And still... and still...
But it was her son who now turned his head and smiled at her sweetly.
“Ah, Mama, I love you so.”
A short, sharp sting in her heart, then she leaned forward and stroked his cheek. “I love you, too, my Finn.”
So much she had given up her past and all she had once been. So much that she had turned her memories into pale spectres, horrid ghosts, which she tried to keep under lock and key so they could not taunt her with regrets and senseless longing.
But Georgina had no regrets. Given a choice, she would do it all again, would ruthlessly cut herself off her past until it was dead and done with.
As it was now.
Chapter 6
But the ghosts of the past could not be suppressed forever, could not be banished into small bottles and their existence conveniently forgotten. However many times one buried them under stone and holly, they would always rise again, to haunt the living.
A few days later, on her free afternoon, Georgina sought to escape the oppressive late-summer heat and went for a walk at the river. She ambled along the path that wound through the meadows along the banks of the Main. A solid stone wall rose to her right, the town’s bulwark against the river’s more treacherous moods.
As the coolness she had hoped to find here remained elusive, Georgina ran a discreet finger under the fichu tucked into the neckline of her dress. The thin material stuck uncomfortably to her damp skin. She sighed and licked the drops of sweat from her upper lip.
Unbidden, memories of the old abbey where she had grown up crowded her mind. The coolness among the ancient walls, the soothing shadows under the arcades in the inner courtyard. There among small flowerbeds an old fountain had stood. A small, chubby boy riding on the back of a dolphin, the guardian spirit of the old building.
Despite the heat, Georgina shivered. Dear heaven, what was happening to her? Why was she thinking of these things now—after so many years had passed? She had to bite her lip against the sudden rush of tears that accompanied those memories of a happy past, never to be regained.
Shaking her head, she looked back to where the gables of Frau Else’s villa peeked over the high wall.
This was her home now.
She would never be able to go back, would never regain the happy days of her childhood and youth.
She swallowed.
The Villa under the Linden Trees seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, radiating happiness and good cheer. Don’t be sad, it whispered. Look, you’re with us now. Be happy with what you have!
And she was.
She was.
Resolutely, Georgina blinked her tears away. Had she not sworn to herself she would not succumb to these weak moments, would not dream of what-ifs and if-onlys? She had a kind employer, a snug home in the rooms under the gables of the gatekeeper’s house, a gentle, decent man courting her with patience and kindness, and best of all—she had her son. Her tall, lanky son, who had grown somewhat burly after his Italian adventures. And stubborn, if Martin Renner was to be believed.
A reluctant smile curved her lips.
So the young stag had started to test the bounds. Curiously enough, he had become even more affectionate towards her at the same time. Indeed, she sometimes thought he was seeking her affections more than ever before in the past years. In the evenings, when she sat at her window, sewing, he would now regularly sneak up to her room and settle down at her feet to lean his head against her knee—as if he had suddenly become a small boy again, who would come to her after a long day to be hugged and kissed. And so, she would run her hand through his hair, loving the feel of the wavy, dark strands under her fingers.
Oh yes, her son, her beautiful, lovable son had been worth it all. Even if her own parents had washed their hands of her because they had not been willing to endure the shame and the public censure, she still had her son.
Once again, she looked back to the villa. The windows winked at her merrily, making her smile.
“What dark thoughts you are entertaining on such a beautiful day,” she said softly to herself. Then she shook her head and laughed. Away with the bleakness! The sky was bright and blue, the air filled with birdsong and the scent of dry grass. The river glittered and sparkled like a million diamonds.
How could anyone not be happy on such a fine day?
Her step light, she walked forward. And this time, she only allowed the memory of Martin Renner’s warm brown eyes to intrude into her thoughts.
This was her present, this was her future, the past was gone and dead. And Frau Else was right to urge her to think about a future that included her secretary. Georgina remembered how he had looked on that afternoon a few days ago—deliciously hot and tussled—remembered the unexpected pang of heat that had exploded in her stomach.
Bemused, she touched her lips.
For all of Martin Renner’s gentleness, there was heat there, the promise of beautiful passion. She had seen it in the flare of his eyes, had felt it in the strength of his fingers that had cradled hers while he pressed his lips into her palm. Outrageously, skin to skin.
Her smile turned dreamy.
At the tingles that shot up her arm, she had not been able to prevent a gasp, half a moan, if truth to be told. He had let go of her hand, but his gaze had still held fast to hers and his lips had curved into a lazy smile, making her think of how his mouth would feel on other parts of her body—her neck, her breasts, the soft flesh of her belly... Wantonly, her nipples had hardened and pressed against the confines of her stays, hungering for his touch, for a man’s touch. For big, strong hands that would determinedly roam her flesh and discover all her secret, womanly places.
Georgina’s cheeks grew hot at her own thoughts. Grew hotter as inevitably her mind turned to her shy explorations when she had lain awake at night and had imagined Martin Renner touching her.
She took a deep breath.
Wanton.
And yet, she felt as if she were slowly coming alive again after all these years when her mind had been closed against her own sensuality. She had buried it in the deepest depths of her being, but like a seedling it had found its way to the surface and was now unfurling its leaves, one by one, until it would bloom once more.
