by Kim Bowman
“The earl?” she asked teasingly.
He pressed his free hand to his heart. “You wound me! The only accurate thing you’ve said about on Nick is that he is, in fact, an earl.”
“And he wouldn’t by the way,” Georgina added. “Be jealous, that is,” she clarified at his puzzled expression. “Adam wouldn’t even notice.” You had to feel something greater than a sense of obligation for a person to truly care about them. The truth of it knifed through her.
Tony gave her fingers a little squeeze. “You truly have no idea that he is madly in love with you.”
Georgina faltered, stumbling against him. “What?” She gave her curls a frantic shake. “No. You are wrong. Adam doesn’t love me.” Oh, she believed he cared for her, had no doubts that he would always protect her, but he did not love her. A person was surely only capable of one true love—and for Adam that had been, and would always be, Grace.
Jealousy gnawed at her heart.
It took her a moment to realize they had stopped in the foyer. Georgina blinked, glancing around as Tony waited for his carriage to be readied. He looked down at her, cuffing her gently under the chin.
“Georgie, my brother would have to either be mad or blind not to love you. And you’d have to be mad or blind to realize that he’s not mad or blind.”
She grinned up at him.
“Now come, let us go spend some of your husband’s money.”
Georgina allowed him to pull her along, allowed her heart to soar on the hope that maybe, just maybe, Adam did love her after all.
Fox and Hunter have a friend within The Brethren of the Lords.
Signed,
A Loyal British subject
Chapter 17
Tony wrinkled his brow, and turned his bemused expression from the crumbly façade of the storefront to Georgina. “A bookshop?”
Georgina smiled. “Come, Tony. It is not as though I’ve dragged you off to Sunday mass. I like to read,” she added for good measure.
Tony scratched the top of his head. “Read?”
She waggled her brows at him. “You know. Books?”
“Hmph.” He glanced longingly across the street.
Georgina followed his gaze to the men’s shop. He eyed it like a young lady picking through an assortment of satin and silk fabrics.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Go.”
His face flushed a dull red. “Go where?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s only across the street. I won’t leave this shop,” she promised.
His lips tilted down in a boyish frown. “My brother will have my head—”
“Your brother won’t know. Now go.”
He grinned. “I’ve got to find a woman like you. Sweet, understanding—”
She laughed. “Go!”
Georgina entered the bookshop. She wrinkled her nose at the overwhelming scent of aged books.
“Hullo, miss. Is there anything I might help you find?”
She spun around to face the bookkeeper. Bushy white, wizened brows stood out on the bald man’s face. He smiled at her, which set his fleshy jowls to jiggling.
“Actually, yes. I am looking for a book.” He paused, turning back to face her. She tried to recall the name. “It is a collection of art.” She realized even as she said it that her words wouldn’t be much help.
The old shopkeeper scratched his head. “Uh…”
She saved him from struggling with the hopeless endeavor of finding an untitled and authorless book. “Is there a section for books about art?”
He inclined his head. “Right this way.” He didn’t wait to see if she followed, merely continued down the long, long row of books. He guided her to the very last corner of the store. “There is your section, miss.”
Georgina thanked him then focused her attention on the vast collection of books. She pulled out a copy of Jean-Etienne Liotard’s collection. It appeared the small leather volume hadn’t seen the outside of a shelf in the current century. She studied the cover, trailing her fingertips along the title, and made to return it to its forgotten place.
She paused.
There was something so forlorn about placing the book back where it most likely would never see the light of day until… until… who knew? Years, perhaps.
Georgina set the copy of Jean Etienne Liotard’s work on the floor. She couldn’t abandon the volume in this dusty bookshop.
She continued through the shelves, biting her lip as she rescued an increasing number of art books. Georgina eyed the torn black edition of Guardi’s work in her hands and, with a sigh, set it atop the ever-growing stack. It wasn’t fair to leave them here, unwanted, unread, and unloved, all because they didn’t have a shiny leather cover and golden lettering.
At last, her fingers settled on a deep red leather binding and she gasped, reaching for it with a fluttery breath. She pulled it into her hands with reverence, remembering that long ago day when Adam was first taken captive and spoke to her of Francois Boucher.
The soft tread of footsteps registered. Georgina glanced up, and her smile died on her lips as the stuff of her nightmares materialized like a ghoulish apparition.
The book slid from her fingers.
Jamie leaned against the towering bookcase. “Hullo, Georgina.”
A swell of panic climbed into her throat. She shook her head. It couldn’t be! Not when she’d finally found happiness and relegated Father and Jamie to the corner of her mind dedicated to old, buried hurts. She closed her eyes, counted to five then opened them.
Jamie shoved himself off the shelving and, with slow, precise steps, walked closer. Closer. Ever closer.
Georgina lurched forward. The neatly built stack of books clattered to the floor. Heart hammering wildly, she spun on her heel and turned to flee.
Jamie blocked her escape.
She opened her mouth to cry out, but he clamped his hand over lips, stifling the sound.
“Shh,” he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and tinged with brandy. “Not another sound, is that clear? Your father is across the street speaking with a Mr. Anthony Markham.”
