by CJ Archer
Redcliff came up behind his sister and Georgiana found it quite difficult not to stare at him in his white breeches and black double-breasted coat. The ensemble fit his powerful physique so snugly it was a wonder he could breathe. Georgiana was certainly finding it difficult. He must have noticed her watching because his mouth twitched in a knowing smile.
"They are delightful company," he said. "Only I was never sure which one I was talking to. They look so alike."
"Tosh," Phillippa said. "They do not. Amy's hair is darker than her sisters' by at least two shades, Bernice is taller and Cassandra's eyes are gray." She clicked her tongue. "You are so unobservant."
"I notice the things that matter." He spoke to Phillippa but looked directly at Georgiana, his blue eyes shadowed beneath long dark lashes. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and his hands shook ever so slightly. It was growing late and he needed his opium before the signs of withdrawal became obvious, and painful.
"Come along, Phillippa," Lady Weatherby said from the doorway. Phillippa bid both Redcliff and Georgiana good night then joined her aunt. "I trust you will not keep my nephew up too late, Miss Appleby. He's been complaining of a headache all evening and was quite adamant we should leave."
"I'll administer his tonic and send him up to Trent straight away," Georgiana assured her.
Lady Weatherby nodded and gave Redcliff what could only be described as a warning glare before leaving with Phillippa in tow. When their footsteps could no longer be heard, Redcliff called for Worth.
"Tell Trent I won't be requiring his services," Redcliff said. "Nor anyone else's. Good night, Worth."
"Good night, sir, miss." Worth bowed himself out of the library and closed the door to the hall.
Georgiana was quite alone with Redcliff. And that was a very bad position to be in. He would try to kiss her again, of that she was certain. What was less certain was how she would respond. She should refuse him. She really, really should.
He walked over to the sideboard and while his back was turned, she got up to leave.
"Sit down, Miss Appleby, I'm not going to ravish you."
Oh. She sat.
He poured two glasses of brandy from a crystal decanter and handed one to Georgiana. The liquid sloshed against the sides of the glass. She considered refusing but decided that would be an unnecessary stance. There was nothing improper about having a drink with her patient.
He sat in the chair Phillippa had vacated. Between them, the fire burned low in the grate, casting its warmth and glow into the room. She closed the book she still held and smoothed her hand over the old vellum cover.
"Did you have a pleasant evening?" he asked, nodding at the book. "Shakespeare's comedies are among my favorites."
"Mine too. I prefer them to his tragedies." She placed the book on the round table beside her and sipped her brandy. It warmed her throat and slipped through the knots of tension tightening her insides, easing them. "Your evening wasn't as pleasant as your sister would have me believe?" she asked him.
He chuckled. Considering it must be close to the time he smoked his nightly dose of opium, he was in remarkably good spirits. He appeared in no hurry to leave. "I like the Pinkertons but I have a devil of a time telling the daughters apart. There's only three years separating them and they're all remarkably fair and equally as foolish as each other."
"I'm sure you were kept on your toes then."
"On my toes and on my best behavior."
"You mean you didn't try to seduce one of them while their parents weren't looking? How gallant of you."
"You do have a mischievous streak to you, Miss Appleby." He lifted his glass in salute. "No, I didn't try to seduce any of them. It would be a terrible thing to kiss one and then accidentally ignore her the next time we met because I mistook her for one of her sisters."
"Now that is gallant, in a way."
"Thank you. I think." He took a sip of brandy and closed his eyes.
"Your headache must be troubling you." She put her glass down and rose. "I'll get the tonic—."
"Stay."
She straightened. "I am not a dog to be commanded, Mr. Redcliff."
He held up a hand in apology. "I'm sorry. Please sit, Miss Appleby. My head will not explode for some time yet and I'm enjoying your company. It's sophisticated and quiet. So blissfully quiet."
She sat and picked up her glass again. "The Pinkerton girls are loud?"
