Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(37)

Signed,

A Loyal British Subject





Chapter 11




When Georgina came to, she realized several things at once.

First, she was in a carriage.

Two she was entirely too cozy, warm, and comfortable. In her twenty years, she’d been all those things…but never at the same time.

Thirdly, were the clipped tones of two men in a heated argument.

Her brow wrinkled.

Two men?

Arguing?

She came crashing down to earth and her eyes flew open.

“Don’t fight me on this,” Adam fairly snarled. His hard body against hers thrummed with the same charge as a lightning strike. She expected most men would’ve cowered under Adam’s lethal glare.

Apparently, the Earl of Whitehaven was not most men. He appeared bored, stifling a yawn with his hand. “You’ll do no such thing.”

What such thing?

“I’m marrying her.”

And she remembered. Adam was speaking of her. Not Grace Blakely. Her. Short, plain Georgina Wilcox. Her heart soared.

Until the earl spoke.

“You cannot wed her.” He looked down at her and realized she was awake. “She is a commoner. A mere maid. You will not marry a woman of her station.”

Georgina returned his bold stare. The earl was as broad and muscular as an old oak tree. From the harsh angles of his cheeks to the square jawline, this was a man who would rouse fear in man and child alike. Noblemen weren’t supposed to be hulking figures. They were supposed to be painted and clad in all the nauseating colors of an artist’s pallet. And he should’ve been wearing padding. Didn’t all nobles wear padding?

Her eyes narrowed on his waistline. It looked like it could be stuffing.

He shifted and the expensive line of his sapphire coat tightened across the rippling muscles of his abdomen.

No, there was no stuffing involved.

Perhaps it was her bold perusal, or mayhap just his utter disdain, but his upper lip curled in a sneer and Georgina thought of the tale her father had told of her grandmother’s murder. Was this how her grandmother had felt when the English guards spat on her?

She scrambled off Adam’s lap, landing on the floor with a loud thump.

“Georgina!” he cried. He picked her up and returned her to his lap.

Her face colored furiously. “You must release me, Ad…Mr. Markham. This is highly improper.”

Adam held firm. “I am going to marry you.”

As if that would make any of this right? Surely he realized that what he proposed was not possible?

“You cannot marry me, Adam.” She shoved herself off his lap and sat down on the seat next to him.

“I can. I will.”

He fell silent and, tugging back the curtain, peered out at the passing scene.

Georgina studied him. When she had been a young girl, before she’d made her come out, she’d dreamed of her someday husband. He would be wickedly handsome, excessively kind, abundantly caring. To be precise, the man she’d dreamed of was Adam.

It had taken her no time at all to learn that marriage was reserved for beauties…like Adam’s Grace. Georgina’s silly hopes had died a swift death when Father had paraded her around all the wealthiest merchants driven by their goals of securing an advantageous connection. Georgina had been a failure. A miserable failure, to be precise. After that, she’d not given much thought to marriage.

Until now.

She wanted to marry him with a physical hunger that ate at her. But there were too many differences, and lies, between them. “You can’t, Adam.”

The fabric fell back into place, and he jerked his neck around so fast, she imagined he’d given himself a wicked pain.

She glanced at the earl.

He stared back at her with a first, faint sign of appreciation. “She’s correct. You cannot marry her.”

Adam cursed. “I’ve already decided I’m going to wed her. I ruined her reputation.”

It felt like her heart was being kicked around her chest. The only reason Adam wanted to marry her was because she’d been turned out of her position. His offer, which had never really been much of an offer, was driven by his sense of honor. Of course. Had she really been foolish enough to hope that he cared for her?

She curled her fingers into tight balls. Her nails dug into the flesh of her palms, but she welcomed the pain.

The earl folded his arms across his broad chest. “Have you asked Miss Wilcox what she wants?”

Adam’s gaze snapped to her. The green of his eyes was a stark contrast to the dreary gray of the cold, winter months.

There was the answer she wanted to give his irrational request for marriage. Then there was the answer the Earl of Whitehaven expected of her.

“I don’t want to marry you,” she said, her voice hollow.

Adam flinched like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He pinned a glare on his brother. “It’s because of you.”

The earl shrugged. “The lady has her own mind.” The carriage rocked to a halt, ending the discussion.

Adam had different ideas. He leaned close to Georgina. “This is not finished.”

Nearly an hour later, she was perched on the edge of a small, pale blue settee in a pale blue parlor, and it was still not done.

Georgina glanced at the ormolu clock on the fireplace mantel, watching the minutes tick by. After Adam had helped her out of the carriage, he’d led her up the front steps of the Earl of Whitehaven’s home. The earl had marched ahead in stoic silence, and there was little Georgina hated more than silence. Quiet was a good indicator of many things—none of them usually good.