Surrender

by CJ Archer

She did nothing to stop him. In his present mood, it would be foolish to try.

  He turned on her. Beads of sweat trickled down his hairline and neck. His face was distorted with white-hot anger. She edged back across the floor, slowly, until her back hit the upturned chair.

  "Where is it?" he roared. It was the loudest he'd been since his arrival. Georgiana hoped his voice hadn't traveled down to his aunt's room.

  She picked herself up off the floor and inched towards the door, out of his immediate reach. But the extra distance could be covered by a single long stride if he wished. "I told you it's not here."

  He swept his arm across the top of the dressing table, sending the framed portraits of her parents, her comb and hand mirror crashing to the floor. The mirror cracked on impact. "Where. Is. It?"

  She stood with her back to the door and fumbled behind her for the handle until her fingers closed around the smooth wood. "I think you need to leave, Mr. Redcliff." Her voice sounded much too high. She swallowed. "I will come to you with a mixture of opium and herbal powder to begin the treatment. I know tonight will not be easy but you must try. It is imperative for your long-term health that you break the hold the opium has over you."

  His eyes opened slightly, his jaw slackened and his face untwisted. It was as if he'd splashed water over himself and dampened the rage. Control, or the veneer of it, was his again.

  But he still looked hot. Hot and pale in the candlelight. His hands shook violently at his sides. His gaze shifted about the room, taking in the destruction with dispassionate regard. He didn't once look at her.

  It was time to try again. Now that he was calmer, she needed to extract a promise from him that he would not buy more opium to replace the packet she'd confiscated. She wasn't sure what was going through his head but if he in any way felt guilty for his rampage then she could use that to her advantage. "I'll do what I can to help you tonight and every night until you are able to manage on your own. You just need to send for me."

  He lifted one arched brow and his lips curled into a wicked grin. It wasn't the smile of a man troubled by guilt. "Are you going to stay up with me all night if I request it?"

  It was the question she'd been dreading. Of course she'd stayed up all night with other patients but on only one occasion had she been alone.

  And that occasion set in motion a tragedy that she could never undo.

  "Trent has volunteered."

  He took a step closer to her. He pressed both palms against the oak paneling on either side of her head and dipped his face so their eyes were level. In that pose, she could neither move nor open the door.

  "Scared you, have I?" he whispered in her ear.

  "Yes," she said, seeing no reason to lie. "But I am used to the tantrums of opium users. You will not frighten me into abandoning my commission."

  He dropped his hands and straightened. He stared at her for a long, long time. Heat spread across her face and she was glad for the dim light cast by the single candle so he couldn't see her blush. "You are either very brave or very foolish, Miss Appleby."

  She was beginning to think the latter. "I just want to help you, Mr. Redcliff. Together we can beat—."

  "Spare me." He waved her off and she thought about continuing, but really there was no point. He could sweep her aside as easily as he'd cleared her dressing table. She would save her fight...for now. Let him contemplate what he'd done instead. She moved and he opened the door. Without so much as a nod he strode into the dark hall.

  She took the candle and followed him down the stairs, praying he would return to his room. He must have heard her footsteps but he did not turn around. Nor did he stop at the second floor. He continued down to the entrance hall where Worth suddenly stepped out of the shadows holding a lantern. He didn't seem surprised to see his master up at the late hour.

  "My hat, Worth," Redcliff said with detachment.

  "You're going out?" Georgiana said. "No. Don't do this. You must try—."

  "Find Miss Appleby a new mattress," he said to Worth. "And send a maid up to tidy her room."

  Without even looking at her, he left. Georgiana sank onto the bottom step and tried not to give in to the melancholy. She'd never really stood a chance tonight. Redcliff needed to want to give up opium before she could help him. Until then, he would always buy more.

  Worth gave her a weary half-smile. "We'll have your room set to rights in no time, miss."

  She watched him go and made her way up the stairs again. On the second floor she heard the soft click of a door closing in the direction of Lady Weatherby's room. She wondered how much Redcliff's wily aunt had heard.