Oh God in heaven, her father was here as well, and he had his hands on Tony. If Tony came to harm because of her, Georgina would never forgive herself. In a short time, Tony had become a brother to her.
She nodded jerkily. If she resisted in any way, Adam’s brother would be killed. A sick dread filled her stomach, churning with the inevitable sense that her past had intersected with her future. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the shelving. She had come so very close to having everything she’d ever dreamed of. In the end, she’d only deluded herself, and now Adam’s brother might pay the ultimate price.
Jamie released her, casting a furtive glance around. When he looked back at her, his crystalline blue eyes burned with anger. “I understand congratulations are in order, Mrs. Markham.”
Georgina licked her lips. Her mind couldn’t keep up with her life, which was spiraling out of control before her eyes. She’d known Jamie long enough to know he was holding onto a very thin thread of control that prevented him from beating her down in this very public place.
“What do you want?” she whispered, proud at the steadiness of her response.
He cupped her cheek. “My lovely Georgina.”
She bit hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out for help. Jamie would most likely kill the old shopkeeper, and then Father would kill Tony in retribution. She waited in silence for him to speak.
Jamie broke the quiet. “We were very disappointed in you, my dear.”
She froze. After all these years, they’d discovered that she was the one responsible for sending off Emmett’s plans for the Irish revolution. “For what?”
He caught a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “Why, for marrying the enemy.”
Relief swept over her. They knew she’d freed Adam and Mr. Blakely, but they didn’t know the depth of her betrayal.
A muscle ticked at the cor
ner of Jamie’s eye. “What, nothing to say?” His brogue, thicker than usual, was a telltale indication of his fury.
Her toes dug into the soles of her slippers in remembrance of the many cruelties she’d suffered at his hands.
Jamie gave the lone lock in his fingers a painful tug. Georgina winced, closing her eyes as pain radiated along her temple. She drew in a staccato series of shallow breaths, knowing he would not hesitate to drag her from the shop and draw her away to his new lair.
He released the curl suddenly. “I am very angry with you, Georgina.”
“I’m sorry,” she lied. She could care less how Jamie felt about her, but she’d learned long ago that it was a good deal easier to lie and tell him what he wanted to hear.
He glanced around as if to verify they were still alone. “Then it came to me.”
She wet her lips even as a shiver of apprehension raced along her spine. “What came to you?”
“That you can help the Cause.”
Georgina stared at him.
Jamie grasped her wrist and squeezed it in a manacle-like grip. “You see, the United Irishmen have had to divide our efforts between amassing our army and trying to find the names of those who would quash our efforts. I want the names of our enemies.”
She yanked her arm.
He held fast.
“You’d have me betray my husband and my country?” she demanded. “Why would I do that?”
He tightened his hold, and she clamped her lips together to keep from crying out.
“Why, because your husband is far less faithful than you, my dear.”
A coldness settled in her heart. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself and rub warmth back into her body, but Jamie’s grip prevented movement.
At last, he let her wrist go. Her arm fell to her side.
“I see you understand. Her name is Grace Helling. She is the lovely woman in the sketchpad and,” he dropped his voice to a punishing whisper, “if the papers are to be believed, even more stunning than Helen of Troy.”
The muscles in her stomach tightened.
“And Mrs. Helling and your husband have resumed their relationship.” He spoke as casually as if discussing the weather yet each word was like a dagger being thrust into her heart. In and out. Twisting. Aching.
“You lie,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Oftentimes, yes. This is not one of those times. They appear to communicate through very personal, very detailed notes.”
Georgina’s breath hitched as she remembered Watson’s interruption. The note. Adam’s preoccupation. His annoyance with Georgina.
This time she did wrap her arms around her body. The agony of Jamie’s cruel revelation was so much greater than any physical pain. Every blow she’d taken paled when faced with this crushing loss. Her knees buckled, and she caught the edge of the shelf to keep from falling.
“I expect you to help us,” Jamie said.
A bitter laugh bubbled up from her throat. She’d never help them.
“I want an answer, Georgina. Take some time to think on it. You’ll see for yourself that your husband is undeserving of your loyalty. When you realize that, I suspect you’ll help us.”
Then, as quickly as he’d come and shattered her world, Jamie left.
Georgina stood there staring after him, until his retreating form was no more.
She smothered a sob with her hand and sank to the floor, attempting to put together her overturned pile. Except her fingers trembled so badly, her efforts were in vain.
“Do you require any assistance, miss?”
She cried out, her nerves still frayed from Jamie’s sudden appearance.
A tall, elegantly clad stranger dropped to a knee beside her. From his perfect posture to the gold signet on his finger, everything about him fairly oozed refined nobility.
The shopkeeper hurried over, but the ominously handsome man waved him off.
It took a moment for Georgina to realize the merchant awaited a sign from her that she was indeed well.
A flood of heat rushed her cheeks. “I-I am fine,” she managed. “I-I was merely startled and tipped over my assortment of books.” It wasn’t altogether a lie. She’d been startled, but more by Jamie’s resurrection from the pits of hell.
