Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(28)

Nurse Catherine’s voice could not penetrate the fog of horror.

She yelled until her throat burned and her lips were numb. But he didn’t go away.

The face of her nightmares. The stranger who had died on her kitchen floor, whose ghost had visited her after Father had beaten her, now stared back at her with solemn, violet eyes. “Hello, Miss Wilcox.”

Georgina clenched her eyes tight. A ghost back from the grave should possess a wrathful tone, not this gentle, quiet warmth.

“I didn’t die,” the ghost continued.

Her eyes opened. Not a ghost. A man. A very alive, very healthy-looking man. Her logical mind screeched in protest.

“You were dead,” she gasped out. “I saw you. I saw—”

“You didn’t see what you believed you saw.”

No. She squeezed her eyes shut again. She’d been there. She’d scrubbed his blood from the floor until her fingers had been raw and her own blood mingled with the imprint his body had left behind. “I’m going mad,” she said, the eerie acknowledgement chilling her to the center.

The man reached a hand out and she withered into the folds of her mattress.

He pulled back his fingers. “You’re not going mad.”

She bit down hard on her lip, drawing blood. The sweet, salty drops fell unchecked. “No,” she said, this time more forcefully. “You were dead! You—”

“What happened after I was shot, Miss Wilcox?”

Her mind raced. Shouts of fury. Father had been enraged that she’d set him free. She pressed her palm into the side of her temple.

“They dragged you away, didn’t they?” he asked quietly. “They took you upstairs and they beat you.”

Tears blinded her. Fell in large rivulets down her cheeks. Jamie had dragged her across the kitchen by her hair. That had been the kindest thing done to her that day. The message Father had delivered in the form of raining fists of fury had been quite clear: no one’s intervention in their plans would be tolerated—including Georgina’s.

“I wasn’t dead, Miss Wilcox. I was very badly hurt. I nearly died, but as you can see,” he opened his arms. “I’m very much alive.” His kind eyes grew somber. “When they were beating you, I escaped.” He folded his hands together and looked down at them. “I’m so, so sorry that I did not help you. I had promised to help you if you freed me and I failed.”

She swiped the tears away, but the blasted drops continued to fall. For the past four years, she had flagellated herself with the lash of guilt because she’d failed the stranger in her kitchen. All along, he’d been alive. Giddy joy filled her until laughter blended with her tears.

“I want to help you, Miss Wilcox,” he said.

“Miss Wilcox needs her rest,” Nurse Catherine murmured.

Mr. Archer nodded and, with a deep bow, he left.

The graying nurse spoke. “He brought you here nearly a fortnight ago. He’s come by each day to ask after you. He’s sat by your side for many hours.”

Georgina collapsed against the pillows, turning her eyes away from the prying questions she saw in the other woman’s gaze. “Why?” Nathaniel Archer had been nothing more than a poor soul captured by her radical father. She’d cared for him and set him free. He’d received a bullet to the chest for her efforts.

“It would appear that Mr. Archer has set himself up as a kind of guardian, Georgina.” There was a question there. “And it would appear you are in need of guarding.”

“Why did he bring me here?” Georgina didn’t believe her delivery to Bristol Hospital was sheer coincidence.

Catherine rested her hand on top of Georgina’s head. “Over the years, you’ve provided some valuable information to the Home Office.” Her voice was a mere whisper that Georgina strained to hear. “There are many of us scattered around to help when needed.”

Georgina swallowed back a lump. All these years she’d provided details about her father’s plans—damning information that could have gotten him hanged. She’d believed there was no one out there concerned about her welfare, but that hadn’t been altogether true. Mr. Archer had been sent to help.

“Where is your father, Georgina?”

A chill raced along her spine. Georgina’s teeth chattered.

Catherine pulled a coverlet up to Georgina’s chest.

It didn’t help.

She took Georgina’s hands in her own and rubbed them. “Shh, you are safe here.”

For how long? It was only a matter of time before her father came looking for her. Georgina knew too many of his secrets.

What am I going to do? Where will I go?

Oh God, how she wished Adam was here. Georgina wept. Not the pretty droplets shed by young debutantes and flirty beauties. And not tears of self-pity. She cried over the loss of Adam Markham. After twenty years of being nothing more than an afterthought in life, he had treated her like someone to be cherished and cared for.

Hers were great, big, gasping tears that shook her whole body. Uncaring about the pain in her torso, she rolled onto her side and hugged herself.

She’d known it was the height of foolishness going and falling head over silly heels in love with Adam Markham. There were a thousand and one reasons she shouldn’t have done it. The most obvious being that he loved another woman. The second most obvious being that she shared the same blood as his captor.