Romancing the Rogue (80 page)

He shot his free hand out, reaching for her.

Georgina righted herself and frowned at him, confused by his troubled expression. His eyes conveyed regret. She swallowed, uncomfortable. People did not worry about her. This stranger’s concern pierced Georgina’s soul.

She cringed. What a silly, pathetic creature she was.

“Are you all right, miss?” His quiet words interrupted her musings.

Well, my father is a traitor. I’m stealing his secrets and sending them off to the British government. Oh, and you nearly strangled me. How could I ever be better?

“I’m well enough,” she said, with a touch of impatience.

Georgina walked a wide path around him and paused at the small, chipped wood table in the corner of the room. She planted her hands on the edge of the hard surface and used her hip to shove the piece of furniture over to the prisoner. All the while her skin burned under the intensity of his gaze. She picked up the tray and slid it toward him.

“You should eat.” Georgina spun on her heel and hurried to the doorway. She’d come to help him, but this man had roused a whirlwind of emotions beneath her breast that she didn’t care to examine.

“Don’t go!” His voice stopped her. “Please. I’m sorry about before…” He looked down, shame coloring his neck. “I would never have hurt you.”

Georgina turned around. She studied his battered features. The truth was etched in painful lines on his face. He wouldn’t have hurt her, but that did not mean she had escaped danger. The longer she stayed here and talked to him, the more compelled she was to help him and risk her father’s wrath.

Yet, she moved to the empty chair next to him. “I am so sorry about what they’ve done to you,” she said.

He arched a golden brow. “But not enough to free me?”

She poured a glass of water into the crystal tumbler and handed it to him.

He eyed it as though it contained witches’ brew. A strangled laugh escaped his lips. “Why should I trust you?”

He was right. This man didn’t know about the previous prisoner she’d freed. Or the notes she dashed off to members of the Home Office. No one suspected the truth. This man only saw her as complicit in the ugliness that went on here.

“You’ve no reason to trust me,” she said at last.

Apparently, his thirst won out over his skepticism for he reached for the glass. His fingers brushed hers.

Georgina’s skin heated at the brief meeting of flesh.

“What is your name?” He drained the glass.

She stiffened and leaned forward in her chair, poised to flee should he recognize her name. “Georgina Wilcox.”

He gave no outward reaction to her admission. “I am Adam Markham.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she realized he did not know who she was. Guilt niggled at her. She reminded herself she was not to blame for Father’s crimes, but the thought rang hollow in her heart.

“I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances, Mr. Markham,” she said.

He studied her a little too intently, and Georgina shifted in her seat. His gaze set a small flame alight in her bosom. The instinct for survival warred with her empathy. Except there was something more—some indiscernible feeling toward him she didn’t understand nor care to analyze. She reached for his bindings then stopped. If she were ever to help this man, she’d have to plan carefully. She couldn’t let Father and Jamie discover her intentions beforehand as they had done that long ago night.

The stranger’s beautiful lips turned down. “So, tell me. What manner of woman would leave me tied here at the mercy of those bastards—” As if sickened by the mere sight of her, he looked away.

She leaned forward. “If I free you, there is a guard outside who will shoot you dead. If that isn’t enough, I will pay the price for your death. A price with my own flesh.” She let the weight of this dark truth sink in.

Silence reigned between them. They sat in uneasy silence. Her gaze slid away.

His stomach gave a rebellious rumble.

Georgina remembered she’d come to feed him and, eager to give her fingers something to do, she reached for a sliver of apple and held it to his lips.

Something in his gaze softened. “Are you Eve?”

She angled her head. “Georgina.”

A sharp bark of laughter burst from his chest. The explosion of mirth seemed to rob him of breath. He coughed in obvious pain. “Christ, either you’re an excellent actress or the most naïve woman I’ve ever met.”

“Oh.” Heat flooded her cheeks. “
That
Eve. Which, of course, makes you Adam.”

“Adam and Eve,” he murmured. He cast an almost empty gaze around the room.“And it would appear we’ve both been cast into hell.”

Georgina’s gut clenched at the all-too familiar sentiment uttered by this man, Markham. She cleared her throat. “Do you want the apple or not?” She waved it in his direction.

