Romancing the Rogue (100 page)

Georgina managed a small smile. Adam would never forgive her.

But mayhap if I do this, I can prove to him that I am loyal
.

Hope stirred within her breast.

“I’d ask that I be able to write my husband a note,” she said, her words a faint whisper.

The duke frowned.

Stone interjected. “What kind of note?”

“An explanation. If anything happens to me, I’d want him to know that I was not disloyal in this. I’d want him to know that I was loyal to the Crown.”

Archer’s mouth flattened. “Nothing will happen to you.”

Georgina waited for the duke to speak.

The nobleman’s eyes were uncharacteristically somber. “I will see that it reaches him.”

Georgina leaned back, sucking in a breath. “How will I be in contact with you? How will I know what information to give? How—”

He held up a finger, silencing her barrage of questions. “Suzanne is to be trusted.”

Her brow wrinkled. “My maid?”

“The very same. All correspondences will go through Suzanne. She will serve as your emissary. When you receive your summons from Fox and Hunter, she will accompany you.”

It would appear the duke had thought out every detail.

He rapped on the ceiling, and the conveyance came to a fluid stop.

She reached for the window curtain. This time no one stopped her, and she peered outside. “Where are we?”

Stone answered her question. “The Dials.”

She drew in a shuddery breath. No member of the nobility would find himself in the Seven Dials, or if he did…well, then whatever had brought him here would be less than reputable.

“Do you know what I find interesting, Mrs. Markham?”

Georgina inclined her head. “No, but I suspect you’ll tell me.”

Stone stifled a chuckle with his hand.

“You’ve not once wondered about your own fate. You’ve not asked what will happen to you.”

Georgina studied her lap. His words weren’t altogether true. Since Adam had leveled the threat of Newgate at her, she’d not been able to shake the images of a dank, dark cell from her mind.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Archer murmured.

Tears blurred her vision. Adam had suffered unimagined horrors at her father’s hands. As had Archer. And others. She clenched her eyes tight.

Two lone drops trickled down her cheeks. “I am guilty by my birthright.”

The duke looked at her with an indecipherable expression. “You’re not responsible for your father’s actions. But you are responsible for yours.” He nodded to Stone, who in turn opened the door.

Stone and Archer jumped out.

The duke lingered then took his leave without a final word.

As the carriage pulled away, returning her home, she watched the duke disappear into the faint London fog, unable to quell the sense of doom that lingered in her heart.

Georgina sat on the small window seat, staring out at the steady stream of rain beating against the glass pane.

She touched her finger to a single droplet and, through the thin barrier, traced its slow, winding path until it disappeared.

Thunder rumbled in the far distance, making the glass tremble under her hand.

She made the mistake of glancing down at the paper on her lap. Her throat worked reflexively. It had been a fortnight since Adam and Grace had been discovered in flagrante delicato as the scandal sheets had reported, and still the story would not die. The gossips reported on everything from Adam’s long nights, to Edward Helling taking separate quarters from his wife, to scorn for Georgina
—
a mere nurse, a shameless nobody who had dared to enter the upper echelon of society. The papers quite gleefully reported that Georgina’s misery was a product of her self-serving desires.

Oddly, they were correct.

Just not in the way they believed.

Georgina had selfishly scratched and clawed for every sliver of happiness she could, and for her efforts, she’d been punished by the harsh echoing silence of loneliness.

She had no friends.

She dined alone.

She slept alone.

Even the somber staff eyed her with equal parts anger and pity for what she’d wrought on their lord and master. Georgina sighed, the faint breath stirring a single curl that had fallen over her eye. Adam deserved their allegiance. Not the daughter of a traitor and murderer.

Georgina squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her chance of redeeming herself in Adam’s jaded eyes was slipping through her fingers. God, how she missed him. She missed his smile, his laughter, his gentle touch, his kind words. This cold, callous man he’d become was not someone she recognized—and in the lies she’d perpetuated through her silence, she’d created this dark, divide between them.

Time was proving that Adam could not move forward because he was stuck in the past, and she feared that was where he would always remain.

“Mrs. Markham?”

Georgina stiffened.

Suzanne stood in the doorway.

“Yes, Suzanne?”

“I’ve brought you your book.”

Book?

Since her world had fallen apart, Georgina hadn’t read anything but the London Times and various other scandal sheets. “Thank you, Suzanne. If you could bring it upstairs, I don’t much feel like reading right now.”

Suzanne frowned. “Mrs. Markham, I must insist. You need to do something.”

