Dark Deceptions

by Christi Caldwell

  “I referred to the duke.”

  Oh. Yes. Well that made far more sense. She clamped her lips closed. The duke had said a great deal and, at the same time, nothing at all.

  “Georgina?”

  “No. He didn’t say anything.” Which was not an untruth. “Do you know him well?”

  Adam looked over her shoulder. “No.” He tightened his jaw.

  Something about that “no”; the slightest hesitancy in the one word utterance, gave her pause.

  Then before she could ask questions on it, her husband turned the conversation. “Are you prepared for your introduction to Society tomorrow evening?”

  She recalled her dismal failure amidst the merchants in Bristol. Confronting a room of nobles would be the equivalent of facing a pit of poisonous snakes. “Uh…yes.” Though in truth, she’d rather confront a sea of those slithering serpents than the two-legged sort.

  Adam’s lips turned down at the corners. “You needn’t be fearful. You’ll—”

  Uncomfortable with his confidence in her efforts amidst his world, she thrust her recent purchase into his hands. “I got this for you,” she blurted.

  Adam studied the title and then met her gaze. “What is…?” He fell silent.

  Georgina shifted awkwardly on her feet. His inscrutable expression gave little indication as to his thoughts. She’d expected he would be pleased with her gift. “Did I have the wrong title?” She bit her lower lip. “Do you not like it? I thought it was this one but—What…?” A little squeak escaped her when he swept her into his arms and proceeded to carry her up the stairs. “Adam,” she protested. Her gaze darted around for nosy servants.

  “I love it.” His response was gruff with emotion. With an effortless grace, he carried her down the hall and into his chambers, kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot.

  When he set her on the floor, her body slid down his. The flame of desire raged like a fire within. In moments, he’d divested her of her gown and undergarments. She stood shivering beneath his gaze, not from cold but with heated anticipation.

  Adam shrugged his jacket off and tossed it to the floor. His shirt followed suit, and then his hands went to his breeches.

  Her mouth went dry. She brushed his fingers away with bold insistence. “Let me.” Dropping to her knees, she urged his black breeches down around his ankles and then he was naked before her.

  Adam stood there, stiff and unbending as a marble statue. His proudly erect manhood earned her notice. How could it not? The magnificent member was at eye level and so incredibly close to her mouth. An urge to taste him overcame her. She leaned forward to kiss his shaft.

  He groaned. “What are you doing?”

  She hesitated, a wave of uncertainty hitting her. Mayhap her wanton thoughts and actions were better suited to a harlot than the wife of a peer. Still…she said nothing. Instead, she took the plum tip of him between her lips, drawing the length deeper and deeper until he was buried in her mouth.

  He cried out. Any and all doubts died a swift death when he wound his fingers in her hair, urging her to continue.

  Georgina’s reservations were replaced by hedonistic yearning. She became bolder, flicking her tongue up and down his length. His guttural groan of approval filled her with desire. She’d never imagined that giving her husband pleasure could so consume her with longing.

  Adam flexed his hips.

  Georgina continued to draw him in and out until he was groaning.

  Adam jerked his hips away.

  Georgina’s eyes fluttered open.

  He picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Adam set her down like she was a treasure more precious than gold.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he pulled her atop him.

  “Shh,” he whispered, guiding her down onto his length.

  Her body widened to accept every inch of his enormous shaft. Georgina cried out when he sheathed himself within her center.

  Adam rested his hands on her hips and guided her, urging her up. And down. Up. And down. Georgina closed her eyes. Arching her back, she found the rhythm and rode him like a master horsewoman.

  “That’s it,” he cried.

  Her hips undulated, taking on a frenzied speed. The inner muscles at the center of her womanhood began to spasm. She ground herself against him, taking him even deeper, and then she was coming on a great, gasping cry and he was joining her, pouring his seed inside her.

