by Amy Jarecki
Georgiana didn’t doubt him. What would Webster do after he collected his drawings? Kill her? File a grievance and challenge her in the courts?
As the hinges of the trapdoor creaked, she lunged for the bedwarmer, grabbed the long wooden handle, and smashed it atop the blackguard’s head. “You are a vile man!”
“Dammit!” he bellowed, falling into the gaping hole. “I’ll kill you!”
Casting the warmer aside, Georgiana fled past him. “Help! Help!”
Webster’s thudding footsteps pounded the floorboards behind her. “I’ll bloody help you, wench.”
She didn’t look back as she wrapped her hand around the latch and pulled.
A thick, heavy arm clutched around her midriff so hard, the air whooshed from her lungs. “Now you’ve done it,” he growled.
Georgiana kicked and screamed while he dragged her back into the kitchen. “Stop this madness!”
He shoved her down face first on the table, pinning his body over hers and trapping her arms above her head. “Hold still,” he growled in her ear while a hand grappled with her skirts.
She bucked, stars crossing her vision. “Never!”
The front door burst open revealing the Duke of Evesham brandishing a pistol. “Remove your hands from my woman!”
“Fletcher!”
The duke moved forward, his eyes blacker than midnight. “I always knew you were a fiend. If it is a fight you want, throw down your knife and face me like a man.”
Georgiana’s heart raced as the wicked cur chuckled. “You first.”
Fletcher’s brow furrowed as his gaze shot to Georgiana. “Fie,” he cursed, lowering his weapon. “Now you.”
“Put it on the floor and slide it over here.”
“Very well.” Fletcher released the flintlock’s cock, then slowly bent his knees and placed the pistol on the floor but he only slid it halfway—not close enough for Webster to reach. Then the duke raised his fists like a boxer. “Let us finish what we began at Hardwick Hall.”
Webster sneered. “You always were soft—more so now that you’re impersonating a nobleman.”
“Ah yes.” Fletcher beckoned him. “And where are your manners, Webster? Not once have you bowed. In light of your disdain, I think you should bow to me now, do you not agree, my lady?”
Georgiana threw her elbow, gaining enough room to slip from Webster’s grasp. She skittered toward the wall. “I think he should fall on his knees and worship you.”
Webster sauntered toward Evesham, the dagger still firm in his grip. “I’ll slit you from ear to ear, then I’ll bugger your wench before I send her to hell.”
The pistol lay on the floor just out of reach. Splaying her fingers, Georgiana took a step toward it.
Webster whipped the knife her way. “Stay where you are.”
As the blackguard moved, Fletcher kicked the knife from Webster’s hand. With the duke’s momentum, he slammed a fist across the varlet’s jaw. Webster fell to his side and rolled away, then hopped to his feet with his fists raised. “You’ll not take me down so easily, you half-breed bastard.”
A shadow passed over Fletcher’s face as he grunted—almost laughed, but not quite. “I’m a quarter-breed and damned proud to be my mother’s son.”
The scoundrel took a swing at the air. “She got what was coming—the whore.”
Any other man would have blindly lashed out, but not the Duke of Evesham. He circled silently.
Blood streamed from the corner of Webster’s mouth as he turned in place. He swung his right and, as his guard opened, Fletcher bobbed to the side and threw an uppercut straight into the man’s jaw. As Webster’s head snapped back, Fletcher let loose, throwing strikes to the solar plexus, the face, the chin. Webster’s arms flailed as he tried to block the merciless attack.
“Stop.” The word slipped through Georgiana’s lips as the villain toppled to the floor.
Fletcher stood over him, ready for another bout, but the evil man lay unconscious.
Trembling, she watched Fletcher remove his neckcloth and tie the man’s feet and wrists behind his back like a hog.
When he faced her, his expression had changed to one of defeat. “My God, I wanted to kill him when I saw him bending you over the table.”
She rubbed her arms as shame crept through her. “I-I’m sorry.”