  CHAPTER 6

  Redcliff was not at breakfast. His aunt and sister, however, were and Georgiana was swamped with the buoyant chatter of one and the stony silence of the other. Lady Weatherby gave no indication that she'd overheard their late night argument and Redcliff's subsequent storming out of the house but Georgiana didn't expect her to. What the elderly aunt thought of her nephew's behavior, considering she couldn't be aware of his opium smoking, was anyone's guess.

  "Will we visit Staunton again today, Aunt?" Phillippa said, buttering her toast. "Only I promised Angelica I would tell her all about the dresses the modiste is making for me. Oh, and I'll take that new bonnet to show her. She'll adore it. She's quite bored stuck in that dreary school room all day. Can't say I blame her." She made a face. "Angelica is my brother Staunton's oldest daughter," she said to Georgiana. "She's thirteen and thinks she knows everything, doesn't she, Aunt? But she's so completely child-like and innocent. For instance she still rides that little pony she was given when she was seven. I keep telling Staunton she should have a mare of her own now, like I did at her age, but he just grumbles into his stiff cravat and tells me to mind my own business."

  Georgiana stifled a smile. "You like to ride?"

  Phillippa bit off a piece of toast. "Oh yes," she said as best as she could with her mouth full. "More than anything. Nothing is quite as exhilarating as—."

  "Don't talk with food in your mouth," Lady Weatherby said.

  Phillippa swallowed audibly. "Now what was I saying? Oh yes, nothing is quite as exhilarating as racing across a field on the back of strong horse, don't you think?"

  "I don't ride much," Georgiana said. She could hardly afford to keep herself and Esme let alone a horse.

  Phillippa regarded her with sympathy. "Alex must allow you to ride one of his horses while you're here. Perhaps we could ride together around Hyde Park later."

  Lady Weatherby cleared her throat. Georgiana refused to look at her. "I don't think that would be wise," she said with a smile for the girl. "I'm sure his horses are all much too lively for my unskilled hand. I'd like to see you riding, however."

  "What a perfectly splendid idea! We'll be in Hyde Park for the promenade hour. If we can get him away from his silly club, Alex could drive you and Aunt while I ride. Oh, and that friend of his should come too. Lord Northbridge." A slight color rose to her cheeks. "Don't you think he's dashing, Miss Appleby?"

  Dashing wasn't quite the word Georgiana had in mind to describe the preening gentleman but she agreed with Phillippa. How could anyone not agree with the girl? She was so full of life that one just wanted to kick off one's shoes and run with her through a meadow, laughing.

  Lady Weatherby replaced her teacup in its saucer with a loud clunk that could have cracked the delicate bone china. "I'm sure Miss Appleby is much too busy to go for walks or drives around the park, Phillippa."

  Redcliff entered the dining room at that moment and went straight to the sideboard. "I think she should come," he said without turning around. He sounded remarkably light and amiable. Georgiana watched his broad back warily. What game was he playing this morning? "If she can spare the time that is."

  "As my patient," she said carefully, "I am at your disposal of course."

  He carried his heaped plate and cup to the table and set them down next to his sister, opposite Georgiana. Despite a few sha
dows beneath his eyes he looked rested. Georgiana's heart sank. So much for her efforts to hide his opium. He had gone out and bought more.

  "Then by all means join us," he said. "You never know when my wounds will need your expert attention." He cut off a strip of bacon and popped it in his mouth. There was no semblance of a guilty conscience in his clear eyes, no hint that he regretted his outburst. There was no expression on his face at all.

  "Marvellous!" Phillippa said with a clap of her hands, just as Georgiana said to Redcliff, "How is your head?"

  He swallowed. "Better than last night," he said pointedly.

  "I told you, you should have sent Trent to me and I could have helped you."

  "No need."

  "And your arm? How is it today?"

  "Fine." He paused in cutting his second slice of bacon. Without looking up from his plate, he said, "Actually, I think it needs re-dressing."

