Romancing the Rogue (102 page)

She knew the moment Suzanne found her. The maid gasped. “We must get you out of here.”

Georgina closed her eyes, not wanting to see the questions in the other woman’s gaze. She must have noted the stark violet marks left on her forearms by Jamie’s fingers. She touched the corner of her bruised lip, wincing. Or mayhap her swollen lips. The memory of Jamie’s kiss entered her mind, and a hysterical giggle gurgled deep within her chest. She shivered.

Suzanne whispered something to her, but it was lost to the loud droning in Georgina’s ears.

The maid took her by the arm and steered her out of the shop and to a waiting carriage. The hum of mundane street sounds played out like the errant screech of a violin chord
—
deafening. Georgina stepped forward.

“Mrs. Markham!” Suzanne cried, pulling her back just as a phaeton came whirring by.

The fog lifted, and Georgina crashed to the ground. She landed on the pavement with a pained
oomph
. The passing horses kicked a spray of dust and dirt into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.

Several gentlemen hurried forward to offer their assistance, but Georgina climbed to her feet before they could reach her. Throwing propriety to the proverbial wind, she raced to the opened carriage door and allowed the tiger to assist her inside. Then, saints be preserved, the door closed, and she found herself alone with Suzanne.

“Are you all right?” Suzanne asked.

Georgina glanced out the window at the passing scenery. “I have a name for you,” she said. “Lord Ackerly.”

She didn’t answer the maid’s question, because Georgina had a sinking feeling she’d never be all right again.

* * *

For the first time in a fortnight, Adam hadn’t gone out to take dinner at his club or attend some other
ton
function. Seated behind his desk, he stared down at the note he’d received from his superior. It seemed Fitzmorris needed to meet with him on a matter of some urgency.

At a different point in his life, at a time before Georgina, those words would have galvanized him into motion. Now the whole blasted organization could go hang. Where had they been when he’d been taken captive? With their far-reaching influence, they’d been unable to spring him from Fox and Hunter’s clutches.

The only person he cared to see was his bloody wife.

So, of course, this would be the one night she’d gone out.

He pulled the watch fob from his jacket pocket and, for what was surely the hundredth time that day, consulted the piece. Thirty minutes past six.

Where in hell is she?

Folding up Fitzmorris’s note, he placed it inside the hidden compartment on his desk and rose.

Someone had to know where Georgina had gone.

“Watson!” he bellowed, striding out of the room. “Watson!”

He nearly collided with the old, graying man. “Yes, Mr. Markham?”

“Where in hell is my wife?”

Watson angled his head as if Adam had just asked him to fetch the king’s crown and not the woman he was married to. A nugget of guilt jabbed at him. His disregard had been abundantly clear, not only to his family and the
ton
but his staff as well.

“Watson?” Adam prodded with a trace of annoyance.

“She went out,” the butler blurted.

Adam briefly closed his eyes. “Yes, I had rather guessed that. Where has she gone?”

“A bookshop.”

“A bookshop?” Adam repeated.

Watson nodded. “Yes, a bookshop.”

Well, now that they’d cleared that away… “When did she go to the bookshop?”

The corners of Watson’s mouth tipped down ever so slightly. “I’m not sure sir.”

“You’re not sure?”

Watson nodded. “I wasn’t aware I was to keep track of Mrs. Markham’s whereabouts.”

Adam growled at his butler’s subtle disapproval.

For all anyone knew, his wife may as well have gone out hours ago. An inexplicable fear ate at him. He told himself to take a deep breath. When that made no difference in staving off his dread, he made himself take another. There had to be something more to Georgina’s absence. His heart slowed, panicked hurt blinding him.

Good God, what if she’s left me?

Adam pointed a finger at Watson. “I want my horse readied and the address of the establishment.”

Watson bowed his head. “Very well, sir.” He hurried to do Adam’s bidding.

Not even ten minutes later, Adam stood in the foyer, preparing to head out in pursuit of his wife when Watson opened the door.

Georgina swept through, her maid in tow.

