by Zana Bell
Slowly he straightened from his squat to stand very close beside her. Her complexion was turning golden with her exposure to the sun, her Spanish blood he supposed. Her eyes were very clear, the lashes long and still with some drops of water clinging to them. As he stared down, he saw her pupils dilate slightly as she took a small, sharp intake of breath. The lid on the billy began to rattle as the water came to the boil.
Her throat was long and slender, disappearing into the v of her shirt. As if of their own volition, his hands came up and took hold of the loose folds of her shirt, either side of her collar. He gave a gentle tug and, unresisting, she came very close. One of the horses snorted. Was that sound in his ears the cicadas or his own rushing blood? With his thumb he traced the gold chain of her necklace. The griffin lay just out of sight, beneath the shirt. How well it suited her for she had the courage of a lion and claimed, as her right, the freedom of a bird. His head was drawn irresistibly closer until her lips were only inches from his. He felt her breath quicken.
At that moment the lid of the billy was dislodged by the force of the steam and there was a hiss as the water boiled over into the fire. The noise was just enough to jolt him back to his senses. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, very slowly, Harry released his hold. His hands moved to the buttons and with great care he did the top two up before stepping away. The air between them thrummed. Two birds swooped overhead but neither of them moved.
‘The water’s very cold,’ Georgiana finally said, as if unable to bear the tension between them any more.
‘Good!’ Harry’s voice was hoarse and he strode away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The loud splash snapped Georgiana out of the spell Harry had somehow cast. Her heart slowed, returning to its regular beat. She became aware of being able to breathe once more. But though, almost sightlessly, she removed the billy from the flames, she was unable to complete the simple task of making the tea. Instead she sank down, her back against a tree.
Something was shifting. She’d known it from the moment she’d woken to find Harry’s blue eyes burning into hers. He had been curiously preoccupied all morning and she had thought perhaps it was fatigue or worry. But in the last few minutes she had finally, almost disbelievingly, understood.
Georgiana had seen yearning in men’s eyes before – but never for her. And when she’d felt the warmth of his knuckles so close to her skin, something inside her had kindled and caught with astonishing ferocity. Deep in the pit of her stomach, heat still surged, a glorious craving like no other. Every nerve ending was vividly alive and her breathing was erratic, as was the tripping of her heart and her fingers curled into her palms, her nails leaving crescents of pain to mark her deep, deep frustration.
Yes, there had been desire in Harry’s eyes, but she knew him very well. He would never betray what he would see as his duty to protect her. Fool that he was! With a heavy sigh, Georgiana leaned her head back against the tree’s trunk and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. How on earth was she going to get him to violate his own code of honour? How could she banish this horribly unwelcome gallantry?
Didn’t he understand she was her mother’s daughter? She may be innocent, but she was certainly not naïve. She realised now that somewhere between their first meeting in the tavern in England and this moment, she had grown up. Harry, too, sensed it but didn’t consciously know it yet. Somehow she had to jolt him out of his carefully constructed defences. He must stop thinking of her either as a cabin boy or an impulsive younger sister. Time for her to show she was a woman. The thought both excited and scared her. She just needed to find the right opportunity …
The late-spring twilight had already fallen when they finally arrived at Oamaru. The afternoon’s ride had again been very quiet, conversation stilted and faltering. Neither of them referred at all to what had happened beside the river, but an unacknowledged thread of energy still burned between them.
In the gathering dark, they picked their way through Oamaru, a small town flourishing thanks to the gold rush. The very broad main road led them past elegant buildings and grand homes built out of a lovely cream stone. A huge cathedral was halfway to completion and some of the smaller backstreets had been cobbled. Entertainments of all types abounded – bars, saloons, dance halls and gambling dens. A ball was being held that evening in the large town hall.
Eventually they found lodgings with a greasy man and his worn wife in their rackety guesthouse, but Harry had only enough money for one room. It was stark: bare boards, wooden walls and two very narrow beds with straw mattresses. There was a rustle of rats in the ceiling above them. A lamp with a very sooty mantle perched on a three-legged stool, the room’s only other furniture. Through the dusty panes of the sash window, a straggly back garden with a high fence could only just be discerned. At the far end was a small shack housing, Georgiana realised, the outside privy. The garden seemed private enough, which was good as there were no curtains.
While she claimed one of the cots by putting her bag onto it, Harry lit the lamp. The smoke was acrid but the glow warmed the room marginally. Then he turned to Georgiana, his pack still slung over his shoulder. ‘I’ll sleep outside.’
‘Don’t be silly. There are two beds.’ He opened his mouth but she rushed on, to forestall any argument. ‘It’ll raise awkward questions if you don’t stay.’ She could see from his expression that argument had gone home and she pressed her advantage. ‘Stop worrying about my reputation, Harry. I’ve already slept many nights with several dozen men about me.’
‘Don’t remind me!’ Harry’s response was sharp, but he swung his pack down onto the other bed nevertheless. Then he straightened and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Look, we’ll worry about the room later. Our most pressing problem right now is money, but I think I have the solution. I’m going to need to leave you for a few hours, but you’ll be all right on your own, won’t you?’