His lips parted, displaying an even row of pearl-white teeth. Georgina hesitated a moment, feeling a bit like a rabbit feeding a wolf, then slipped the fruit into his mouth.

He bit into it, all the while watching her as if he could divine her secret yearnings. When he opened his mouth again, she brought another piece of the apple.

“Why are you here?” he asked, after he finished his next bite.

She looked at him. Their gazes caught and held. “I have no choice.”

Markham’s flinty stare threatened to bore through her. “They have you captive as well?”

“I am a victim of my circumstances, Mr. Markham.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You are a servant.”

She should tell him the truth. Confess who she was.

What does it matter?
a niggling voice whispered at the edge of her mind.
It is your father who is hell bent on an Irish revolution—not you.

“Why are you here?” She turned his question around on him, uncomfortable with his assumption.

“I, too, am a victim of my circumstances.”

Georgina glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “I should go.” She stood.

He opened his mouth to speak. She had the distinct impression he wanted her to stay but she shoved the silly thought aside. Why would he desire her company?

Georgina reached for his bindings but the memory of his hand around her neck froze her mid-motion. She rubbed the sensitive skin where that possessive touch—firm but gentle—lingered. No one had ever handled her with even a modicum of tenderness. Reason had taught her to loathe such weakness. After all, compassion had brought her nothing but trouble.

His gaze went to her neck. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ve never mistreated a woman before.”

Considering her own experience with men and his earlier violent outburst, she didn’t put much faith in his statement. Nonetheless, Adam Markham was desperate, an emotion she knew well.

She waved off his apology. “You’re not the first to…put me in my place.” A niggling whisper of a dream flitted through her mind. In a different life she would have been the beloved daughter of a loving couple. She may even have a doting suitor. How different might her life have been if she’d been born a daughter to loyal British subjects? Georgina brushed back a loose strand of hair. “I wish there was something I could do to help you, but I can’t.” At least not now.

“You can free me.” He was nothing if not persistent.

“I already said I can’t.”

His eyes ran a path over her face, but he said nothing.

Georgina bound his hands and hurried to leave before her father came home.

“Miss Wilcox?” Mr. Markham called out to her.

She paused.

“Thank you,” he said in hushed undertones.

With a nod, she took her leave and made her way to the kitchen, where she gathered potatoes for the evening meal.

Self-preservation dictated she forget Adam Markham. Yet her heart wouldn’t allow her to do any such thing. All the while she prepared dinner, the visage of the handsome stranger danced through her mind.

He’d mistaken her for a servant.

Her skin tingled with the remembrance of his silken fingertips caressing her rapidly beating pulse.

If he’d wanted to strangle her before, what would he do if he learned she was really his captor’s daughter?

In his meeting with Napoleon, Robert Emmet was informed the British have in their employ an agent who is assisting France. This person has pledged to also help the United Irishmen.

Signed,

A Loyal British Subject

Adam Markham had been betrayed. For seven years, he’d faithfully served the Home Office as a spy with the Brethren of the Lords. He’d uncovered the identities of Irish radicals trying to separate from England, had uncovered plots against the Crown, and seduced the secrets out of nefarious women all over the Continent.

None of his accomplishments mattered when coupled with his one great failure
—
the lapse in judgment that had earned him this month-long descent in the pit of hell.

Adam stared blankly at the cheerful floral curtains of his prison, at the sun’s rays raining false brightness through the window.

The night Fox and Hunter had taken him prisoner, he’d been drugged. That much was clear. Adam had been in his townhouse, meeting with four other members of the Brethren, two of whom had been strangers. Someone must have slipped something into his glass of wine.

Who had handed him over to Fox? Fury licked at his insides, and he fed that anger because it staved off the mind-numbing fear. With a roar, he yanked his arms. The rope dug into his skin, rubbing the flesh raw until blood seeped down his wrists. Adam unleashed a string of black curses against his captors.

Adam comforted himself with the image of the day he would eventually be freed. He would use his far-reaching influence to see Fox and Hunter were made to pay. He would destroy his captors and all those who’d betrayed him. Their immediate death would be too easy. He would see that they suffered a traitor’s public death so that any and all linked to them would learn the perils of interfering with the Brethren. Still, it wasn’t only the thirst for revenge that kept him alive. Not anymore. Now there was also the young maid, Georgina.

