Surrender

by CJ Archer

  "I had a good sleep last night," he said with a shrug. "The first in a long time." He looked back to the sideboard. "Is there any bacon? I'm so hungry."

  "Not today but if Cook knows you want some there'll be a mountain of it tomorrow." She smiled at him, but it was a wistful smile rather than a content one. Even so, it was pleasing to see. Aunt Harry, the more serious of the two sisters, rarely smiled anymore. She was growing old, he realized with a jolt, and neither he nor Phillippa had made life easy for her of late.

  "Perhaps we could go on a picnic today," he said, picking up his toast. "I feel like doing something. Going somewhere."

  "You're restless."

  He lifted one shoulder. "I suppose I could visit one of the farms if you're not up to a picnic. I could take Philly with me—."

  "Psh," she said with a flap of her hand. "You've visited the farms too much of late. The farmers don't want you and your endless questions, Alexander, and they certainly don't want Phillippa getting under their feet."

  He finished his toast and licked butter off his fingers. "Then what do you suggest I do?"

  She stood and came around to his side of the table. She took his chin in one cool hand and smiled thinly down at him. "Do what it is you really want to do. What makes you happy."

  Happy. Was he happy?

  He was satisfied. He felt more alive than he had in a long time. But he was not happy. The hole that had opened up in his heart the day Georgiana left was now a gaping void and nothing could close it. Not even the best night's sleep he'd had in months.

  He drew Aunt Harry's hand away and kissed the back of it. "Thank you, Aunt, your blessing means a great deal to me."

  "I know and I'm sorry I was too stubborn to give it earlier. It's not easy for an old woman to accept she was wrong. I did so want you to have a wife who could further your interests politically and socially. But I can see now that a society wife wouldn't suit you. And aside from your safety, I want nothing more than your happiness."

  He let go of her hands and sighed down at his plate. What did her blessing matter anyway? He would have gone to Georgiana without it if he knew she'd have him. "Miss Appleby doesn't want to be my wife," he blurted out.

  "You've already asked her?"

  "Not exactly asked..."

  Aunt Harry sat down beside him. "Then how do you know what her answer will be?"

  "She gave me her answer by leaving when I needed her most." Need. Georgiana had spoken of him needing her too much. He frowned down at his plate. He wanted bacon. He didn't need it, he wanted it. There was certainly a difference, especially to the bacon. "She spoke about me not understanding the difference between needing her as my nurse and wanting her as my wife."

  "Ah. I see."

  And so, finally, did he. "I got through all the nightmares alone." He nodded, seeing through the thick fog that had surrounded him ever since Georgiana left. Slowly but surely it cleared away and he felt a fool for not realizing it earlier. "Today I feel better than ever," he said, more to himself than Aunt Harry. "I feel like myself again." And whole—almost. He shook his head. "But I've not heard from her since she left. How do I know if she has feelings for me?"

  Aunt Harry rose and planted a kiss on his forehead. "That's what you must find out. Go to her."

  ***

  Alex left within the hour and arrived at Wellbrook in Oxfordshire nearly two days later. Three boys playing outside the blacksmith's gave him directions to Georgiana's house then scampered into the workshop shouting about "the toff who's come to see Miss Appleby". Their enthusiasm was echoed by Alex's own and he drove as quickly as possible along the busy street towards her house.

  She lived in a pretty little stone cottage near the edge of the village looking out over the green carpet of countryside. He left his groom to take care of the coach and horses, picked up the wrapped package from the seat, and walked through an arch covered with dainty pink roses to the front door. A middle-aged maid with sparkling round eyes answered his knock, her cheeks pale and pinched from recent illness. Her open smile vanished when he announced himself.

  "Miss Appleby's in the garden," she said, scrutinizing him from head to toe twice before finally letting him in. "You may wait in the parlor through there." She nodded at a door off the entrance hall and turned away before he could thank her.

