by Kim Bowman
Jamie lowered his forehead to hers. “I see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you.”
The only way Adam ever studied her was with bitterness and sympathy. The thought lanced her heart. She detested the idea of being the object of anyone’s pity, most especially Adam. “He does not feel anything for me.”
Jamie’s eyes went to her lips.
Her blood froze.
He snaked a hand around her arm.
She slapped at his hand. “What are you doing?”
He focused his hot, lascivious stare on her breasts. “Isn’t it obvious, love?”
Bile burned in her throat at the idea of him touching her. She yanked her hand free and turned to flee.
She cried out as he dragged her into his arms and kissed her. His lips pushed against hers, hard and unyielding, punishing. She tried to speak, and he pressed his vantage, slipping his tongue into her mouth.
Georgina gagged at the cool, moist invasion. His breath, a sick blend of stale brandy and violence filled her senses. He worked a hand between their bodies and roughly squeezed her breast. A moan rumbled from deep within his chest.
Her body shuddered at his violation.
She gave a hard nudge. Though stronger, Jamie was so engrossed in his efforts she managed to stun him into releasing her.
He stumbled backward.
She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, trying to drive the taste of him away.
Jamie studied her from beneath hooded lids, a glimmer of satisfaction in his cruel eyes. “Finish preparing Markham’s meal.”
Her fingers shook as she followed Jamie’s instructions. When she had the tray in hand, Jamie clasped her wrist. “Perhaps I should thank Markham for breaking you in.”
Oh God, he was sick. She stared pointedly at his hand until he released her. With a flounce of her hair, she hurried abovestairs. Jamie followed at her heels. He unlocked the door and pushed her inside.
From the chair he was strapped to, Adam studied her.
She flinched as Jamie brushed a curl away from her neck. He leaned down. His hot breath fanned her nape. “Remember me, love.” With that, he took his leave, and the door closed behind him.
The sound of the lock turning filled the small space.
Georgina set the tray down beside Adam’s bed.
She dropped to her knees and set to work on his bindings.
“Georgina?”
The knots came undone, and she sank back on her haunches. “Hmm?” She took his hand between hers.
“Georgina?”
She didn’t pick her head up but continued to rub his bruised flesh.
He laid his free hand on hers, staying her movement. “Georgina, stop.”
She looked up at him.
~~~~
Adam ran his gaze over Georgina. A faint tremor wracked her stiffly held body. He thought of Hunter with his hands on her silken nape, his lips close to her creamy white skin and had to fight to keep from tossing his head back and roaring like a wounded bear.
Hunter had touched Georgina.
What else did he do to her?
The silken whisper slithered around his brain, eating at his insides like a cancer. The idea of Hunter claiming Georgina — his lips on hers, his hands cupping her full breasts — ravaged him.
“Did he hurt you?” Adam’s voice was raw.
Georgina’s chest heaved, and her gaze darted around. “No,” she said, the word terse. A lie.
He recognized a lie.
Adam tried to quell the surging sense of panic. “Georgina?” This time his voice seemed seemed to penetrate whatever horror held her in its grip.
She shook her head slowly then touched her lip, drawing Adam’s attention to the bruised, swollen flesh.
And he knew. Before she even said it, he knew.
“He kissed me.”
Rage warred with jealousy in his chest. It robbed him of speech. Hit him like a physical blow. He couldn’t understand it. With his feelings for Grace, it shouldn’t matter who Georgina kissed. Yet it did.
There was a wild, hunted look to Georgina, and she remained rooted to the floor.
His heart climbed up into his throat. “Did he do anything else?”
Her chest continued to heave rapidly. “He touched me,” she said quietly. She started to touch her chest and then her hand fluttered back to her side.
A loud humming filled his ears as imagined scenes flashed behind his eyes: Georgina with her skirts thrown above her waist; Georgina held down, defenseless while Hunter plowed between her legs. Adam’s body jerked.
He forced words out past numb lips. “Did he…?” He couldn’t finish the thought. God help Hunter; when Adam secured his freedom, he’d rip the bastard’s entrails through his throat.
She seemed to follow his unfinished question. “No,” she said quickly.
The empty hopelessness in her brown eyes ate at him. Hunter may not have violated her, but he’d still left an indelible mark. Adam could not bear seeing her like this; as if her inner light had been extinguished by his assault.
He needed to show her it didn’t have to be this way.
When he spoke, he kept his tone calm and even. “Come here, Georgina.”
For all that had happened between her and that monster, she didn’t hesitate. She hovered uncertainly at his side.
“I want to kiss you,” he said quietly.
She wet her lips. “Why?”
Because he didn’t want her to believe a kiss was vile and ugly. Because she deserved to know gentleness in an ugly, cruel world.
“Will you let me?”
Georgina remained silent so long he thought she might not answer. The tick of the clock punctuated the quiet. She gave a tight nod.
“Lean close to me. I will not hurt you,” he whispered as though speaking to a skittish mare.
She nodded took a step toward him. Then another. And another. She froze when nothing but the span of a hand separated them. Her breath, a blend of honeysuckle and tea, caressed his skin.
