Chapter Fifteen
T he first thing that Alexander noticed about Georgina’s house was the dust. Each step they took disturbed hundreds of gray specks that floated in the waning light. If it wasn’t for the pink-hued sunset, the large cottage might have felt like the abode of specters. An almost suffocating mustiness hung in the air, the smell of disuse and neglect. The cloths flung over the furniture had accumulated a visible layer of fine powder. Cobwebs hung everywhere, the strands glinting in the rosy glow.
With Ruffian Caesar prancing at her feet, Georgina stood in the center of the study, a fond, bittersweet expression on her face. She had the hazy look of someone not seeing the actual vista but an old, cherished memory.
Alexander lingered in the doorframe, giving Georgina space for her recollections. He felt like an interloper or perhaps even a trespasser. He’d grown up treated as an intruder, but this time, he sensed no malice, no annoyance at his presence. It was simply that Georgina’s connection to this thatched dwelling had drawn her back into the past, leaving him in the present.
“I spent so many cheerful days here.” Even Georgina’s voice sounded far away. It contained a timbre that he hadn’t heard before. She waved her hand in the direction of a vaguely desk-shaped lump covered in heavy fabric. “Papa would sit there, working on his latest treatise. Sometimes he’d have Roman artifacts in front of him. He was very good at sketching. I’d sit and watch, drawing them myself. I’d try to write descriptions, too. I had terrible penmanship back then and even worse spelling, but Papa always praised me. Oh, he’d correct my grammar and offer suggestions, but always kindly and wrapped in so many compliments. Sometimes, whenever I have a particularly difficult day, I still hear him encouraging me.”
“He sounds like he was a marvelous man and an even better father.” Alexander tried desperately to keep his own voice from thickening. He wondered what it would have been like to receive just a sliver of that affection from his own sire. His trips into the duke’s study had always left him trembling and wracked with the sensation of never being good enough.
But this wasn’t the time for Alexander to search his soul. It was Georgina’s.
She’d fallen asleep on his shoulder about a half an hour after their passionate interlude. She hadn’t woken up until they’d drawn close to her village. When she’d stretched awake and given him directions, her demeanor had been markedly different from the bold coquette who’d dozed off.
Alexander wouldn’t be entirely truthful if he claimed no disappointment. He’d spent the last few hours imagining just how he could pleasure Georgina without risking pregnancy. He’d been keen to employ his mouth in very, very creative ways.
But it was apparent that introspection, and not lovemaking, was on her mind. There was a kind of melancholy wrapped around her, and Alexander respected her need for quietude.
It was probably for the best, anyway. His foot and leg were still smarting from the pressure he’d placed on his weaker side when he handled the team and shot at the villain. And being cooped up in a carriage for hours and hours had never been easy on him.
Quit sniveling. You’ve been sitting all day. My heir can’t act like a weakling.
The old words cut through Alexander like a dull, rusty sword, leaving flecks behind to fester. He hadn’t felt them this sharply in years. But something about being with Georgina, listening to her old recollections, made him vulnerable—as if layers of protection had fallen away without him noticing, leaving him exposed.
“The room used to smell like the soap Papa used,” Georgina said wistfully, drawing Alexander out of his thoughts and back into hers. “That’s gone now. Has been for years. Now it’s just the scent of old, moldering books.”
Alexander stepped through the threshold and entered the room for the first time. Carefully, gently, he placed his hand on Georgina’s shoulder. She didn’t shake him off, so he kept it there, offering what comfort he could.
“You mentioned that he was an antiquarian, too. Is that where your love of the past comes from?” Alexander asked, sensing that Georgina needed to talk about her father. And Alexander found himself wanting to know. He suddenly felt a swell of gratitude to this man who’d raised such a fiercely inquisitive daughter.
“Yes,” Georgina nodded. “When I was a child, he took me to Europe, even when his own relatives told him it was no place for a widower to cart around a young girl. We visited all the grand sights: the Coliseum, the Parthenon, and parts of the Villa of Lucullus in Naples. Papa had even spoken of us traveling to Egypt to see the famed pyramids—the last of the seven ancient wonders. But he fell sick before he could arrange another trip.”
“You were close to your father?”
“Oh, yes.” Georgina leaned against Alexander’s chest, her head resting below his collarbone. “It was his dream to dig up the mound where I discovered the helmet. He—well, we’d—been inspired by the work we saw at Herculaneum—he in an academic way and me with the unbridled excitement of a child.”