  "If it's all right with you, Esme, I'd like to surprise Miss Appleby in the garden."

  She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "You know my name?"

  "Of course. Miss Appleby spoke very fondly of you, and since I am very fond of Miss Appleby..." He shrugged and shifted the package to his other hand.

  Esme noticed. "No flowers," she said, her dark eyes shining. "That's different."

  Different? Different to what? Who had been bringing Georgiana flowers?

  He followed her through the small but neat cottage to the back door. It opened onto a gravel courtyard surrounded by a high bluestone wall. Potted shrubs marked the corners of the courtyard and the bold heads of blooming roses peeped over the top of the wall from the other side.

  "She'll be in the herb garden over yonder," Esme said.

  He thanked her and waited until she went back inside then removed his hat and coat. He placed them on a wooden bench seat and made his way through the doorway in the wall. It was like stepping into another world. The hot sun stroked his face and the light breeze tousled his hair. Bees hummed around the lavender and insects chirped merrily beneath the rosemary. A thousand scents mingled in the warm air, teasing his senses and scrambling his thoughts.

  All except one: she was the most beautiful sight in the world.

  Georgiana knelt amongst the rows of herbs, a large hat as bright as the sun shading her face. Flowers, leaves and berries filled the basket beside her and she wore an apron over her simple yellow dress. Not brown or gray but buttercup-yellow. He smiled.

  As if she'd sensed him watching, she looked up. "Alex!" She dropped her pruning shears.

  "Hello, Georgiana." He approached and bent to pick up her shears but that only brought him face to face with her and she looked so wonderful he decided to stay there. So he knelt in the dirt too. "I'm sorry to drop in unannounced but there wasn't time to send word."

  "Oh?" Her face darkened with concern. "Has something happened?"

  "Yes. Something remarkable."

  She frowned and he marveled at how the summer weather had brought out the freckles on her nose. He wouldn't tell her of course—women seemed to have an aversion to freckles—but he rather liked them. Particularly hers.

  "Remarkable?" she echoed. "For God's sake, Alex, stop talking in riddles and just tell me."

  He chuckled. "Your self-control is wilting in all this heat."

  "It's my patience and it's not wilting, it's being stretched—by you. Do tell me what remarkable thing sent you all this way, Alex. Esme will have my tea ready soon and I wish to take it this afternoon if possible."

  "I slept through the night," he announced. "Not a single nightmare."

  She sat back on her haunches. A fleeting smile crossed her lips before disappearing again. Had she been expecting him to say something else? "Oh. Well, that is certainly good news. I'm pleased for you. But you could have sent me a letter."

  "No. You see, that's not the only remarkable thing."

  "It isn't?" She plucked her shears out of his hand and placed them in her basket then she removed her gardening gloves and set them on top of the shears. "Shall we go inside and discuss it over tea?" She began to rise but he stopped her with a hand to her arm.

  "I want to tell you out here," he said.

  Her big brown eyes lifted to his and he suddenly felt as lost and as awkward as a little boy in a strange place. What was he doing here? How could this woman possibly love him?

  "Go on," she said.

  He would never know how she felt if he didn't tell her. "I understand what you meant now about want and need." He put the package he'd brought with him on the ground and caught her face betwe
en his hands. Her skin was warm and she smelled delicious.

  "Do you?" Her eyes grew bigger but she didn't pull away. That alone spurred him to continue.

  "I got through the night, Georgiana. Without you. Without anyone. I've not had opium since you left and I'll admit it's been hard at times but I never once thought about sliding back into old habits. There's only one thing I have wanted and that's you. Wanted, Georgiana, not needed."

  She sucked in her bottom lip and blinked up at him. "I see," was all she said.

  His thumbs caressed the strong lines of her cheeks and he lost himself in those glistening eyes. "I want you, Georgiana. I want you to lie alongside me, not to get me through the night but just so I can feel you there. I want you to hold me, not to comfort me, but as your lover and friend. And as your husband."