She opened her mouth to dismiss the maid then the determined glint in Suzanne’s brown eyes registered.

The maid thrust a book toward her.

Georgina swung her legs over the side of the seat, her muslin skirts rustling as her slippers touched the floor. She accepted the offering.

The thick leather volume shook in her hands as she studied it. It contained the duke’s message.

It is time.

Only moments ago, she’d dreamed of this diversion. Now, she wanted to drop the book, run to her chambers and hide under the thick coverlet upon her bed.

Mouth dry with fear, she looked up at Suzanne.

“Do you need anything else, Mrs. Markham?”

Just my husband. Oh, and if you can managed it, his love and devotion.

“That will be all.”

Suzanne pivoted on her heel, but then paused and turned back around. “One more thing, miss.” She reached into the flat pocket of her crisp white apron and extracted a thin envelope. “This arrived for you a short while ago.”

Georgina stared at the unmarked envelope. And knew.

She forced herself to take it, knowing without even opening it what it contained.

“When did this come?” she managed to ask.

“A young beggar came round. Said he was given a six-pence if he gave the letter to Mrs. Markham.”

Georgina swallowed. “Thank you, Suzanne.”

The maid lingered, her deep blue eyes clouded with what appeared to be a blend of pity and compassion. “You are a good woman, Mrs. Markham.”

You are a good woman, Georgina Wilcox.

She fought the urge to clamp her hands over her ears and drown out the words

I’m not. My misery is testament to my lack of worth
.

“Thank you.”

Suzanne left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Georgina looked at the ivory envelope and the leather volume. She first opened the book, her fingers flipped through the pages, then stopped. A single piece of parchment had been tucked inside. Mindful that she sat in the window in full view of anyone who happened to be in the gardens on this miserable spring day, she stood and crossed over to the hearth.

A small fire popped and hissed, though the flames failed to warm her.

Georgina set the book on the mantle then opened the single sheet she’d retrieved from inside the copy of the cleric poet Pádraigín Haicéad’s work.

A note will arrive. Fox and Hunter will request a meeting at Ye Olde Bookshop.

You are to go. They will be looking for 3 names. You are to give them the following: Marcus. Roberts. Mooring. You know no further details than those names found in a secret compartment in your husband’s chambers. Burn this when you’ve committed it to memory.

Georgina crumpled the orders into a tight ball and threw it into the blaze. The orange and red flames nipped at the edges of the paper before swallowing the sheet.

She gave herself another moment in front of the fire to gather her courage. But she could not ignore the second missive, though she knew what it contained. Georgina broke open the non-descript seal with badly shaking fingers, withdrew the note, and then she began to read.

My dearest Georgina,

I hope you’ve thought hard on what I said. Your husband does not deserve your loyalty, and I believe you know that. We are looking for three names. These men are members of The Brethren of the Lords, the secret organization your husband belongs to. If you obtain the names, you are to meet us in three days at the spot we last met.

Ever
Yours,

Jamie

She tossed the parchment onto the embers and the charred remnants of the duke’s note.

“Hello, wife.”

Georgina cried out and spun around.

Adam leaned against the wooden frame, his arms folded under the broad-expanse of his muscular chest.

Fear rivaled joy. The damning scrap of paper being licked apart by the flames crackled.

“A-Adam.” She tossed her chin back, though, determined to not be cowed by the steely set to his jaw..

He shoved away from the door and kicked it closed behind him.

Georgina remained rooted to the floor and prayed the note from Jamie would be destroyed by the time he reached her.

Adam stopped before her. His towering form cast a shadow over her. He snagged a strand of her hair and rubbed the curl back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “You appear guilty of something, wife.”

How did he manage to make the word wife sound like a curse?

She snatched the strand back, wincing at the tug on her scalp. “According to you, I’ve been guilty since first we met.”

He inclined his head. A smile played on his lips. “Ahh, how very true.” He peered over her shoulder into the fire. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but when he looked at her, his gaze was curiously blank.

She gripped the edge of her skirts. “What do you want, Adam?”

He clasped her cheek with his right hand and caressed her.

In an attempt to stop him, Georgina touched her fingers to his wrist. “I said what do you want, Adam?”

He bent down, and the potent bite of whiskey was so strong on his breath, she nearly tasted it. “Is that an invitation, dear wife?”

The haze of passion lifted. Georgina slapped his hand away. “You are drunk,” she said, the words bearing more than a faint trace of accusation.