  She'd not offered to look at the arm wound for him because that hadn't been a part of her employment contract with Sir Oswyn. Although she had experience in treating all sorts of injuries and illnesses, like her father before her she specialized in curing opium addiction. But Redcliff was her patient and if her father had taught her nothing else, a physician should treat the patient as a whole.

  She only wished she knew what Redcliff was up to.

  There was only one way to find out. "I'll see to it after breakfast," she said.

  Her answer seemed to surprise him at first, but then he nodded stiffly. "Come to my study."

  "And we'll all go to Hyde Park together later," Phillippa said. She drained her tea, pushed back her chair and stood. "Are you ready, Aunt Harry? There's so much to do and I desperately want to get started."

  "You run along to your room," Lady Weatherby said, studying her teacup, "I'll be there shortly."

  Phillippa rushed out of the room in a whirl of white muslin. Georgiana braced herself for the lecture from the aunt. But instead the marchioness said, "Miss Appleby, I see you are finished your breakfast. If you wouldn't mind, I need to speak to my nephew."

  Glad to escape so easily, Georgiana stood. "Send someone to my room when you're ready for me to see to your arm," she said to Redcliff.

  He nodded curtly but his attention was on his aunt. Before she'd completely shut the door, Georgiana heard him say, "I suppose I deserve what's coming."

  She didn't stay to hear Lady Weatherby's response.

  ***

  Georgiana was in her room almost half an hour when the summons finally came, via Trent of all people, to join Redcliff in his study.

  "Was the scolding very bad?" she asked him.

  Trent shook his head. "Oh no, miss, Mr. Redcliff didn't blame me at all. He said it was all your fault. Said he knew you'd pressed me into helping you." He winced and shrugged an apology. "Sorry, miss. I tried defending you but he gave me one of his glares. You know the sort."

  "The ones that make you feel lucky to escape with your life." She sighed. "I do. And I should be the one apologizing to you, Trent. It is my fault. I'll do my best to ensure you don't wear any of those glares of his again."

  He smiled sympathetically. "It's all right, miss. I've thought some more on what you said and it seems to me that stopping Mr. Redcliff's opium is the best thing for him, only he just doesn't know it yet. But he'll come round eventually, you wait and see. In the mean time, I'll do what I can to help you."

  "Thank you, Trent. Mr. Redcliff is lucky to have you."

  "And you, miss." He flushed so brightly it was difficult to tell face from hair. "I, uh, I didn't mean have... Not that he, uh, has." She'd not thought it possible for him to blush an even deeper red but he somehow managed it while backing away to the door. "I meant he's lucky to have you here, Miss Appleby. We all are."

  She thought she did quite a serviceable attempt at appearing ignorant of the innuendo. "Thank you, Trent, that's very kind of you."

  They left together but Georgiana made her way to Redcliff's study while Trent continued to the master bedroom. She knocked and entered on Redcliff's order. He stood in only his shirt and breeches by the middle of the three arch windows, hands clasped behind him. She assumed he was watching the passersby below but then she caught his gaze in the reflection. Watching her.

  She placed her medical bag on a chair and stood well back. "May I have my pistol, please."

  His reflection smiled suddenly and some of the irritation seeped out of her. Perhaps this meeting would not be so awkward after all.

  But then he turned around and he was no longer smiling. It was as if there had been two different people—the happy one made of glass and the one made of flesh who only knew how to frown. Her own half-formed smile faded like a wilting flower beneath his cold glare.

  "I don't like weapons in my house. It's a rule I have."

  "I wasn't going to kill anyone with it."

  "Ah, so you were only going to maim them? How reassuring."

  "It's for my protection. In case you've failed to notice I am a woman in a strange man's house."

  "Then you should have brought a chaperone."

  "I told you, my maid was ill."

  "And my aunt's presence doesn't reassure you?"

  An old woman? Hardly.

  But she couldn't tell her host that the real danger came from herself. Her deep, basic attraction to him on a level that had everything to do with instinct and nothing to do with common sense. It had taken hold of her during that kiss and hadn't let go, not even after his caveman behavior of the night before. So what, if anything, would it take to stop it?