“No!” In two steps, he surrounded her in his embrace. “That man will rue this day for the rest of his life because death is too good for him.”
A sob burst from Georgiana’s throat as she curled into his warmth, his comfort, his strength. “I’m s-sorry f-for everythiiiiiing.”
He smoothed his hand over her hair. “My love, it is I who am sorry.”
Lord in heaven, his arms felt so good surrounding her. If only she could stay there cocooned in his embrace forever. Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried to gain control over her gasping breath. “I-I-I never meant to decieeeeeeeeve you!”
“Hush.” Gentle lips pressed to her forehead. “I know that now, my love.”
“I loved you...a-and I threw it all away!”
“Because you wanted to honor the memory of someone you also cared for very deeply.”
Fletcher’s soft voice whispered in her ear and, through her bleary tears, she saw a smile in those fathomless amber eyes. Merciful Lord! Was there a chance?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
AFTER THE MAGISTRATE took Webster away, Fletcher stood in Georgiana’s cottage, facing the woman who had tortured his dreams for months. There was so much to say, but she rendered him dumb staring and wondering where to begin. He’d rehearsed an apology over and over along his ride from London to Thetford. But he hadn’t anticipated Webster’s attack or the outpouring of emotion once it was over.
Now, as Her Ladyship stood with her shoulders back, her head held high, yet wringing her hands, he wanted nothing more than to vow to promise to protect her for the rest of his days.
If she’ll have me.
Even Fletcher knew she wouldn’t want him to assume she was his—not before he begged for forgiveness. “I behaved like an ass from the very beginning.”
A tear slipped onto her cheek as she covered her mouth. “No. From the beginning, I misunderstood you. True, your methods were a tad uncouth and, that, combined with your reputation, made me mistakenly believe I might be only a number in a line of conquests.”
“Never.” With a step forward, he grasped her hands. “From the moment I saw you, I knew you were not like all the others. You’re quiet and principled and thoughtful. And though it took me time to cast aside my devilish ways, when I am with you I want to be a better man.”
Another tear dropped to her cheek. “Oh, Fletcher, you are a good man. Look at all you have done for the unwed mothers. You care so very deeply but are afraid to let it show. If only people knew who you are on the inside.”
He drew her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I think the fire cured me of that inhibition.”
Her smile filled the room with light. “But why are you here? You have so many responsibilities.”
“Perhaps, though not a one can usurp the love I harbor in my heart for you. You must know I love you with my every breath. I live because of you, it just took thirty years to find you.”
“And I you. I didn’t know how much until...until you were no longer there.” Georgiana cupped his cheek, her lips quivering. “But now what will we do? I have orders to manufacture more fire engines than I can make in a year.”
Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “As I understand it, you need a financier...and I happen to be intimately acquainted with a wealthy duke.”
Lovely white teeth gleamed with her smile. “Wealthy, did you say?”
“Mm hmm, and interestingly, he is the proud owner of a mill which is presently being used to store his late father’s collection of rickety old carriages.”
“A mill?” Her eyes lit up. “And how large might this old mill be?”
“I’d say ’tis about fi
fty feet long by forty feet wide.”
“Oh my. And your duke friend will not be averse to joining in partnership with a woman?”
“On the contrary. I believe he would be overjoyed...as long as certain agreements are granted.”
A slender chestnut eyebrow arched. “Such as?”
Taking Georgiana’s hand, Fletcher bent his knee and looked up at the only face he wanted to gaze upon for the rest of his days. “I have behaved badly, but I vow on my life that I will never doubt you again. I will honor you every day as long as I shall live and I promise you will want for nothing. Please, my lady. Will you marry me?”
Her head bobbed as she inhaled with a stuttered gasp. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I will.”
Rising, he gathered her into his arms—soft and warm and oh so very dear. His heart swelled as he captured her mouth in a slow kiss. Soft and unhurried, they joined in a dance where their bodies touched with reverence unfamiliar in all Fletcher’s years. He took a breath and rested his forehead against hers. “I do not know what I would have done if you had refused me.”