He sketched a mocking bow. “As I have been since I discovered my lovely wife is a—”

“Have you come here merely to hurl insults at me?” She had wronged him, but she would not grovel, nor would she spend the rest of her life wallowing in shamed remorse. “I’ve not seen you in a fortnight. Something must have prompted you to seek me out.”

~~~~

Adam stood in silence. A log crumpled in the hearth, sending off a smattering of sparks and embers. His wife was nothing if not astute.

He had sought her out, and not to exchange barbs. Against his logic and better judgment, he missed her. He missed the sound of her voice, the satiny smoothness of her skin. He even missed the defiant tilt to her chin when she challenged him. Loneliness, greater than anything he’d known during his captivity, gripped him until he felt like an empty shell of a man.

In the dead of night, when he returned from his clubs, he would wander up to Georgina’s chambers and sit at the edge of her bed, watching as she slept. Every night, her head thrashed violently against the pillow and a piteous whimpering escaped her lips. And every night, he would stroke the sweat-dampened strands of hair off her brow until she stilled.

When dawn broke over the horizon, he’d slip from her rooms, his wife none the wiser, and head to his office to waste his hours trying to convince himself he was wrong about her. Georgina could not be a scheming temptress sent to trick secrets out of him. He had to be wrong. When he managed to convince himself of it, he’d reach for the damning file and punish himself with the truth of her birth.

Then he’d reach for the bloody bottle of whiskey.

Part of him wondered
—
if, on that day they’d first met, she’d confessed her real identity, would he have felt this same, gnawing resentment?

His gaze wandered from her luminous eyes and came to rest on her fragile neck.

I wrapped my hands around her flesh. I very nearly choked the life from her.

At the memory, tightness settled deep in his chest and spread through his body.

The answer was simple
—
he’d never have trusted her. Nor, following his assault, had he given Georgina any reason to believe he’d not do her harm if she shared the truth with him.

She brushed away the lone curl that had a tendency to escape the serviceable knot at the nape of her neck and continued to stand there in silence.

He’d never met a person capable of such utter stillness. The women he knew were besieged by what seemed like an insatiable need to talk over any stretches of quiet. Not his wife. What had been done to her that she should have learned to stand as quiet as a forest creature hiding from encroaching hunters?

The niggling of doubt came again. Mayhap her role with Fox and Hunter was less clear than he’d assumed?

He shoved the hope aside. It was only desperation that made him see castles in the sky.

Adam jerked his chin toward the fireplace. “I thought I saw you throw something into the fire.”

The color seeped from Georgina’s cheek. She shook her head quickly. Too quickly. “No. You are mistaken.”

He clenched his teeth. She was a dreadful liar. How had she managed to aid Fox and Hunter all these years without being discovered? “Am I, Georgina?”

His eyes alighted on a lone book atop the mantle. Adam frowned and reached behind her.

Georgina folded her hands in front of her, casting her gaze to the floor demurely. He flipped through the pages. “A rather odd choice,” he murmured, setting it back down.

Her head shot up, her dainty chin jutting out in a mutinous line. “You don’t even know what I like to read, so why should it seem odd?”

Adam started. Georgina’s word bore an accusatory tone and, God help him, she was correct. He didn’t know a thing about her tastes or preferences in literature. He knew so very little about her…and most of what he did know had turned out to be lies. “I imagine if I’d bothered asking, you’d have merely lied.”

She jerked as if he’d backhanded her.

His hand quivered with the need to touch her, to drag her close, bury his face in her crown of curls and plead forgiveness.

He did none of those things.

“Why are you here, Adam?” she asked, her tone surprisingly resolute.

“It is time we put in an appearance at a ball.”

Georgina shook her head. “No. I’ll not go. I’ll not perpetuate this lie.”

“Tsk, tsk. What’s one more, dear wife? Surely you can feign contented wife? You did a remarkable job at battered maid.”

The palm of her hand connected with his cheek in a loud crack. His head whipped to the right. Adam flexed his jaw and brushed his fingers over the stinging flesh.

Georgina stared at him, her eyes full moons in her pale white cheeks. She held her hand out as if warding him off and took a step back, stumbling over her skirts. In her haste to get away, she nearly retreated into the burning hearth.

“Georgina!” he bellowed, grasping her by the forearm and pulling her to safety.

Georgina cried out, wrestling her arm free. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered, slipping underneath his arm.

He froze.

Christ. She thinks I’m going to hit her.

