Divine (24 page)

He could still see her, closing the distance between them, placing her hand firmly on his lapels, the rise of her body against his chest as she stretched on tiptoe to meet his mouth . . .

And then that woman had to appear.

Blast
!

Would he ever get the moment back?

He paused in front of the small fireplace, placing a hand on the mantle, staring sightlessly at the barren grate.

And what about that ridiculous nonsense with Lord Zeus? He needed to get her away from here, if only to protect her. He made a mental note to send a Runner to inquire after Lord Zeus.

How much wasn’t she telling him?

“Georgiana!” A voice shouted.

A man’s voice—muffled and yet distinct.

Puzzled, Sebastian cocked his head. The sound seemed to be coming from the back of the house. Was Knight calling his sister?

Sebastian walked down the central hallway with its L-shaped staircase and through a door into the kitchen and scullery. An enormous fireplace dominated the left of the room. He peered through the back door but could see nothing.

“Georgiana!” The voice called again, this time accompanied by the sound of knocking. However, the voice had moved and now came from the front of the cottage. Had someone walked around the house?

He moved back out into the hallway and into the front parlor. Pushing apart the curtains, he could still see Lady Ambrosia gesturing to Georgiana. Neither of them had moved.

“Georgiana!” Again, coming from the back of the house.

What—?!

What was going on? Was he hearing things now too?

He walked down the hallway, stopping midway.

Waited for a moment.

“Georgiana Knight, so help me!” The words were muffled but still clear.

And coming from neither the front nor back of the house, but a closet under the stairs.

Again, he heard the knocking.

That was . . . odd.

Was Georgiana now keeping prisoners? Was that part of what she hadn’t told him?

Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes skyward, pleading for patience.

He wouldn’t put it past her.

Opening the door, he peered inside. It was a typical closet, full of linens and bottles.

The pounding seemed to be coming from underneath the floor. Pushing aside a basket of sheets, he noticed a trapdoor leading, most likely, to a cellar.

“Hello? Anyone there?” he called.

Nothing.

But the pounding continued. Faint, as if far away.

But definitely coming from the floor.

How could that be?

Sebastian pushed more baskets out of the way and wrested the trap door open. A simple staircase descended into the gloom.

“Hello?” he called again.

Nothing.

Or was there nothing?

Squinting into the darkness, something faintly flickered.

Carefully, he descended the stairs, his boots hitting packed dirt. From what he could see, the cellar was small, only a couple paces wide with a ceiling so low he had to duck his head.

Blinking, he tried to focus on the barely-there light. It was only just discernible but seemed to be coming from the wall directly ahead.

A certain heaviness settled on him. The air felt weighty. Charged.

Odd.

Frowning, he took a step and then another. Something seemed to tug him forward. The room suddenly went darker, and vertigo swamped him. He felt like he was falling, falling, falling.

Gasping, Sebastian reached out a hand, managing after a second to brace himself on the side wall.

Shaking his head, he stood for a few seconds, gulping in deep breaths, trying to clear the dizziness.

What had happened there?

“Georgiana!” the voice called again. This time much nearer. Clearer.

And coming from upstairs.

How—?!

Thoroughly confused, Sebastian turned and walked back up the stairs and into the hallway, his head still spinning.

Everything felt a little off-kilter. Like the world had tilted on its axis.

Disconcerting.

Someone was pounding on the front door.

“Georgiana! Open this door! I know you’re home. Your damn car is in the driveway!”

The solid oak door trembled, fists buffeting it.

Pausing, Sebastian stared.

A short bar secured the upper part of the door. Had the bolt been there before?

Rattled, he drew it back and opened the door.

To a different world.

A man stood on the stoop. Medium height and lean, dark brown hair hanging over his ears, face stubbled as if it hadn’t seen a razor all week. Gray eyes snapping in anger.

They stared at each other for the space of a heartbeat. The warrior in Sebastian immediately bristled.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” the man asked after a moment. “Where’s Georgiana?”

It was impossibly rude.