Her fingers found their way around his waist. “And I still cannot believe you are here. Thank you for being my knight in shining armor.”
“You must know I would stand against an army for you, love.”
“Love.” She sighed, her face more beautiful now than ever. “How I like to hear you say it.”
“The word is reserved only for you.” He kissed her once more than took a step back, removing the hundred pound note from his doublet. “The women’s home owes you a debt of thanks as well.”
Georgiana’s eyes popped wide with her gasp. “You weren’t supposed to know.”
“It seems Lady Eleanor disagreed.”
“Eleanor? Curse her—”
“I think not. She gave me the boot up the backside I needed to shed my foolish pride, seek you out, and beg for forgiveness.”
“Truly? In that case, I shall forgive her.”
The note fluttered to the floor as he brushed a wisp of hair away from her cheek. “Me as well?”
She grasped his fingers and drew them to her lips. “Where you are concerned there is nothing to forgive.”
Fletcher swirled his palm over hers. Georgiana’s hand was so much smaller, it made his heart stretch with an eternal need to protect her. To have and to hold this woman and never let her go. “I lost my mother in a fire.” The words blurted from his lips as if uttered without prior thought.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.”
He swallowed, blinking away a sting at the back of his eyes. “I was away at Eton. The cottage burned to cinders. I think that’s why I reacted so vehemently at the Southwark Fair. I desperately wanted to find a steam-powered fire engine, but after so many failures, I never thought anyone would make a machine with enough power.”
Georgiana chuckled, her laugh infectious. “I’m surprised the force behind my pumper didn’t dawn on you after you were deluged in the back. At the time, I couldn’t believe you remained standing.”
“And I was too hot under the collar to realize I’d been hit with a miracle—two miracles, you and your pumper, Georgiana. You finished it. The fire engine is as much yours as anyone’s.”
She blushed crimson as she lowered her gaze. “Yes, I did finish it, but it wasn’t my dream—not at first.”
“Tell me, my love. Are you truly ready to move on?”
“With you?”
His throat constricted so taut, he barely uttered, “Yes.”
Her chocolaty eyes sparkled. “I cannot imagine taking another breath without you.”
Fletcher’s entire body tingled with her words. At long last, he’d found someone who cared for him—not because of money or title, but she loved him for the man he wanted to be. God willing, he would make every effort to live up to her ideals, her morals, her values. He dallied kisses along her neck, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance he craved.
“Make love to me,” he whispered in her ear as he lifted her into his arms and strode into a tiny bedchamber. Stark, the bed filled most of the space, with a cedar chest at the foot. The only other furniture—a wooden chair in the corner. After spending so much time with this woman in the midst of polite society, Fletcher never imagined she might be comfortable in such modest accommodations. Georgiana was truly the partner for whom he’d been searching—charming, intelligent, unassuming, and generous. And gorgeous. Stunning. An angel sent from heaven.
No, Fletcher did not deserve Her Ladyship, but he would spend the rest of his days earning the right to love her.
As he set her on her feet, she rested her head on his chest. “I’m so happy.”
His fingers glided down her back and released the bow of her apron. Slowly, carefully, he drew it over her head and, with it, the ridiculous doily hiding her chestnut locks. “Your hair is like polished mahogany.”
She chuckled, unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat. “Oh my, you’ve a tear.”
He didn’t give a fig. “The perils of fighting dastardly villains.”
She shoved both doublet and waistcoat from his shoulders. “I was so afraid.”
With a few flicks of his fingers, her dress sailed to the floor. “But so brave.”
“’Tis true what they say, courage is the ability to face one’s fears.” Rising on her toes, she kissed him while unfastening his falls. “You were heroic, but I never want to see you confront such danger again.”
As their mouths joined, the remainder of their garments shed away and Georgiana pulled him to the mattress. “Let me express my appreciation. My adoration. My love.”
