‘Can we go home now, Papa?’ Nate snuggled closer, his head against Luke’s heart. ‘I want to go home and stay with you.’
‘Yes, my boy. It’s time to go home.’ Though he didn’t move immediately, caught in a timeless moment of gratitude and unending emotion. The impact of all he’d kept at bay, smothered under fear and the unwillingness to consider the worst outcome, now unleashed and flooding him with overwhelming relief. ‘We have so much to make up for and a wonderful future ahead.’ He smiled and pulled his son tighter into his embrace. Love spread through his chest to every pinnacle of his body. They’d return home to safety and then, when settled, he’d tell Nate how their family was about to grow a mite bigger.
‘Georgina. You’ve come home.’
Georgina’s vision blurred, the rush of tears matching her mother’s as she was drawn into a loving embrace.
‘Don’t you ever do such a thing again.’ The vehement warning was muffled and overridden with sobs. ‘Where did you go? Why didn’t you write sooner? Your sister made it sound as if you had a grand time while we were here in London worried sick over your safety. A woman alone…’
Georgina threw Joy a reprimanding scowl. ‘Not at all. I merely managed. But I cannot lie about how wonderful it feels to hear your voice. I’ve missed everyone.’ She sniffled. ‘I simply didn’t know what to do about the situation. At the time, running seemed as good an idea as any other.’
Her mother’s smile transformed into a frown of commiseration. ‘Lord Muller. What are any of us to do about him? Your father never expected this turn. I can’t bear the thought of sacrificing one of my girls, but we will be destitute otherwise, faced with ruination and turned out. How shall we survive?’ Fresh tears filled her mother’s eyes, only this time the cause was distress more than elation.
‘There must be some recourse,’ Georgina offered on a solemn sigh. ‘I want to believe, if we think hard enough, an incongruity of some kind can be found, any means to evade this ridiculous demand.’
Before anyone could suggest an idea, Lord Harwood entered, his face etched with worry, his eyes downcast. Her father appeared aged and miserable as she’d never seen him, and the ache she already harboured in her heart grew immeasurably.
‘Father.’
He took her hands and looked at her long and thoroughly as if taking stock of her wellbeing after she’d been lost to him for a time.
‘I never meant for you to run away.’ He captured her close in a tight hug. ‘Forgive me, Daughter, but I’m at a loss. The agreement Muller produced is real, signed by my brother, most likely on his deathbed, though it makes no sense at all. If I renege or refuse, all funds will end. We will be destitute and forced out of this house.
‘If I respect the codicil, my nephew will make off with one of my precious daughters. Were you to choose another, a husband who would share his wealth, it requires the burden of not offering a dowry and in return asking the gentleman to assume not just a penniless bride, but the debt and fiscal responsibility of her family.’ He huffed a breath laced with frustration and anger. ‘I am humbled and ashamed to have placed my family in this predicament, but that blasted codicil seals our fate. There is no way around it. I have spent countless nights exhausting my brain in an attempt to instigate a feasible answer or understand why my brother would perpetrate this injustice.’
Silence fell, loud with regret and unspoken words. Witnessing her parents’ torment proved unbearable. She loved them dearly and their faces, distraught and broken, solidified what she had believed inevitable since she stepped back into London. Somehow, she’d suspected it would unravel to this in the end. Only now her heart did not break from her necessary decision, but shattered with the knowledge of what might have been.
She’d entertained the idea of asking Luke for assistance when he returned, but truly, how could she intrude upon his newfound happiness and ask him to perpetrate a crime? It went beyond anything she believed him capable of and proposed too much to ask. He claimed to be a lowborn bastard, but she knew better. She knew the man inside. Luke was clever and fast with numbers, a fine businessman with a wicked kiss and a darling smile. How could she ask him to chance imprisonment by confronting Muller when he hoped to begin a new life with Nate? Were he caught, every reason he’d detailed that fortified Dursley and protected the entitled would become his doom. She could not see him jailed for her benefit. Worse, she would still find herself married to her cousin.
