by Kate Bateman
“All right. I have a confession to make. I’m not actually married to a sailor, as I told you and Mother. I’m married to Benedict Wylde.”
Juliet’s eyes grew as round as saucers. She clapped her hand over her mouth and gave a little squeal of delight. “Ha! I knew there was something going on the moment I saw the two of you together! Those looks he sent you!” she crowed. “Tell me everything, Georgie, quick!”
Georgie did so, starting with her visit to Newgate but omitting any mention of Bow Street, Johnstone, or the submarine. She glossed over the events at the Tricorn Club, and settled for the rather inadequate phrase, “—and so we decided to, ah, consummate the marriage, and it was … very enjoyable.”
Juliet clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, this is a famous! Worthy of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. You’re supposed to be the sensible one, you know!”
Georgie sighed. “I don’t know what came over me. I only wanted to keep Josiah at a distance and gain some independence for myself. This whole situation has become far more involved than I ever intended.”
Juliet sobered. “Do you care for him, Georgie?”
“Who, Josiah? Absolutely not.”
“No, you goose! Wylde.”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, of course, I like him, but—”
“Do you love him?”
Georgie stilled, reluctant to face that loaded question. She certainly loved what he did to her body. But physical attraction faded. Love, a marriage, needed more to survive. It needed shared interests. Compatibility. Respect. Trust.
“I think I could love him, if I allowed myself to,” she finally admitted. “But that would be a very foolish thing to do. We have an agreement. Once we’re wed in the eyes of the ton, we’re going to go our separate ways. He has no intention of making it a long-term arrangement.”
Juliet looked crestfallen. This, apparently, was not how fairy tales were supposed to go. “What if he changes his mind?” she urged. “What if he realizes he doesn’t want to let you go? Simeon would never—”
Georgie pleated the bedcovers. “That isn’t going to happen, Jules. Benedict is nothing like Simeon. Simeon worships the ground you walk on. He loves you with his whole heart.” She sighed again, more heavily. “It’s not like that between Benedict and me. Men like him don’t settle down with just one woman.”
They were silent for a moment, then Georgie brightened. “So, what happened at the Evans’? You said Simeon kissed you.”
Juliet closed her eyes in remembered rapture. “Oh, yes, he did, and it was wonderful! Just as I knew it would be. And guess what else? He proposed! He wants me to become Mrs. Simeon Pettigrew.”
Her tone made it sound like that was a title equivalent to “Empress of India and Queen of the Known Universe.” Georgie stifled a groan. “You know Mother still has her doubts about Simeon, Jules. She thinks you could do so much better than a penniless poet.”
Her sister’s lips formed a perfect pout. “I don’t want a man with a title. None of them love me as Simeon does. He doesn’t care a fig for how much I’m worth.” She stood and straightened the bedcovers with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book and present Mother with a fait accompli.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Georgie warned quickly. “She’ll come around. She only wants the best for you, after all. Just give it some time.”
“I know. I just hate pretending I’m considering other people when Simeon’s the only one I will ever want.” Juliet bent and gave Georgie an impulsive hug. “I know I don’t always show it, Georgie, but I’m so glad you’re my sister. I’m heading to Hatchard’s this morning with Mother. Is there anything you’d like?”
Georgie shook her head at her sibling’s mercurial changes of mood. “No, thank you, Ju. I’ll see you at lunch.”
* * *
It was only after Georgie dressed that she realized she was missing her wedding band and chain. She flushed; she must have left it in Benedict’s bedroom. She felt oddly naked without it, as if it were some lucky talisman, her private link to him. Even more irritating, she discovered that Benedict had put the fifty pounds she’d refused in her reticule. Stubborn man. She would have to find a way to slip it into his pocket when he wasn’t looking.
Juliet and Mother left for the shops in a flurry of skirts and perfume. Georgie had just entered the drawing room in search of breakfast when Tilly came in, holding a folded note.