‘Why? What are you planning to do – rob a bank?’
His sudden, raffish grin made her knees weaken. ‘Nothing so drastic. Cards. Thought I’d try my luck in that gambling hall around the corner.’
‘Ah!’
The grin disappeared and Harry’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now why have you suddenly got that thoughtful look on your face, George?’
‘What expression?’
‘And it’s no good playing Miss Innocent with me. What are you plotting?’
She smiled disarmingly as she opened her palms at him. ‘Nothing. Really.’
But Harry had already guessed. ‘No, you can forget any notion of coming with me right now.’
‘I’m a good player,’ she protested. ‘We’d double our winnings.’
‘Be that as it may, you are not coming. I am not taking a woman into such a place.’ He sliced the air with his hand to underscore the finality of what he was saying.
‘No one will know. They’ll just see me as a boy to be fleeced. It’s perfect.’
Harry grabbed her by both shoulders. For the second time that day, his face was very close to hers, but this time there was nothing in his eyes but severity. ‘No George, it’s anything but perfect. You are my responsibility and I absolutely forbid it! You can’t wear a hat tonight and your hair has grown. You can’t pass off as a young man now, for any length of time. If anyone tumbles to the fact that you are a woman when there’s so much alcohol around – it simply doesn’t bear thinking about.’
That gave her pause for thought. ‘No,’ she agreed slowly. ‘I can see it could turn bad.’
‘Bad? It would be downright dangerous.’
She started pulling his fingers from her shoulders. ‘Well, of course I don’t want you to get hurt if fighting broke out.’
‘It’s not me I’m worried about, you infuriating girl!’ He gave her a little shake before letting her go. ‘Of all the stupid, madcap schemes.’ He stepped back, his expression that
of a captain addressing an irresponsible crew member. ‘You will stay here. Is that understood?’
‘Understood.’
Harry eyed her with suspicion so Georgiana sank down onto the bed as though overcome with weariness. ‘I could do with an early night, anyway.’
Harry still regarded her with suspicion.
‘I’m sore from the saddle,’ she explained.
His expression softened and he smiled. ‘True, it’s been a long day, but you’ve been an absolute Trojan. I’ll make sure I don’t wake you when I return.’ He tousled her hair – as if she were still a cabin boy! – and departed.
As soon as she heard the outer door close behind him, Georgiana released her breath and began unpacking her bag. Trojan indeed. Another image shortly to be blasted out of the water, Harry Trent! A scheme was forming in her mind, though it made her tremble with trepidation. This was it. This was her opportunity – if she had the courage to see it through.
Her dresses were sadly crumpled, however, especially the green silk, and Georgiana sighed. Then, at the very bottom, she spied the dress Consuela had packed out of mischief. It was made of deep blue taffeta and wasn’t as creased as the silk. Georgiana had looked at it before of course, but had thought she’d never have the confidence to wear it. It was cut very low and was both sophisticated and a little rakish. Now, as she held it against herself, Georgiana’s smile grew.
Harry would be appalled, of course. Good. She wanted to break that damnable control of his. And this dress, she thought a short time later as she did up the outrageously tight bodice, would do the job nicely. She leaned around to shake the skirts into place and as she straightened, with the lamp behind her, she caught sight of her shadowy reflection in the window. Was that really her?
The dress was cut in the newest fashion, with a longer bodice coming down flat over her stomach, emphasising both her height and her slenderness. The skirts draped in rich swathes in the front and at the back gathered into a bustle which, Consuela had assured her, was most definitely going to replace the crinoline. The neckline plunged and her shoulders were bare above tiny belled sleeves. When she moved, the taffeta rustled alluringly. She drew her shoulders back and tilted her head in best Consuela fashion. Her ghostly self looked confidently back at her. This was a new Georgiana, far removed from both cabin boy and gauche debutante. Her heart beat stronger.
She wanted to see again that flare she’d glimpsed in Harry’s eyes at the final dinner party on board. She hadn’t known then how to take his frustrated possessiveness and turn it into passion. She didn’t know if she could do it now but, looking at her reflection, she felt a welling hope. If nothing else, tonight any lingering confusions Harry might have about her and George, his youthful responsibility, must surely die.
At the same time, she knew she must be careful. She would be treading a very different sort of tightrope. But Charlie had once told her gloomily of a girl he admired who treated him like a brother.
‘I tell you, Georgie, there’s nothing more damned disconcerting for a fellow. Knocks me right back, every time. Dashed if I know how to make a move now.’
This, then, would be her defence.
Without further deliberation, she pulled her hair into a pile of curls on the top of her head, twirling coquettish ringlets about her face and leaving a few to lightly brush the nape of her neck. As she picked up her small pouch and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, she trembled with the anticipation which always preceded a performance. This time, however, it was underscored by a feeling of dread. How would Harry respond? Was she mad? No, she told herself, she wasn’t. Nor was she about to lose courage at this stage. After checking no one was in the hallway, she quietly slipped out of the house and into the street.
Georgiana was glad the hall was just around the corner, for already she could hear drunken youths further down the road. Though Oamaru was taking on an air of respectability with its lovely stone buildings, it was still a goldfields town largely peopled by wild young men who lived hard and played hard. At the door of the gambling hall she paused.