  At least it was only lust. Anything more would be dangerous.

  "I prefer my own brand of protection," she said, lifting one shoulder. Now, my pistol..."

  "I think I'll keep it. As I said, I don't like weapons in my house. Unless they're mine of course."

  "But—."

  "And it was useless as protection anyway," he said.

  She frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "You kept it in your wardrobe drawer which wasn't within reach of the bed. If an attacker had come into your room in the middle of the night, you'd not have been able to get to it in a timely manner even though it was loaded."

  He may be right but having it around was a comfort nevertheless. "Thank you for pointing that out to me. If you won't return my pistol, we might as well get straight to the matter at hand. Let me see your arm, Mr. Redcliff." He didn't move. "It's all right," she said. "I know what I'm doing and I won't bite."

  "Pity."

  She ignored him. Or tried to but gave up all pretense of it as he removed his waistcoat and unbuttoned his shirt. Ignoring the triangle of bare chest and black hair was quite impossible. So was breathing. She couldn't dismiss the thought of sinking her teeth into all that impossibly smooth skin either.

  "You'll have to help me," he said.

  She blinked, slowly. "Pardon?"

  "I can't move my injured arm the right way to remove my shirt. Trent usually helps." An amused gleam touched the edges of his eyes, warming them.

  She drew herself together. This was ridiculous. She was a sophisticated, worldly woman who'd seen bare-chested men before, not a girl barely out of the school room.

  "Sit down," she ordered. He sat and stretched out the injured arm. She tugged the sleeve as he withdrew his arm into it then bunched the rest of the fine cambric in her hands and pulled the shirt over his head. He stretched out his other arm so she could complete the task but in the opposite direction from where she stood. She leaned across him, lost her balance and ended up face down, sprawled across his lap.

  Before mortification could set in completely, she rolled into a sitting position but didn't rise. She couldn't, not with his arms firmly around her waist, holding her in place. Beneath her, the muscles in his thighs shifted inside his tight breeches as he drew his knees together to support her.

  "We shouldn't..." she said in a pathetic attempt to retrieve some of the common sense she was renowned for. But her common sense w
as shredded like paper beneath all that skin radiating warmth and power just inches from her twitching fingers.

  She wanted to find out just how smooth he was.

  She pressed a palm to his good arm and traced the line of his collar bone to the hollow of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed. She dipped down and teased the tiny hairs scattered over his chest. They were springy and surprisingly silken. He sucked a breath between his teeth and his eyelids closed. She drew in a deep breath of her own. He smelled deliciously clean and male, the scents overridden by something else that was all Redcliff.

  His hands moved from her hips to her waist then up to her ribs. One hand cupped her breast, pushed up and around, while the other circled to her back and gently pressed her to him. His lips planted tiny butterfly kisses across her hairline, sending a shimmer of delight through her entire body. She arched into his hand, wanting his thumb to find her nipple through the layers of calico and linen. Too much fabric.

  She touched a hand to his cheek and lifted her face to give him a thorough kiss that might go some way to sating the desire threatening to burn her alive.

  But it wasn't enough.

  It wasn't nearly enough. Alex wanted to touch Miss Appleby the way she was touching him, her nimble fingers exploring his bare skin, teasing and making him ache all over. His cock was rock hard in his breeches. She must be able to feel it. He didn't care. Didn't give a damn if the walls fell down around them. All he knew was he wanted her. Wanted more than just a kiss. He wanted her in his bed, wanted her arching her back to meet his thrusts, wanted her legs twined around his hips.

  He'd been so wrong earlier. She was very far from being tight. She was light and lithe, supple and soft. Delicious. Desirable. De—.

  With a gasp, she pushed his hands away and sprang off his lap like a startled cat. She turned away but not before he saw her flushed face, her shaking fingers pressing against her swollen lips.

  "Miss Appleby..." he began but stopped. Hearing his own husky voice speaking so formally to her sounded utterly wrong. He cleared his throat. "May I call you Georgiana?"