Dark Deceptions

by Christi Caldwell

  “You must feel pretty close to it, my dear, but no, you are not dead.”

  Georgina flung her arm over her eyes to blot out the sunshine and a moan escaped. Her face felt like it had been used for a pummeling target.

  The flutter of skirts indicated another woman had moved next to the bed. Georgina peeked through her fingers at the young woman now pouring water into a white basin at her bedside. With a crown of pale golden hair and kind hazel eyes, she didn’t look much older than Georgina.

  She smiled at Georgina and rinsed a towel, handing it to the kindly stranger.

  Georgina looked back at the older woman. “Who are you?” she managed past dry lips.

  “You may call me Catherine. I’m a nurse at Bristol Hospital. Close your eyes.”

  Georgina obliged.

  “They were badly swollen,” Nurse Catherine explained. “But you look much better than when you first arrived.”

  A sea of questions filled her. “Who? How…?” She didn’t know where to start. Georgina tried again. “How did I come to be here?”

  There was a pause. “There will be time enough for questions later.”

  “Please,” Georgina managed.

  The woman hesitated. “A man brought you here.”

  Georgina’s heart sped up. She shoved herself up on her elbows. The now-cooled compress fell into a damp heap at her side. She remembered a man sweeping her into his arms.

  Adam! He’d come for her. “Adam,” she breathed.

  Nurse Catherine’s brow creased. She waved off the young woman hovering at the bedside and gestured someone else over. “Do you remember Mr. Archer?”

  White spots danced behind Georgina’s eyes and she tried to get air into her lungs. She dug her nails into the sides of the mattress and screamed.

  Nurse Catherine’s voice could not penetrate the fog of horror.

  She yelled until her throat burned and her lips were numb. But he didn’t go away.

  The face of her nightmares. The stranger who had died on her kitchen floor, whose ghost had visited her after Father had beaten her, now stared back at her with solemn, violet eyes. “Hello, Miss Wilcox.”

  Georgina clenched her eyes tight. A ghost back from the grave should possess a wrathful tone, not this gentle, quiet warmth.

  “I didn’t die,” the ghost continued.

  Her eyes opened. Not a ghost. A man. A very alive, very healthy-looking man. Her logical mind screeched in protest.

  “You were dead,” she gasped out. “I saw you. I saw—”

  “You didn’t see what you believed you saw.”

  No. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She’d been there. She’d scrubbed his blood from the floor until her fingers had been raw and her own blood mingled with the imprint his body had left behind. “I’m going mad,” she said, the eerie acknowledgement chilling her to the center.

  The man reached a hand out and she withered into the folds of her mattress.

  He pulled back his fingers. “You’re not going mad.”

  She bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. The sweet, salty drops fell unchecked. “No,” she said, this time more forcefully. “You were dead! You—”

  “What happened after I was shot, Miss Wilcox?”

  Her mind raced. Shouts of fury. Father had been enraged that she’d set him free. She pressed her palm into the side of her temple.

  “They dragged you away, didn’t they?” he asked quietly. “They took you upstairs and they beat you.”

  Tears blinded her. Fell in large rivulets down her cheeks. Jamie had dragged her across the kitchen by her hair. That had been the kindest thing done to her that day. The message Father had delivered in the form of raining fists of fury had been quite clear: no one’s intervention in their plans would be tolerated—including Georgina’s.

  “I wasn’t dead, Miss Wilcox. I was very badly hurt. I nearly died, but as you can see,” he opened his arms. “I’m very much alive.” His kind eyes grew somber. “When they were beating you, I escaped.” He folded his hands together and looked down at them. “I’m so, so sorry that I did not help you. I had promised to help you if you freed me and I failed.”

  She swiped the tears away, but the blasted drops continued to fall. For the past four years, she had flagellated herself with the lash of guilt because she’d failed the stranger in her kitchen. All along, he’d been alive. Giddy joy filled her until laughter blended with her tears.

  “I want to help you, Miss Wilcox,” he said.

