Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(4)

Apparently, his thirst won out over his skepticism for he reached for the glass. His fingers brushed hers.

Georgina’s skin heated at the brief meeting of flesh.

He drained the glass in one long, slow swallow. “What is your name?”

She stiffened and leaned forward in her chair, poised to flee. “Georgina Wilcox.”

He gave no outward reaction to her admission. “I am Adam Markham.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she realized he did not know who she was. Guilt niggled at her. She reminded herself she was not to blame for Father’s crimes, but the thought rang hollow in her heart.

“I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances, Mr. Markham.” Or really under any circumstances. There was no good in the world in which she dwelled.

He studied her intently and Georgina shifted in her seat. His gaze set a small flame alight in her bosom. The instinct for survival warred with her empathy. Except there was something more—some inexplicable feeling she didn’t understand nor care to analyze. No good could come in any kind of connection with the men taken as prisoners here. She reached for his bindings then stopped. If she were ever to help this man, she’d have to plan carefully. After all she’d learned the perils in thwarting Father and Jamie’s plans long ago.

The stranger’s beautiful lips turned down. “So, tell me. What manner of woman would leave me tied here at the mercy of those bastards—” As if sickened by the mere sight of her, he jerked his gaze away.

She leaned forward. “If I free you, there is a guard outside who will shoot you dead. If that isn’t enough, I will pay the price for your death. A price with my own flesh.” Georgina let the weight of this dark truth sink in.

Silence reigned between them. They sat in uneasy silence until his stomach gave a rebellious rumble reminding her of why she’d come above stairs. Eager to give her fingers something to do, she reached for a sliver of apple and held it to his lips.

Something in his gaze softened. “Are you Eve?”

She angled her head. “Georgina.”

A sharp bark of laughter burst from his chest. The explosion of mirth seemed to rob him of breath. He coughed in obvious pain. “Christ, either you’re an excellent actress or the most na?ve woman I’ve ever met.”

“Oh.” Heat flooded her cheeks. “That Eve. Which, of course, makes you Adam.”

“Adam and Eve,” he murmured. He cast an almost empty gaze around the room. “And it would appear we’ve both been cast into hell.”

Georgina’s gut clenched at the all-too-familiar sentiment uttered by this man, Adam Markham. She cleared her throat. “Do you want the apple or not?” She waved it in his direction.

His lips parted, displaying an even row of pearl-white teeth. Georgina hesitated a moment, feeling a bit like a rabbit feeding a wolf, then slipped the fruit into his mouth.

He bit into the succulent fruit, all the while watching her as if he could divine her secret yearnings. When he opened his mouth again, she brought another piece of the apple to his lips.

“Why are you here?” he asked, after he finished his next bite.

Their gazes caught and held. “I have no choice.”

Adam Markham’s flinty stare threatened to bore through her. “They have you captive as well?”

In a way, she’d been trapped from the moment of her birth. “I am a victim of my circumstances, Mr. Markham.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You are a servant.”

At his erroneous assumption, she stilled. She should tell him the truth. Confess who she was. What does it matter? a niggling voice whispered at the edge of her mind. It is your father who is hell bent on an Irish revolution—not you. “Why are you here?” She turned his question around on him, uncomfortable with his assumption.

“I, too, am a victim of my circumstances.” A veil fell across his eyes, indicating he intended to say nothing further.

Georgina glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. “I should go.” She stood.

He opened his mouth to speak. She had the distinct impression he wanted her to stay but she shoved the silly thought aside. Why should he desire her company?

Georgina reached for his bindings but the memory of his hand around her neck froze her mid-motion. She rubbed the sensitive skin where that possessive touch—firm but gentle—lingered. No one had ever handled her with even a modicum of tenderness. Reason had taught her to loathe such weakness. After all, compassion had brought her nothing but trouble.

His gaze went to her neck. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ve never mistreated a woman.” Until now.

Considering her own experience with men and his earlier violent outburst, she didn’t put much faith in his statement. Nonetheless, Adam Markham was desperate, an emotion she knew well. She waved off his apology. “You’re not the first to…put me in my place.” A niggling whisper of a dream flitted through her mind. In a different life she would have been the beloved daughter of a loving couple. She may even have a doting suitor. How different might her life have been if she’d been born a daughter to loyal British subjects? Georgina brushed back a loose strand of hair. “I wish there was something I could do to help you, but I can’t.” At least not now.

“You can free me.” He was nothing if not persistent.