by Nichole Van
“Yes,” she sniffed. Swallowed. “How impossible to imagine a world without James. With him gone, it will never truly be home.” She took a deep, stuttering breath.
“Did you—?” He gestured toward James’ gravestone.
The words dangled unspoken between them.
Did you know about his death?
Slowly, she nodded again, looking down.
“Yes, I knew.” A pause. “Being here at his grave makes it seem so real though. He truly is gone. He will never experience 1813 or 1814 or 1815 . . . and so on.” She rolled her hand as she said this, expressing the passing of time.
There was really nothing to say. There never was. Sebastian hated feeling so helpless, not knowing how to comfort her.
Side-by-side, they stared at James’ grave.
Silence hung, broken only by the chirping of birds, thoughtlessly cheerful and full of life.
After a minute, she straightened her shoulders and stood more erect, as if making a decision and rallying her spirits.
His plucky Georgiana. She had never been one to wallow in what could not be fixed. Bending, she picked up her bonnet from the ground.
Sebastian took her hand and threaded it through his arm, gesturing toward the path that wound around the church.
“Come,” he said, “walk and allow me to cheer you.”
She gave a half-hearted grin, the sorrow retreating from her eyes. And then laughed softly.
“Shall we begin by discussing your sadly lacking quilling skills?” she asked, giving him a sidelong look. The teasing tone of her voice warmed him.
“Ah! I take it you received my small token of esteem this morning.”
She arched a rueful eyebrow, swinging her bonnet loosely from the fingers of her free hand.
“Esteem? Is that what you are calling such a . . . monstrosity?”
“Monstrosity! Georgiana Knight, you wound me.” He kept his face carefully nonchalant, studying her reaction. She didn’t appear to be on the brink of accepting his suit. “We could just agree to call it art, instead,” he offered, leaning in to her.
Georgiana shook her head. “Well it was a work of . . . something. I’m not sure that art is the word I would use, however.”
He chuckled affectionately. They reached a stile at the end of the churchyard. A path meandered beyond, disappearing into a stand of trees. Clouds crowded the sky but didn’t quite threaten rain. He took the two steps of the stile and then turned to help her over.
Once on the other side, she readily wrapped her hand through his elbow again. The warmth of her gloved hand seeping through his jacket and shirt, branding him with her touch.
“I know my paper filigree skills are indeed lacking, particularly in comparison with your own.” He stole a more serious glance at her. “But the note which accompanied the box . . . surely, such a sentiment cannot be labeled a monstrosity . . .”
She had That Look—the one he had seen far too many times on his sisters’ faces. The one that said he was being particularly vexing.
She sighed.
It was not a good sigh.
Most definitely not an I’m-going-to-marry-you sort of sigh.
He had been a soldier long enough to know when to cut his losses and beat a respectable retreat. Consider a different way to breach the defenses. Save his skin to fight another day.
“Sebastian, you know I care deeply for you, but—”
“Wait, stop right there. I liked that sentence. Now let’s just continue it without the but, shall we?”
“Sebastian, you must—”
“No, again, you have it wrong. I greatly prefer sentences like ‘Sebastian, my dearest love, I care deeply for you and . . .’ Why don’t you give that a try?”
Georgiana nudged his arm with her shoulder as they strolled into the grove of trees.
“My dearest love?” She did a decent mimicry of his voice.
He raised an eyebrow and looked at her expectantly.
“Honestly, Seb, that filigreed box is much more likely to kill love rather than inspire it.” She gave her head an exasperated shake. “You are utterly incorrigible, Lord Stratton.”
“And you, Georgiana Knight, can be a cold, cruel woman.” He clicked his tongue. “That box represents nearly . . . hours of my life and here you sit, mocking it.”
Her lips twitched, suppressing a smile.
“Yes, forgive my manners.” Georgiana cleared her throat and adopted a decorous expression. “Lord Stratton, the filigreed box was extremely lovely, and I greatly appreciate the time and sentiment you put into its creation. However, I have never considered a quilled marriage proposal sufficient inducement to accept an offer—”
She burst into laughter, completely ruining the seeming sincerity of her statement.
Sebastian shook his head in mock pain, hissing through his teeth.
“Cold, Georgiana. That was so cold. Practically frigid.” He shivered for good measure. “I shall retire my quills and give up any dreams of filigree greatness.”
“Oh, Seb. Is that a promise?” She laughed harder. That glorious sound.
If she thought that her manner of refusing him would cool his affections, she was sadly mistaken. She looked up at him, eyes dancing and impossibly blue.
Heavens, but she was lovely. How had he lived so many years without her?
Sebastian wondered if he would ever tire of just looking at her. The expressions that skittered across her face, the way her smile always brought light into even the cloudiest of days.
It was as if the years passed and the world around him changed, but Georgiana Knight remained ever the same. Always bright and cheerful, full of energy and zest for life.
As they laughed together, he found his eyes drifting down to her lips. They had always beckoned him, plump and pillowy, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top. It seemed impossible that he could find himself even more drawn to her now than he had years ago.