As if his unspoken thoughts had summoned her, she appeared in the doorway. Georgina froze at the entrance and tipped her chin back a notch. A fiery light sparkled in her chocolate brown eyes. She put him in mind of a skittish cat.

He couldn’t help but wonder what she’d be like if she lived in another house, in different circumstances. A cheery girl no doubt, with rose in her full cheeks, and a soft, sweet laugh that bubbled past her generous, bow-shaped lips. The thought made his heart twinge.

She carried a tray of food, on top of which rested a leather volume. “They’ve gone out,” she murmured, the husky tone washing over him, as she closed the door behind her.

He remained silent, continuing to study her. The thick dark waves of her hair always somehow managed to escape the knot at the base of her neck. Her slim figure was testament to the endless work she did in Fox’s home. But for the bountiful breasts and generous curve of her hips, the maid’s efforts had left her borderline gaunt. Still, there was something compelling about her.

Mayhap it was the determined sparkle in the brown of her eyes? Or the rigid set to her small shoulders that would have made a cavalry officer proud.

He’d tried to sort out her role in the household. With her regal carriage and cultured voice, she may as well have been any lady in a London drawing room. Her haggard figure and drab gown told a different tale. What had happened to bring her here?

As she did each time she visited, she released one of his bindings then took a quick step away from him. His gut churned with guilt as he thought back to the day he’d wrapped his fingers around her neck. Captivity did horrible things to a man. It turned gentlemen into monsters.

He eyed the bowl of chicken pottage. It was the third day in a row she’d prepared a meal of chicken. “Chicken, again.”

She frowned. “You always eat the chicken.”

“I eat all the food,” he pointed out. “I am a prisoner.”

“But you eat it faster, so I thought you preferred chicken and—” She clamped her lips shut. “I’ll make something different next time.”

As he shoveled another bite of broth into his mouth, he studied her. The quality linen dress she wore seemed more fitting of a lady than a household maid. He watched her fist and un-fist the silvery gray fabric of her skirts. Something seemed amiss, yet he could not put his finger on it.

“Is there anything I can bring you as a diversion?”

Her quiet question snapped him back to the moment.

Was that even possible?

“I draw.”

She tipped her head. “Draw?”

He waved his free hand. “Yes, sketch. People. Buildings. I like to sketch.”

“I’ve never known an artist,” she mused aloud.

Adam chuckled, the sound rusty from ill-use. “I’d hardly consider myself an artist. My tutor once gave me a copy of Francois Boucher’s work. I decided to try my hand at drawing.” He didn’t know why he’d disclosed such an intimate detail to her. Perhaps it simply stemmed from the bleak loneliness of his captivity.

When he said nothing else on the matter, Georgina gave a slow nod and rose. He called out to her, and she stopped at the threshold of the doorway.

“Thank you. You were correct. I prefer chicken.”

She angled her head over her shoulder, and a small smile turned the corners of her lips.

The next day she appeared with a dish of boiled chicken in a white spinach sauce and an empty sketchpad. She hovered uncertainly at his shoulder. His fingers flexed for the charcoal and parchment.

She reached for his right hand then froze. “Which hand do you use to sketch?”

“My left.”

Without another word, she released his left hand and opened the sketchpad.

He eyed the page. A thrill of excitement coursed through him as it always did when presented with a blank sheet. He trailed the callused tip of a finger on the parchment. An image of Grace, Viscount Camden’s elegant daughter
—
her wide, beaming smile, her violet eyes—flitted through his mind, and he froze. He didn’t want to draw her face. He didn’t want to bring her here into this bleak, violent world. He preferred her lakeside in the green pastures of Leeds where he’d last seen her.

In the end, the desire to see her one more time, even if it was just as charcoal rendering in a sketchpad, consumed him. His fingers danced over the page, reacquainting him with the feel of a pen in his hand, the feeling of old lovers meeting. Grace took shape. The riotous crown of tight curls dark on the page but crimson red in his mind gave him pause. A surge of pain climbed up his throat, and nearly strangled him.

“Are you all right?”

Adam blinked then forced himself to release a breath. “Fine.” His fingers resumed their efforts.

Georgina sat beside him for the two hours he sketched. When at last he finished, he studied the face that filled the parchment. Beautiful Grace. He’d last seen her once upon a lifetime ago.