She jerked to a stop at the sight of him. Her cloak was drawn tight about her, the billowing hood concealing her face.

His knees all but knocked together in relief. “Where did you go?” The harsh demand conveyed none of that to his wife, however.

Her body went rigid. “I went to a bookshop.” Her words were nearly lost in the muslin fabric of her cloak.

Watson made a move to retrieve it, but she waved him off and proceeded up the stairs.

Adam’s mouth fell open. Now that Georgina had returned, all his fears had abated, and he was left feeling more than a little foolish.

“Are you dismissing me?” he barked, taking the steps two at a time to keep up with her swift pace. He didn’t like his sweet wife discharging him as if he was nothing more than a wayward servant.

Georgina didn’t pause in her long, slow climb. “Please, Adam. You mustn’t pretend there is anything we have to talk about.”

Her words brought him up short and, by the time he’d collected his confounded emotions, Georgina had gone. The tall maid he’d employed for Georgina paused to shoot him a long, black look before hurrying after her mistress.

It was only as he stared bemusedly after them that he realized
—
Georgina hadn’t returned from her shopping with any purchases.

Doubts ran rampant.

Something was deucedly suspicious about his wife’s behavior, but Adam was too bloody confused too examine the reason for his apprehension. He couldn’t, however, turn a blind eye to her activities.

If she were betraying him again, God help her, because there would be no mercy on his part.

Seated behind his desk, Adam stared down at the second letter Fitzmorris had sent round. There was a greater note of urgency in this missive. The other man requested an audience on the morrow. Adam sighed, tossing the sheet onto his desktop. He’d pay Fitzmorris a bloody visit and be done with him.

The day Adam had been dismissed from The Brethren, his role within the organization had been amputated. Like a petulant child, he delighted in ignoring their bloody summons. Except now, he needed the diversion, something to keep his mind from the state of bloody confusion Georgina had plunged him into.

Fighting the urge to bury his head in his hands, Adam gripped the side of his desk. He and Georgina had managed to co-exist in a relatively peaceful existence, which was a tremendous feat considering he’d wanted her thrown into Newgate not too long ago.

Now he didn’t know what he wanted for her.

Or them.

If Georgina had pleaded with him, professed her innocence, he suspected it would have fueled his hatred. She did none of those things. Rather, she moved through their household like a ghost. Her head lowered in an abject misery no one could possibly feign. It made him feel bloody guilty. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty over
—
it was Georgina who had deceived him
—
but it made no difference. His stomach roiled with agony until he wanted to reach for her, beg her forgiveness. Until he had to shake his head and think on the ludicrousness of such flawed thinking.

It is Georgina who should be pleading on her lovely knees for absolution.

He told himself that but, since he was being honest with himself, he could acknowledge that he didn’t wholly believe it.

The day she’d returned from the bookshop, her arms empty of purchases, warning bells had sounded in Adam’s ears. All signs had pointed to Georgina being involved in some clandestine act. He’d watched her quite closely over the next week, only to find that she didn’t go anywhere or interact with anyone. It only attuned Adam to the fact that her existence was a lonely one…
and his guilt swelled.

Adam sighed. He would get nothing accomplished this day.

He needed to see her. Adam made his way upstairs and nearly collided with her maid.

The tall woman’s cheeks were heightened with a splash of red. Her chest heaved as if she’d been running through the house and, when she spoke, her gasping words echoed his thought. “Have you seen Mrs. Markham?”

The warning bells blared louder. He shoved down the concern radiating from a point deep inside him. “I’m sorry?”

The maid frowned. “As you should be,” she muttered.

Adam blinked. Surely, he’d imagined the affront. “I beg your pardon? What’s your name?”

She tossed her chin back in a show of defiance. “Suzanne. If you’ll excuse me, sir. I have to find Mrs. Markham.”

Had he just been dismissed by a servant? He shook his head. The world was going all topsy-turvy on him. “Just a moment,” he commanded in the tone that had frozen traitors in their tracks.

Suzanne spun around, planting her hands upon her hips. Fire danced in her eyes. “Yes, sir?”