“Letter for you, miss.”
Her heart leapt as she took it. “Thank you, Tilly.”
She glanced at the clock. Perhaps Benedict had changed his mind about letting her take part in Johnstone’s capture? She unfolded the missive with shaking hands and squinted at the scrawled, almost illegible writing. It took her a moment to decipher it. Meet me in the park. Copse near Tyburn tree. B.
Georgie frowned. She’d never actually seen Benedict’s handwriting, except for his signature on their marriage documents, but she’d have thought it was neater than this. He must have written it in haste.
She donned her pelisse, cloak, and bonnet and accepted Charlotte’s offer to accompany her “for a breath of fresh air.” As soon as they entered the park, however, she told the elderly maidservant to rest on one of the benches overlooking the ornamental lake and headed north, toward the strand of trees as she’d been instructed. She let out an amused huff as she searched the vista for Benedict. Mysterious assignations in parks were more Juliet’s style.
There were very few people around at this unfashionably early hour. The ton wouldn’t make an appearance until around four o’clock this afternoon when they would stroll down the walks and parade along Rotten Row in their curricles as slowly as possible in order to show off their latest fashionable acquisitions.
A cloaked figure loitered amongst the trees, and Georgie left the gravel path and headed that way. He disappeared behind a trunk, and she hastened forward, soaking her leather boots in the dew-damp grass. She entered the copse, peering around, and gasped when a hand shot out from behind a tree and captured her wrist.
“What’s—?” She recoiled in horror. “Josiah! What are you doing here?”
Her cousin’s smile turned her stomach. She’d been hoodwinked. Benedict hadn’t written that note at all.
“Well met, Cousin. You look a little peaked. Did you have a late night?”
She tugged on her wrist. “I did, not that it’s any of your business.”
His lip curled. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. It is very much my business.”
At this close distance, she could smell stale alcohol fumes on his breath and clothes.
His fingers tightened cruelly. “I saw you. At the Tricorn. I may have been drunk, but even four sheets to the wind I can still recognize my own cousin.” His eyes glittered. “You little tart! You were going to Wylde, weren’t you?”
She pressed her lips together.
Josiah shook his head. “At first I thought you’d taken a fancy to him after he defended you at Vauxhall. That you’d fallen into his arms out of gratitude,” he sneered. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she tried again to free her wrist, but his hold was inescapable. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do, love. This morning I had a rather unexpected visitor. Tell me, does the name Knollys ring any bells?”
Her blood ran cold.
“You’ve gone pale,” he mocked cruelly. “Cat got your tongue? I’ll tell you, then. Mr. Knollys is the turnkey of Newgate prison. A rather revolting character, I’m afraid, but a man who possesses an excellent memory. As luck would have it, Mr. Knollys was present at a cock fight I attended in Blackheath recently. He heard someone shout my name across the pit and recalled another Caversteed he’d dealt with just recently. He decided to pay me a visit. Imagine my surprise when he told me he had some interesting information about you, dear heart.” His sickly grin made Georgie want to retch. “What do y
ou think he told me? Hmmm?”
“I can’t hazard a guess.”
“He made the outrageous claim that you and Wylde are man and wife.” Josiah rounded his eyes in mock horror. “I didn’t believe it, of course, but then he showed me the marriage register from Newgate, and there it was, clear as day: your signature and Wylde’s. Married not five weeks ago.” He shook his head, his expression changing to one of disbelief mingled with fury. “You vindictive little bitch. You did this to spite me, didn’t you?”
His cheeks, already spidered with veins, grew even redder and more mottled. Georgie had never seen him in such a passion. Her heart began to thump in fear but she didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes. I did. Because I’d rather be married to a Newgate felon than to you.”
His laugh was ugly. “You think he doesn’t want your money? Of course he does. I bet you paid him a pretty penny to go along with your plan, didn’t you?” He snorted in disgust. “God, that bastard must have laughed himself silly. You spring him from jail then let him slip between your legs.”
