought she had returned to be with him. And then that letter . . .
That remarkable love letter—the one he had read in Duir Cottage, tucked into its plastic sleeve—to believe it had been meant for him all along.
The searing joy of it had been . . . indescribable.
Like a sunburst in his chest.
It had taken a while to resume breathing after reading it.
He had tucked it into his greatcoat pocket and then hurriedly packed for Stratton Hall and Lyndenbrooke. But when he had arrived, neither the letter nor Georgiana were to be found.
And so here he was. Staring into the fire in his library.
Alone.
Georgiana-less.
Aching to hear her voice, the tripping sound of her bare feet. Still vainly hoping that the portal would work. That she would chose to leave James and the twenty-first century to share a life with him.
He leaned his head against the wingback chair, trying to relax into its comfort.
He would wait for her, would return to Haldon Manor and keep his vigil, all the while trying to track down Lord Zeus and unravel the conspiracy.
He hoped Lord Zeus would not remain a problem for much longer. It was his birthday tomorrow and, as Georgiana Knight was still centuries away, the money would likely go to the gooseberry societies. Sebastian needed to return to Haldon Manor, if only to monitor the circumstances.
Though, it had been nice to see his parents and sisters this evening. They had gathered to greet him soon after his arrival, his married sisters bringing husbands, nieces and nephews with them. Everyone had begged him to stay for his birthday, at least, before leaving for Haldon Manor. Perhaps he would consider it.
The heavy ache would not leave. He knew Georgiana cared, but did she care enough? Would she choose him?
Over everything and everyone else?
And even if she did choose him, would the portal let her through? Were their lives truly linked?
Sighing, he settled farther into the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dressed comfortably in fawn-colored trousers and loose shirtsleeves underneath a heavy blue brocade banyan. The nineteenth century forerunner to flannel pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt.
The window rattled again.
His subconscious registered the sound first, dismissing it. But then he remembered there was not a breath of wind outside.
What?
Warily, he stood and walked over to the window, intending to latch it more firmly. Only to see a familiar shape standing in his bushes, waving at him.
An impossibly beloved figure.
His heart stuttered to life.
Grinning widely, he opened the window and stared at Georgiana. Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, moto jacket and black beanie.
Despite the darkness of the night, it was like seeing the sun.
Hope flared through him, choking, effervescent.
“Good evening, sir,” she said, giving him a bow.
“Georgie! You scapegrace!”
“I was hoping to have a word with his lordship, the most dashing, devastatingly handsome Earl of Stratton and was told he might be in residence . . .”
“Horrid woman! Get yourself in here before you freeze to death.”
Chuckling, he reached down and helped her climb through the window, her hand decidedly chilled.
She was here. But how? When?
“I thought we agreed you would curtail your nighttime prowling.” He shook his head as he latched the window shut.
“True.” She gave him a decidedly unre
pentant smile. “Consider this one last hurrah before I turn in my prowling sneakers.”
She had chosen to return. Did that mean she had decided to . . .
His train of thought abruptly fled. Georgiana had reached up and pulled the cap off her head, her glorious golden hair tumbling down her back.
Sebastian forgot how to breathe, much less anything else.
Lovely. So lovely.
Had it really only been two weeks since he had last seen her? It felt like a lifetime. Far too long.
His arms acted without conscious thought, tugging her to him. Georgiana clutched him instantly, pressed her cheek against his thin shirt. She sniffled, kneading his back with her hands.
It took a second for him to realize she was shaking. Hard.
“I have missed you so.” Her voice trembled.
“Georgie . . . darling . . . sweetheart,” he choked, gathering her closer, kissing her head.
And, suddenly, her hands were on his face, in his hair. He saw a flash of her tear-stained face before her mouth claimed his.
Hot, needing.
Desperate to somehow hold him closer.
She tasted of tears and hope. Loss and joy.
“Seb—oh, Seb—I—” she whispered. Kissing his mouth, his jaw, his eyes, his cheeks. Over and over.
She was here! Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight was here, in his arms, kissing as if she never intended to leave.
Happiness scoured him, seared with its intensity. Champagne bubbles in his blood.
Holding his head between her hands, she pulled back to gaze at him.
Eyes luminous pools, brimming with such wonder, such happiness.
With his thumb, he brushed a lingering tear off her trembling cheek. She still shook like a leaf.
“Can we move over to the fireplace? I am quite frozen,” she chattered.
“Poor darling!” He laughed and instantly swung her into his arms, carrying her over to the fireplace and setting her down. He turned and snatched a blanket from a corner cabinet as she crouched, warming her fingers. Face bathed in flickering amber light.
Smiling, he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and grasped her chilled hands in his, pulling her to her feet. Shamelessly using it as an excuse to pull her back to him. Again. He had been far too long without her in his arms.
“I can think of much more effective ways to warm your fingers,” he murmured against her hair.
Sighing, she slipped her hands inside his banyan and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. Her frigid palms burned like two firebrands on his back.
He returned the favor, engulfing her. Pressing one hand between her shoulder blades and sending the other into her hair. Breathing her in.
“Ah, Georgie.” Whispered in her ear. “My love.” Brushed her cheek. “Georgiana.”
Soft, so soft. Her lips were chilled, but Sebastian felt up to the task of warming them. He kissed her slowly, tenderly. Adoring how readily she kissed him in return. Savoring the rightness of her in his arms.
“Dearest, I was so worried. I got that letter and came rushing to Lyndenbrooke but—”
“Oh! That ridiculous love note!” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Sebastian, I am so sorry you had to deal with that letter. Turns out, it was—”
“A forgery,” he readily finished. “Yes, I suspected as much when I didn’t find you here.”
“I was so stupid! I should have realized from the very beginning it was a forgery.”