Adam’s thoughts spun.

Am I really going to address her impudence? Christ, I’ve gone stodgy.

“Where the hell is my wife?” he barked.

She gave her head a toss. “If I knew that, sir, would I be asking you?”

He strode down the hall toward Georgina’s rooms, asking over his shoulder, “Have you searched her chambers?”

The maid pressed her lips into a firm line. “Yes, sir,” she said, but not before Adam saw the way she pointed her eyes to the ceiling.

Adam paused outside Georgina’s chambers and threw the door open.

Suzanne hovered in the doorway.

Adam strode through the immaculate room, knowing implicitly what his wife’s maid had already verified—Georgina was not here.

He frowned, turning in a slow circle. His gaze landed on her armoire.

Adam threw open the oak doors and began tossing aside dress after dress, examining the contents until they littered the floor in a colossal heap of satins and taffeta. He stomped over the garments, his boots crinkling the expensive fabrics.

“What are you looking for?” Suzanne asked, suspicion lacing her words.

Adam ignored her question. He stopped beside Georgina’s faultlessly made bed and tugged the coverlet off, tossing it to the ground.

The maid gasped.

A familiar red leather book peeked from beneath Georgina’s pillow. Adam frowned and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Absently he looked through the book when one particular page snagged awkwardly on a lone scrap of paper.

His heart quickened.

“Sir?” Suzanne pressed.

Adam removed the sheet and unfolded it to read the damning words. His stomach felt as if he were being pitched around the deck of a small vessel on a stormy sea.

Four o’clock.

Ye Old Bookshop.

Leave your maid.

Ever Yours, H

H.

An image surfaced of Georgina wrapped in Hunter’s arms, the other man lifting her skirts and fucking her while she cried out with longing for the man who’d stolen Adam’s freedom and destroyed his life.

A filmy layer of pain and fury descended over his eyes, blurring his vision. His fists tightened convulsively around the paper, crinkling it into an unrecognizable ball. With a roar that tore from somewhere deep within his heart, Adam tossed it across the room and slammed his fist into the coverlet.

Goddamn her.

“Sir!” Suzanne cried when he spun around and all about flew from the chambers.