Sensing the air change between them, Georgiana’s eyes instantly took on a more guarded look, and she turned her attention forward, breaking the moment.
How to sway her, to launch a convincing attack? To make her truly consider him?
“Quilling aside, Georgie, I do truly want to marry you—”
“Enough, Sebastian.” She shook her head and heaved a deep sigh. “I know you need to marry and, for whatever reason, you have decided that we will suit. But the reality remains there is no romantic love between us and—”
“How do you know that I don’t love you?” Sebastian asked, unable to stop the words from escaping. His heart thumped heavily in his chest.
“Please, Seb. Let it be. As I keep saying, we have only ever been like brother and sister to each other.”
Sebastian swallowed and drew in a fortifying breath. “Successful marriages have been built on considerably less.”
“Perhaps . . . but I want more from my marriage than just filial affection.”
“Why do you resist marrying me, Georgiana? You have admitted that you do care for me, and I most certainly care for you. Why not take that affection and work on it to develop something deeper and more lasting?”
Sebastian tried to keep the begging tone out of his voice. With little success.
She gave a shake of her head and looked sightlessly into the surrounding trees. They walked in silence for a few steps. Somewhere, sheep baa-ed in the distance. A gentle breeze ruffled her golden curls.
“It’s not that simple, Sebastian. My life is not that simple. I want more from my husband than just polite regard—”
“But Georgiana—”
“Please allow me to finish, Sebastian.” She squeezed his arm, silencing him. Took a deep breath. “There is another man. That is what I have been trying to say. I met someone about five months ago while recovering from consumption. He is a wonderful person, and he has asked me to consider spending the rest of my life with him.”
The bottom fell out of Sebastian’s world with those words.
&n
bsp; Unexpected. Like being shot with a bullet.
At first, one only registered the resounding crack of gunfire. Felt the force of the impact.
The pain took a second to catch up.
Ah, yes, there it came.
Searing and fiery.
His chest constricted. How had he not seen this coming?
Georgiana was a beautiful, vibrant woman. Not to mention an heiress. A full half of the men of Britain—probably more—would welcome a life with her. Why had he assumed that no one had yet captured her heart?
“Do you have a formal understanding with this man?” He was proud of the steadiness of his voice. It hardly wavered, despite the numbness of his lips.
She paused. “No, not yet. I asked for a little time to think about it. To decide.”
A wave of relief washed through him.
How pathetic to feel hope over such poor odds.
But still. He had not come this far to give up.
“Do you love him?”
Again, that pause.
“I honestly don’t know.” Georgiana twisted her mouth. “How do you know if you are in love?”
“Well, I seem to remember a friend who once described love—quite authoritatively, mind you—as a generally liquid internal feeling. I believe ‘melty inside’ were the exact words used.” He glanced at her.
She swung her bonnet from its ribbons, lips pursed. Pondering.
“True. But how much melting is enough?” she asked.
“Forgive my presumption, but in my experience, if you wonder if you are in love, you most certainly are not.”
She gave a humorless smile.
“Yes, that is what Ja—uhm, a friend said. But I am not so sure. Perhaps love just grows over time. You sound quite knowledgeable on the topic. Have you been in love before?” She shot a look at him.
He laughed.
The irony of such a question.
How to reply? “Perhaps—”
“Ha! So you admit to being in love with someone!”
Drat!
“I admit nothing and—”
“Did she fall for another and break your heart? Is she now married?”
Blast. That arrow hit too close to the mark.
Georgiana’s eyes danced with excitement. She was like a bloodhound to the scent when it came to another’s secrets.
Time for a diversion.
He gave her his game smile. “As I have said more than once, I have only ever been madly in love with you, my dear.” He pulled her arm a little closer to his body.
As he predicted, she rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder.
“Stop, Seb! The joke is becoming stale. You tell such bouncers. Are you ever serious?”
“I am always serious, dearest Georgiana.”
More serious than she would ever know.
She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and looked heavenward. Most likely praying for patience.
“But we were discussing you,” he said. “Does this paragon of manliness have a name?”
For some reason, the question gave her pause.
“Naturally. But I don’t see any reason to tell you. The poor man could do without the Earl of Stratton harassing him.”
“Ah, fairest Georgiana, you wound me! I would hardly harass the man—”
“Really?”
“Pay him off, perhaps. Have him badly beaten. But harass—”
“Sebastian!”
“Come now, I jest. Tell me his name, Georgiana. Please. Just so I can hate him.”
She pressed her mouth closed and shook her head.
“No. You will not be nice. My lips are sealed.” She fixed him with a stern look.
He gave a wry grin. “Well, be warned. Until you come to a formal agreement with this gentleman, I will continue to press my suit—”
“Enough!” She pulled him to a stop along the lane, removing her hand from his arm. “Sebastian, I want us to remain friends, but if you continue to pester me about marriage, I am afraid that our friendship will suffer. Please, promise me you will stop.”