  He continued to throb, and she accepted all of him, ringing out every last bit he could give. When her body could no longer bear weight, she collapsed atop him. Her long curls fanned out atop his rapidly heaving chest, their breath mingling in a jagged symphony of sated desire.

  Adam rested a hand atop her buttocks, caressing the plump flesh, but Georgina couldn’t muster any hint of humility.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Adam stilled his movements and then resumed his soft massage.

  He did not respond.

  And Jamie’s taunting accusation reared in her mind, intruding on this otherwise perfect moment.

  This is the last note I can write. Fox plans to kill Mr. Markham. Please send help.

  Signed,

  A Loyal British Subject

  Chapter 18

  Lying on his side, head propped on his hand, Adam studied his sleeping wife. A little snore escaped her slightly parted lips, her breath caressed his chest hair. Her riot of chocolate waves fanned out along the pillow and over his forearm.

  He captured a strand of hair. Leaning down, he placed a kiss along her temple. She stirred and burrowed close to him, but did not wake. After their energetic round of lovemaking, he should have been sleeping soundly beside her.

  Yet tumultuous thoughts kept rest at bay.

  She loved him. The quiet whisper had not been the stuff of his imaginings. Nor was it the first time she’d uttered those words, though Adam had not allowed himself to contemplate the significance or sincerity of her declaration. It was easier to ascribe her feelings to those of gratitude.

  Or it had been.

  Now he was a man conflicted.

  He’d thought he’d loved Grace. Following his captivity, he’d had to weather the truth of her betrayal and it had forced him to confront his feelings for her.

  Now he could acknowledge that he’d never truly loved Grace. He’d been enamored of her beauty. Appreciated her wit and intellect. He had cared for her, and her happiness, and he would always think of her with more than mere fondness. She represented a tie to a less complicated past.

  But he’d not been consumed by this swell of emotion that threatened to drag him under and never let him go.

  Adam had attributed their close bond to what they had endured. To the courage and power they’d lent each other to survive.

  He’d told himself the paltry emotion of love was fleeting and as easy to grasp as a wisp of London fog. He’d told himself he’d not loved Grace because, as Georgina once said to him, “it simply didn’t exist.” Which, of course, by extension meant he did not love his lovely young wife.

  How wrong he’d been.

  She whimpered in her sleep, tossing her head on the pillow. A pathetic little moan escaped her and, even in sleep, the muscles in her body tightened as if she were bracing for a blow.

  Rage nearly blinded him. He’d battled Fox and Hunter in his own dreams enough to know what tortured his wife’s slumber. He pulled Georgina into his arms, willing her to absorb his warmth and strength, and rubbed a circle over her back.

  She stilled as though his body’s closeness penetrated the haze of her nightmare.

  What had Georgina done before they’d married when the nightmares came? He saw her alone, shaking, crying out…and his eyes slid closed in pain. She’d never be alone again. She made him want to slay dragons for her.

  He’d cared very deeply for Grace Blakely.

  But he loved his wife.

  The silent acknowledgement gave him pause.

  I love her.
I love my wife.

  Adam waited for the whisper of panic that such an admission of weakness should cost him. For years, he had erected a wall around his heart. It had been a deliberate effort on his part. He’d known that to care too deeply could only prove fatal if anyone were to learn of his role with The Brethren which is why, even though Grace had meant a good deal to him, he’d never let her inside.

  His months in captivity had made him realize that he wanted more than a life devoid of warmth.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her ear.

  He waited for the wave of panic to sweep over him.

  His exhausted wife slept on, oblivious to his declaration.

  A faint scratch at the door drew his attention. He frowned when the sound increased. “Mr. Markham?”

  Silence.

  Adam cursed under his breath and set Georgina down, careful to disentangle himself from his delectable wife without disturbing her.

  He flung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the door, dragging on his discarded clothes as he padded across the carpeted floor.

  Adam pulled it open. “What is it?” he snapped, holding the door closed lest his butler caught sight of Georgina, resplendent in her nudity.

  Watson averted his eyes and handed him a note. “You have visitors, sir.”

