Dark Deceptions: A Regency and Medieval Collection of Dark Romances(81)

Part of him wondered—if, on that day they’d first met, she’d confessed her real identity, would he have felt this same, gnawing resentment?

His gaze wandered from her luminous eyes and came to rest on her fragile neck.

I wrapped my hands around her flesh. I very nearly choked the life from her.

At the memory, tightness settled deep in his chest and spread through his body.

The answer was simple—he’d never have trusted her. Nor, following his assault, had he given Georgina any reason to believe he’d not do her harm if she shared the truth with him.

She brushed away the lone curl that had a tendency to escape the serviceable knot at the nape of her neck and continued to stand there in silence.

He’d never met a person capable of such utter stillness. The women he knew were besieged by what seemed like an insatiable need to talk over any stretches of quiet. Not his wife. What had been done to her that she should have learned to stand as quiet as a forest creature hiding from encroaching hunters?

The niggling of doubt came again. Mayhap her role with Fox and Hunter was less clear than he’d assumed?

He shoved the hope aside. It was only desperation that made him see castles in the sky.

Adam jerked his chin toward the fireplace. “I thought I saw you throw something into the fire.”

The color seeped from Georgina’s cheek. She shook her head quickly. Too quickly. “No. You are mistaken.”

He clenched his teeth. She was a dreadful liar. How had she managed to aid Fox and Hunter all these years without being discovered? “Am I, Georgina?”

His eyes alighted on a lone book atop the mantle. Adam frowned and reached behind her.

Georgina folded her hands in front of her, casting her gaze to the floor demurely. He flipped through the pages. “A rather odd choice,” he murmured, setting it back down.

Her head shot up, her dainty chin jutting out in a mutinous line. “You don’t even know what I like to read, so why should it seem odd?”

Adam started. Georgina’s words bore an accusatory tone and, God help him, she was correct. He didn’t know a thing about her tastes or preferences in literature. He knew so very little about her…and most of what he did know had turned out to be lies. “I imagine if I’d bothered asking, you’d have merely lied.”

She jerked as if he’d backhanded her.

His hand quivered with the need to touch her, to drag her close, bury his face in her crown of curls and plead forgiveness.

He did none of those things.

“Why are you here, Adam?” she asked, her tone surprisingly resolute.

“It is time we put in an appearance at a ball.”

Georgina shook her head. “No. I’ll not go. I’ll not perpetuate this lie.”

“Tsk, tsk. What’s one more, dear wife? Surely you can feign contented wife? You did a remarkable job at battered maid.”

The palm of her hand connected with his cheek in a loud crack. His head whipped to the right. Adam flexed his jaw and brushed his fingers over the stinging flesh.

Georgina stared at him, her eyes full moons in her pale, white cheeks. She held her hand out as if warding him off and took a step back, stumbling over her skirts. In her haste to get away, she nearly retreated into the burning hearth.

“Georgina!” he bellowed, grasping her by the forearm and pulling her to safety.

Georgina cried out, wrestling her arm free. “I’m s-sorry,” she stammered, slipping underneath his arm.

He froze.

Christ. She thinks I’m going to hit her.

Nausea turned his stomach. “Come here, Georgina.” He reached for her.

She swatted at his fingers and danced artfully away.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Adam said, a gruff edge to his words.

She spun on her heel and fled as if the gates of hell had opened and unleashed a stream of fire.

Adam stared after her, sickened. How could she believe he would ever lay his hands on her? Since he’d discovered her betrayal, he’d wavered between wanting to throw his head back and roar in anguish and shaking her until she swore all of this had been a horrible misunderstanding. But he would never, could never, strike her. He might’ve been a beast, but he was not so depraved as to descend into the cowardly behavior of beating his wife.

Still, her apprehension had not been feigned. She’d been terror incarnate.

And once more a maelstrom of doubts snuck back to the surface.

Watson appeared at the door. “Sir, you have visitors.”

Adam cursed. The last thing he wanted at this moment was company. “Tell whoever it is I’m out.”

“Shame, little brother. You’d lie to your brother and mother?”

Nick stood beside his mother, who frowned when she got a good look at him.

Watson took that as his cue to leave.

“Coward,” Adam muttered beneath his breath. He threw his arms wide. “Come in, come in! How very good it is to see you,” he said, his tone coated in sarcasm.

His mother hurried to his side and leaned up to kiss him. She paused, wrinkling her nose. “You smell like you’ve been bathing in spirits,” she said, her lips turned down in motherly disapproval.

Adam bowed. “Guilty as charged.”

Nick settled himself into the leather sofa and folded his leg over his knee. “I’m glad this is amusing to you, little brother.”