A Daring Liaison(46)

“You ain’t doin’ what you should. Stay away from them blasted Hunters. Charlie most of all. You owes me that much. He ain’t fer you. I gots plans fer you, an’ he don’t fit into ’em. I’d sooner cut you than see you wi’ him.”

“Who...who are you?” she squeaked.

A meaningful chortle was the only answer. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Georgiana!”

Charles! Her heart started beating again. She was on the verge of calling a warning when the voice behind her stopped her.

“Don’t do it, Georgie, gal. You’d be in more trouble th’n me. Keep your trap shut if you knows what’s good fer you. And fer Charlie Hunter. We gots a secret, you an’ me.”

“But—”

The restraining hand left her shoulder and something crackled in the bushes behind her. Torn between tears and hysteria, she shuddered violently just as Charles arrived.

“Georgiana, what’s wrong?”

Keep yer trap shut if ye knows what’s good fer you. And fer Charlie Hunter.

“Just a...a sudden chill.”

He removed his jacket and draped it around her, then took her hand and lifted her to her feet. “Richardson and the others are not far behind. ’Twas just an accidental discharge of fireworks. Nothing to fret about. Come, let’s get you back to the supper box.”

Georgiana glanced over her shoulder as Charles led her away. Was that horrid man still there? Watching? Or had she imagined it all?

* * *

Mistaking her distraction and nervousness from the odd meeting on the stone bench as reluctance to confront Hathaway, Charles had insisted upon dealing with the butler himself when he delivered Georgiana home. Her back against her bedroom door, she waited for the raised voices she knew would be coming.

Charles was slipping quite comfortably into the role of fiancé and future husband. She, however, was having constant misgivings. How would she live with herself if her curse struck him down? And now, more than ever, she feared it would. The incident tonight convinced her of that. Whoever that man was, he had warned her to stay away from Charles. From all the Hunters. What frightened her as much was that he’d known her name. That he had plans for her. Another violent shudder washed through her. Who was he?

Though she’d been warned to stay silent, she feared she knew the outcome if she didn’t. Charles would dig his heels in further and refuse to budge. She had never known a man so persistent. So stubborn. So...so wonderfully protective.

A timid knock at her back startled her. “Madam? I’ve come to turn your bed down.”

She took a deep breath and opened the door enough to admit Clara, who went straight to her bed and began turning down the sheets and fluffing the pillows. “Oh, madam! They say you’ve given Mr. Hathaway the sack! Is that true?” she asked over her shoulder.

Georgiana went to her dressing table and began pulling the pins from her hair. “Yes, Clara. This afternoon. I had hoped he’d be gone by now. Charles is quite unhappy that he is not.”

Clara snorted as she laid out her nightgown. “We gathered as much, missus.”

“We?”

“The others. Cook, Sanders and me. The day help stayed out of his way. Mr. Hathaway has been in a dither all day, he has. Not two words said to any of us. Just storming around and going all about the house. He was in the attic, missus. What would he want in the attic?”

What, indeed? “I do not know, Clara. Perhaps he’d put his valise up there.”

“Hmm” was Clara’s only comment as she came to run the brush through Georgiana’s hair.

The sharp thud of the library door closing made her jump just before voices carried upstairs from the foyer.

“You’ve no right here, Mr. Hunter!” Hathaway’s voice echoed throughout the house. “Who are you to—”

“I am Mrs. Huffington’s fiancé, lest you forget. Sanders! Bring Hathaway’s valise!”

“You think you’re going to get away with this, don’t you?”

“Think? I am certain of it, Hathaway.”

Georgiana stood and glanced at the door. Should she go down? Interfere? Mistaking her intentions, Clara began to unfasten her gown.

The voices grew louder. “You underestimate me, Mr. Hunter. You will be sorry you dealt with me thus—you and that little street urchin who is no better than she ought to be. Why, she thinks she’s mistress of the manor now.”