  “Miss Wilcox needs her rest,” Nurse Catherine murmured.

  Mr. Archer nodded and, with a deep bow, he left.

  The graying nurse spoke. “He brought you here nearly a fortnight ago. He’s come by each day to ask after you. He’s sat by your side for many hours.”

  Georgina collapsed against the pillows, turning her eyes away from the prying questions she saw in the other woman’s gaze. “Why?” Nathaniel Archer had been nothing more than a poor soul captured by her radical father. She’d cared for him and set him free. He’d received a bullet to the chest for her efforts.

  “It would appear that Mr. Archer has set himself up as a kind of guardian, Georgina.” There was a question there. “And it would appear you are in need of guarding.”

  “Why did he bring me here?” Georgina didn’t believe her delivery to Bristol Hospital was sheer coincidence.

  Catherine rested her hand on top of Georgina’s head. “Over the years, you’ve provided some valuable information to the Home Office.” Her voice was a mere whisper that Georgina strained to hear. “There are many of us scattered around to help when needed.”

  Georgina swallowed back a lump. All these years she’d provided details about her father’s plans—damning information that could have gotten him hanged. She’d believed there was no one out there concerned about her welfare, but that hadn’t been altogether true. Mr. Archer had been sent to help.

  “Where is your father, Georgina?”

  A chill raced along her spine. Georgina’s teeth chattered.

  Catherine pulled a coverlet up to Georgina’s chest.

  It didn’t help.

  She took Georgina’s hands in her own and rubbed them. “Shh, you are safe here.”

  For how long? It was only a matter of time before her father came looking for her. Georgina knew too many of his secrets.

  What am I going to do? Where will I go?

  Oh God, how she wished Adam was here. Georgina wept. Not the pretty droplets shed by young debutantes and flirty beauties. And not tears of self-pity. She cried over the loss of Adam Markham. After twenty years of being nothing more than an afterthought in life, he had treated her like someone to be cherished and cared for.

  Hers were great, big, gasping tears that shook her whole body. Uncaring about the pain in her torso, she rolled onto her side and hugged herself.

  She’d known it was the height of foolishness going and falling head over silly heels in love with Adam Markham. There were a thousand and one reasons she shouldn’t have done it. The most obvious being that he loved another woman. The second most obvious being that she shared the same blood as his captor.

  Defying the logic that had dictated her life, Georgina had tossed it aside—all for the love of a man who would never, could never, love her in return.

  She cried until her eyes were dry. Until her lungs ached and her muscles hurt from the exertion of her efforts. Through it all Nurse Catherine sat at her side and rubbed soothing circles over the expanse of her back.

  Adam hadn’t returned.

  Mr. Nathaniel Archer had come for her.

  She squeezed her eyes tight. Adam hadn’t had a choice but to leave. He’d had to escape. Even as she told herself that, in her bone-weary fatigue, she hated him for being as much of a liar as the rest of the men in her life. It had been just as she’d said from the beginning—when presented with the opportunity for freedom, he would invariably forget her. He’d put up a convincing denial each time but, in the end, Georgina ha
d been right.

  And she found she hated herself even more for having been such a fool.

  She drew in a shuddery breath. She had to mourn Adam, but not at the expense of her well-being.

  “What will I do?” she whispered into the quiet.

  “You’ll stay here as long as you need.”

  And Georgina did just that. For another week, she spent time resting. Nathaniel Archer came and went like a phantom.

  “Miss Wilcox?”

  She glanced up from the chintz-patterned chair. The hard angular planes of Mr. Archer’s face were softened by the smile that curved his lips. She made to rise, but he held his hand up, motioning her to stay.

  She stood anyway and dipped a curtsy. “Mr. Archer.”

  He held his arm out. “Will you walk with me?”

  Georgina hesitated before placing the tips of her fingers on his sleeve. He led her into Nurse Catherine’s office and closed the door behind them. “Mr. Archer—”

  Catherine stood off to the side of the room, hands clasped in front of her.