Georgie winced at his crude summation. “What do you want? More money? You won’t get it. I won’t give you another shilling. Benedict was right. You need to take responsibility for your own actions. You’re a grown man, Josiah. Act like one. Now let me go.”
“It’s not about money anymore, you little whore.”
She almost laughed in hysterical disbelief. Josiah not wanting money? The world had gone mad.
“It’s you I want now.”
“Well, you can’t have me,” she snapped.
He tilted his head, and the calculating look in his eye made her shiver. His voice was almost a caress. “Ah, Georgie. I could have understood if it was just business. But to see you whoring yourself out to him? I can’t bear it.”
Georgie had heard enough. She dug her heels into the soggy ground and bent her knees to get free of his grip, tugging with her whole weight behind her. Josiah cursed, and a flash of white fluttered in her peripheral vision as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Before she could react, he pressed the fabric over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air. She cried out in panic and kicked at him, but he caught her in a crushing grip around her ribs. She tried to inhale, to bite him, but it was impossible. The edges of her vision grew fuzzy and narrowed like a tunnel closing in. She heard Josiah laugh.
“Shhh, sweeting.”
She’d been so stupid.
Her knees grew weak, and her lungs burned. She scratched at his hand, desperate to remove the fabric so she could breathe. Then his fingers pressed into the side of her neck, hard against her pulse, and everything went black.
Chapter 33.
She awoke in a moving carriage. Her head felt heavy, her throat raw. Sounds came and went, as if she were beneath a pillow or under water; the blowing of the horses, endlessly pounding hooves. A painful jolt as the wheels bumped through a rut.
She didn’t want to open her eyes. This didn’t smell like her own carriage; it was musty and filled with a strange, smoky odor. Opium. She knew the scent from Blackwall—many sailors, especially those from the east, favored the stuff over regular tobacco.
She cracked her lids apart, praying she was alone, and suppressed a groan. Josiah was sprawled haphazardly on the opposite seat, watching her with a smug, satisfied expression. A small oil lamp burned on a wooden crate next to him, and as she watched, he held the bulbous end of a long pipe over the flame and took a deep inhale. His exhale sent a thin stream of blue smoke in her direction.
She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up and found to her fury that her wrists and ankles had been tied. She coughed and waved her bound hands in front of her face to dispel the cloud. Anger warmed her veins. She’d been abducted! In broad daylight, by her slug of a cousin. She’d never imagined him capable of such stupidity.
Josiah sent her a blissful, relaxed smile. “Ah! You’re awake. I did worry I’d been a little rough with you. I’m glad that’s not the case.” He coughed, and it turned into a high-pitched giggle. He sounded unhinged. Had he lost his mind? She could escape him if he were slow and incapacitated. If only she could get free of her bonds. If he’d missed the knife in her boot she might have a chance.
She wriggled into a more upright position and scowled at him. “This is ridiculous, Josiah. Where are we going?”
He sent her a dreamy smile, took one last puff of the pipe, then set it aside and extinguished the little lamp. “Somewhere we can be completely private.” The way his gaze roamed over her body made her stomach curdle. “Always thought you were pretty,” he murmured. “Not as sweet as Juliet, of course, but I like your haughty manner. More of a challenge.” His lip curled, as if he’d been reminded of something unpleasant. “Wylde accepted that challenge, didn’t he, eh? You’re a real woman now. Know what it’s like to have a man between your legs.” He licked his lips. “You’ll find out again soon enough.”
She quelled a whole-body shudder.
“You think he’s shagging you because he wants you?” Josiah continued, his voice soft. “The whole ton knows he needs cash. His estates are mortgaged to the hilt. His brother’s scarcely managed to keep things afloat since their father cocked up his toes and left them neck-deep in debt.”
