by Lora Leigh
Feeling as if she were intruding, Georgiana hesitated. Telling her that he wanted to separate had been hard for him. Her husband was a man of few words, but Georgiana had never seen him have any trouble finding them. Yet when he’d said he was leaving, Thom almost hadn’t gotten the words out.
That difficulty had been a surprise in a morning of surprises. She’d never thought his character was a mystery. He was quiet, sturdy. Calm and controlled, not given to strong emotion. And what Georgiana had known of him, she’d loved. But she was realizing that she hadn’t known her husband at all.
He was a man of few words. But he was also a man of powerful emotions.
And she shouldn’t be wondering what those emotions were. They’d agreed. Separation was best. But she couldn’t help wanting to look under the surface of Thom’s quiet facade now that she knew much more lay beneath it.
How much had she known of him before? A substantial amount, she’d thought. She knew that he’d been born in England just over thirty years ago, when that country had still been occupied by the Horde. He’d grown up in a crèche, like an orphan, though his parents had probably still been alive. But they wouldn’t have been parents as Georgiana knew them—just a man and a woman caught in a mating frenzy produced by radio signals broadcasted from the Horde’s controlling tower. Thom had been taken from his mother at birth and raised with other children, and when he was a young man, his occupation had been determined for him. His arms had been replaced by skeletal iron, and hydraulic braces across his back and chest offered additional hauling power. Then he’d been sent to work on the Horde’s fishing boats.
Thom had never spoken of that history. She only knew of it because, before her father had hired him on as chief mate, Thom told him that he had experience hauling nets. The arms and his braces had been self-evident. The rest of it was the same awful story shared by so many laborers during the Horde’s occupation, so Georgiana assumed the same was true for him.
And because of his silence, she’d also assumed that Thom hadn’t wanted to speak of his past. So she hadn’t wanted to hurt him by dredging up terrible memories simply to satisfy her curiosity.
But perhaps she should have. Perhaps she would have had a better understanding of the man who would be her husband. Perhaps she would have better understood why he’d left each time. He’d wanted to bring something back to her.
And that sounded exactly like her father.
With a sigh, she glanced up at the house. Georgiana had been a young girl when her father had tired of the crowded landscape and overfished waters of Prince George Island, as well as the disapproval of his wife’s well-to-do family. He’d left the English territories in the Americas and brought Georgiana and her mother here, to the very tip of the Jutland Peninsula, where the North Sea met the Baltic. He’d built their new home on a stretch of flat beach two miles from the nearest house, a home unlike any of those in town, but in the style her mother had grown up in. Three steep gables contained windows overlooking the sea. A widow’s walk surrounded the chimney, and on fine days her mother had abandoned the windows of her room to search the horizon from the roof, instead.
Georgiana loved Henry Tucker. He’d been a wonderful father, a good man.
But he’d been a terrible husband.
So had Thom. Except . . . he’d obviously been trying to be a good one. They’d simply had opposite ideas about how to go about it. He’d wanted to do the right thing by her. Maybe she should have asked before they were married what he considered right.
But Georgiana hadn’t. Not really. Theirs had been a smooth courtship. He appealed to her. She had appealed to him. And she’d liked him, in every way. Her father had approved of the match, no doubt lining Thom up as his successor. They’d known each other three years before they’d married, but they hadn’t been delayed by doubts or hesitation. Thom had simply been gone—away on whaling expeditions. He’d spent months at a time on a ship with her father. There was no question how he’d formed such strong notions about a husband’s duties.
Each time he’d returned, however, they hadn’t spoken of that. He’d told her of the oddities and dangers he’d seen while at sea. She’d told him of the town, the people who lived there—always trying to make him laugh, and so gratified when he had. She’d asked his opinion of everyone they knew, to judge the sort of man he was, how he saw others.
But she hadn’t asked Thom about himself. She hadn’t asked what he wanted from their marriage or what he expected of her. He’d asked what would make her happy. She’d never asked the same question in return.
Now they were on their way to dissolve their marriage. But the fault wasn’t all his. It was hers, too, for failing to ask so many questions.
Georgiana didn’t like knowing that. And she wasn’t sure what to do, now that she did know—or whether she should do anything at all. Perhaps it would still be best to continue on to the magistrate’s, and be done with the wreck they’d both made of their marriage.
In the shed, Thom pushed away from the coach. The thin eddies of steam had begun to billow. He walked toward her through them, like a large ship emerging from fog. “I’d have come for you when the engine was ready.”
“I thought I might enjoy a few extra moments of sun.” And the way it glinted in his dark hair.
Nodding, he said, “Best enjoy it while you can. We won’t have much of it today.”
“That is what you said on every walk we took,” she reminded him with a curve of her lips. “You were always wrong.”
And they’d walked often. On the road to town, along miles of beach—close to his side, her arm occasionally brushing against his, and every part of her feeling heavy and light all at once, as if her body hadn’t known how to settle when Thom was near.
“Wait and see,” he said with a slight smile. “Maybe I’ll prove you wrong this time.”
Maybe he would, at that. “If you’re right, at least we have the coach.”
He glanced back at the canvas-topped vehicle. “Did you buy it?”