"The Pinkerton girls, the Pinkerton parents and Philly." He sank further into the chair and tipped his head back. "Sometimes I envy people like you, Miss Appleby."
"People like me?"
"Mmmm." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Only children. No sisters with their endless chatter and no meddling older brothers. I especially envy you that."
"Phillippa probably does too."
He lifted his head and regarded her with eyes clouded by either too much drink or the withdrawal of opium. She really should get him some of the tonic. Or perhaps a gentle rub of his scalp...
She quickly took a sip of her brandy and ended up drinking most of it. Something she regretted moments later when her head became thick and her thoughts sluggish.
"I suppose she does at the moment," he said. "Do you think I spoke too harshly to her this afternoon? I was devilishly angry with her." He peered into his glass, cradled in both hands. "And with myself."
"At least she's unlikely to do it again."
"Or she'll be more devious next time. That's what I would do if I was her."
"Not one to take orders are you, Mr. Redcliff?" Her wry grin was lost on him since he didn't look up at her but closed his eyes again and leaned back to rest his head.
He sighed and rubbed his temple. Georgiana chewed her lip and watched him with a growing sense of gloom. His headache must be agonizing, yet he'd not run upstairs to take his opium. She should do something to ease his pain and let him know she appreciated his efforts—he was her patient after all.
Before she could change her mind, she drained the rest of the brandy from her glass and stood. Her head swirled and she paused a moment to regain her balance then positioned herself behind his chair. She pressed her hands into his dark hair and watched the soft strands glide through her fingers like a river of black ink.
She rubbed his scalp, extracting a moan from Redcliff as his body relaxed. She had no notion of how long she stood there, easing away his ache with her fingers, enjoying the touch almost as much as he seemed to be. How could she not like it? It wasn't every day she got to be so close to a handsome, potent gentleman who had a way of making her feel desirable just by the way he looked at her. When she was with him, she wasn't the poor, plain daughter of an eccentric physician who needed to work to keep herself from poverty, she was witty and clever, young and pretty again.
If it was his cunning design to seduce her, to frighten her into leaving, then part of her didn't care and that part was stronger than her doubts and fears. Particularly after a large glass of good brandy.
The fire had disintegrated to a pile of glowing ashes when she stopped rubbing. Redcliff was slumped in the chair, his breathing deep and even. He must be asleep. She could either rouse him and put him to bed or simply leave him in the library and build up the fire so that he stayed warm a while longer. She'd decided on the latter when his hand whipped out and caught her wrist.
She gasped and her heart almost burst from her ribcage. "Good lord, you gave me a fright."
"I'm sorry." His voice was thick, hoarse, and his eyes half-closed. He didn't let her go but rubbed his thumb gently along her wrist. Her skin burned from his touch and her body throbbed with desire.
She wanted him.
"I'm sorry," he said again and pulled her down to his lap.
He kissed her.
Georgiana shoved aside the small voice of protest. It was easy to do, perhaps in part due to the effects of the brandy, but mostly because his kiss had a way of scattering her common sense like autumn leaves in the breeze. And then there were h
is hands. All over her. On her thigh, her calf, at her back, teasing her breast, unbinding her hair.
"You have beautiful hair," he murmured against the sensitive spot just below her earlobe.
"It's brown," she said on an intake of breath. Who gave a fig about hair when she was sitting right on top of his...oh my!
"I adore brown. This shade is my particular favorite." He wound a lock around his finger then let go, watching it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. "A ribbon of silk."
She took his face in her hands and kissed his mouth. No more talking. Talking meant she had to think and she didn't want to think. Not about anything and certainly not about the consequences of what they were doing.
He dipped his head and showered tiny kisses on the exposed swell of flesh above her gown. Oh yes, there, there! His hand cupped her breast and her aching nipple peaked within the confines of her stays. She arched into him and he groaned deep in his throat.
"You drive me to distraction, Georgiana," he murmured.
