Chapter Sixteen
G eorgina had never experienced so many conflicting emotions. Even as her heart seemed nigh near to bursting with tenderness for Alexander, she simultaneously wanted to rip his mother and father into the teeniest, tiniest scraps.
“Do they…” Georgina trailed off, unsure of how to ask the question but needing to know if he was in any current danger. “Have they.…”
“Are you asking if I’ve suffered through surgeries as an adult?” Alexander asked, his voice so, so terribly kind, as if he was upset about worrying her.
Georgina swallowed at the burn of tears. She could not allow him to see any fall. He needed her strength and comfort, not the other way around.
“Yes,” she admitted, steeling herself for the answer. Afraid that he would notice the sheen in her eyes, she focused her gaze on his leg once more as she continued to knead it. She had never seen a clubfoot, but she had known instantly from the silvery, puckered scars studding his flesh that he’d suffered through numerous attempts to “repair” his limb. The cruelty was written on his body.
“Not since I left for university in Scotland,” Alexander said. “When I refused to see another surgeon or physician, Father cut my income. I must rely on him and Mother to select most of my belongings. That’s why I only have a curricle—it is a sporting, virile young man’s equipage.”
Georgina’s heart seemed to shift in her chest as she realized how thoroughly she had misjudged Alexander. She had thought him a frivolous rogue interested only in adventure. But she’d been wrong.
“Is—is that why you race? To prove something to your parents?” Georgina asked, finally able to glance back in Alexander’s direction. However, his eyes were focused upon some indeterminate spot on the floor.
“Initially.” Alexander’s normally jovial voice was starkly hollow. “That and shooting. I even approached Championess Quick in some vain hope that my parents might approve of me if I could manage to defend myself.”
A terrible ache spread through Georgina, and she wanted so badly to ease Alexander’s emptiness. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He lifted his head in her direction and even managed a weak smile. His constant cheerfulness was indeed his mask, and it hid even more pain than Georgina had suspected.
“But I truly do enjoy thundering down the road or hitting a target from a great distance. I made a vow years ago that I would never again try to win their affection or follow their whims. I listen to my own impulses now.” With each word, Alexander seemed to return more and more into his sunny, confident self. But how much was real, and how much was playacting?
“I absolutely refuse to participate in any of their schemes to protect the family lineage.” Alexander’s voice suddenly hardened, his now palpable anger bubbling to the surface. “They want me wedded and producing able-bodied male children of the right bloodlines.”
A new hurt stabbed through Charlotte with such force that she almost clutched at her chest. Snippets of old conversations flowed through her mind as their meaning suddenly became painfully clear.
What had the Duke of Falcondale said to her half brother the day that she’d overheard them talking in Algernon’s study? “… reputation is of the utmost…” He’d been talking about her marriageability. Of this, Charlotte was now certain.
And how had Algernon responded?
“Unbesmirched… Both her father and our mother’s lines… William the Conqueror…”
Back then she had wondered why a noble would be interested in wedding his son to an old maid. But Falcondale was focused only on blood, and she came from ancient stock.
Later, there’d been Alexander’s own reaction to their potential union.
I knew nothing of our planned betrothal until yesterday. My parents wished to finagle me into meeting you. I have rejected all their other attempts at matchmaking.
“That’s the reason you’re so determined not to wed. You no longer want to play a role in your parents’ schemes.” It made sense, Alexander’s desire to avoid the parson’s noose. His reasons were just as personal and deep-set as hers. But why did the realization shred her insides? She should feel relief, not this awful turmoil.
“I’m not opposed to all matrimony—just one that would please my parents. Sometimes I’m of half a mind to run away with a piratess myself. I’d love to witness the expression on my mother’s and father’s faces then.” Alexander’s jovial mask had snapped back into place, and his smile cut more than any scowl ever could.
It wasn’t all marriage that he wished to escape but one with her. Oh, Georgina intellectually comprehended that he meant every woman of similar lineage and class, but the rejection felt damnably personal.
Alexander didn’t seem to realize what he’d just admitted. But he was wrestling with old, crushing memories. And why would he even suspect that his statement could hurt?
She and Alexander had been clear from the beginning that neither wanted marriage to the other. But lately… today even… Georgina’s heart felt differently. No, it wasn’t just that fickle, emotional center that had changed. Her mind was being swayed, too. Alexander wasn’t a careless gadabout or a self-absorbed rascal. He was kind and thoughtful, and absolutely nothing like her half brother. Alexander had showed a true interest in her research in a way no other man had except her father. History might not be Alexander’s passion, but he’d never discourage her love for it.
But just when some part of Georgina had begun to consider Alexander as a real partner, she had to face the truth that she wasn’t the ideal person for him. After all he’d suffered for his father’s pursuit of the perfect heir, she understood his refusal to enter into a marriage that could possibly produce just that. She could not, would not, pressure him.