“Darling, there is no need to berate yourself over it. It was an excellent mimicry of your handwriting—”
“True, but it was signed with my full name. Who signs their last name to a deeply personal love letter?”
Sebastian gave a startled chuckle. “Most certainly not you, my love.”
“Exactly!”
She laughed. That one sound dearer than all others. The melody that promised sunshine and stars and earned her another bone-melting kiss.
“Georgie, darling, I want to know everything. Can you go back and start from when I left Duir Cottage? Catch me up to the present?”
With a laugh, Georgiana did just that. Telling him about her (sort of) emotional break-down after he left. Her conversation with James and saying goodbye to him in 2013. Arriving just yesterday to find Sebastian gone and then realizing the love letter was a forgery.
The entire scene with Phillips nearly stopped his heart. While listening to Georgiana describe the danger she had been in, he released her and paced in front of the fire.
And then there was Phillips himself . . .
How could Sebastian have been so deceived?
Phillips had been a good friend. The best of friends.
The feeling of betrayal was raw. Visceral.
Even after nearly an hour back and forth talking with Georgiana about it, the pain still lingered. The wound would take time to heal.
For now, he was just eternally grateful she was finally safe.
And knowing that Phillips was Lord Zeus did clarify quite a bit.
It explained how Lady Ambrosia had always known where to find him, why the ladies who surrounded him were completely unsuitable. Anyone who could potentially attract his attention had been kept away. Everything hindering him so he wouldn’t have time to form a relationship before the deadline expired.
Even worse, looking back, he was sure Phillips had deliberately prevented Sebastian from hunting for Georgiana sooner. It had all been skillfully done. Phillips had just underestimated the depth of Sebastian’s attachment to Georgiana and, of course, Georgiana’s own prodigious sleuthing skills.
Now, Sir Henry had the matter firmly in hand and had ferreted out a great deal of information. He was a man of many talents, Sir Henry. They would be able to disband a good portion of Lord Zeus’ organization.
For tonight, however, Sebastian was just grateful Georgiana was safe.
“So after fretting about you for most of the night, I left at sunrise this morning,” she finished. They stood in front of the fire, her arms again around his waist.
“I don’t even want to know how you came to be here,” he chuckled.
She gave him a decidedly naughty grin.
“Let’s just say Arthur will be none too pleased to find his strongest hunter has been momentarily, uh, borrowed from his stables. I left a note, crept out, saddled his horse and rode.”
Sebastian chuckled, kissing her forehead. “That’s my Georgiana.”
She shrugged. “I just couldn’t wait another day, another moment without seeing you. I was so . . . angry the letter was a forgery—”
“Angry? Truly? I supposed you might be disappointed, but forgeries are mysterious, so why—”
“No, angry. Extremely upset.”
He cocked his head at her. Raised his eyebrows in question. Please explain.
“Ridiculous Lord Zeus beat me to it. I spent all last week excited to return home and compose the most glorious love letter known to mankind. And then, I arrive, and that dastard Zeus steals my thunder—”
“Ha! Pun intended?”
“Yes, thank you—and writes the letter himself. He spoiled all my fun, the wretch.”
“Well, I am sure you will find a way to make it up to me—”
“Oh, but I did!” She pulled back from his embrace, digging a hand into her pockets. “I swear it was here . . . I stowed it away this morning before I left—”
“Pardon?”
“A love letter. I wrote you another one. A better one. A brilliant one.” She had pulled her pockets inside out by now, finding nothing. The pockets of her jeans were empty as well. “No! Argh! How could I have lost it? Of all the terrible—”
“Hush, my love.” He pulled her back into his arms.
“I lost it, Sebastian. It was here. How horrid! Am I doomed to never give you a heartfelt, romantic love note?”
Tears tumbled down her cheeks again, even through her smile. He brushed them away.
He kissed he
r cheek. “You could tell me instead.”
“Darling, dearest Sebastian,” she whispered.
Taking a deep breath, she took his head in her hands, forcing him to stare into her eyes. Swallowed her emotions.
“Sebastian Carew, I traveled two hundred years and rode sixty miles on horseback to tell you that I—” Cheeks glistening wet. “I love you. I love everything about you.”
Her words were electric jolts of glittering happiness. Somewhere he forgot to breathe.
“I love the way you look at me like I am the beginning and end of your world. I love your fierceness, your teasing, your goodness.”
The joy crashing through his soul stretched on and on . . . A heavenly sort of forever . . .
“I love that you are loyal and thoughtful. In short, I just love you—”
He kissed her.
Right then.
Right there.
Not to silence her. But because the swelling ache in his heart demanded no less.
A long kiss. The kind that dragged forever from one’s chest.
“Darling Georgiana,” he murmured against her mouth. “Beautiful, clever, sunshining Georgiana.”
She kissed him lingeringly and then pulled back, laughing, swiping at her wet cheeks.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t botch this.” She stamped a foot in laughing irritation. “I had ten hours on horseback today to think about it. Gah. Dumb trip would have taken less than ninety minutes by car—”
“One hour,” he corrected with a grin. “I’ve seen you drive, remember?”
Chuckling, she swatted his shoulder.
And then shook her shoulders and straightened her spine.
“Sebastian, I love you. And I have been thinking it would be a most excellent idea if I—well, you and I—were to make our relationship more permanent in nature—”
“Wait—Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight, are you asking me to marry you?”
She paused for a second. And then stamped her foot again, laughing.
“I cannot believe I made a mess of that! Ten hours. I had ten hours, Sebastian, and I was so determined to do it right.”
“Ah, Georgie. ‘Tis tragic. And my first real marriage proposal too.”
“Sebastian—”
“I mean, other women have strongly hinted at marriage, but you are the first to actually come right out and pop the question—”