He raced down the stairs, bellowing for his carriage.

~~~~

Four o’clock.

Ye Old Bookshop.

Leave your maid.

Ever Yours,

H

Georgina stared across the bustling street at the bookshop.

It had been ten days since she’d had her first and last meeting with Jamie. She’d not heard hide nor hair from him or the duke.

Until this morning. She’d had to work quite hard to slip out without Suzanne noticing. The maid clung to her side like an aged vine wrapped about an old oak. Now, part of her wondered at the wisdom of setting off alone. The duke had made it quite clear that Suzanne was to accompany her everywhere.

He’d not however indicated what she should do if Jamie requested a meeting and ordered her to leave Suzanne behind.

She’d had the better part of the day to analyze the prudence of her intended actions. In the end, she had rationalized that if she were to provide the assistance the Crown needed then she would have to take these added risks. Thus far, she’d only obtained a solitary piece of information for the duke
—
the name, Ackerly. She’d pledged to help the Crown and her efforts had proven ineffectual.

No longer.

Squaring her shoulders, she set off across the street and entered the bookshop. Georgina managed a quiet greeting for the merchant, who tried in vain to engage her in conversation. Her nerves were too frayed to muster pleasantries, and she wandered in silence down the long rows.

She stopped in front of a shelf and stared at the book directly in her line of vision. Othello.

Her lips turned in a sorry rendition of a smile. Shakespeare’s work seemed very apropos.
Take note, take note, O world, To be direct and honest is not safe.

With a sigh, Georgina set it aside.

In the nearly three weeks since Adam had discovered her betrayal, he’d tempered the stinging vitriol he directed her way. He’d also not indulged in spirits since the day in the library when she’d slapped him. Their names had also appeared less and less in the scandal sheets, though that had more to do with their retreat from society’s peering eyes.

Her husband had not warmed to her, however. He made no move to touch her or engage in any real conversation outside of rapid questioning as to where she’d been and what she’d done each day. Georgina knew Adam’s questions stemmed more from suspicion than any real interest in how she spent her days.

She had tried to weave her way back into his good graces. Lord knew she had tried. In spite of the toe-curling awkwardness of seeking out a man who could care less whether she lived or died, Georgina would join him in the library, the parlor, or his office whenever she could.

On one occasion, she’d slipped into the parlor and found him with a sketchpad in his hands—his head bent low over the page, tousled blond locks falling over his eye.

Reminded of the things that had united them during the days of his captivity, Georgina had slid behind the pianoforte and begun to sing. Adam had jerked his head up, his erratic movement sending the sketchpad falling to the floor.

He’d glowered at her with such dark annoyance that she’d fumbled with the keys, creating a discordant, grating noise. She’d closed her mouth, risen clumsily to her feet, and stormed from the parlor.

Georgina had long ago realized that she would not be able to win back her husband’s affections. Even if he forgave her, she would always be Fox’s daughter and that could not be undone.

Her heart tightened at the truth of her silent acknowledgement. Georgina shoved her sorrowful musings into a deep corner in her mind. She could not think about this. Not now. She needed to be prepared for her meeting with Jamie.

The minutes ticked by and her nerves stretched so thin she had to bite her lip to keep from throwing her head back and screaming. Nearly two hours later, Georgina began to suspect Jamie had no intention of coming. Nonetheless, she continued to wait. And wait. And wait.

Until there was no choice but to accept that Jamie wasn’t honoring the meeting. With a sigh, Georgina snatched the copy of Othello and carried it to the front counter.

The owner of the shop smiled at her, displaying an uneven row of yellowing teeth. “Very different than your unusual selection,” he observed.

She turned her money over to him and accepted her purchase. “I was feeling the need for a change.”

He scratched the top of his bald pate. “Isn’t the most happy of Shakespeare’s work.”

He had her there. But then the book fit her mood perfectly.

Georgina bid him good day and hurried off with her purchase under her arm. She stepped outside, squinting into the bright daylight for sign of her driver. Catching sight of him, she began walking forward.

“Good day, Georgina,” Jamie said, and moved directly into her path.

Her recently purchased book tumbled into a puddle of black and brown sludge. She gasped.

Jamie held his elbow out. “Come with me, Georgina.”

Georgina shook her head, fighting a burgeoning sense of panic. She couldn’t accompany him, not alone, and not in this very public fashion. The gossips would sharpen their teeth on such delicious fodder.

She took a step away from him.

“Don’t even think of it, my dear.” Jamie smiled through tightly clenched teeth.

For anyone passing by, they’d only see a compellingly handsome gentleman with an affable grin. Only Georgina had the experience to know that this smile preceded his most vicious attacks.

Memory of the duke’s admonition that she take Suzanne with her everywhere surfaced. Georgina swallowed back her growing apprehension. “I-I…”

He extended his elbow. A courteous offer from a gentleman assisting a lady across the street.

Georgina’s stomach curled into a tight ball of tension that made her mouth go dry. She was besieged by the ominous thought that if she joined Jamie, she would never return. The flecks of gold shooting fire in his pale blue eyes, the vein throbbing at his temple…