“Georgiana, what is wrong with me pursuing you? Why would you—”
“Promise me, Seb. Please.” She lifted her impossibly blue eyes to his, deep and pleading.
He thought quickly. He had no intention of abandoning his pursuit of her.
When the solution came, it was startlingly simple, yet utterly brilliant.
He was instantly absurdly proud of himself.
“Very well,” he agreed, hoping his face looked appropriately solemn. “I will stop pestering you about marriage, but I would ask a favor in return.”
Georgiana gave him a skeptical look, clearly not trusting his motives.
Wise woman.
“I found out today that Captain Phillips must leave tomorrow to attend to some business.”—Phillips didn’t know this yet, but being a good sort, he would readily go along with the plan—“However, without Phillips, I will be decidedly chaperone-less. I was hoping to persuade you to do gooseberry for me.”
“Do gooseberry? As in, hover around you and ensure that nothing untoward happens? Protect you from the fairer sex?” Her gaze became even more doubtful.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Georgiana, I am a matrimonial prize.” He leaned toward her, placing a self-righteous hand to his chest. His voice dripped with wounded vanity. “Someone has to protect my virtue, and, seeing how Captain Phillips is leaving, I was hoping you would be kind enough to exercise your sisterly affections and protect me from being hopelessly compromised.”
“By sticking to your side like glue? Yes, that would do wonders for both our reputations—”
“If my virtuous, lily-white character means nothing to you, sister dearest—”
“Virtuous? Lily-white?” and then, “Sister?!”
“Exactly! With your sisterly-ish feelings for me, you would be the perfect person to stand by my side and keep any who would despoil—”
“Sebastian, you have got it all wrong. The whole purpose of doing gooseberry is to be a lax chaperone, looking in the hedgerows for fruit while you get sweet on your lady love. Such behavior is hardly going to maintain a lily-white reputation for either of us—”
“Purity, my dear. Purity of soul and deed. All I ask is for you to do a little gooseberry—”
“If I never hear the word gooseberry again—”
“I thought it was marriage you wished me to stop speaking of, but if gooseberries will do the trick too—”
“Enough, Sebastian!”
She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, tapping her foot, trying to maintain a posture of anger. But her lips kept twitching to control a smile, ruining the whole effect.
She was utterly adorable.
Sebastian grinned widely, mischievously.
“Fine,” she agreed. “I will do what I can to ensure that you are not left alone, but you must promise you will give up this ridiculous idea of us marrying.”
Sebastian barely managed to control his look of triumph. They regarded each other for a moment.
She held out her gloved hand.
“Are you in agreement?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed,” he said, engulfing her smaller hand in his and giving it a firm shake and then tucked it right back into the crook of his elbow.
Oh, yes, despite the overcast skies, his day had just brightened. There might be a rival for her affections, but he would not give up his fight, not until he watched her walk down the church aisle to marry another man.
And in the meantime, he needed to inform Phillips that he would be making an unexpected trip to London.
Though Sebastian didn’t have any names, it was time to start investigating Georgiana’s story more thoroughly, divine where she had spent the last year. With Phillips’ help, perhaps a Bow Street Runner could get to the bottom of it. Check the passenger lists and find the ship she arrived home on. Discover the identity of this mystery man.
Somewhere there had t
o be information as to where she had spent the last year.
And he intended to turn Britain upside-down to find it.
Chapter 11
Georgiana’s bedroom
Haldon Manor
Nighttime on September 5, 1813
Birthday in minus 33 days
Georgiana stood beside her bedroom door. It was the dead of night, and someone had left a threatening note. Again.
For the third time.
There had been another note two days earlier, similarly slipped under her door while she was out riding with Sebastian and Captain Phillips, right before the latter had taken his leave of Haldon Manor.
That note had been vaguely sinister but otherwise disappointing:
Something bad may befall you if these warnings are not heeded.
However, the note tonight seemed more promising.
You have been repeatedly warned. Send Lord Stratton away or the consequences will be dire.
It was the same handwriting as before, but there was something below the script. Holding her phone flashlight steady, she examined it more closely.
Was that a drawing of a dagger with blood dripping off it?
Georgiana smiled as all the hairs on her arm stood on end.
Finally a letter to give her gooseflesh. At last. Third time was the charm.
Now she just needed to track down the culprit. As usual, shining a flashlight down the hallway revealed nothing.
It was rapidly becoming preposterous. Who was leaving all these notes? She most certainly couldn’t be expected to return to bed now.
Which meant investigating in the middle of the night. It was becoming quite the habit.
Only this time, she would be properly prepared.
Five minutes later, Georgiana cautiously opened her bedroom door. Dressed in dark jeans and t-shirt topped by a moto jacket, she had stuffed her long braided hair into a black beanie. She also carried a rucksack with her night vision goggles, a flashlight, pepper spray and a taser. Just in case.
She felt decidedly detective-ish.
Or was it ninja-ish?
She shrugged; either was perfectly acceptable.
The moon, full and bright, sent beams through the windows, providing enough light that she didn’t need her beloved night goggles.