  She swallowed audibly. "Oh."

  He waited for her to say something else but she didn't. The gaping hole in his heart opened up again and the intolerable ache turned to a sharp, stabbing pain.

  He let go of her face, her beautiful, expressive face, and wondered where he'd gone wrong. What else did he have to do? He thought it had been enough. He thought coming here and telling her he understood about need and want would be enough to convince her that he was ready.

  He rose to his feet, leaving the package behind. Let her keep it. "I'll leave you to your gardening," he said, far more harshly than he meant to because his throat was too tight.

  "You're going already?" she said, getting up.

  He walked off without saying goodbye but got as far as the walled courtyard before anger and frustration beat out the confusion. The hurt, however, remained. It always would. "I'm sorry, Georgiana. I lied just now. I can't see the bloody difference between want and need." He stabbed his finger into his chest. "How can I when my heart has a hole in it the size of your fist? I wake up thinking about you. I go to bed thinking about you. I replay every conversation we ever had and I invent ones we've never had." Never going to have. He closed his eyes against the wave of nausea, more fierce than it had ever been in those early days of withdrawing from opium. "I don't know if what I feel for you is need or want but I do know I can live without you—but I'll be a miserable wretch." He opened his eyes and fixed them on her. She stood as straight as an arrow, her basket hooked over her arm, the sun hat shadowing her eyes. "If that's not love then I don't know what is," he said. He began to turn away but her small yelp forced him to look back.

  She dropped her basket, scattering herbs, gloves and shears over the ground, and ran. To him. He caught her as she flung herself on top of him but her momentum sent them tumbling onto the grass together. Her hat fell off, her skirts rode up to her thighs. She lay over him, her slender limbs twined in his, her breasts crushed against his chest. He was hard in an instant.

  And then she kissed him. A deep, urgent kiss that drove his senses into a frenzy. He rolled her over and trapped her beneath him, relishing the way her back arched, the way her hips ground against his.

  He wanted to take her right there in her garden but his deeply ingrained code of honor reared its head and he broke the kiss before he reached the point of no return.

  "I love you, Georgiana," he said, holding her close. He could feel her heart hammering against his, or perhaps it was his own, whole once more. And full. Very, very full. "I love you." It was worth repeating. He would say it every day. Forever.

  Georgiana pushed his hair from his forehead to better see those beautiful eyes. How could she have ever thought them cold? He smiled and her heart swelled knowing that smile was all for her.

  "I love you too," she said. And she did. She did, she did, she did. And now everyone would know it and she would be Mrs. Redcliff and oh he loved her. Loved her. Yes he needed her, she could see that now and it wasn't altogether a bad thing because it was Georgiana Appleby he needed, not the physician but the woman.

  He rolled off her and stood, pulling her to her feet in one easy movement. She tried to brush the dirt off her skirt but gave up. Esme would be the only one to see and the maid already knew how Georgiana felt about Alex.

  "I brought you a gift," he said, picking up the package lying forgotten near the herb beds.

  He gave it to her and she unwrapped it. The silver handle of a hand mirror glinted in the sunshine. It was the one he'd bought to replace the mirror he'd broken in her room. He'd never got around to buying her a simple wooden one as she'd directed him to do.

  "It is exquisite," she said, admiring the craftsmanship.

  "For my exquisite wife."

  She stood on her toes and kissed him again, a more tender kiss but no less passionate. "Thank you," she said.

  "Anything my lady wife wants," he said, looping his arm around her waist.

  "In that case, I want to live quietly in the country. London society is not for me." She watched him closely for any sign that her request met with disapproval. "Am I asking you to give up too much?"

  He gave her a big, honest smile and kissed the top of her head. "I'll give up anything for you, my love. Anything."

  THE END

  A message from the author:

  I hope you enjoyed reading SURRENDER as much as I enjoyed writing it. As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends and writing a review at the store where you purchased it. If you would like to be contacted when I release a new book, please send an email to cjarcher.writes@gmail.com and I will subscribe you to my New Releases newsletter. You will only be contacted when I have a new book out.