With an uninvited stroke of irony, all she was unable to clarify before had become elucidated through love. She could never sacrifice her family’s security. She’d acted selfishly by running away. Now she needed to do the opposite.
‘I will marry Lord Muller.’
‘No.’ Joy’s objection proved first and loudest, albeit alone.
She swallowed past her tears and forced a smile. ‘Make the necessary arrangements, Father, as quickly as you are able. Obtain the licence, secure the church. Whatever needs to be done, let’s not hesitate.’ She wanted it over and done as soon as possible because, in truth, she feared her decision and wondered if, when the day arrived, she wouldn’t run away all over again.
Georgina returned to Manchester Square later that afternoon and found Vivienne alone in the front sitting room, the décor a mosaic of muted blues and rich rosewood furnishings. One would never guess at the couple’s humble beginning. In so many ways, things were not as they seemed in Georgina’s life. Still, this room was designed to soothe and welcome, evident in the thoughtful interior of intricately carved furniture and decadent thick rugs. The seat cushions were plump and inviting and the curtains drawn back with cording to allow in all available light.
Aware her silence would appear as desperation, especially to someone as perspicacious as Vivienne, Georgina bolstered her courage and, in an astonishing economy of words, confessed the truth, her station as a genteel lady, relation to Lord Muller, and subsequent situation caused by her uncle’s death.
‘Oh.’ Vivienne’s face displayed a variety of emotions. ‘While I knew many pieces didn’t fit the puzzle, I admit I never anticipated this explanation.’ She punctuated her reaction with a look of kindness. ‘Desperation is a capricious motivator. It wasn’t that long ago that I found myself in a similar state, but love intervened and changed my life for the better.’ Now a full smile blossomed across her cheeks.
‘Thank you for understanding.’ Georgina released a breath of relief. She truly did not wish to disappoint. ‘I hope you realize I never meant to take advantage of Luke or your generosity. I’m sorry for my neglect of the truth.’ Again, she breathed deeply and forced the words out. ‘I’ll collect my few belongings from abovestairs and travel to Coventry to attend to matters there.’ She stood up with the intent to leave. Once returned to her cottage, she’d untangle the loose threads of the problems she’d woven and somehow piece together her courage for the future which lay ahead.
‘You can’t go now at this time of day. Stay the night and make your journey in the morning. I’ve found a good night’s rest the ideal balm to a trying day.’ Vivienne also stood and gently touched Georgina’s arm in bid. ‘I have some correspondence to write before retiring, but you’ll find your rooms abovestairs as it should be.’
It seemed ridiculous to perpetuate the farce further, but it had already grown late and Georgina did feel wrung out, emotionally and physically. She capitulated to Vivienne’s persuasive insistence knowing she might very well be committing another mistake. ‘Good night, then.’ She squeezed her friend’s hand with the words and watched as Vivienne settled at her writing desk.
In the hall, she climbed the stairs to the bedchamber she’d known for nearly a week, wanting to cry, great wretched sobs to dispose of the misery in her heart for no other reason than genuine sorrow, but nothing came, her soul numb and devoid of happiness. She closed her eyes and remembered Luke’s kisses, his hands caressing her skin, evoking sensation she didn’t believe existed until he’d showed her the proof.
I
nside her rooms, she closed the door and crossed to the window to look out at the stars in wonder of where Luke and Nate were now. Surely, if all went well, they’d reunited and celebrated somewhere appropriate for a darling young boy and a doting father. She would have given anything to witness the joy on their faces.
Securing the window latch, she allowed the curtain to drop and block out another stampede of emotion. Sleep. She needed sleep, and the ambiguity it promised. Perhaps, if she surrendered to slumber, she’d summon the strength to face her decisions tomorrow, though it would be a miracle if she could find any sort of fitful rest.
Luke reread Vivienne’s message and cursed a litany under his breath. Nate was upstairs fast asleep, exhausted and elated from the unexpected rescue and more so, the promise of a new puppy. Gemma and Cole were generous beyond the bond of friendship with their offer of rooms, Luke’s bachelor apartments at The Albany unsuitable for a lad. He’d purchase the kind of home Nate deserved as soon as things sorted out.