The man’s accent indicated he was a gentleman. His clothing, however, defied categorization.

He was wearing some kind of dark blue pantaloons with a simple white shirt without buttons and a tight-fitting short brown leather jacket. And were those dark spectacles resting atop his head?

Donning his authoritarian face—the one which had sent enlisted men running in the army and servants scurrying to do an earl’s bidding—Sebastian ruthlessly surveyed the insolent man, letting his gaze wander slowly from head to toe.

“May I help you?” Sebastian asked in quelling tones.

With a cocky lift of his eyebrows, the man returned the arrogant perusal in full measure. And then gave a deliberate, mocking smile.

“You must be one of Georgiana’s Bosom Companion friends. Nice.” He gestured toward Sebastian’s coat. Sebastian resisted the urge to smooth his waistcoat and straighten his jacket.

Instead, he asked, “And you are?”

“Her boyfriend.” The man stared at him, cool and collected.

Boyfriend? The word made no sense.

Allowing his lip to curl slightly, Sebastian gave the man his most haughty nod.

“Indeed. The Right Honorable Sebastian Carew, Earl of Stratton, at your service.” He paused allowing his title to sink in. What was the point of being an earl if one couldn’t occasionally fling it about?

Instead of being properly cowed, the man guffawed and rolled his eyes.

“Ooooh, pardon me,
your lordship,
”—he waved his hands to his side, as if astounded—“but I’m here to see Georgiana.”

He moved to step around Sebastian.

Without thinking, Sebastian blocked his path.

“Miss Knight is not at home,” he said icily.

“
Miss
Knight?” The man laughed, as if Georgiana’s name were a great joke. “Seriously, you need to get with reality. I swear all this reenactment stuff goes to the head.”

Sebastian wanted to haul him up by his scruffy jacket and shake him.

No, that wasn’t true.

He
wanted
to beat him to a pulp.

He settled, instead, for jabbing a hostile finger into the man’s chest, forcing him back.

“You, sirrah, will take yourself off. As I have said, Miss Knight is not at home and—”

“Georgiana!” the man said in relief, looking over Sebastian’s shoulder.

Sebastian swiveled to see Georgiana herself standing behind him, a strained smile pasted on her face. She looked at Sebastian and then at the man on the stoop, giving a nervous laugh.

“Shatner,” she said, moving around Sebastian and out the door.

The man instantly wrapped her into a tight embrace.

An embrace that Georgiana returned.

So
this
was the mysterious Shatner D’Avery.

This
was who she preferred over him. This scrawny, belligerent, impolite
man
?

Sebastian was quite sure D’Avery did not deserve the label gentleman.

“Georgie, where have you been? I’ve been crazy waiting to hear from you, luv,” Shatner murmured to her.

Sebastian was going to be ill, toss his accounts right here in the front garden. After coming so near to kissing her less than an hour ago, his heart slammed back to the ground with a thud.

It hurt like hell—hitting reality this hard.

Shatner pulled Georgiana away from him, surveying her muslin dress with its teal-blue velvet spencer and the jaunty bonnet on her head.

“Is this one of your Bosom Companion meetings?” he asked. “I’ve been banging on your door for the last ten minutes at least. Why haven’t you returned my texts? I nearly
called
you, I was so desperate!”

Uncomfortable, Sebastian looked past them and, for the first time, really took stock of his surroundings.

The house was the same and yet completely not. The front door seemed unchanged with its sinuous carving of an oak tree. But the yard had altered. The stone fence was worn and covered in moss and a huge oak tree arched over the house. Ivy chased across the cottage’s golden stone and the front garden was a riot of roses, lavender and wildflowers.

Even more oddly, two carriages sat along the gravel drive, all shiny metal and gleaming glass, with small wheels which left the vehicles perilously close to the ground. Where were the horses to pull them? Sebastian glanced around, but he could see no stables nor any sign of a groom or coachman.

It was surreally odd.

“So who’s your friend?” D’Avery’s question brought Sebastian back to them.