  Adam accepted the envelope but when his gaze landed on the seal, he froze.

  “I’ve directed your visitors to your office, sir. Can I be of any further assistance?”

  “That will be all,” he murmured.

  The gold signet on Adam’s finger served as a metallic reminder that he belonged to The Brethren. He always would. Adam tamped down the potent blend of frustration, anger, and disappointment that roiled in his gut. Since his dismissal from The Brethren, he’d enjoyed more peace than he’d ever known and, damn it, he wanted to hold onto it as long as he could.

  He took a deep breath. Perhaps he was worrying needlessly. Perhaps “The Sovereign” wouldn’t ask anything of him.

  As he opened the door to his office, he knew he was being foolishly optimistic.

  Lucien Bennett stood at the center of the room with his hands clasped behind him. A stranger with a hard, flint-eyed stare stood beside him.

  Adam closed the door and turned around. He bowed. “Gentlemen.”

  Bennett dropped his arms to his side. “Markham.” He held a black leather folio in his right hand.

  A frisson of unease ran through him. He forced it aside and strode over to the drink cart stationed alongside his desk. “May I offer you a drink?” He held up a crystal decanter of brandy.

  Bennett nodded but the tall, brooding stranger beside him shook his head.

  Adam pulled the stopper off the bottle. “Gentlemen, how may I be of assistance?”

  “Markham, allow me to introduce a fellow member,” Bennett drawled. “This is Mr. Edward Helling.”

  Adam started. Amber droplets splashed the wood surface.

  Grace’s husband?

  So Grace had married a member of The Brethren. The scandal sheets had claimed Grace’s was a love match. Her father, Blakely, however, was one of the oldest leaders of the organization.

  Now Adam wondered if there were more to their union.

  Helling’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected the direction Adam’s thoughts had taken. Adam bristled with annoyance of his own. This was no social call. “Gentlemen…”

  Bennett held up a hand. “We’re here on a matter of importance.”

  Damn Bennett and his cryptic tone. Adam handed a glass to Bennett who downed it in one swallow. Adam’s own throat burned. He curled his fingers into the sides of the cart to keep from reaching for the bottle and pouring a healthy glass for himself.

  “Perhaps you should sit, Markham.” Helling’s voice jerked Adam’s attention away from his thirst for spirits.

  Bennett nodded and gestured to the leather sofa.

  “I don’t need to,” Adam said.

  Bennett and Helling exchanged a look.

  “Say whatever it is that brought you here,” Adam snapped.

  He’d found peace outside The Brethren. He didn’t want any part of their world. Not anymore. He had a wife he loved. A wife who, even now, could be carrying his child. His heartbeat sped at the image of Georgina’s belly heavy with child. That was the life he wanted. Not—

  Bennett held out the folio.

  Adam looked at it. A horrific sense of doom lingered in the air. He told himself he was being foolish. He told himself that.

  But he didn’t believe it.

  “You need to understand,” Bennett said. “We were operating under assumptions. Had we known anything with absolute certainty we would have intervened.”

  Adam hesitated then accepted the packet. The book felt heavy in his hands. He turned it over. A pit settled in his stomach, heavy and nauseating.

  “Read it, Markham,” Helling said, his tone surprisingly gentle.

  Adam glanced at Grace’s husband. Pity shone in the other man’s eyes.

  Adam had enough pity from his family. He didn’t need it from this man, too. He opened the folio.

  Bennett said, “Had we suspected you were in any danger we would have said something immediately. We were not concerned…until now.”

  A loud buzz filled Adam ears.

  His eyes scoured the first page. He read the notes, until he stumbled over the last sentence on the parchment.

  Henry Wilcox, known as Fox. Son of an English merchant and Irish mother. Friend and supporter of the United Irishmen.

  He turned the page. Snippet after snippet called his attention.

  Wilcox, a wealthy merchant.