  Georgina’s words for Mr. Archer were forgotten as she studied the woman’s snow-white visage, the way she fisted the brown fabric of her skirts.

  A cold sheen of sweat popped up on Georgina’s brow. She unwittingly took a step closer to Mr. Archer.

  The plump, older woman cleared her throat. “Georgina, would you please sit?”

  Georgina looked from Nurse Catherine to Mr. Archer and shook her head. “I-I’d rather not.” She didn’t want to hear what either of them had to say.

  Nurse Catherine sighed. She sat. Then proceeded to pinch the bridge of her nose. “My dear, you received a visitor today.”

  Georgina curled her hands into tight fists. She closed her eyes.

  Don’t ask. You do not want to know. If you don’t ask it then it’s not real.

  “W-who?” she whispered.

  Mr. Archer spoke. “Miss Wilcox, your father has come by several times looking for you. In spite of Nurse Catherine’s adamancy that she’s not seen you, he has not believed her. And he’s growing impatient.”

  Georgina reached out for the nearest piece of furniture to keep herself upright and found support from the back of the leather sofa.

  For too long she’d allowed herself a false sense of security, hoping beyond all hope that Father and Jamie had taken themselves off to wherever it was that traitors to the Crown went. That they’d left her alone.

  She sank into the chair. Her momentary reprieve from the hell of her life was now at an end. Father and Jamie wouldn’t rest until they found her.

  Why? she raged within.

  She couldn’t go back to them. Not ever again.

  Mr. Archer dropped to a knee beside her. He spoke in hushed undertones. “We need to get you away.”

  Georgina continued to study her lap. “Why would you help me? Why after…” She fell silent and buried her head in her hands.

  A delicate hand came to rest on her shoulder. “You saved my life.”

  “I have to leave.” Her mind spun. She had no one. No family, no friends, and it was only a matter of time until she was once more at the mercy of her father.

  He looked at Nurse Catherine. “We need to get her away from here. Miss Wilcox will need to find suitable employment, in a place her father will not expect. She’ll need letters of reference.”

  Georgina tried to muster some kind of care that they discussed her as though she were invisible.

  She came up short.

  Catherine nodded and hurried to her desk. She reached for a blank sheet of paper on her immaculate desktop, dipped her pen in a crystal inkwell, and proceeded to write.

  Georgina embraced the frantic scribbling of the pen as it tapped away, because focusing on that staccato rhythm prevented her mind from trailing down the path of the unknown.

  The older woman finished and stuffed the parchment into an envelope. “It’s done,” she murmured. Catherine stood up and came back around to Georgina. She handed the letter over.

  Georgina accepted the offering. It may as well have contained the Holy Grail for what it represented: freedom, security, and something more, something she’d been without for such a very long time—hope.

  Nurse Catherine spoke, bringing Georgina to the moment. “Here.” She reached into the front of her apron and withdrew a small, red velvet sack. She pressed the sack into her palm. “I want you to take this.”

  Georgina pulled back the drawstring and peered inside. She made to return it. “I cannot take this.”

  Nurse Catherine gave her a stern look. “I’ll be insulted if you don’t.”

  Georgina wanted to protest but the reality of her situation, the uncertainty of her future, killed the polite rejection.

  She bowed her head. “I can never repay you.”

  Nurse Catherine took her hands between her own. She gave them a gentle squeeze. “There’s nothing to repay.”

  Mr. Archer held his arm out. “Miss Wilcox, we have to leave.”

  Georgina swallowed hard and, with a final thank you, left with Mr. Archer.

  Forgive my silence these past months. Emmet has plans to travel to Fort George in Scotland and meet the United Irishmen interned there. He will then sail from Yarmouth to Hamburg.

  Signed,

  A Loyal British Subject

  Chapter 8

  3 months later

  Adam fumbled for his tumbler of French brandy, inadvertently tipping the bottle of whiskey on the drink cart.

  He swiped a hand over his eyes. The Brethren had nurtured him back to health—and questioned him about Fox and Hunter. He’d given them everything he had on the bastard traitors. What had his work gotten him? For all his efforts, The Brethren had seemingly washed its hands of him.