Alexander felt a true smile spread across his face. “I can just imagine you running around the mound, covered head to toe in mud.”
Georgina laughed. “Indeed. And I wore breeches under my skirts. It horrified all sides of my father’s family. Although he was a fourth son, he came from impeccable bloodlines, all dating back to William the Conqueror. Appearances must be maintained.”
“Yes.” Alexander breathed out the word, hoping Georgina didn’t detect how much it hurt. He knew all too well about preserving precious familial lineage. But he wouldn’t focus on the latter part of Georgina’s statement. Instead, he’d picture her, spade in hand as she gamboled after her father.
“We had barely removed much soil when Father got weak,” Georgina explained. “When he died, Algernon moved me into his house—the large mansion that we passed on the way here. This cottage was closed up, and all the digging stopped. I used to sneak over to my property and shovel a few clods of dirt, but it wasn’t until I started making money assessing antiquities that I had the funds to hire men.”
“You are remarkable, Georgina.” Alexander meant the words. As a poor relation to a nobleman, she’d managed through her own intellect and wile to achieve her dreams.
“I’ve never been called that before you came into my life.” Georgina shifted the position of her head against his chest to gaze up at him. “You are very free with compliments.”
“Hardly. It is only that you keep impressing me.” Alexander leaned over a fraction and bussed her lips. It was a soft meeting of mouths, yet it still caused demanding heat to sweep through him. The awkward angle made it hard to deepen the kiss, but this wasn’t the moment for a passionate embrace. This was about comforting Georgina.
Alexander pulled back and ran his thumb over her cheek. “Your find is impressive—even to someone like me with little interest in England’s past.”
“It’s not just the helmet. It’s the other pieces as well. I believe I’ve found parts of a boat.”
“A boat?” Alexander asked, finding himself honestly intrigued.
“I conjecture that a person of great prestige was buried under the mound in a small ship,” Georgina explained. With each word, her voice transformed from pensive to academic. “His bones have decomposed, but given the placement of the helmet, two shoulder clasps, a buckle, and a sword, he was positioned in the center of the barrow. It is all inference, of course, but my findings support my theory.”
“You don’t dig for the treasure,” Alexander said. “It’s the history that attracts you, isn’t it?”
Georgina nodded, her chin bumping against his palm. “I’m thrilled to have found something as beautiful as the helmet, but everything about the site fascinates me. I—I’ve drawn images of how I think the grave looked when its occupant was first buried. Do—do you wish to see them?”
Georgina’s hesitancy caused a dull thump in Alexander’s chest. She was expecting to be rejected—something he’d endured all too often.
“Of course.” And he wasn’t lying to make Georgina feel better. After watching how her face lit up when discussing the tomb, he wanted to see her artwork.
“Truly?” Georgina asked. “I won’t bore you? Percy is the only one who tolerates my babbling about the ancient world, and that’s just so he comprehends enough not to expose our ruse.”
Alexander gently turned Georgina in his arms so that they were facing each other. His hand still cupping her face, he gazed down into her warm brown eyes. “Last month when Percy dragged me to your dig site, I only saw scattered debris and shadows in that hole of yours. But you, Georgina, you perceived the past. Not just the history or the ancient objects, but the people, the reality that was. And I want a glimpse at what you envisage.”
Georgina pressed a giddy kiss against his mouth. Just as he was about to sink into it, she whirled around, tugging his hand and dragging him forward. “Come, then! I use my old bedroom as a study whenever I manage to slip away from my brother’s house—at least on the rainy days. On the sunny ones, I’m exploring the barrow.”
Alexander let her pull him through the cottage, their feet leaving clouds of dust as they ran. Ruffian Caesar padded after them, the wiry fringe on his legs growing increasingly gray. The stairs had a thinner coating of the powder, probably since Georgina used them from time to time to access the upper floor.
Her bedroom was a sizable room with a large window overlooking the mounds on the property. The drop cloths were neatly folded in a corner, the bed and desk uncovered. There were crates stacked along the wall with straw poking out of them. Perhaps she stored her finds in them. The shelves, though, were curiously empty, save for a few books. It did not look like a utilized room, yet then again, it was no longer a living space but a secret hideout.