But the letter received tonight from Vivienne added layer upon layer of complication. He’d suspected, they all had, that Georgina wasn’t truly a governess. That fact came as no surprise. So to learn she was Lady Georgina Harwood, a respected member of the peerage, did not disturb in the least. No, the bit of news that had his fist clenched was the anomalous mention she was to marry her first cousin with haste. Some complicated and perplexing garble lent excuse to the proposition, though Luke would have it by Georgina’s mouth before he believed it true.
Vivienne undoubtedly liked her, otherwise she’d never have taken the time to send him the note by hired messenger. He smiled, a plan already gaining form, and headed upstairs to bathe and change his clothes.
An hour later Luke climbed over the iron railing encircling the terrace of Georgina’s bedchambers at the Sinclair residence. He knew the house well and the Chanticleer pear tree which grew along the east wall provided the perfect support for his ascent to the upper level.
Once upon the stone terrace, he dusted off his trousers and pulled at the window frame. Locked. Good thing he was adept with a blade. With a flick of his wrist, he opened his burl-handled pocketknife, slid the edge under the iron clip at the corner of the sill and, less than a breath later, eased into Georgina’s rooms.
She sat upright at his intrusion. A waking vision. The bedside lantern bathing them in golden light and he was thankful for it. He would never wish to frighten her by his unconventional arrival, and, too, the glow burnished her in an aura of loveliness, her hair a kaleidoscope of colour and shine.
She stared at him, her delicate brows dipping not once but twice as if she wondered if she dreamed, but no, it was he who viewed a fantasy. Her gauzy night rail was nothing more than mist on a rose, her breasts outlined through the sheer fabric, her hair tumbled down around her shoulders in seductive disarray.
‘Are you real?’
Her voice hummed through him and he drew a harsh breath. She had that thought turned around.
‘Georgina. Georgina Harwood.’
He heard her gasp, her secret uncovered, her name revealed, and he used all his strength not to smile.
‘Why have you come?’
Did she fear he was angry for her mistruths? Foolish minx.
‘I had to see you once last time.’
She gasped again. Apparently, she’d expected a different answer.
‘Why is that?’ She leaned forward now. Her tresses tumbling forward with the movement, as if beckoning him to move closer, so he did. Just a step or four.
‘You have something of mine.’
‘I do?’ She hadn’t blinked nor taken her eyes from him but now she flicked a glance right and left as if searching for the item in question.
‘You’ve stolen my heart, my darling.’ He took a full stride to arrive at the foot of the bed and, while she tracked his every move, he walked to the door, threw the lock and returned to the edge of the footboard.
‘I shan’t give it back, though I don’t deserve it. I’m not an honest person. I lied to you repeatedly. My dog bit your arm.’ Her mouth hitched in an endearing expression, half grin, half grimace, with the last sentence.
‘Your lies don’t matter to me.’ How any woman could wake up in the middle of the night and look so utterly alluring he could not fathom. He would do whatever it took to keep her in his bed for ever.
‘There’s more.’ She shuddered a breath that warned he take heed. ‘So much you don’t know.’
‘I know how it feels to hold you in my arms. How it feels to kiss you.’ He leaned against the bedpost and crossed his arms over his chest as if crawling into her bedchamber and conversing after midnight was a habitual occurrence. ‘That’s all I need to know.’
‘No, there’s more. My uncle left some horrible clause in his will. It’s not negotiable.’
‘Everything’s negotiable.’ He uncrossed his arms and moved to the side of the mattress because he couldn’t wait much longer. He needed to touch her.
‘I’m to marry my cousin, Lord Muller.’
The words were devoid of emotion and even in the fractured candlelight he noted the sadness in her eyes, yet a flicker of irrational, familiar jealousy, fever-hot and furious, ignited his blood.
‘Once you ran away from it all. Now I want you to run to me.’ He held a hopeful breath but when she didn’t say more he continued. ‘Let me help you as you did Nate.’