And she didn’t know whether this should make her happy—or frighten her witless.
Because as was the case with all fragile flowers, it was so easily crushed and trodden into dust.
Her stomach clenched.
And I could not endure this a second time.
Her steps faltered; she stopped, her breath coming in sharp little puffs as an invisible vice tightened around her middle.
Even darker memories threatened to engulf her. Icy cold fury in a man’s eyes. His features, once so dear and familiar, turned into a mask of disdain. Like a flock of black birds, the memories hovered at the back of her mind and flapped their wings, ready to rise again. But—
No! No more of this! Georgina clenched her hands into fists. Martin Renner was different, a different man, an honourable man, whose eyes were warm and brown, not cold and grey like a sword blade. He would not desert her. He would not betray her trust.
The past would not repeat itself.
This time she had chosen well, and the past was over and done with.
“Over and done with,” she whispered.
Memories flickered and teased. Touches and kisses in the velvety darkness of night, the feeling of hard male muscles against her skin, the rasp of body hair under her finger tips. The blissful glide of his flesh deep inside her. Her fingers digging into his shoulders, damp with sweat, while he murmured love words into her ear, gasped, moaned, cried her name, helpless in her arms.
Georgina clasped her hands in front of her face. “No! No, no, no!”
Waking up to sunshine and the weight of his arm around her waist. Snuggled up against his warm body, feeling safe and protected—
False security. Georgina’s breath hitched in her throat. All an illusion. Nothi
ng more.
She took a deep breath. Letting her hands fall to her sides, she opened her eyes. “It is over and done with,” she said, her voice firm.
Defeated, the black birds fashioned from memories and regrets settled once more and vanished into thin air.
Georgina shook her head and continued walking. How curious that the past should haunt her thus just now, when she had not dwelt on it for years. But perhaps it was to be expected when a new door opened into a brighter future. Perhaps the old specters needed to be brought out into the open one last time, to be examined and then put back without regrets, so she could walk through this new door—and shut the others firmly behind her.
Forever.
So nobody else would need to know what lay behind them. The past was over and she...
... and she...
Georgina straightened her shoulders.
She was no longer the naïve little innocent she had been at nineteen. Why, she had been a starry-eyed girl who had believed in fairytale happily-ever-afters, in a life of never-ending sunshine and endless happiness. But by now she knew that life didn’t only consist of happy summer days, and it wasn’t a meadow of pretty flowers either. There were thorns, too. And hard rocks that might make you stumble and fall, scrape your hands and knees raw. It was left to oneself whether to rant and rave and lie with one’s bloody nose pressed to the ground, or whether to get up, brush the dirt from one’s hands, and continue on one’s way.
Georgina’s lips curved.
She had never been one for tasting mud.
No, the past was over, and she was a different woman.
Very, very different indeed.
Her steps quickened. Suddenly her heart seemed so light she would have half believed she could fly.
Fly to the warehouse, find Martin Renner and press her lips to his, press herself against him, and kiss him until all memories of that other mouth, of that other muscular body crumbled to dust. Kiss him until her own body would be flushed with lust and pulsing with life.
Georgina had to bite her lip to stop the giggles from bursting forth.
They would create a scandal that would be talked about everywhere from here to Frankfurt, to Wiesbaden, yes, even to Mainz!
Lady’s Companion Ravished by Lady’s Secretary.
Or perhaps, Lady’s Secretary Ravished by Lady’s Companion?
The mere thought made her blood pump faster through her veins. All the giggles vanished as she was thrown back into her hazy, erotic daydream. A drop of sweat rolled into the valley between her breasts, and shockingly, she could imagine Martin Renner kneeling in front of her, peeling her fichu off with strong, confident fingers. And then he would angle his head so his breath would whisper over her skin, and his tongue would sneak out to follow the path of the errant drop of sweat. And while he would feast on her, she would push his jacket off his shoulders, would open his neckcloth, the fastenings of his shirt, and run her hands underneath the material to explore the hard contours of his muscles. She would press her fingers into his flesh to spurn him on until he would lift one of her breasts from the confines of her bodice and stays in order to close his mouth over her aching nipple. And she would look down on his dark head, run her hands—
Georgina frowned.
Fair head. She would run her hands through his fair hair.
She shook her head.
Perhaps she should do the outrageous: take Martin Renner to her bed, now, and have her wicked way with him until her body only ever remembered his warm eyes and smiling mouth, the touch of his hands, the exact weight of his body on top of hers.
Georgina stopped walking and stared unseeingly across the river.
It would be a daring thing, a dangerous thing to do. Some might even say shameful and sinful—as shameful and sinful as the things she had once been accused of; as sinful perhaps, as the things she had once done.
She gnawed on her lip.
But—he was already courting her, and Frau Else was certain he meant marriage. What harm could come of it then?
She would need to take precautions, of course. A sponge soaked in brandy French ladies used in cases such as this, she had heard.
Dared she risk it?
“Ho there, Fräuleinsche, make way there!”