“Here!” Georgina released his hand and grabbed a leather-bound journal from the small, scarred desk. She quickly flipped to a particular page and handed it to him. Georgina hadn’t just sketched the scene in black ink but had also captured it in paint. Alexander swore he could see the flickering light from the torches she’d drawn attached to the wooden beams holding up the burial structure. The glow illuminated objects piled in the tomb—a goblet made from the same stone as the snuffboxes, the bow of the boat, drinking horns, spears, and even a ceremonial ax. But she had put the most work into the deceased’s finery. The warrior-king lay in repose, the fierce helmet on his head, a linen cloak secured at his shoulder with clasps inlaid with the same banded stone as the drinking vessel. Around his middle, he wore an impressive belt made from the colorful precious gem, and in his hand, he clasped a dagger with a gilded handle.
“I feel like I’m peering into the barrow right before they sealed it.” Alexander leaned closer to her masterpiece.
Georgina’s studious expression melted into a radiant beam. “Would you like to see more?”
“Yes,” Alexander said, not sure if he meant her research or her grin.
With almost childlike enthusiasm, Georgina unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Alexander laughed and joined her, resting his back against the wall. They could have gone downstairs and uncovered some suitable pieces of furniture, but this simply felt right. This—this was the place where she’d fantasized about the past, and it only made sense to share those dreams here.
They stayed huddled together, their heads bent over her journal and Ruffian Caesar snoring at their feet, until the candle that Georgina had lit flickered out. Alexander couldn’t believe the time had passed so quickly while talking about history of all things. But the manner in which Georgina described her discoveries—how she considered not just the kings and warriors but the metalworkers, potters, and miners—made the past burst to life. And Alexander loved listening to how she employed her endless logic to speculate on the significance of finds as small as a shard of pottery.
“Thank you,” Georgina said as Alexander heard her close her journal. “No one has ever listened so long to me—not since Papa passed.”
“You should be lecturing in front of the Antiquarians of England Society,” Alexander said.
Georgina sighed. “When I wrote under my real name, no one would read my work. Hence Percy. I wouldn’t even be able to cross the Society’s threshold.”
“It isn’t fair,” Alexander said, even though he knew she was fully aware of the fact. Sometimes it helped to have inequities finally acknowledged.
“I’ve made some sort of peace with it.” Georgina rose stiffly to her feet and lit another candle as Ruffian Caesar nosed at her skirts. She cleared her throat, signaling a change in subject. “We best head to bed. It has been a long day. You can sleep in my father’s old room, if you would like.”
“If you permit, I would prefer to stay here—”
“Pardon?” Georgina’s brown eyes had grown as large as a seal pup’s. Yet beneath her shock, was there a shimmer of excitement?
“On the floor. For safety. In case the villain who shot at us returns.” Dash it all, he was doing a deuced terrible job at explaining. But the thrill in her gaze made coherent thought impossible.
“Oh,” Georgina said.
Alexander thought he detected a bit of disappointment, but he didn’t want to explore it. Given the nature of a rope bed and a feather tick mattress, they’d end up entangled in each other’s limbs the entire night. And that… that might just snap both of their fragile control. Tonight he didn’t feel capable of exploring with just his mouth.
“I only need a pillow and a blanket,” Alexander lied. Given how badly his entire leg was aching, he really required a softer surface. But he certainly would not have Georgina sleeping on the floor.
Despite their intimate embraces only that afternoon, an awkwardness descended over them. Georgina hastily left the room with Ruffian Caesar trailing after her. When they returned, she had an armful of bedding. Georgina and Alexander didn’t talk much while he made a pallet on the floor. As soon as he finished, she blew out the candle, plunging them into darkness. Tension swirled through the air, and the unforgiving floorboards weren’t the only hardness that Alexander had to contend with. When Georgina’s breathing eventually turned gentle, steady with sleep, the sound nearly drove him mad as he imagined what he could do to quicken her exhalations.
He wanted to toss about in frustration, but he didn’t want to risk waking Georgina. Instead, he lay there stiffly until sleep overtook him. Unfortunately, when slumber came, it was anything but restful.
“This will not do!” The duke’s voice was like a bone cracking—a sound that Alexander knew too well. “You promised that the foot would be fixed.”
“And it will. It will.” Dr. Smythe’s voice was so bloody calm. “This time I recommend breaking and resetting the leg to rebalance the whole.”
“But—but my leg is fine, Father!” Alexander cried out, his terror outweighing his better judgment.
“Silence!” Falcondale roared. “This is not for you to decide.”