‘He’s home safe?’
Luke nodded in answer and wondered where her thoughts strayed. Could he have misread her intentions? She was above him, on a level of society beyond his grasp and out of reach, too precious for his lowborn bastard touch, but this night wasn’t about possession. If she wanted him now, not for ever, he could not accept those terms. In the morning light, she might very well dismiss their intimacy.
‘My problem is not so easily undone.’ She shook her head in substitute of explanation.
He sat down and framed her face with his hands. ‘Listen to me, love.’ Her eyes flared at his murmur, his voice gone husky.
Chapter Twenty-One
Georgina looked into Luke’s handsome face as his words melted over her. Love? He’d called her love, then matched her wondering gaze for what seemed like infinity, his only movement a toss of his head meant to remove the lock of black hair that forever fell across his brow. This time she gave in to temptation and reached up to push the silky strands aside. One touch and she couldn’t stop. She brought her other hand to his jaw.
She didn’t want to hear a profession of love. She had no choice in the matter of Lord Muller, no options existed, and Luke’s words, like an unrelenting echo, would only serve to break her heart further. But intimacy, that was different. His body healed hers, his touch provided a balm to her every ache.
She slid her fingers across his cheek, the sensual rub of new whiskers recognized throughout her entire body before she drew his mouth to hers. The last thing she noticed before her lids fell shut was the wild flare of carnal promise in his silver-grey eyes.
It became a hot, reckless exchange in the space of an exhale. She wouldn’t label it desperate though they both raced towards something intangible and unspoken. Without hesitation, she went back to the pillows, dragging him with her as he chased her mouth. The weight of his body pressed against her breasts, increasing the ache instead of relieving it and she trembled against him while his tongue delved deeper, his hungry kiss asking for more, so much more, and she was all too anxious to answer.
The crackling fire cast shadows and light on his skin, limning the movement of his profile in golden glow, this glorious man who kissed her as if nothing mattered beyond this bed this night. Again a tremble coursed through her, this time from emotion more than sensation. He drew back and she almost cried out, bereft he would break the spell that deftly wound them tighter.
‘Georgina.’
His voice reverberated against her mouth as he broke away and she swallowed the syllables, capturing her name in his voice, locked insid
e her for ever.
‘No,’ she whispered, not wishing for him to speak. Passion held her firm in its grip, needy and ambitious, and she capitulated with grace, wanting to hoard each sensation like a treasure; the clean scent of his shaving soap on the heated skin of his neck, the primitive demand of his mouth as it sought hers, the sound of his rasp as visceral as if he licked the length of her body, slowly, with confident intent.
He kissed her deeply, with reverence, as if he held her heart in his hands, and he did. She knew it true, though she shied away from the conclusion, her future beyond this bed a bitter one. Perhaps he realized the same, their promised pleasure fleeting, and so he countered her fervent assault, raising the stakes as he slipped her night rail past her shoulders, his hot mouth trailing long, lingering caresses against her skin. His murmurs of appreciation, low and intimate, undid her as much as his clever fingers worked each lace and tie.
She returned the favour and with tremulous fingers found the hem of his shirt, raising the white cloth like a flag of surrender. His hands covered hers and assumed the task, lifting the garment up and over his head in a masculine gesture that left her throat parched, the sinful ripple of hard, defined muscle magnificent. He angled above her, a midnight dream come to life.
Any trepidation evaporated at the display of his strong body. He was a protector; she knew that to be true. She grazed her fingers over his chest and the smooth skin twitched under her touch. He leaned in and caught her mouth, his tongue licking into her, hot and demanding, cutting short her awed exploration as he drew her beneath his length, pressed into the sweet softness of the bedding by strong muscle and masculine splendour.
There was something incredibly erotic about having a wickedly handsome man climb through the window and join one in bed, shedding clothing in between caresses. Her gown puddled around her waist, and when his hot mouth found her breast, the velvet rasp of his tongue across the tip proved too much pleasure to bear. She writhed beneath him, though he held her firm.
The Last Gamble Page 21