A Daring Liaison(86)
“I cannot imagine, Mrs. Hunter, unless it has something to do with your husband.”
All the possibilities whirled in her mind until she could barely think. But she needed to know if there could be a single ounce of truth in the things he’d said to her. “I... Please tell me what you know about him.”
“He is the lowest of all possible levels, Mrs. Hunter. His deeds would shock you to the core. I do not wish to speak of them in mixed company. Suffice it to say that he might be seeking to use you to hurt Mr. Hunter. He has tried countless times to kill him, and perhaps he has settled on hurting you instead.”
He did not need to speak those deeds aloud. Her memory of the night in the coach was clear enough. Charles had had no such qualms about voicing them. The vilest of the vile... They robbed, raped, pillaged and murdered their way through London. They were known for their filth and utter lack of morals. If it’s birthed a Gibbons, you’d do the world a favor to exterminate it before it can spread.
“I see Mr. Finn is still with you, and I urge you to go nowhere without him. Be careful, Mrs. Hunter. Very careful.”
She wanted to thank him, but her throat had closed and her mouth had gone dry. She expended her entire energy in gaining control of her emotions.
“Excellent advice, Mr. Renquist,” Sarah said for her. “The more people you are with, Georgiana, the less likely he is to approach.”
But he already had done so. The horrid claims he’d made and what he wanted of her. She felt physically ill.
“I will keep inquiring, Mrs. Hunter,” Mr. Renquist vowed as he put his notebook back in his coat pocket. “We shall get this sorted out as quickly as may be.”
The door closed behind him and Georgiana let out a sigh. “If there is time enough...”
The dressing room fell silent and none of the ladies would meet her gaze. They knew how dire her circumstances were, and they did not want her to see their fear for her. Long moments passed while Georgiana tried to find the words to tell them what she suspected, but nothing would come. Not even the confession that she was Lady Caroline’s natural daughter.
Lady Annica was the first to speak. “Well, we needn’t worry overmuch. We have never given up a case, nor have we ever been unsuccessful in the past. We are not about to fail with you, Georgiana. We have another day. Perhaps two.”
Some cynical part of Georgiana’s mind noted that an unbroken record was bound to be broken sooner or later.
Chapter Nineteen
Georgiana had pushed the unwelcome thoughts of her origins out of her head until she arrived home and closed the library door behind her. Alone, unwatched, she could finally surrender to her deepest fears. She gripped the back of a chair and held on for dear life as pain so intense she could not credit it shot through her. She doubled over with it and clung to a side table to keep from crumbling to the floor.
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t! Please, God, it couldn’t.
If it’s birthed a Gibbons, you’d do the world a favor to exterminate it before it can spread.
How could Charles ever forgive such a thing? How could he ever look at her and not think of who she was? Gibbons blood flowed through her veins—would flow through his children’s veins! How could he ever accept that? How could she? But it had to be true. All the pieces fit, including that horrid man’s interest in her. He’d told her the truth in the garden, and yet she’d hoped he was lying or deluded. Hoped that Lord Carlington had sired her.
It was a full five minutes before she could stand erect again. On shaky knees, she went to the sideboard where the decanters were all lined up in a civilized row. Her hands trembled as she removed one stopper after another, trying to find the most potent brew. She settled on a rich amber whiskey and poured a full glass, ignoring the way the lip of the decanter rattled against the crystal rim.
The first swallow burned its way down her throat and threatened to come up again. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, steadying her nerves as well as her stomach. The second swallow was easier and spread a calming warmth outward. Another deep breath. Another swallow.
Why, I’m yer pa.
Despite the fading of day, she did not stop to light a lamp on her way to the fireplace. There, she sank to the hearth, glass in one hand and decanter in the other, needing the heat of the fire to bring feeling back to her numbed limbs and needing the courage of the liquor to face the truth. Dear God! What was she going to do? What could she do?