He smiled at her furious expression. “Ah yes, I’ve done some digging on your Mr. Wylde. He’s tried everything to make a shilling, you know. Cards. Horse races. Sharp-shooting contests. Those didn’t last long—he was too good. Nobody’s stupid enough to accept his challenge now.” He shook his head and shot her a sorrowful look of mock-sympathy. “His other women have all been beautiful. Experienced. Sophisticated. Why’d he want a fumble with a virgin, eh?”
“You don’t know anything about it,” Georgie snapped, stung to respond. “He knows he can’t touch my money. He signed the contract I had drawn up. He—”
Josiah scoffed. “He’s playing you like a fiddle. Just biding his time, waiting for you to fall in love with him, so you’ll change your mind and insist he has access to it all.”
Her voice shook with tightly controlled rage. “That’s not true!”
But Josiah’s words were like poison; he voiced every negative thought she’d ever had about her interactions with Benedict, all her insecurities. Was he only taking advantage of what she offered so willingly? Was he laughing at her eagerness? Her inexperience? Did he pity her? That would be unbearable.
She leaned her aching forehead against the cool glass pane of the window, even though it rattled horribly, and stared at the drab landscape flying past. It looked as though they were on the outskirts of London, but she had no idea where.
Josiah was wrong. Benedict wasn’t conning her. There was more between them than lust. They were friends. They enjoyed each other’s company, made each other laugh. And it went deeper than a shared sense of humor; they both believed in protecting family, no matter what. She would do anything for her mother, sister, Pieter. He would do anything for his brother, and for his family-in-war, his comrades at the Tricorn Club.
The difference between Benedict and Josiah was that Benedict wouldn’t sacrifice his own sense of honor to achieve his ends. He was a decent man beneath his cynical, playboy veneer. He’d earned her respect. Georgie blinked as everything came into sudden focus. Benedict didn’t just have her respect.
He had her heart. Her love.
Her chest pounded, and she almost laughed, despite the dire situation. How simple it was. She was in love with Benedict Wylde. Her own husband.
Josiah was still talking. “I’ll bet a rake like him’s taught you all sorts of whore’s tricks, hasn’t he? I used to think you were so cold.” He laughed, a thoroughly unpleasant sound. “It’s true what that say, though. Blood will out. You’re no highborn bitch with ice water in her veins, are you, Georgie? You’re your father’s daughter, a merchant’s brat. No better than a tavern wench.”
She was saved from answering when the carriage took a sharp turn between a pair of low stone markers. They hadn’t passed a
nother dwelling for some time—only ploughed fields flanked the narrow track—and her sense of panic increased.
“Nearly there,” Josiah said cheerfully. “This is about the only place I haven’t had to sell. Used to be Great-Uncle Rupert’s hunting lodge. No one will disturb us here.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
The vehicle rocked to a stop, and Josiah climbed down and spoke briefly to the driver. Then the door on her side opened, and he reached in and grabbed her waist. Not wanting to risk being dropped, Georgie suffered his touch until he’d placed her on the patch of overgrown gravel, then she used the few inches of slack rope between her tied ankles to hobble away from him. She looked up at the tumbledown building in front of her with a sinking feeling.
“Hunting lodge” was too grandiose a description. The place was barely more than a cottage, with a roof that looked like it was about to collapse and several broken panes of glass in the front windows.
She tottered wildly around to face the driver. “Sir, please. Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll triple it.”
The man, a skinny, rat-faced fellow with sunken cheeks and dead eyes glanced at Josiah, then pretended he hadn’t heard her. He flicked the reins over the horses’ backs, and Georgie bit back a howl of fury as the carriage lumbered away.
“A hundred pounds!” she called after him desperately.
He didn’t even pause.
So much for helping a damsel in distress, the swine.
Josiah chuckled and unlocked the front door. It had dropped on its hinges, and he had to push hard to get it to open, but with a shriek of protest the wood scraped across the flagstones and he stepped inside.
“This way, my dear.”