Nausea turned his stomach. “Come here, Georgina.” He reached for her.

She swatted at his fingers and danced artfully away.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Adam said, a gruff edge to his words.

She spun on her heel and fled as if the gates of hell had opened and unleashed a stream of fire.

Adam stared after her, sickened. How could she believe he would ever lay his hands on her? Since he’d discovered her betrayal, he’d wavered between wanting to throw his head back and roar in anguish and shaking her until she swore all of this had been a horrible misunderstanding. But he would never, could never, strike her. He might’ve been a beast, but he was not so depraved as to descend into the cowardly behavior of beating his wife.

Still, her apprehension had not been feigned. She’d been terror incarnate.

And once more a maelstrom of doubts snuck back to the surface.

Watson appeared at the door. “Sir, you have visitors.”

Adam cursed. The last thing he wanted at this moment was company. “Tell whoever it is I’m out.”

“Shame, little brother. You’d lie to your brother and mother?”

Nick stood beside his mother, who frowned when she got a good look at him.

Watson took that as his cue to leave.

“Coward,” Adam muttered beneath his breath. He threw his arms wide. “Come in, come in! How very good it is to see you,” he said, his tone coated in sarcasm.

His mother hurried to his side and leaned up to kiss him. She paused, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like you’ve been bathing in spirits,” she said, her lips turned down in motherly disapproval.

Adam bowed. “Guilty as charged.”

Nick settled himself into the leather sofa and folded his leg over his knee. “I’m glad this is amusing to you, little brother.”

Adam quirked a brow.

“Nicholas,” his mother murmured. She gave a slight shake of her head.

Ever the earl, Nick ignored her. “You married Georgina against our better wishes. We all but pleaded with you to set the woman aside, but you were adamant. You were insistent. It is now clear to us—”

“And all the
ton
,” mother said beneath her breath.

Nick ignored her and continued, “…that you merely married Georgina because you were nursing a broken heart for Viscount Blakely’s daughter.”

Adam ground his teeth, fighting the urge to cross over, drag Nick up by the lapels of his coat and throw him from the room. Nick knew nothing about what plagued Adam but believed he possessed some kind of insight that gave him leave to speak candidly about Adam’s marriage.

“That’s right. I’m bitter because I loved and lost Blakely’s daughter,” he mocked.

The truth has more to do with the fact that I loved and lost my own wife.

Mother stifled a gasp behind her hand. “Adam, you are destroying your reputation.”

He spun on his heel. “Is that what has you worried, Mother? My reputation?” He snarled the last word at her.

Nick surged to his feet. “Do not speak to her in that tone.”

Tears filled his mother’s eyes, and a wave of guilt hit him. “We are worried about you, Adam,” she whispered. “I wish you’d never met that woman. Either of them. But you did, and you are married to Georgina. You must put aside your differences. If you don’t, it will destroy you.” A hauntingly prophetic note hung on those last words.

Adam shoved down the unnerving sensation roiling in his gut. He bowed his head. “I’ll try.”

For as long as I’m wed to Georgina.

His heart turned over at the thought of her absent from his life.

“No more whiskey,” Nick instructed.

Adam nodded. The moment Georgina had fled his office like a scared rabbit he’d decided he’d taken his last drink. He’d wallowed in spirits long enough to know they were not erasing any of the bleeding hurt. “No more spirits,” he pledged.

Mother clapped her hands, a smile on her face. “Excellent! I shall call for tea so we might celebrate!”

She rang for a servant, who materialized almost instantly.

When the servant hurried off, Nick looked Adam square in the eyes. “I was determined to not like Georgina from the moment you all but dragged her from Middlesex Hospital. I’d decided early on that she was unworthy of you, brother.”

A defense sprang to Adam’s lips.

Nick held a hand up. “I believe I was wrong. To have faced down the gossips as she did that night took real courage. I think you can give this marriage a go. Even if you still love another woman.”

I don’t still love another woman. The only woman I love is my wife.

All he said, however, was, “Thank you.”

Nick nodded. Tension seemed to leave his broad shoulders and he managed a half-grin for Adam. “Tony bade me give you a message.”

“Oh?”

“He said you’re a bloody fool, and he can’t come around because if he did, he would lay you low.”

Adam grinned. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Nick smiled back. “He’s quite taken with your wife.”

Adam was saved from answering by the reappearance of the servant with a tray bearing a steaming porcelain pot and three fragile chintz glasses.

As Adam sat down to take tea with his family, he was forced to silently acknowledge to himself, that Tony wasn’t the only one taken with Georgina.