“Yes.”
“So you don’t always trust the sun.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Not at all between October and March. And I go into town more often now. There is little time for leisurely walks.”
Very little time at all. Her friends had urged her to move into Skagen so she wouldn’t have to make that journey every day. It would have been more practical. Her offices were there, and the expense of the wiregram lines she’d installed to connect her business to her home—and the cost of repairing them after every storm—could hardly be justified. No one waited for her at the house. But Georgiana couldn’t bring herself to leave it.
At first she’d worried that if Thom returned, he wouldn’t know where she’d gone. But after hope for his return had faded, she’d stayed, anyway. She loved the house. She loved the beach and the constant roar of the ocean. She loved being able to leave the town behind.
She also loved driving into town, because every day, she had a purpose there. In the steamcoach, her gaze was fixed on the road ahead of her instead of on the horizon.
And not every day was a sunny one. She appreciated the roof over her head.
She frowned a little. Thom wouldn’t have one.
“Where do you intend to stay tonight, Thom?”
He shook his head. “I’ll figure something.”
“You don’t need to. Stay at the house until we have everything settled. I’ve room enough—and we’ll avoid the gossip in that way. I’ll open the upper bedrooms.”
“They’re not ready now?”
Not after Georgiana had become her mother, standing at the window and waiting. “No.”
His gaze searched her face. “I don’t want to give you trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll leave a note for Marta.”
He exhaled on a sharp breath, looked out over the sea. Debating. After a quiet moment, he said, “I’d best not stay. You’ll be looking for a new husband soon. I’ll be in the wa
y.”
“A new husband?” Surprise pushed a short laugh from her. “Why would I do that?”
“You have to have someone.”
She frowned at him. “You sound like my father. I did well enough on my own for four years.”
“You wanted children.”
Yes, she did. “Perhaps I’ll have those on my own, too.”
He didn’t respond, but his gloved hands clenched at his sides. That was the Thom she didn’t know well. The one who kept so much concealed.
She gave that hidden Thom a little push into the light. “Perhaps it won’t be long until I have a baby, if you stay tonight.”
His head jerked around, gaze locking with hers. He took a step before stopping to stare down at her, eyes burning blue. Georgiana’s breath caught. He’d looked down at her like that before. In bed, his arms braced beside her shoulders and his mouth carefully tasting her lips. Everything he’d done, so controlled—but that burning in his eyes had eventually been smothered by her tears. She’d known their lovemaking would hurt the first time, yet breaching her virginity had been even more painful and bloody than she’d expected. And the second time, she’d been so tense that his entry had hurt again, even though he’d been so careful and slow.
But the last time, he’d kissed her endlessly before finally lifting her nightgown to her waist and settling between her legs. There’d been discomfort, at first. Then just wetness and heat and Thom sliding back and forth inside her, and all of her body had been caught between the same sensation of heavy and light, but so much heavier, so much lighter. He’d been so slow and so careful, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from moving beneath him, or the little noises that had welled up, so that she’d had to bite her lips to keep herself from begging him for . . . she hadn’t even known. Faster. Harder. Something more.
Now that same need rose inside her again—and he wasn’t even touching her.
And she wasn’t crying this time, but the burning in his eyes still went dark. “I don’t know how to be a husband, Georgie. I know even less about being a father.”
“I would be enough of a parent for any children.”
“And I should abandon them?”
“You abandoned me,” she pointed out, and the edges of his mouth whitened. She didn’t know if it was anger or hurt.
It was anger. His face hardened, cold steel that matched his voice. “Only because you asked me to.”
Georgiana gaped at him. “What?”
Through gritted teeth, he repeated harshly, “You asked me to. Don’t you—”
He abruptly stopped. Not controlling his emotions again, she realized. Something had changed. His gaze had fixed behind her, a frown slowly darkening his features.
“You have your pistol, Georgie?”
Oh, dear God. Without question, she dug into her bag, spinning around to scan the beach and road. Ravenous zombies roamed the continent, but they didn’t cross water. A shallow sound to the south prevented almost all of the creatures from venturing this far up the peninsula, but now and again one made it through and wandered into a town. In all of the years she’d lived here, none had come near her home or as far north as Skagen. Yet she always kept a pistol with her, nonetheless.
Nothing moved. She glanced up at Thom, saw that he’d focused on the sky—on an airship flying along the shoreline. A white balloon over a small wooden cruiser. Such airships were a common sight . . . except that it flew silently, using its sails instead of propellers. This far from town, there was little reason to stay so quiet, unless they didn’t want the engines to announce their approach.
“Thom?”
“The shed.” He didn’t wait for her to make sense of that. His arm wrapped around her waist and he hurried her through the humid clouds of rising steam and into the shed. “You have more bullets?”
“In the coach, under the bench.”
Heart pounding, she glanced at the airship again. Just a personal yacht or a small passenger ship, though by the gleam of its polished hull, a rather fine one. Why had the sight of it alarmed him? Who did he think was coming?
The clank of metal against metal turned her head. Thom had found the ammunition box, set it on the coach’s boot. He shoved his sleeve up over his steel left arm. With his opposite thumb, he flicked open a small panel on the inside of his forearm, revealing a cylindrical chamber. He began loading the bullets into his arm, one by one.