With infinite gentleness, he claimed her lips. The kiss lasted no longer than three heartbeats, perhaps.
Adam pulled away and placed a lingering kiss on her brow. “Run away from this place. You do not belong here.”
Her lids fluttered open, and she placed a hand against his chest.
His heart flipped over at her gentle touch. God, he wanted her lips again. He could no more stop the yearning than he could halt a runaway phaeton with his bare hands.
“Untie me.”
Georgina hesitated and cast a backward glance toward the doorway. She turned back to him with a nod. Her tongue darted out to trace the seam of her lips; the only telltale gesture of her nervousness.
Adam studied her long fingers as she freed his bindings. “Will you sing to me?”
She paused and tilted her head ever so slightly. “Sing?”
“Yes, you know? You put music to words and—”
Georgina giggled, sounding for the first time since he’d known her, like a carefree young miss. She slipped the remainder of the ropes off his wrists. “What are you doing?” she squeaked as he stood up and settled his hand around her waist. Blood rushed through his legs and he gritted his teeth at the weakness months in captivity had wrought.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he lied. He twined his free hand with hers and found strength in her touch.“Go on then,” he urged.
She started to sing, and Adam nearly lost his footing. It was probably the inactivity that made him careless. He had to remind himself to count steps but Georgina Wilcox possessed a voice that would have made choirs of angels weep with envy. She closed her eyes, as if she’d drifted off on the soaring notes.
This is how he would remember her. If he died tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, or even if he was freed, he’d think back on this moment. Christ, he wanted her…
Her lashes fluttered open. A pale pink colored her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze
to his shirtfront as if embarrassed by the joyous moment they’d both stolen.
All the while, he guided her through the motions of the scandalous dance still not practiced in fashionable ballrooms in England, until she forgot her embarrassment and laughed with breathless abandon.
“What is this?”
“This is dancing.”
She laughed again, the sound as pure and clear as bells ringing. “It is terribly improper.”
“It is called the waltz. And most respectable hostesses would agree with you.”
“Where did you learn such a thing?”
“In the ballrooms of Paris.” He squeezed her waist and she picked up his cue.
Georgina resumed her jaunty song, and he twirled her in dizzying circles around the room until she was gasping for breath and singing was no longer possible.
God, he was having a good time. He’d not felt even a smidgeon of happiness since Grace had professed her love. The memory staggered him. The backs of his knees slammed into the nightstand, the abrupt movement making Georgina stumble over his feet.
They crashed down atop the feather-down mattress in a twisted heap of legs and arms. Her frame bounced several times beneath his. Adam braced his arms over her to keep from crushing her. He should move. He should roll to the other side of the mattress.
Instead he brushed back a damp tendril from her brow. “If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”
“Go?” Her voice was breathy from their exertions.
“If you could leave this place?”
A simmering heat pulsed in his veins. His body poised so close to hers. The sound of his ragged breathing filled his ear and almost drowned out her quiet response.
Almost.
He wished it had. Wished he hadn’t heard the cynical edge that should never have been part of the lovely Georgina’s words. “Why should I bother, Adam? Dreams aren’t real.”
Her words pressed on his heart. “You must have dreams?”
“Bah. They are for small children,” she scoffed.
No, they weren’t. Dreams represented hope and happiness.
“Wouldn’t you want to see Paris?”
“We’re on the cusp of war with France,” she pointed out. “I hardly think Paris would be my most logical destination.”
He chuckled. Ever practical Georgina. Too practical. He waved his hand. “Fine, Rome then, or Greece? Don’t you want to see the world?”
She shrugged.
Adam trailed a finger along the satiny smooth skin of her cheek.
An almost simultaneous awareness of the intimate nature of their position registered.
Adam’s whole body went on alert. His shaft, pressed against the vee of her thighs, hardened. Instead of doing the honorable, gentlemanly thing, he did the opposite. He lowered his arms and pressed himself closer to her core.
Her throat bobbed up and down.
Get up. Think of Grace.
He’d been too long without a woman. It had been over a year. This all-consuming desire was nothing more than a physical hunger.
That was what he told himself.
“Adam?” she whispered.
It was a lie.
He wanted her.
His words emerged as a hoarse groan. “Georgina?”
The door flew open and slammed against the wall. In unison, he and Georgina looked toward the entrance of the room.
Adam rolled off the bed in one fluid movement. “Hunter,” he growled.
Georgina scrambled to her feet.
Hunter trained his pistol on Adam, but his enraged eyes were fixed squarely on Georgina.
Adam stiffened as he switched his gaze between his captor and the young maid. It would appear he’d found the bastard’s weakness.
“What are you looking at?” Hunter snapped.
And because it would infuriate the other man, he smiled. A deliberate, knowing smile.
Hunter’s eyes lowered. He murmured, “Leave, Georgina.”
She hesitated.
“Now,” the young traitor roared.
Georgina flinched, but remained rooted to the spot beside Adam.
Adam leaned close to her ear. “Go. I will be fine.”
She chewed her lip. Her soulful brown eyes clouded with desperation.
He gave a small nod.
She turned and marched up to Hunter. “Remember what we agreed upon.”