She stiffened at the odd sound of her Christian name from his lips. The small protesting voice inside her became louder until it couldn't be ignored. "We mustn't." But she didn't move away. Didn't want to. Being so close to him, wrapped up in his arms, enveloped by his scent, felt so good.
So right.
And yet it was so wrong.
"Good lord." He rested his forehead on her shoulder and groaned. "That wasn't supposed to happen."
The kiss? But he'd kissed her before and not regretted it.
She climbed off his lap and straightened her dress. "I should have had more control. You are my patient and this situation is... Well, it cannot happen again."
She turned to go but he sprang up from the chair and caught her hand. His earlier languor was completely gone, replaced by alertness that vibrated off him. He touched her chin and gently forced her to look at him. His eyes smoldered with pent-up passion.
"I can't promise that it won't happen again," he said, voice husky.
She swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. "I know."
At least this time he didn't tell her to leave his house if she wanted to avoid being seduced.
But that's why, for the first time since her arrival, she thought leaving might be the best thing she could do for him. Staying was looking more and more like the path to destruction.
For both of them.
CHAPTER 9
Alex lingered in the dining room at breakfast but Miss Appleby didn't join him. He later learned she'd taken tea and toast in her room. She must be avoiding him. Or packing.
He should be relieved. He was relieved. And yet...
He wanted her. Wanted to feel her lips against his, her hands buried in his hair and her heart pounding against his chest like a drum, beckoning him.
And unless he was a complete dolt—a distinct possibility—he knew she wanted him too. She'd responded to his kiss with definite fervor.
Until she'd pulled away.
Was she scared of him? Or of her own desires?
More importantly, would the fear cause her to leave? She didn't emerge from her room all morning so he would have to wait to learn the result of his endeavor—an endeavor he liked undertaking very much.
He spent the afternoon at his club to bide the time but left at four o'clock. He'd promised to take Philly for a ride.
"Leaving already?" Northbridge said, joining him in the shadows of the club's colonnaded façade. "Mind if I walk with you?" He didn't wait for an answer but matched Alex's stride as he headed up St James's Street. "Has that sister of yours recovered from her ordeal?"
"Ordeal? Ha! I should have flayed her for her foolishness."
North laughed. "Knowing you as I do I'll wager she suffered one of your foul-tempered lectures, followed by strict orders not to stray again. If there was any flaying involved, however, I'll shave off every hair on my head."
"And send all the girls into hysterics over the loss of your beautiful locks? I'd be plagued with guilt, not to mention angry females, until my dying days."
North shot him a withering glare. Mentioning his golden curls was always a good way to shut him up. They'd often been described as angelic. If a woman used the term, North would control his humiliation and flirt outrageously with her. If a man made the same mistake, he was likely to find himself sporting a black eye or a broken rib after a round in the ring with North at Gentleman Jackson's boxing saloon.
Alex had learned that lesson the hard way.
"She needs to spend more time with that sweet apple tart," North said. He smacked his lips together. "Wouldn't mind spending more time with her myself."
"She's very busy," Alex said, striding ahead.
North easily caught up to him. "Doing what? Your wounds don't seem all that dire anymore. I don't see why you needed her in the first place anyway. I didn't have a full-time nurse when that footpad put his blade through my thigh."
Alex ignored him and stopped at the side of the road. He looked right and left, then right and left again. No coaches coming at break-neck speed although there were plenty of curricles, barouches and riders going in both directions.
Northbridge too took longer to cross than usual, careful not to step in anything that might dull the shine of his Hessians. With one hand anchoring his hat, he jumped over a large pile of something pungent. "There's never a crossing sweeper about when you need one," he grumbled. "So Redcliff, since you won't have any need of your nursemaid," North went on when they reached the other side of the street, "may I have her?"
Alex's step faltered. "What are you talking about?"
North shrugged. "Thought I might make a play for her. Do you mind?"