“She is beautiful,” Georgina’s reverent whisper cut into his musings.

His throat moved up and down. “She is.”

“Who is she?” He ignored the slight catch in Georgina’s voice, fixing his gaze on the page with Grace’s image on it.

To speak of Grace in this den of traitors would be a sacrilege to Grace’s purity and goodness.
Oh God
, what must she think? He’d promised to return for her and yet between his last mission and his captivity it had been nearly six months since he’d seen her last.

“She’s just a lady,” he lied. He snapped the folio closed, ending any further questions about Grace Blakely.

“Is she your wife?”

A spasm wrenched his heart. He tried to conceal the flash of pain, but the woman was perceptive.

“She is your wife,” she concluded.

“She is not my wife.” Mayhap in another life, at a different time.

Georgina leaned forward. “But you love her.”

“Your questioning leads me to believe you are in fact working for the men here.” The words came out as an animalistic growl.

An indignant gasp burst from her lips. She leaped to her feet. “How dare you?”

Adam hurled the book across the room.

Georgina recoiled, the color seeping from her cheeks.

He arched a brow. “Is my assumption so far-fetched?”

Seeing her frozen, with trembling fingers gripping the edge of the table, stabbed at him like needles of guilt. Still, he could not prevent the biting edge to his words.

“You come here and learn my interests. You bring me foods that are hardly the fare of prisoners. What is the benefit in learning anything about me?” He slammed a fist down on the table and it rattled, sending the remnants of his tankard of water sloshing over the sides. “Goddamn it! Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“I am merely a loyal British subject.” She paused and gave him a lingering; as if that pronouncement was a monumental one that should mean something. Georgina sighed. “I only want to help you.” Something else flickered in her eyes, but was quickly gone.

“Then, for the love of Christ, free me. I have a family waiting for me. Surely that must mean something to you?”

A sadness too profound to measure filled her eyes. “It does. But would you exchange your life for mine?”