But it’s my body. The thought screamed through Alexander.
“Do it,” the duke told Dr. Smythe.
“No!” Alexander grabbed his father’s arm in desperation. “Please. Don’t touch my leg!”
“What is this behavior?” His Grace tried to shake off Alexander’s grasp. There was not a single hint of compassion in his handsome, patrician visage. “Have some fortitude!”
“Alexander! Alexander! Wake up! Please wake up.”
Georgina’s voice. Calling through the darkness. Making him feel something. Like hope.
“Alexander?”
He blinked his eyes and found Georgina’s worried face hovering above him instead of his father’s stoic one. Still half caught in the dream world, he cupped her cheek.
“You were having a nightmare—” Georgina began to say, but Alexander barely registered the words. He was still mostly in the throes of the old, ugly memory. He only knew that she’d rescued him. Someone had finally stepped in.
He sat up and pressed his mouth against hers, wanting to blot out the pain and the past. Her lips went slack only for a moment before they moved just as furiously against his. Her hands moved across his back in wide, soothing circles. An emotional dam burst somewhere deep inside Alexander. He felt tears smart the back of his eyes as he hungrily accepted the comfort that she offered.
She seemed to instinctually understand what he needed. She gathered him to her in a close, tight embrace. The pressure both soothed and excited. When she slid onto his lap, he couldn’t stop the moan that erupted from deep inside him. Her lips left his, trailing across his cheek and lingering naughtily at his earlobe before burying in the hollow beneath his throat. His whole body shuddered with desire as her hands continued their gentle caresses.
He felt… wanted. Cherished even. And he thirsted for more.
They’d both worn just their white shirts and breeches to bed. He could feel her soft curves, the dip of her stomach between her rib cage and hips and the press of her bosom against him. But that still wasn’t enough.
And clearly wasn’t for her, either. Her mouth worked against his neck as she tugged insistently at his shirt. Thick and clumsy, his fingers worked furiously at the lacings. When the linen spread apart, she pulled the cloth over his head. Her lips left his body only long enough to discard the unwanted barrier. When her tongue teased his skin, he groaned, his entire being tight with need.
He pulled at the string of her shirt and then waited for her signal before continuing. She nodded as she kissed a path along his collarbone. She was ever inquisitive and thorough—his Miss Harrington of the Essex mud pit.
He loosened the ties, and his fingers skimmed against her breasts. She gasped and arched into his hands. The material slid to the side, and he lowered his mouth. Capturing her nipple between his lips, he accomplished one of the things he’d daydreamed about in the carriage ride. She cried out, and she pressed his head more firmly against her. She ground her hips into him, and he instinctually began to thrust.
That’s when his leg and foot muscles seized. He’d lived with the pain for years, but he still had trouble masking the agony from a series of horrible, sudden cramps. The yelp escaped him before he could stop it. He jerked away from her, his hands instinctually heading toward the knotted tissue.
“Alexander! Alexander! What is it?” Georgina’s voice was drenched with panic. Her hands no longer moved seductively but were engaged in a frenetic inventory of his body.
“Leg,” Alexander managed through clenched teeth, embarrassed by the tears of pain gathering in his eyes. Quickly, he buried his face in his own knees as he drew them against his bare chest. Georgina scuttled backward, giving him space to curl up. He rubbed along the tightened sinew and wished she wasn’t witnessing this. He’d even tried his best to hide these types of attacks from his sister and his best friend.
“Let me.” Georgina gently brushed his fingers aside. Before he could stop her, she’d pulled down his hose.
She made a startled sound from the back of her throat before she silenced it. Her reaction was rather muted compared to others’. After a stream of doctors had finished with cutting muscles and breaking bones, his right leg and foot were both scarred, lumpy, and mishappen. Ever since he was a lad, he wore padding to obscure the damage the alleged physicians and surgeons had wrought.
To Alexander’s shock, Georgina’s fingers pressed into his throbbing muscles. She… she was touching him! He glanced at her before remembering that he hadn’t wanted to observe the revulsion or pity on her face.
But he found neither. He only spied a look of concentration.
“Is this pressure acceptable?” Georgina asked matter-of-factly as if she was asking him if he preferred to eat carrots or peas for dinner. “I can deepen the massage if you desire.”
“A… a little harder, if you don’t mind,” Alexander admitted. The cool pads of her fingers felt good against his burning muscles, but the knot hadn’t begun to untwist.