“Thank you,” Alexander said softly. “Not just for the massage but for listening. I’ve never felt this much peace after a nightmare. Normally, I’m in turmoil for the rest of the night.”
Oh, why did Alexander have to say those words? To make it sound as if something special had arisen between the two of them?
Georgina had to barricade her heart, but she couldn’t start tonight. She didn’t want to push Alexander away when they were both hurting. They had a connection, even if it might not be forever. He needed comfort, and she needed to soothe.
Georgina reached for Alexander. She could feel the heat and strength of his body—an athlete’s physique. But the power in his frame didn’t make him impervious to hurt.
“I’m glad I can be here for you right now,” Georgina whispered in his ear.
He gathered her close, burying his face against the crook of her shoulder. She ran her hands down the muscles of his back, letting her touch console them both. His parents may have hurt him, but they hadn’t destroyed him.
“Can I kiss you again, Georgina?” Alexander’s voice was low and heartbreakingly earnest.
She should say no. To protect herself, that was the right choice. But she couldn’t deny either of them this moment.
“Yes.”
His lips touched hers, soft and light as eiderdown. It was nothing like the hungry kisses they’d exchanged earlier. Yet somehow it affected her the most.
She allowed the embrace to overtake her worries, and she felt like she was sinking into a freshly heated, rose-scented bath. Beneath her palms, Alexander’s muscles uncoiled. His hand gently cupped her cheek, and in that moment, she experienced the forgotten sense of what it was like to be cherished. She wanted to stay here, in this moment, with Alexander.
But that wasn’t to be. They had different goals and different wants.
Yet tonight, they needed the same thing. Comfort. Acceptance. Each other.
When they broke apart, Georgina stood and tugged Alexander’s hand. “Sleep next to me. Staying on the floor cannot be good for your leg.”
Alexander glanced at her bed dubiously. “With my heft, you’ll definitely roll toward me, and we’ll be stuck in the middle together.”
A dangerous place indeed. But Georgina had never been a coward.
“Come on.” She gently gave another pull. “It’s just for resting. It’s too late for anything else.”
Alexander made a sound that indicated that he didn’t fully ascribe to her reasoning, but he didn’t try to prove her wrong. Instead, he allowed her to help him to his feet. He limped woodenly to the feather tick, but he didn’t lean on her.
When he flopped onto the mattress, he heaved out a sigh that filled her room. Smiling, she tried to focus on the humor of the situation and not on the lust prancing merrily through her body. As soon as she climbed onto the rope bed, the soft bedding immediately collapsed under her. She slid, with more speed than she’d even anticipated, straight into Alexander’s exceedingly warm and exceedingly hard chest.
He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hold. “I feel better now. At peace even.”
Georgina was experiencing the exact opposite. Sharp, needy want shot through her, and she had to fight the urge to kiss him.
“I’m glad you’re comforted,” Georgina said truthfully, even as she tried to steady her own wild heartbeat.
A few minutes later, a soft, gentle snore emanated from Alexander. Then another.
His ability to tumble into sleep didn’t surprise her. He’d been in a lot of pain, and he must have felt exhausted when his body had finally relaxed. Georgina was glad one of them was getting rest tonight.
Because she certainly was not.
But maybe it was for the best that slumber escaped her. She could savor this moment of lying abed in Alexander’s arms—a chance she would likely never have again. For once they found Percy, they would permanently part ways.
“These scraps of metal were part of a boat, then?” Alexander asked as Georgina shone her lantern directly on one of the pieces she’d just unearthed.
They didn’t have much time for digging, but she hadn’t been able to resist showing him the site again. Luckily, she knew a spot where most of the rivets lay, and it hadn’t taken long to excavate one. The rest were safely stored in an old cruck barn by the main house, along with her other finds that weren’t tucked away in her former bedroom in the cottage.
“I believe they once held together the planks of a ship,” Georgina confirmed.
“It is astonishing to think of an entire vessel being buried under the ground.” Alexander started to reach for the piece and then stopped. “Is it acceptable for me to touch it?”
“Very gently,” Georgina instructed. “It is more fragile than you would think. It is amazing it has survived so long.”
Georgina watched closely as Alexander very, very gingerly stroked one finger against the brittle iron. His face shone with the reverence that the antiquity deserved. And in that single moment, Georgina sank even further into a wellspring of affection for Alexander.
“It is much different seeing history like this than reading it in some musty tome. I can’t help but think of the long-forgotten hands that forged this metalwork.” Alexander gave the fragment one last stroke before he slowly rose.
“That is precisely what draws me to ancient objects. It is not so much the gold and the jewels, but the history of those who made and used such pieces,” Georgina said. “And thank you for being so careful. Percy never asks before touching. He’s unexpectedly clumsy, too.”