  Books by C.J. Archer:

  Courting His Countess

  The Wrong Girl (Freak House #1)

  Playing With Fire (Freak House #2) - COMING SOON

  The Charmer (Assassins Guild Novel)

  Her Secret Desire (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #1)

  Scandal's Mistress (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #2)

  To Tempt The Devil (Lord Hawkesbury's Players #3)

  The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #1)

  Possession (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #2)

  Evermore (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium #3)

  Honor Bound (The Witchblade Chronicles Book #1)

  Kiss Of Ash (The Witchblade Chronicles #2)

  Surrender

  Redemption

  The Mercenary's Price

  How To Contact C.J. Archer:

  Website: http://cjarcher.com

  Email: cjarcher.writes@gmail.com

  Twitter: @cj_archer

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CJArcherAuthorPage

  ***Read on for an excerpt of HONOR BOUND (The Witchblade Chronicles #1)***

  An Excerpt from

  Honor Bound

  (c) C.J. Archer

  CHAPTER 1

  1583 - London, England

  Lawrence Shawe burst through the apothecary shop's door with far more vehemence than usual. Considering he never undertook any activity that required enthusiasm on his part, it was enough to distract Isabel from her herbs. She glanced up from the jar she’d been filling with dried juniper berries to glare at him but the look on his face dampened her temper. His cheeks were flushed and his hat sat lop-sided on his silver-streaked hair. He'd certainly exerted himself on this occasion. Indeed, he might even have been running.

  "What is it, Lawrence?" Isabel asked. "What's happened?"

  "Someone tried to poison the queen."

  She dropped the handful of berries onto the workbench. "Dear God, how awful! Is she all right?"

  Lawrence nodded and squeezed his finger and thumb into his eye sockets. When he drew them away again, he no longer looked exercised, just exhausted. His reddened eyelids sagged like old porch roofs over his blue eyes and even his clothes, usually so fastidiously tidy, had creases. Creased clothing equated to utter disarray in Lawrence's book.

  As physician to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, Lawrence would take a poisoning attempt on her life very seriously. Any threat to her
health was a direct threat to not only his career, but perhaps even his life if he failed to save her. As the only son of Isabel's aged employer, she had a vested interest in Lawrence's wellbeing, and therefore Her Majesty's health too.

  "Perfectly all right," he said. "Lady Manningham, however, is quite ill." He crossed the rush-covered floor of the small apothecary shop and stood beside her at the workbench. He picked up a berry and rolled it between his thumb and fingers until it crumbled. "Her Majesty’s Gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber ate the poisoned sweetmeats intended for the queen." He snorted out a laugh as he sniffed his fingers. "Silly woman. I’ve told her on numerous occasions her taste for sweet foods will be the death of her."

  Isabel didn’t think the joke terribly funny considering the circumstances. Nevertheless she breathed a sigh of relief over the queen's condition. "Is there any remedy you require for Lady Manningham? You’re welcome to anything from the shop, of course. Your father would wish it."

  He sprinkled the crushed remnants of the berry onto the bench and dusted his hands. "How is Father today?" he asked.

  "The same." She sighed deeply and swept up the crumbs with her bare hands. "His limbs ache and he’s confined to his bed most of the time, but he still insists on personally greeting his favored clients." She smiled. Old Man Shawe, as everyone affectionately called the apothecary, would rather die than give up his work entirely. Even so, his ill health meant Isabel now ran the shop and the Shawe household since Lawrence lived elsewhere. She dealt with customers and suppliers, servants and apprentices. She prepared remedies, dispensed advice and kept the accounts. Old Man Shawe was apothecary in name only—and a well-known name at that, bringing new clients from all over London—but she included him in all the decisions out of courtesy. It was the least she could do for the man who had helped her at a most desperate time.