A Daring Liaison(92)

He scowled at her and brandished his knife. “You damn well better, chit. Everything we done since that day we saw you, we done fer you. You owe us and yer no use to me if you don’t do as I tell you. Now get packin’.”

She could not stall him much longer. She went back to the bureau and chose a chemise. “I cannot imagine how you were able to keep track of me all these years. I saw you in the village occasionally, but have you not spent most of your time in London?”

“’Twere easy once we hired yer ma’s fancy man.”

Fancy man? “Do you mean Hathaway?”

“Aye. He sent word now an’ then. Took that little likeness of you from yer ma and sent it to us so’s we could see how pretty you was. He were the one took care of Allenby an’ Huffington.”

No wonder Hathaway hated her. He’d known who she really was. That little street urchin who is no better than she ought to be....

“He’d bring us some of yer gewgaws so we’d know you was good. Charged us a pretty penny, too.”

So that was the answer to the mystery of all her little missing items, and why she’d found Hathaway snooping in her room on occasion. Oh, she’d been so naive!

“What if Hathaway tells someone? Tries to blackmail you?”

Gibbons snorted. “Hathaway ain’t tellin’ anyone anything.”

Her heart stilled and she swallowed her horror. She did not have to ask to know that Hathaway was dead.

She studied the man for a long moment, trying to find anything familiar, anything redeeming or endearing in him, and failing. Even his supposed fondness for her was merely another means to achieve riches or glory for himself. She was a tool to be used, not a cherished daughter.

As she tucked her chemise into the valise, she thought she saw a movement in the dressing room. Finn? How long had he been there? Oh pray he did not bumble in. Pray he realized the situation before he, too, was killed. Was there some way to warn him?

“I need a dress.” She held Gibbons’s gaze. “I will fetch one from the dressing room.”

“I’ll pick it fer you,” he said, starting for the door.

“Never mind. If we are going home to Kent, I have enough there.”

He frowned at her, glancing between her and the dressing room. “You tryin’ to get away, Georgie gal? Gonna go in there and lock me out?”

“No. I... You did not tell me for certain where we’d be going.”

He grunted. “One dress is enough fer any gal. C’n only wear one at a time, anyways.”

She closed her valise, buckled the straps and lifted it from the bed. “We had better be going.” She wondered how he intended to get her out of the house. Surely not the same way he’d come in. She looked toward the window.

He cackled when he realized what she was thinking. “We’re gonna walk outa here, proud as you please. Yer the woman of the house. Won’t anyone stop you. Not even that man Hunter hired, if you tell him to stand back.”

She glanced at his knife again and nodded, resigned to doing anything he asked to keep him from killing anyone else because of her. “I will need my cloak.”

* * *

Charles, straining to interrupt Gibbons and Georgiana for the past five minutes, shot Wycliffe a warning glance. They’d heard Gibbons confess to everything. Georgiana had led the conversation almost as if she’d known they were listening.

And he’d heard the hopelessness and despair in her voice and knew she believed he’d deserted her. Abandoned her to whatever darkness was awaiting her. In his shock, he’d walked away without giving her any reassurances or a single word of understanding.

What a fool he’d been. What an utter ass. He loved her, and that was all he’d ever need to know about her.

But Gibbons was not going to take his wife anywhere. Wycliffe nodded and released his hold on Charles’s arm.

He slipped the small pistol from his boot and edged forward. As he cleared the dressing room door, he came face-to-face with his old enemy.

Gibbons blinked and brought his knife up even as he seized Georgiana’s arm. “Stay where you are, Hunter.” He began to back toward the door.

Georgiana’s eyes met his and he was struck by her fear—not for herself, but for him. He could feel Wycliffe at his back. Gibbons did not miss with a knife. If he threw it at him, Charles would die, but Wycliffe would save Georgiana. Slowly, he raised his pistol and took careful aim.