all pointed to a palpable, dangerous fury.

“N-no. I have to—”

“If you care even a bit for your husband, I suggest you accompany me, Georgina.”

She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to guide her across the street.

All the while, she sought out her driver. When she found him, any hope of salvation died a swift and painful death. The young man stood with his back to the street, engrossed in a conversation with a pretty maid.

Jamie rested his hand against the small of her back, applying subtle pressure. He led her to a black carriage. “Get in.”

Georgina bit the inside of her ch eek and allowed him to assist her inside.

The door closed and the conveyance rattled off, carrying Georgina away from the bookshop. No one knew where she had gone. She’d left no note to indicate that she’d received a summons from Jamie. When she didn’t return that evening
—
and, casting a glance at Jamie from beneath hooded lids
—
it was a certainty that she wouldn’t return, no one would note her absence. Not her husband, nor her staff.

Suzanne!

She sent a silent prayer to a very busy God that her maid had discovered her absence. Why, even now the young woman might be alerting the duke—

“I’m disappointed in you, Georgina,” Jamie said, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. He leaned over and gripped her chin, forcing her closer so that his hot breath wafted over her skin.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“Very disappointed,” he murmured. He relinquished her so suddenly she pitched backward, slamming her head into the wall of the carriage.

She curled her fingers into the fabric of her skirts as she sought to hide the terror growing in her breast. She didn’t speak, knowing Jamie was toying with her like the cat who’d trapped the mouse. No, she wouldn’t give in to that fear. It would only heighten the sick pleasure he took in torturing her.

“Do you know why I’m disappointed?”

She wet her lips. “No.”

Georgina had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what had pushed Jamie to the brink of madness. She prayed she was wrong but knew in her heart that he’d discovered her deception. There was no other accounting for the about-face from their last encounter. It was why he hadn’t contacted her over the past ten days. Why he’d instructed her to leave Suzanne behind.

She unfurled her fingers. With infinite slowness, she inched her hand along the edge of the seat.

Jamie grabbed her before she’d even grasped the handle. He squeezed her wrist.

A hiss of pain escaped her as tears flooded her eyes.

“Lying bitch,” he snarled.

“Jamie,” she implored.

He backhanded her across the face. A loud thrumming resonated in her ears.

She gave her head a clearing shake. “Please.”

Don’t hurt me. Let me go. Tell my husband I love him.

Jamie dusted his hands, as if by touching her he had forever sullied his person. He reached for the curtain and directed his attention outside, seeming to study the passing scenery. He spoke in a chillingly cheerful voice. “Do you know that I insisted you were loyal? I went against your father’s better judgment. I attested to your honor.”

“I am honorable.” She cradled her throbbing cheek within her hand. It was true. She just happened to be loyal to those other than Jamie and the Irish Republicanism.

Jamie’s nostrils flared. The curtain fluttered back into place. “Do you take me for an idiot?” he exploded.

“I—” Her protestations were rewarded with another cruel slap. This time to the opposite cheek.

“Enough. Not another word until we reach our destination.”

She wanted to ask where they were going, but Jamie’s muscled biceps rippled through the fabric of his coat, and his shone with barely suppressed rage. She’d find out nothing else from him. All she would do was invite another assault.

The silence, only broken by the swift-moving wheels and the occasional whinny of the horses, was more torturous than even Jamie’s taunting barbs. The quiet fed her fear and led her thoughts down the path of regret.

She should have left Father and Jamie long, long ago. During his captivity, Adam had continually prodded her, encouraging her to go, asking why she remained. She’d thought the information she passed to the Crown absolved her of wrongdoing. Helped save honorable lives. In the end, nothing she’d done had ever really mattered.

She’d thought herself brave. The truth was sick and ugly. Georgina had been a coward all her life. She’d allowed her father and Jamie to browbeat her, had stood silent while Father rained vitriolic disapproval upon her head until she’d become a shell of the young girl she’d once been. Over time, her shoulders had drooped a bit more, and her expectations in life had become much less.

It hadn’t been until Adam that the spark of life and laughter had been rekindled. Through his gentle encouragement and caring, she’d been born again into a woman she didn’t recognize. He had taught her to smile, and to dream.

She closed her eyes.

I will never tell him. I will never be able to hold him and thank him for showing me the strength I carry within. I will not tell him that he set me free. I will never see him again.

They will kill me.

The four words froze her beating heart, stilled the blood coursing through her body. She went numb as she faced the certainty of her own demise.

What will I have accomplished? What will be my mark on this world? A husband who detests me. A father who will most assuredly be the one to put a gun to my temple
—
and only then if I am fortunate.

Her stomach heaved, bile climbing up her throat.

She concentrated on drawing in long, even breaths until the wave of nausea passed.

And then she waited.