  He’d dedicated his life to the organization. All for the good of England.

  His lip curled.

  With his free hand, he located his glass of brandy. He tossed back the contents. After six tumblers of the stuff, his mouth had long gone numb. And his fingers. And toes.

  It was his blasted heart that remained wholly unaffected by the alcohol dousing.

  He’d returned to his family three months ago. It would appear he’d been one month too late.

  He glanced down at the open sketchpad next to him. His lip curled. Grace Blakely’s angelic face leaped off the page. Adam ripped the image from the book and shredded it with a gleeful precision. He sprinkled the scraps on the floor.

  Because he was a glutton for pain, he fumbled for the four-month-old copy of the London Times beneath the sketchpad. He picked it up and crushed it in his fist. The paper cracked and crinkled like kindling for a fire. His gaze wandered over to the roaring fire across the too-warm room. He surged to his feet and stormed over to the hearth.

  Setting his glass atop it, he tortured himself with the words on the page.

  Miss Grace B, daughter of the 5th Viscount Camden, was wed to Lord Edward Benedict Helling, brother to the Duke of Aubrey.

  After everything he’d lost and all he’d suffered, this was the final lash across his back, the kick to his gut. Grace had wed another. It didn’t matter that at some point Georgina had needled herself inside his heart and thoughts. The loss of Grace served as a reminder of all he’d lost because of The Brethren.

  He tossed the paper into the flames. Fire licked at the edges, singing it black, then consumed it.

  Adam reached for his glass and brought it to his lips. He downed the fiery brew in one long swallow.

  For three months, he’d battled like Achilles not to succumb to his sexual desire. Oh, there had been plenty of times when he’d wanted nothing more than to lay Georgina down, spread her legs, and plunge his aching shaft between her pale thighs. But he hadn’t. There had been the one instance when he’d very nearly betrayed Grace, but he’d stopped himself. How many times had he lashed himself with the proverbial whip for lusting after her?

  A bitter laugh escaped him. It turned out Grace Blakely hadn’t car
ed as much as he’d believed. The muscles in his belly tightened as he focused on Grace’s betrayal. In doing so, he didn’t have to think about Georgina Wilcox with her chocolate brown eyes and bow-shaped lips. He didn’t have to think about how she’d cared for him. He didn’t have to think about how he’d promised to help her. Or how miserably he’d failed.

  His clenched his eyes tight to try to blot out all the ways in which he’d failed Georgina. For the remainder of his days he would punish himself with imaginings of the horrors she’d endured at Fox’s hands. He’d gone back there, to the place of his imprisonment, with Bennett and Blakely, but the house had been silent. Silent and empty. And just like that she was gone…without a trace.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Go away!” he roared.

  The door opened. His brother stood framed in the entrance. His lips tipped in a perfect rending of aristocratic disapproval. “May I come in?”

  “I said go away.”

  “Lovely to see you as well, little brother,” Nick said dryly. He waved off Adam’s butler. The door closed behind them. When he turned back to face Adam, he didn’t waste any time. “Mother is concerned about you, as well.”

  Adam fumbled for a new glass and the decanter of brandy. Finding it nearly empty, he grabbed the whiskey. “And Tony, don’t forget Tony.”

  Nick’s lips tightened in a flat line. “No, Tony isn’t concerned. He told me to tell you he’s annoyed with your childlike behavior.”

  Adam filled his tumbler to the rim. Amber droplets spilled onto the floor.

  Nick placed himself directly in front of him. “I believe you’ve had enough to drink.”

  In a show of defiance, he tossed back the contents.

  Nick placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been like this since you returned from your travels. Where were you?”

  Adam fed him the same rote answer his superior Fitzmorris had drilled into him. “I was traveling. I spent time on the canals of Italy…”

  “Fine,” Nick interjected. “Then what happened to you while you were there? You are a different man. I hardly recognize you.”

  That made two of them, because Adam hardly recognized the half-savage he’d become.