Completely naked, he rolled to his back and spread his arms wide. “I am yours.”
Pushing herself up on one arm, she trailed her fingertip down the center of his torso. “My vigorous hero.”
Certain he’d died and gone to heaven, Fletcher closed his eyes and savored the gentle touches to his body—the moist heat of her mouth, the tip of her tongue stroking places that made him tremble.
Unabashedly, she toyed with the curls above his cock, then teasing and stroking his member with her fingers and tongue. Moaning, Fletcher swirled his hips in tandem with her seduction. He’d had many women in his life, but all paled in caparison, bringing on a powerful rush of desire swelling through his insides like nothing he’d ever experienced.
Unable to resist, he gathered her into his arms and rolled atop her, running his fingers through her silky hair. Almost roughly, he drove his hands over her, finding the sensitive paths on her skin. With her every purr of pleasure, desire coiled tighter in his loins. Lower and lower he swept his mouth, until urging her thighs apart. As he licked the wickedly sensitive bud, he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, lightly pinching in a rhythm to match the tempo of his tongue.
Georgiana’s sighs came faster, her fingers digging into his shoulders, until she clutched him tight. “I can wait no longer!”
Neither could he. Covering her, his cock slipped to her moist core and he slid himself along her channel. “Is this what you want?”
She grasped his buttocks and pulled him inside. Her inner walls gripped him, sending his mind into a maelstrom of raw passion—greedy and demanding. He searched for her mouth as he slid so deep inside her, it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to explode. She jerked and writhed beneath him until she arched, her fingers forcing him faster. “Now! Come now!”
Throwing his head back, in two powerful thrusts, his seed burst, filling her with his molten desire. “I love you!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
COLWORTH THE SEAT OF the Duke of Evesham
Three months later
Georgiana stretched, opening her eyes to velvet royal blue bedcurtains. Colworth was even grander than Hardwick Hall with not only a lake, but a fountain surrounded by a circular drive. Four stories in total, the original manor had been added on to since medieval times, and now sported four hundred and seventy-five rooms.
Stretching, s
he reached for her husband but cold linens swept beneath her fingers.
“Good morning, love,” his deep voice rumbled from across the chamber. Since moving to his estate, they had decided against sleeping in separate rooms, though hers had an adjoining door where she kept her clothing and toilette.
She scooted up and propped against the pillows. “You’ve risen early.”
“Have I?” He crossed the floor, sat beside her, took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Lady Eleanor is expected today. I wanted to ensure Mr. Richards has a comprehensive list for her.”
“You mean we need to ensure our new engineer has a compressive list.”
“Forgive me.” He kissed her lips. “I misspoke, Your Grace, Madam Chairman.”
With proper financial backing, it hadn’t taken long to convert the mill into a manufacturing facility. Georgiana and Fletcher had agreed on most things—the hiring of Oxford graduate, Mr. Richards, to oversee the operations, the appointment of Roderick Toombs as the engineer’s apprentice, except when their now official ward, Roddy, was away at school. For their years of service, Mr. and Mrs. Tees were given Georgiana’s cottage in Thetford. And most of all, Mama was overjoyed—so much so, she put up little fuss when the couple announced their wedding would be in a small chapel on the Colworth estate.
Fletcher waved a paper through the air. “We’ve had a mention in The Scarlet Petticoat.”
With a scoff, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, do not tell me they’ve sent someone to spy on us all the way out here in Maidenhead.”
“Actually, the article states that Miss Peters mentioned something about seeing me wandering the halls of Hardwick Hall with my dogs...and now she knows why.”
“Dear Miss Peters. Did the paper mention anything about her prospects?”
“Evidently there’s hearsay about a carriage ride with the Earl of Saye...but whether or not there’s a courtship underway is pure speculation.”
Georgiana pushed away the coverlet and swung her legs over the side of the enormous state bed. “Someone ought to put an end to that vile compilation of lies.”