As he watched her diligently knead his leg, a soft warmth washed over him. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone fussing over him. Charlotte hadn’t been allowed to “coddle” him, as his parents deemed it. There was an adorable fierceness to how Georgina rubbed his leg. She was so focused on helping him that she was gnawing her own bottom lip in concentration.
“Is it starting to feel better?” Georgina asked.
“Yes,” he spoke truthfully. “The tension is starting to leave.”
She moved onto another knot, and the searing pain dimmed into a dull throb. Some of the air that he’d been holding whooshed out of Alexander. “I can continue from here, Georgina. I don’t want you overworking your fingers. Then you’ll be the one dealing with a cramp.”
“I am fine,” Georgina said. As she settled into a rhythmic motion, an unusual sense of peace began to flow through Alexander. Her next words, however, drove the nascent harmony straight from him.
“Who…” Georgina stopped, her voice shaking with an emotion Alexander couldn’t identify. After an audible swallow, she continued in a steady, almost unyielding tone. “Who did this to you?”
“Numerous physicians—quacks, all of them. But the old duke believed their lies that they’d repair my clubfoot and make me into his perfect, undamaged heir.” Alexander tried to sound wry, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness. It seemed like this was a night for truths, whether he wanted it to be or not.
Georgina glanced at him, and the ferocity in his gaze caused him to freeze. He finally realized what had made her voice tremble. Rage. She was livid. Not at him, but for him.
“Your father is an addlepated fopdoodle.”
Despite all the old and new pain swirling inside him, Alexander snorted. “I rather like that insult.”
“I have more if you want: nincompoop, gowpenful-o’anything, lubberwort, smelfungus, saddle goose.”
A surprised laugh bubbled out from Alexander. He didn’t know a chuckle—even a slightly bitter one—was possible after awakening from one of those old nightmares. But Georgina had a way of making him feel better.
“Smelfungus. That might be my favorite.”
“It is a rather new one,” Georgina said with satisfied pride as she worked the muscles in his foot.
Alexander couldn’t help the fond smile drifting across his face any more than he could stop the sense of intimacy sweeping through him. It wasn’t just her touch—as personal as it was—but the words flowing from both of them.
“The duke considers himself enlightened albeit staunchly conservative,” Alexander said. “But he is not a man of reason, especially in regard to my foot. He considers it as retribution for a sin.”
“But you were born with a clubfoot!” Georgina protested indignantly. “Furthermore, you are one of the most upstanding persons whom I have ever met.”
Her compliment, along with her protective outrage, spurred him to share even more. Because, for once, he felt safe—safe with who he was. “It is not my transgression but that of my aunt’s.”
“Your aunt? That makes no sense.” Georgina’s fingers dug a little harder into his arch.
“In my father’s mind, it does. She is my mother’s identical twin, her very image. Right before Lottie’s and my birth, she ran away with a pirate. Father was horrified to be connected with such a scandal, and my paternal grandfather even more so. The late duke had not even wanted my parents to marry, since my maternal grandmother and great-aunt ran a salon. Father convinced his sire, and himself, that my mother otherwise came from good stock. I suppose Father felt guilty, which turned into anger and resentment. In his mind, he had besmirched the family’s name by his poor choice in a bride, and he made it clear to my mother as well.
“Then… then a few weeks later, in the thick of the hateful gossip, I arrived. Against the current scientific thought, he saw my clubfoot as a manifestation of God’s wrath for my aunt’s sins. He once again blamed my mother. It—it became an obsession for both of them. They tried everything to fix it, fix me. But it never worked, and they could never accept my body.”
Alexander’s throat tightened, and he couldn’t force out another word. But then Georgina glanced up at him, her fingers warm against his skin. He saw no condemnation and no pity either. Just compassion and a dawning understanding.
“They could never accept me.” The hideous truth that had haunted Alexander since his earliest memories finally escaped. It hurt, speaking it aloud, but not as much as keeping the pain dammed up.
Georgina held his gaze for several long beats, and in her eyes, he saw the acceptance that he’d always craved. Then, with a gentle smile, she bent over and kissed his leg—scars, uneven lumps, and all.
“How—how can you do that?” Alexander asked as an intense fluttering erupted in his chest. “It… it is not a pretty sight.”
“How can I not? It is part of you, after all.”
And with those words, Alexander fell hopelessly and utterly in love with Miss Georgina Harrington.