Sensing she was wavering, his raspy promise burst forth like cannon fire. “I can help you! I will take you with me.”

~~~~

I will take you with me.

Despite the risks, despite Adam’s beautiful lover, Georgina’s pulse quickened at the promise he dangled before her.

Could she trust him? There had been others before him, and they’d taught her that desperate men did and said desperate things. They’d bargained their families, their wealth, and all they had, to obtain their freedom. For all the help she’d given, they had left her behind.

Not one had thought her worth saving.

She studied Adam. In her breast, guilt warred with fear. He was in love. Her eyes wandered to the now-closed leather folio. Correction, he was in love with a stunning
lady
.

Georgina touched a curl and brushed it behind her ear.

He didn’t deserve to be a prisoner in this vile place.

“Your expression is pained.”

Georgina jumped at Mr. Markham’s his softly spoken words.

“And you always do that. Flinch as if you’ve been struck.”

That was, of course, because she had been. On more occasions than she could count.

“Mr. Markham…”

“We’ve known each other for what? A month? You keep me company nearly every day. I think we can dispense with formalities.” His lips turned up in a sardonic grin.

“Formalities?”

“My name is Adam,” he clarified.

“Georgina.”

“Georgina,” he teased in an almost seductive murmur.

Her skin warmed at the sound of her name on his lips. It was as though the one word utterance tumbled off his tongue like a lover’s caress. She brushed her foolish longings aside. She’d not survived these many years by being foolish. “I mean, you should call me Georgina.”

“Will you tell me about your family?”

She hesitated. His questions were dangerous. Nay,
all
questions were dangerous. If he discovered the truth… Her eyes wandered to a point beyond his shoulder as she imagined a very different world than the one she’d been born to.

“My mother was a maid. She was beautiful.”

Well, the latter part was true. At least, that’s what her father had told her of the woman who’d died giving birth to her. She often wondered if that was why he hated her. If he blamed her for her mother’s death?

“She would sing to me. I would sit at her feet each night, and she’d brush the tangles from my hair.” Oh, how much more beautiful this image was than the horrid truth.

“What of your father?”

She closed her eyes and summoned an idea of the father she’d always dreamed of. “He loved to tell stories. Mother and I would sit beside him, and he’d tell great tales.” She paused. It was far harder to craft even false memories for the monster who’d sired her. A ruthless merchant who’d harbored a bitter animosity for everything English, including his own daughter.

“Your tones are very cultured for a maid’s daughter.”

Georgina stiffened.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

His words danced too close to the truth. The Crown had known what they were doing when they trained this man to do its work.

“What happened to them?”

God, he was tenacious. Despite knowing exactly whom he meant, she asked, “To whom?”

“Your parents.”

She looked out the window and shifted, her lies piling onto the already heavy guilt she carried. “They died.” She directed her curt response to the gardens below.

“How did they—”

Georgina interrupted him before she had to add to her burden with further fabrications about her imaginary family. She spun around. “Why don’t you tell me about your family?”

She expected him to go silent as he so often did when she asked him probing questions she didn’t deserve an answer to.

“My father died when I was young. He suffered an apoplexy.”

The anguish on his face squeezed her heart. It called her back to the seat beside him. “I’m so sorry.” She sank into the chair.

Adam glanced down at his hands. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t make it less painful.” Desperate to drive back the sad lines at the corners of his lips, Georgina asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

He nodded. “Two brothers.”

A wave of wistfulness overtook her. “I would have traded my left hand for a brother or sister.”

Adam chuckled. “Yes, sometimes I am lucky. It would depend on which given day you ask me.”

“What are they like?”

His brow wrinkled. “Well, Nick is the eldest. He’s four years older than I am and always assumed responsibility for us. My youngest brother, Anthony, could drive a saint to drink. But they are a good, loving family.” His throat bobbed up and down, and she had to look away again.

“And what of the woman?” Her cheeks blazed at the boldness of such a question.

He reached for his glass of water and took a long swallow. “I can’t speak of her.”

“Because she was your love?” She curled her fingers into the sides of the chair as she waited in hopeful anticipation of his answer.

“Because she is the only woman I’ll ever love, and it is a disservice to her memory to speak of her.”

Pain knifed at her heart. What she wouldn’t give to have a man speak with that kind of passion about her. The alternative; that his words resonated because they’d been spoken by this enigmatic man, were too terrifying for her to seriously consider? She shook her head, ridding herself of the foolish notion.

“Have you ever been in love?”

She started at his question. “Never.” As much as she longed for an honorable suitor, Georgina didn’t think she’d ever find a man who would love and care for her. She’d long ago ceased to believe that she’d find a way out of this hell. “If I marry, it will be for security and stability. Never love.”

Adam’s brow wrinkled. “Those are unusual words for a young woman. Women like you are supposed to be starry-eyed and dreaming of a handsome young man to carry you away.”

Bitterness made her laugh. “My dreams of fairytale endings have long come and gone. There is no such thing as love.”
At least not for me.

He didn’t counter her words. Instead, he eyed her with that warm concern that was chipping away at the defensive wall she’d constructed around her heart. He was dangerous to the self-protection she’d spent the better part of her life perfecting.

Georgina scrambled to her feet so quickly she upended her chair. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, drawing blood. She bound his hands and retrieved the sketchpad. “I have to go.”

“Georgina!”