What if it went wrong? It wouldn’t! Not if she played her part right. She could do this. She could. Quickly she pinched her cheeks, bit on her lips then, with a touch to the griffin at her neck, she drew in a deep breath and stepped inside.
Chapter Thirty
The room was hazy with smoke and filled with the rumble of a hundred men’s voices. She was relieved to see there were a few women at the tables, although they were probably employed to be there. Without doubt, she was the most gloriously attired. She stepped forward, out of the shadow of the doorway. For the briefest second the noise checked before crescendoing into an almost deafening roar of approval as every man’s head whipped around to look at her. It was the greatest entrance of her life.
Across the room she saw Harry in the act of raising a bet. At the sudden upsurge of noise, he glanced over at the door – and froze. For a second it seemed as though there was no one else in the room, just herself and Harry. His hand, full of counters, was still outstretched, his face blank with shock. Georgiana’s head went up as she threw him a look, half apologetic, half defiant. Then three young men were descending upon her and time began moving again. She saw Harry throw down his cards and shove his chair back so violently that it fell, before she turned her attention to the men in front of her. Each was begging her mostly urgently for the pleasure of her company. None was much older than Charlie and she smiled radiantly. ‘Thank you, but I’ve come to find my brother and persuade him to take me to the ball.’
The handsome, bright-eyed one spoke first, an Irish lilt colouring his voice. ‘Your brother? Is he here? Sure, there’s no need to disturb him. If you like ma’am, I’d be delighted to escort you to the ball instead.’
He was jostled aside by a man with freckles. ‘You’re not dressed for it, Mick, and besides, you’re a disaster on the dance floor. May I offer my services instead, ma’am? Bobby Cracknell’s the name.’
The third was already pushing Bobby aside and Georgiana couldn’t help laughing. If her aunt could only see the attention she was getting now. There was no time to enjoy her popularity, however, for Harry, face livid, was bearing down upon her. The wrathful look he threw at her young admirers caused them to take an involuntary step back. ‘Georgie! What the dickens do you mean by coming in here? I expressly told you that you weren’t to come!’
Georgiana couldn’t have hoped for better. His tone was thick with fury and threat and was exactly the same as the one Charles used to use when he caught her among his toys. There couldn’t be a man present now who would doubt that she was anyone other than his sister. She dropped her head, the picture of dismayed contrition.
‘Are you very angry with me?’ she said in a small voice designed to goad him further.
‘Angry? That hardly begins to describe how I’m feeling right at this minute. I gave you express instructions which you’ve chosen to flaunt!’
His fury was all she’d wanted. Instantly, half a dozen chivalrous souls were chiding him for being so harsh with his lovely young sister and begging to take her to the ball. Pretending to be overwhelmed, Georgiana held up her hands and laughed. ‘Oh, you are all so kind. I’d hate to disturb you. The ball will be half over by now. But I wonder – if you wouldn’t mind – could I possibly join in with one of your games? Harry has taught me how to play a little …’ She let her voice trail off in pretty entreaty.
Immediately there was a fresh surge of chatter and a chair was pulled up at a table adjoining Harry’s. As she settled her skirts, she couldn’t resist shooting Harry a look of triumph under her lashes. He glowered back, his lips pressed white together. She could almost see him burn with the effort of withholding dire threats and admonitions.
‘Come man, sit back down,’ said one of the players at his table in placatory tones as he tugged on Harry’s sleeve. ‘She won’t come to
no harm right here next to you. You can keep an eye on her. You were about to bid, I believe.’ Harry had to accept he’d been outplayed and subsided back to his game. She’d ruined his concentration, however, and he lost what he’d thought was going to be an easy win. Outwardly he struggled to assume his usual easy-going persona and merely laughed it off with a philosophical shrug. Inwardly he seethed, but not only with anger. There were several other emotions he was not about to name.
Never in his life had he seen anything so wildly audacious. The image of Georgiana, paused in the doorway, was seared into his mind. She’d stood, head held high like a goddess, the midnight-blue dress setting her magnificent figure off to perfection. Harry shook with a violent desire to kill every single man who looked at her with hot eyes – which meant, therefore, that he’d have to murder a whole roomful of people. Given his current frame of mind, the notion held immense appeal. Of all the infamous, impossible, ridiculous stunts. He’d expressly forbidden her to come and never dreamed she’d dare – but of course there was nothing, nothing, she wouldn’t dare. Never had he felt more in sympathy with Aunt Ashton.
All the same, he had to pull himself together. They needed money; he couldn’t afford to let her throw his game like this. He picked up his next hand, but the cards danced in front of his eyes. He heard her laugh and ground his teeth. If one of those mongrels even thought to … His fingers curled in savage anticipation.
Harry was not to have an outlet to vent his feelings, however. Over the following half an hour he monitored Georgiana’s movements and grudgingly had to admit she was playing her part to perfection. Her dress certainly threw several players right off their game, but her manner, innocent and very sisterly, was perfect at keeping any unwanted attentions at bay. Some men threw Harry measuring glances, but he glowered so fiercely they hastily looked away again.