Hunter frowned, his gaze focused on Georgina as she sailed past him. And Adam was left alone with the beast.
“Did you make love to her?” Hunter’s question gave him pause.
He blinked, and stared at the man moving toward him. He stalked Adam, all but springing forward on the balls of his feet to get his hands on him. Never had the name ‘Hunter’ been more apropos. Hunter moved the pistol to his other hand and dealt Adam a swift right hook that would have impressed Gentleman Jackson himself. “I asked you a question.”
Adam flexed his jaw. Christ, that hurt. Still it was an interesting turn of events. As he’d suspected, his captor had feelings for Georgina. Adam shouldn’t have cared but, strangely, he did. Adam assumed a relaxed pose. He walked over to the window and folded his arms across his chest.
“I asked you—”
“Oh, I heard you,” Adam murmured in casual tones. “It would hardly be gentlemanly of me to answer such a question.”
Hunter rushed him. His reflexes dulled by captivity, Adam took a step back, but not before Hunter planted another fist in his cheek.
Adam crumpled to the floor with a groan. Blood spurted out his nose and made a sticky path down his cheek. Stars danced behind his lids. He forced them back.
Hunter towered over him. “You are not to touch her. Is that clear?”
From his work with the Brethren, Adam had learned the truth. Everyone had a weakness. It would seem Georgina Wilcox was Hunter’s weakness. Could Adam exploit that valuable piece of information? Could he use Georgina to attain his release?
No, he realized with sickening despair.
In a short time, Georgina had come to mean too much to him. He’d never be able to use her…even if it meant his freedom.
He gave Hunter a pointed look. “I’m not a coward who would force himself on a woman.”
Hunter kicked him in the stomach.
All the air left Adam on a swift exhale. He forced a smile and managed to rasp, “Feeling guilty? It appears you’re not a total monster.”
His captor brought his leg back, but Adam wrapped his hand around Hunter’s ankle and yanked the other man down. Hunter hit the floor with a grunt. His gun skittered just out of reach.
Adam’s heart kicked up a fast rhythm as he stared at the gun that represented freedom. He managed to land a neat right jab. Hunter hissed then, with a triumphant yell, overpowered Adam. His captor raised his knee, and buried it in Adam’s gut.
Adam fought the flood of nausea as Hunter, gasping for breath, dragged Adam back to his chair and strapped him to the hard piece of furniture.
He retrieved his pistol and returned, glaring down at Adam. The gun dangled at his side, taunting Adam. So close. He was so close to it. If he could only reach out…
Hunter jabbed a finger in his direction. “I want you gone. I don’t care if you’re sent back on your merry nobleman’s way or buried beneath the ground. Give me the information, and I’ll free you.”
Hunter’s words were a lie, and they both knew it. Hunter would kill him because he knew too much. He knew what they looked like. Knew their code names.
Gasping for breath, Adam forced one of his ‘merry nobleman’ smiles. “I don’t have the information you seek. I’ll say this. I will get out of here and…” He lowered his voice. “And when I do, Hunter, you’d better run. You had better run as fast and far as your pathetic legs will carry you, because I will gut you alive like the scum you are.”
Perhaps it was the deadly calm in Adam’s words, but all the color leeched from Hunter’s face. “That may be, but you’ll be dead as well.”
Adam raised a single brow. “We shall see about that.”
A vein pulsed at the edge of Hunter’s temple. Then a lascivious smile turned his lips at the corner. “You seem so very arrogant about Miss Wilcox’s affections, but remember you are the one who is tied up and,” he leaned down so he was nose to nose with Adam, “I’m free to fuck her whenever I choose.”
Bile climbed up Adam’s throat. Rage nearly blinded him.
In mocking fashion, Hunter winked. “In fact, I think I’ll go see the lovely Miss Wilcox now.”
The door closed on Hunter’s taunting laugh.
Emmet is using his own funds to purchase weapons that are being manufactured by an Irish sympathizer in Bristol.
Signed,
A Loyal British Subject
Chapter 4
Adam had not gone mad.
Yet.
After three months of captivity, the thing that kept him from relinquishing control was not Grace but Georgina. He scrubbed his hands over his rough beard. Grace’s features were becoming less clear in his mind. With his bound hands, Adam reached for the charcoal and scribbled an image onto the paper. He welcomed the way the cord bit into his flesh, reminding him that he was alive.
Grace’s face began to take shape.
Except the heart-shaped lips he drew were too full. There was too much of a curl to her hair. And there was a faint birthmark at the corner of her mouth that most certainly didn’t belong there.
His stomach clenched in a vise-like knot as Georgina’s face materialized on the paper. He gasped and ripped out the page. Wrinkled it into a ball and tossed it aside. Somewhere along the way, Grace’s face had dissipated in his memory and there was nothing Adam could do, aside from mourning the loss of a far simpler time.
The door to his prison opened. Hunter nudged Georgina inside then locked the door behind her.
She stood, poised by the doorway. Her words came out hesitant. “Adam?”
He reached for another page. His fingers trembled over the sheet. Closing his eyes, he tried to call up memories of the precious lines of Grace’s face. Adam made another attempt. When he’d finished, he sat back and assessed the result.