She raced from his room and down the stairs, sinking into a heap at the bottom step. She dropped her head into her hands. “What are you doing?” she mouthed into her palms.

The longer Adam Markham remained in her father’s lair, the more she had to confront her own weaknesses in preventing his evil. She needed to help him and fast. That much was clear. What wasn’t clear was how she would manage such a feat while taking care to avoid her father’s retribution.

She could not fail. Not again. Not as she had before.

Her body trembled as the image of the stranger killed by her father’s hand slipped into her mind’s eye. He’d been the one to give her the contact information for key figures in the Home Office. In the end, Georgina had been unable to help him. She had sworn she’d never again be responsible for another man’s death.

Adam’s gentle smile, his tousled golden hair, the sandalwood scent that clung to him filled her senses. Georgina folded her arms tight across her midsection as the stranger’s face took shape
—
only this time it was Adam on the floor. Adam’s chest painted red with blood. Adam’s—

“What’s the matter with you?”

She picked her head up and stared at her father’s corpulent form. He stood over her, a dark frown etched on his face. She’d be damned if he saw just how much his presence unnerved her. He’d always taken a perverse delight in her fear.

Georgina schooled her features. “Forgive me but watching a man suffer needlessly doesn’t sit well with me.” She rose to her feet and faced him.

Father chortled so deeply he broke into a fit of coughing. His rotund frame shook under the depth of his amusement.

Gooseflesh dotted her skin. How could she share the same blood as this loathsome creature?

His bushy white brows dipped. “You got that look in your eyes, Georgie.”

Georgina couldn’t imagine her father knew her well enough to recognize any kind of look about her. “What look is that, Father?”

“The one that reminds me how you betrayed us in the past.” Georgina did not answer fast enough for his liking, and he launched into a stinging diatribe. “Did you forget about the soldiers who raped your grandmother and then slit her throat? Are those the people you are loyal to, daughter?”

Georgina’s heart ached for the faceless woman she’d never known, but Mr. Markham was alive now. “Mr. Markham is not guilty of those crimes, Father.”

He slapped her hard.

Blood filled her mouth where her teeth cut the inside of her cheek, and stars danced behind her eyes. She fought the urge to cradle her face, too proud to show him the hurt he’d caused. But she’d be damned if she allowed him to see even a smidgeon of the pain he’d caused.

Black rage danced in his eyes, giving him the look of a feral animal. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “You’ll do what I tell you to do!” His rough hands closed painfully on her shoulders. “Now listen to me. You will make that bastard upstairs fall in love with you.”

A haze of confusion descended. “You want me to what?”

“Stupid girl,” he muttered. “We’ve tried beating the truth out of him. We’ve gotten nowhere. I want you to find out who his leader is. I want the names of all the men in his organization. They are the ones hunting down our members. We need to get to them before they get to us.” A heinous smile tilted the corner of his lips and chilled her through.

Now it made sense—father’s willingness to trust her with Adam even after she’d set his last prisoner free. She folded her arms and attempted to rub warmth into them. “And if I say no?”

Father’s lips turned up in a black smile. “If you do, I’ll let Jamie have at you.”

Ice filled her veins.

“Come, gel. You think I don’t see the way he’s panting after you? Why do you think he hasn’t had you yet?”

She’d believed her father at least valued her enough as a daughter to preserve her honor. Apparently, there were no redeeming aspects about him. He was a monster
.

Didn’t you already know that? Haven’t you witnessed the lengths he will go to achieve his goals?

She tried another plea. “Even with what happened to your mother, you would do that to me, your own daughter?”

He leaned close, fury dancing in his eyes. “I made a pledge to see Ireland liberated.”

She gritted her teeth in thinly veiled hatred. Could she betray Mr. Markham to save herself from Jamie? “And how do you propose I make your captive fall in love with me?” The achingly beautiful woman in the sketchpad surfaced in her memory.

“I don’t care what you do. Just do it.”

Georgina looked away. Jamie would violate her. She knew that, knew it with a sick sense of inevitability. The part of her deep down, the part bent on self-preservation, embraced the promise of safety her father held out before her. She closed her eyes and saw the hard angular planes of Adam’s face, a face too beautiful for words. She saw his long limbs, imagined them twined with hers in thoughts no good, respectable woman should ever have. Her pulse fluttered in remembrance of his thumb stroking the soft skin of her neck.

She opened her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she said in hushed tones. “I’ll care for him, I’ll feed him, but I won’t play this game of treachery.”

Her father growled and took a step toward her.

Georgina’s chin ticked up a notch. She held his flinty stare.

He cursed, and spit on the floor. “You’ll do what I tell you to do!”

She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the matter concluded.

“Get up there and care for him. Jamie is untying him now.” He jabbed another finger at her chest. “He is only unbound when one of us is present.” A hard nudge between her shoulder blades propelled her feet forward. “I don’t like keeping him around this long. As soon as I get the information we need, I can get rid of him.”

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She swallowed several times before managing to squeeze the words out. “Get rid of him?”

“Don’t worry yourself with that.”

Within moments, Georgina found herself staring at an unbound Adam Markham.

The door closed, the lock settling into place with an ominous click.

Adam’s frame unfurled was more impressive than anything she could have imagined. He towered like the god Apollo, a golden warrior. Her heart missed a beat.

“You are taller than I’d imagined.” She flinched.

Blast it! Shut your mouth, Georgina.

His lips twitched. “You are a tiny thing.”