  Georgina Patience Wilcox. Daughter to the Fox

  Jamie Marshall, known as Hunter, orphaned son of an Irish merchant. Raised alongside Georgina Wilcox.

  Adam’s hands shook. The words blurred together. He turned page after damning page.

  No!

  The folio slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the floor where it landed with a heavy thump.

  Bile climbed to the back of his throat. He choked it down. It couldn’t be… If this was right, Georgina was a traitor. She bore the blood of his captor. He stared down at the documents on his library floor.

  “You’re wrong,” he choked out.

  They had to be, because if they weren’t, the beast of madness would devour Adam. Shred him to pieces. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, trying to blot out the ugly truth.

  “I read her file. She seems like a good woman,” Helling began. Bennett glared at him. “I wish we were wrong,” Helling tossed at his superior. Then turned back to Adam. “But it’s true, Markham.”

  “It’s not—” Adam rasped.

  Bennett interrupted Adam’s defense of Georgina. “It is.” His tone was harsh and impatient, as though Adam’s show of emotion disgusted him.

  Adam raked his hand through his hair. Everything he’d known for two years had been a lie. He’d flayed himself alive when he’d left her behind in Bristol. He’d married her against his family’s insistence.

  Oh God. The biting agony nearly dropped him to his knees. Lies. All lies.

  Bennett and Helling stood by in silence. He suspected they’d seen a great deal in their work, but had they ever seen a man come undone?

  He’d wed a bloody traitor. A sweet, impossibly seductive temptress. Oh, the laugh she must have had at his expense.

  He thought back to her rushing into his prison, claiming Hunter had attacked her. What if she’d all along been Hunter’s lover? A chill stole over him. The niggling possibility grew and grew, and he tortured himself with the idea of Georgina on her knees for Jamie.

  Adam spun away and stormed over to the window. He scanned the streets below. For all the lies between them, she had still been a virgin.

  So she had the thin barrier of flesh marking her a virgin, a taunting voice jeered. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t well versed in how to use her body to steal secrets from unsuspectin
g fools…

  Good God, he was going to be sick. He gripped the edge of the windowsill and drew in a slow breath. “What now?” he managed past dry lips.

  “Nothing. For now,” Bennett said.

  Adam shook his head and spun around. “Nothing? You’d have me stay married to this traitorous bitch?”

  Helling flinched. His obvious reaction only fueled Adam’s humiliation.

  Oh, she deserved a place on the London stage, his wife! With her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes, she could make the devil himself feel like a scoundrel and swear to protect her.

  Bitterness seeped from him as he stared at Helling married to Grace. Beautiful, loyal Grace. And Adam had been saddled with a conniving woman not fit to touch the heel of her slippers.

  Bennett rubbed his chin. “We could have a quick trial and have her hanged.”

  Adam’s gut clenched. The other man spoke as if deciding on which cravat to wear to a soiree, not on the fate of Georgina’s life.

  Bennett continued, unaware of Adam’s turbulent thoughts. Unaware or uncaring. “Should you like, we can take her with us now.”

  They had come here today to claim her. They would cart her off to Newgate and execute her as a traitor. He should have welcomed it. Lined up alongside the gallows and cheered as they hanged her…but God he couldn’t. Tortured images flashed through his mind; Georgina’s lifeless body dancing at the end of a rope while a crowd of loyal subjects watched on in sick fascination. “No.” The harsh denial exploded from his lungs.

  Bennett arched a brow. “No?”

  Adam spun around and took a step forward. Then another. And realized…he couldn’t flee. There was no escaping this agony. It lanced through him like the edge of a burning torch held against his skin. It seared him, ate at him until his heart went up in flames…and crumbled into ash.

  Except…he touched his chest and his heart beat hard and fast beneath his palm. How could it be? How when he felt dead, inside and out?

  “No. No trial.” Adam’s jaw tightened. “Not yet. I’d like to spare my family the scandal. Surely ‘The Sovereign’ can make my wife…disappear in a way that isn’t so public?”