The old shopkeeper moved on, leaving Georgina alone with the stranger. As she looked at him — at the unfashionably long black hair, the expert cut of his midnight jacket, even the hard glint in his sapphire eyes — only one word came to mind: dark.
He continued his methodical work, reorganizing her books. A nervous laugh nearly strangled her. Noblemen weren’t supposed to see to such menial tasks…in old, unfrequented bookshops, no less.
He looked up from the neat, efficient stack he’d made. “What a large selection you’ve made, miss.”
Georgina didn’t comment.
He stood. “Considering our rather odd encounter, perhaps introductions are in order.” He bowed low at the waist. “The Duke of Aubrey.” The young duke held his hand out to assist her to her feet.
Georgina eyed it momentarily before placing her fingers in his. He helped her up, and she reminded herself to curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She tried to place the Duke of Aubrey. Something about his title rang oddly familiar. She scoffed. It was utterly preposterous to think she knew anyone of this man’s lofty ranking.
She focused her attention on a book on the shelf. Though highly unlikely that anyone should discover the two of them in Ye Old Bookshop, it would be a terrible scandal if she were caught clustered behind a bookcase with the illustrious duke.
Except the duke seemed of a different mind altogether and not at all inclined to simply take himself off and leave her to wallow in the misery of Jamie’s reappearance. “Have you read all these books, Miss…?”
Georgina froze on the next volume beneath her fingers. “Mrs. Markham,” she corrected. When he still appeared to have no intention of leaving, she sighed. “No, I have not read them all.”
He held up a single copy. The cracked black leather showed an abundance of wear. “I highly recommend this copy.”
Geoffrey Keating — Foundation of Knowledge on Ireland. Her heart faltered then picked up speed. The duke’s words contained a subtle hint of knowingness. She fought back an insatiable urge to look around for Jamie. Had the Duke of Aubrey heard her and Jamie’s discussion?
Georgina forced herself to accept the copy, marveling that her fingers weren’t shaking. Their hands brushed, and she jerked the book close to her chest. “Thank you for the recommendation.” She lowered her head and proceeded to study the title, willing him to leave.
Of course being a duke, the man was clearly accustomed to doing just as he pleased. “You are Adam Markham’s new bride.”
It wasn’t a question.
The bothersome noble tapped his chin. “I wonder that your husband has not joined you.”
A jolt of sick humiliation coursed through her.
Salvation came from an unexpected source. “He didn’t join her because his younger brother insisted on quality time with the lovely young woman.”
Georgina spun around, her eyes alighting on Tony. Like a conquering hero, he may as well have climbed off Pegasus with sword and shield in hand. He stood at the end of the row, arms folded in a mock nonchalance, though the tension in his tight smile hinted at the anger just below the surface. Of course, the disconcertingly perceptive Duke of Aubrey was too polite to point out that said ‘brother’ had been suspiciously absent until now.
Tony sauntered down the aisle and stopped next to Georgina, bowing low at the waist. “Your Grace.”
The duke bowed in return. “You are Markham’s youngest brother, I presume?”
Tony gave him a young, cocksure smile. “I am. Anthony Markham.” He looked pointedly down at Georgina’s scattered pile of books. “Were you able to find the book you sought?”
She blinked at Tony’s clear dismissal of the duke. “Uh… yes. I found it. I found a lot of them,” s
he finished lamely.
Tony bent down and filled his arms with the assorted array of art books. “Very well, then we should be on our way.”
The Duke of Aubrey claimed her hand in his.
She gasped at the unexpectedness of his touch, shriveling against Tony’s side. Logic told her the Duke of Aubrey wouldn’t harm her; at least not in a public bookshop. Yet twenty years of living with her father had ingrained certain truths into her — one of them being, men had the ability to inflict pain. Something told her this man was not to be trusted.
At her silent reaction, Tony’s body seemed to turn to granite. Even the usually smiling lines at the corner of his eyes had gone hard.
The duke continued to hold Georgina’s hand far longer than was appropriate. He raised it to his lips, seemingly unaware of the internal battle she waged to stay calm in his presence.
“Again, Mrs. Markham, I must insist you read my selection.”
Georgina allowed Tony to lead her to the counter and make her purchases. “What was that about?” he whispered in her ear.
She shook her head. She could feel the duke’s intent sapphire-black eyes boring a hole into her back. This wasn’t the place.
With the exception of a single leather volume that she insisted on holding onto, she allowed the shopkeeper to bundle her large purchase. Tony steered her from the shop and into their waiting carriage.
“Now, tell me, what was that about?” The carriage lurched forward.
Georgina played with the fabric of the curtain covering the window, clenching and unclenching her hands. She lifted a single shoulder. “I don’t know.” And she didn’t. The Duke of Aubrey was a perfectly lofty stranger who’d seemed in possession of many details about her marriage along with suspicious statements and questions. “I dropped my books and he happened to be present to help me.”
Tony snorted. “The Duke of Aubrey doesn’t help anyone.”
Another frisson of unease raked her spine. A silent voice whispered that maybe Tony was right and there was more to the duke’s interest. Her exchange with Jamie flitted through her mind, and she tried to determine how much the powerful nobleman had overheard.