Georgiana’s lips parted in shock. What in the world? “Thom?”
“You hide, Georgiana. You stay in this shed, out of sight. No matter what.”
“Why? Who are they?”
“The same pirates that took Oriana.” He snapped the chamber in his arm closed and covered it with his sleeve. “Maybe they think I still have some of the coins. I don’t know. I’ll give them the last one and send them on their way.”
And if he truly thought they’d leave so easily, would he be telling her to hide? Georgiana wasn’t going to fall for that. “Thom.”
His jaw clenched. “Listen to me. He aimed a rail cannon at Oriana’s deck and came aboard, asking for the coin chest. I offered to give it over, even though it meant I wouldn’t be coming home with anything but my ship. He said he wouldn’t risk anyone else having a claim on the gold and shot me. So you stay here. I’ll try to stop them however I can. I won’t see you hurt, too. Let me do this one thing, and protect you.”
So Thom had given up the money, yet the pirate had put a bullet in him, anyway. And now he believed the pirate would kill him whether he gave the coin or not.
Georgiana wouldn’t allow it to happen. “Get in the coach, Thom.”
“We can’t outrun them.”
“No, but if we’re moving too quickly for them to get a good shot at us, perhaps we’ll stay out of their hands long enough to make it into town.” When he shook his head and turned away from her, as if intending to leave the shed, Georgiana clamped her hands around his wrist. “Some chance is always better than none.”
“And any risk to you is too much.” But his eyes narrowed, as if he was thinking it over again. “I’ll make a run in the coach alone. The airship will come after me. You send a wiregram to town, ask them to round up carts and send as many men as possible. When he sees them coming, the bastard might decide to fly off.”
Not by yourself. Georgiana closed her lips against that automatic response. If the pirates caught up to Thom, she didn’t want him to be alone. But she knew this was the most practical plan, and offered the best chance of keeping them both alive and safe.
Still, her throat tightened with worry and fear. “Be careful, Thom.”
“I will.” For a brief moment, his gloved hand cupped her jaw, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. “You wait for the airship to turn around before you come out of the shed.”
Georgiana nodded. Her heart an aching hammer in her chest, she stepped aside and watched Thom climb into the coach. The driver’s bench creaked under his weight. He engaged the engine and the vehicle rattled to life.
His eyes met hers through the plate-glass windshield. Then he was off on a great huff of steam, the coach quickly picking up speed. He reached the road and sped toward town, out of her sight.
Concealed by the shadows within the shed, Georgiana stood in an agony of tension, waiting for the airship’s sails to furl and draw in against the sides of the wooden cruiser. It flew less than a hundred yards from the shed now, but an airship couldn’t quickly turn around. It would take a few seconds to haul in the canvas.
The pirates must have realized they’d been spotted. The engines fired, breaking their silence with a heavy thrum across the sky. The propellers began a lazy spin.
Yet their heading didn’t change. They weren’t following Thom.
Perhaps he’d been wrong and they hadn’t been coming after him. Perhaps their appearance was only a coincidence, and they were headed to some other destination.
Georgiana couldn’t assume that, though. She had to prepare for the worst: that t
hey had seen her outside earlier, and guessed that she’d remained behind.
But what sort of preparations could be made against pirates? She would be far outnumbered. She might be able to shoot one or two before they returned fire and killed her.
No, shooting meant certain death. She would only use her pistol as a last resort. If she waited, though . . . perhaps there would be some chance. Thom would alert the town. And she would fetch any pirate a healthy ransom, as long as he left her alive.
The engines became louder. Blocked by the roof, she lost sight of the airship as it neared the shed, but its oval shadow darkened the ground outside. Directly overhead now. Keep flying on, keep flying on. Her pulse pounded in her ears at a dizzying pace.
The rattle of chains sank her heart. The cargo platform was being lowered. Someone was coming down.
Oh, God. What to do now?
Only what she could. Straightening her shoulders and steeling her spine, Georgiana tucked her pistol into her reticule. She could reach it quickly enough. And if she was to be taken, perhaps they would assume that she only carried frivolous items and overlook the weapon.
A clank sounded beside the shed. The rattle of chains stopped. They’d lowered the platform to the ground out of her sight—either fearing that she’d shoot their legs as they came into view or concealing their numbers. Georgiana strained to hear anything more over the thrum of the airship’s engines.
In all the noise, the man who appeared at the shed entrance could have stomped his way there and she wouldn’t have heard him. Georgiana’s fingers tightened on her reticule. He didn’t hold a gun. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.
And he must have been the nobby gent whom Thom had spoken of. Tall and wiry, with lightly tanned skin and brown hair tied back in a queue, he was smartly dressed for a pirate. His black silk waistcoat and buff breeches didn’t show any stains or signs of wear. His tall boots gleamed with high gloss.
He stepped into the shed and offered Georgiana a charming smile. “Mrs. Thomas, I presume.”
This gent could presume all he liked. Georgiana raised her voice over the airship’s thrum. “If you are seeking my husband, I must tell you he’s left.”