"Of course I bloody mind! She's under the protection of Sir Oswyn and myself." And she was not for the likes of North. He was the sort to discard women when he grew bored of them. Alex, on the other hand, was the sort to... What? Marry them? Ha! More likely he came to regret the entanglement. That's how it was with Louisa and that's probably how it would be with Georgiana. Although he had a suspicion it wouldn't be at all the same. He regretted his involvement with Louisa because it led to him killing Cottesloe, but he had a sickening feeling he would regret seducing Georgiana because it would lead to her leaving.
He wasn't sure how it had happened, or when, but he'd grown quite fond of her company. It was a pity their patient-physician relationship was bound to end badly. He would have enjoyed a friendship with her.
Perhaps he could convince her to join them on their ride around Hyde Park. She could use Starlight, the gentlest mare in his stables. Of course, he'd need to do all the convincing out of Aunt Harry's earshot. She'd already given him one stern talking-to over his late night with Georgiana in the library.
"Who is that?" North pointed to a narrow lane and Alex caught sight of a man wearing a brown coat disappearing around the corner. He couldn't see a face from the distance but he could make out the man's form—the bulky physique was familiar but he couldn't place it.
"Wait here." Alex ran into the lane, Northbridge's footsteps close behind. "I said wait—."
The fist slammed into his jaw, rattling teeth and catapulting him into the brick wall. He recovered just in time to see North send the brown-coated man flying with a well-aimed tackle that shoved the attacker face-first onto the flagstones with a bone-shattering crunch.
"Who are you?" Alex snapped.
"You might want to say something," North quipped when the man didn't answer. "Two against one are not good odds and I am not in a forgiving mood."
The attacker lay on the ground, his heavy-set body as still as a corpse. Alex tasted bile. All the scene needed was more blood and the familiarity to that night in Berne would have him heaving his lunch onto the flagstones. He leaned down to roll the man over.
With a gigantic roar to match his physique, the brute smashed his fist into Alex's nose. Pain and blood exploded across his face. Blinded, he only just made out the shape of the man as he fled towards th
e entrance to the lane. North ran after him with Alex, bleeding profusely all over his neckcloth, close behind.
The attacker turned into St. James Street but Northbridge's progress came to an abrupt halt when he collided with another figure, sending them both sprawling to the ground in a heap.
"Stop that fellow!" Alex shouted. But the passersby took one look at all the blood and another at the retreating back of the large offender and apologized for being too far away to do anything. They were all mightily concerned over Alex's nose however, and two gentlemen helped Northbridge and the man he'd run into to stand. Alex was surprised to see it was Lord Twickenham.
Northbridge picked up Twickenham's walking stick. "My profuse apologies, Twickenham, I didn't see you there."
"Of course you wouldn't," Twickenham snapped. He tugged the cuffs of his coat then snatched his cane off North. "You weren't looking where you were going! No cause for such rushing about. No cause at all. I say, what was all that—. Redcliff, is that you?" Twickenham squinted at Alex. "Hardly recognized you beneath all that blood. I say, are you all right?"
Alex swiped at his nose with his sleeve. "I'll live."
"And you, Twickenham?" Northbridge said, taking the elderly gentleman by the elbow. "I am terribly sorry, but it was all for a good cause. You see that man who ran out before me attacked Redcliff and we wanted to find out why. Quite the oddest thing."
Twickenham and the others looked up the street. There was no sign of the brown-coated man.
"I hope you'll forgive my rudeness in knocking you down just now," Northbridge went on. He took Twickenham's hat from the gentleman who'd picked it up and placed it on Twickenham's balding head. He then brushed dirt off his sleeves until Twickenham batted his hand away.
"Don't fuss," Twickenham said.
"Can I walk you home and deliver you into the care of dear Lady Twickenham?" Northbridge offered.
"I can manage."
"But I feel so terrible! To have knocked a gentleman of such esteem as yourself onto his arse and in all this filth too!" North grabbed Twickenham by the shoulders and twisted him around which would have sent the elder gentleman to ground again if North's grip hadn't been so secure. "You didn't land in any horse shit, did you?"