Georgina jerked around and had just time to stumble into the ditch to prevent being run over by a farmer’s hay wagon.
He shot her a glowering look. “Weibsleut,” he muttered and spat out. “Walk around daydreaming while honest folks gotta work! Bah!” He clicked his tongue to his shaggy horse, and rumbling and bumbling his wagon went past Georgina, who tried to calm her racing heart.
Still, the humour of the situation was not quite lost on her. Perhaps I am to take this as a sign? But—a hay wagon?
Georgina took a deep breath and stepped back onto the path, where she righted her skirts. What a lark this whole idea had been anyway! Why, poor Herr Renner would probably be shocked if she ever proposed to him in such a way! “What a silly goose you are!” she murmured to herself. Airing her head, that was what she needed, she decided as she continued in a brisk walk. No loitering, no foolish ideas. Indeed not!
Georgina blamed it on the heat. It was bad enough to addle the brains of the sanest person. No wonder then that she had felt tempted to succumb to the strangest fancies!
In the distance she could hear the boisterous noise of young male voices amidst much splashing of water. When she came nearer she could also see them, hanging like monkeys from a low branch of one of the trees along the river before they let themselves fall into the water. Their squeals and laughter filled the air. They were probably apprentices who had crept away from work today—and who could fault them? Their sleek brown bodies bopped among the waves like those of seals, and just as carefree.
A smile stole over Georgina’s face. Heavens, if the fine society at Brighton could see these strapping and very naked young lads—what a squealing and fainting there would be! Much splashing and galumphing, too, as fat ladies would fall out of their wooden bathing-boxes and upset the patient, long-suffering horses, while the gentlemen, all in shock, would drop their monocles into the raging waves of the deep blue sea.
Chortling to herself, Georgina walked on.
Naturally, the youngsters did not think of the trouble that no doubt awaited them once they returned to their work. Their masters would be furious, but—boys will be boys.
She had almost passed the noisy group when a familiar voice hailed her. “Mama!”
Finnian. Why hadn’t she guessed? When trouble and Finn seemed to walk hand in hand these days?
She turned, and there by the river stood her son, as brown as a nut. He gave her a broad grin and waved wildly.
Georgina suppressed a sigh. Poor Herr Weidel would probably throw a fit if he could see her offspring now. Ah well, it looks as if Finn is up to another round of warehouse scrubbing and—
She frowned.
Whatever had happened to Finnian? A broad red mark flowed up from one hip over one side of his belly.
Why, it looked like...
...looked like...
Ice crawled over her skin. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Quite suddenly she couldn’t get enough air. A strawberry mark.
But it couldn’t be, couldn’t be...
No... no!
Deep inside her something dark and horrible ripped through its chains—a truth, an act so horrifying she had not dared to think of it in seventeen years. Now it raced towards her with gaping maws and outstretched claws.
Bile rose in her throat.
Dear God, no...
She had to get away!
Abruptly she turned and hurried back the way she had come, faster and faster, until she almost ran up the stairs that led to the gardens of the Villa under the Linden Trees. Faster and faster under the green arch of the trees. At the door to the ice-house she came to a stumbling halt.
Shuddering, she leaned against the thick wood. The breath wheezed in her lungs while a host of
images tumbled through her mind, around and around in a mad parade—all the horrible pictures she had suppressed for so long.
Two pink babies in their crib, blowing happy raspberries while their fat baby arms flayed wildly. Two perfect babies: she had counted all their little fingers and little toes more than a dozen times. Happy, innocent babies, knowing nothing yet of the evils of the world.
Trembling, Georgina put her hand over her mouth.
Again she saw her hands reaching into the crib, pulling aside small jackets, just to be sure, to be absolutely sure. Two rounded bellies, fat with milk. One pale and smooth, the other with a strawberry mark that bloomed under the skin like a red, red rose. Tears had blinded her when she had leaned forward to kiss it one last time, kiss her precious baby viscount goodbye. She could not take the heir or Ashburnham would pursue her to the ends of the earth. And thus, she had only taken the younger brother and left her oldest baby lying alone in the crib. And then she had fled from the big old house that for such a short time had been her home. Fled from the man who had been her husband, from the life in which she had belonged to the beau monde, the rich and the powerful, a lady, a countess—but nevermore.
Chapter 7
Georgina never knew how long she stood at the door to the ice-house, memories bombarding her mind with a host of images. Her two beloved baby boys, happily kicking their arms and legs when they saw her, when she had come to steal away her youngest and abandon the oldest. The horrible flight through the night, the never-ending fear of detection. And—oh, Finnian’s pitiful cries. She had been sure he was crying for his lost brother, crying and crying as he had never cried before.
Georgina clasped her hands in front of her face.
She had been selfish, despicable probably, but she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of never seeing her children again. Of leaving both of them behind in that cold, cold house.
She shuddered.
So cold...
Where all love died and withered and fell to dust as if it had never been.
She remembered standing in Ashburnham’s study, quaking inside at the all-consuming fury in his cold, grey eyes. Clipped and arctic his tone had been. Clipped and arctic, and it had cut her into a thousand ribbons.
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