Shatner stood with one arm wrapped possessively around Georgiana’s waist, snugging her tightly against his body. For her part, Georgiana had her arm wrapped around him and a smile planted firmly on her face.

Sebastian couldn’t tell if she was relieved or panicked.

She did not, however, seem to mind that Shatner’s hand was now making small, caressing circles on her hip.

Jealousy tasted metallic and bitter, choking in its potency.

Sebastian wanted to punch D’Avery, if only to wipe the smirky smile off his face.

“How silly of me!” Georgiana said, stepping out of D’Avery’s embrace and moving to hold his hand instead. “Shatner, this is an old childhood friend, Sebastian Carew. Sebastian, this is Shatner D’Avery.”

They eyed each other. Sebastian knew he should say something polite in greeting.

He
knew
he should. But he didn’t.

The pause lingered a little too long.

“Nice one, saying you were an earl,” D’Avery said into the silence. Turning to Georgiana, he continued, “He said he was an earl. Is he part of your reenactment group?”

Georgiana’s eyes widened, and she gave an uneasy laugh edged with consternation.

“Something like that,” she replied and then glanced at Sebastian with a pleading look. “Would you mind giving me a moment, Sebastian?”

Yes, he
did
mind and he most certainly didn’t want to leave her alone with D’Avery.

But being a gentleman to the core, he gave them both a stiff little bow and turned back into the house.

As he did so, he heard Shatner say, “That guy is awesome, with the bowing and everything—”

Sebastian shut the front door. If only to muffle Shatner’s incomprehensible comments.

He rubbed a hand over his face and, closing his eyes, massaged the bridge of his nose.

What was going on here?

He still felt dizzy and disoriented. Like a nightmare where everything was familiar and yet not.

Opening his eyes, he surveyed the hallway. It seemed the same. Soft, worn oak covered almost every inch of the walls. The entryway was paneled in the honey-colored wood, as was the parlor to the left of the central hallway.

But it was different. The floors were worn and not level. Odd fixtures hung from the ceiling. He walked down the hallway and glanced at the still open closet, trying to understand.

What had happened? He had gone down into the cellar, felt dizzy and then come back up.

That was all.

And yet somehow everything had changed.

He moved farther down the hall and into the back where the kitchen and scullery had been.

The room was altogether transformed. He blinked and glanced back into the hallway, just to convince himself he was in the same house.

He was.

Turning, he surveyed the room.

The enormous fireplace still dominated the left side of the space, but that was the only recognizable feature. Instead of work baskets and cook pots, high wingback chairs now flanked the fireplace, facing an overstuffed sofa. A large, rough-hewn table with chairs stood in front of him. The entire back half of the house sported large windows that opened onto an overgrown back garden, flooding the room in light.

But, beyond that, he was at a loss.

The right of the room gleamed in marble and steel. A large pale marble-topped cabinet sat in the center of the space, and there seemed to be some sort of spigot over a sunken basin, but everything else was unknown and baffling. Large metal cabinets dotted the room, and strange objects cluttered the marble.

Bewildered, he walked around the table and took a seat at the opposite end so he could see down the hallway. Loosened his cravat and settled his head in his hands.

Waited for Georgiana to return and explain what in blazes was going on.

The front door opened and shut. He heard Georgiana’s footsteps along the hallway and looked up as she entered the room.

They stared at each other for a tense moment. She took in a deep, shuddering breath—eyes shuttered and unreadable.

Georgiana broke first, shaking her head and walking to the table, stopping opposite him.

Lifting her left wrist, she undid the buttons of her kid glove, but her hands trembled, slowing her progress. Buttons undone, she tugged on each shaking finger. The leather whispered as she drew it off her hand and tossed it onto the table. She turned to her right hand and repeated the process, drawing the glove over her fine-boned fingers.

Then, she slowly untied her bonnet and set it on the table next to the gloves. Her blond hair shook loose a little, a few curls tumbling to frame her face.

Next, she unbuttoned her teal-blue spencer and, shrugging out of it, laid it next to her bonnet. Agitation evident in her rigid shoulders, in her tight breathing.