Georgina uttered the last sentence unthinkingly, but once the words left her mouth, a deluge of sorrow slammed into her. Perhaps Percy would never again plague her with his rambunctious presence. Right now, if his laughing face appeared above her, she’d let him touch whatever piece he wanted.
“We’ll find him.” Alexander laid his hand upon Georgina’s shoulder, immediately understanding the weighty silence that had filled the opened tomb.
Georgina drew in her breath and gave an officious nod. Wallowing in grief and worry wouldn’t save Percy… or bring his attackers to justice.
“We should search for the source of the many-hued gemstone,” Georgina said, her voice almost martial.
“You ascend the ladder first.” Alexander stepped back to allow her to pass. “I’m afraid it will take me a bit of time.”
Still wearing her men’s attire, Georgina scrambled up the wooden frame with even more alacrity than usual. She and Alexander had debated if it was riskier for her to wear skirts or the disguise, especially since someone was more likely to recognize her in Essex. In the end, they’d decided that a local would more readily notice that she was unchaperoned compared to realizing that a “man” was actually her. People generally accepted what they saw, and she wasn’t particularly close to any of the nearby gentry. Her workers might identify her, but they’d be tightlipped.
Alexander’s head had just appeared over the top of the pit when Georgina heard an unusual sound for her little plot of land: the clop of horses’ hooves. By the sound, there was more than one steed. Tossing his cane up first, Alexander heaved himself from the barrow. As soon as he rose to his feet, he pulled his pistol from his bandolier and angled his body between her and the approaching riders.
“There’s no need to shield me,” Georgina protested.
“I want to,” Alexander replied, matter-of-factly.
Georgina was about to ask what if she wanted to protect him, too. But before she could, three mounted figures appeared from a dip in the landscape. The horses were all well-formed, expensive equines, and the men wore gentlemen’s garb. These were not ordinary cutthroats, but that did not make them any less dangerous. After all, Percy probably wasn’t taken by ordinary footpads. The trio was still too far away for Georgina to distinguish faces, but they each possessed a distinctive build. One rider was massive with broad shoulders akin to a knight of old. Beside him was a shorter slight fellow, while the final interloper was tall and reedy.
As they drew closer, Alexander surreptitiously eased his pistol into his coat pocket, but Georgina noticed that he did not change his grip. It took her a few moments longer to recognize the men. Surprise crashed into her, and she was exceedingly glad to be wearing her male disguise.
Her father’s old rival, the Duke of Foxglen, was in the middle with the scholarly Lord Clifville on one side and his grandson, Lord Malbarry, on the other. They were an odd group to find outside London, although she supposed that they all had connections to Essex. Yet, the duke’s estate was not particularly close, nor was Clifville’s. Perhaps they were staying at the local inn, as she could not imagine His Grace traveling far on horseback. In fact, she did not recall him riding much during his visits with her father even over a decade ago.
There was one reason, and one reason only, why Foxglen would choose to trot over the countryside rather than sit comfortably in his well-appointed coach. The duke wanted to explore her land in a way he couldn’t by carriage.
Georgina marched forward, determined to make it over the small hillock still between her and the invaders to her domain. The gentle swell in the landscape would obscure her pit, something she did not want the three to witness. She would not allow anyone to steal her find. If she had to fire Alexander’s gun to frighten them away, then so be it.
“Mr. Harrington!” Alexander called out, clearly upset by her charge.
She did not heed him. She had her and her father’s legacy to protect.
Freed from the confines of swirling skirts, she found that she could sprint exceedingly fast. She safely made it over and down the small rise. She almost stood with her arms akimbo but recalled at the last minute that the pose was often associated with women. Instead, she spread out her feet, trying to make her frame appear as large and intimidating as possible. She really should have grabbed one of Alexander’s pistols.
“Mr. Harrington! What are you doing here?” Lord Clifville called out first, his voice cheerful and neighborly.
She was not charmed. “I should be the one originating the inquiries. Why are the three of you on my—” Georgina paused, almost realizing too late her assumed identity. She quickly added, “cousin’s land.”
“Miss Harrington invited us,” the duke said confidently as he drew his ridiculously large mount to a stop in front of Georgina. His grandson sent him a quelling look, probably because he recognized the lie.
Georgina made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. “I am fully aware of who my cousin invites onto her land. You are not among them.”
The older man straightened his back as if commanding every dukely fiber in his being to stand at attention. Some would say he appeared regal, but Georgina had little use for such airs.
Lord Clifville glanced at Foxglen in befuddled concern. “You said you were invited. That is why I agreed to come see if this is where Lord Percy unearthed the helmet.”
Lord Clifville turned back to Georgina to further explain. “You see, I have been very intrigued by Lord Percy’s find, which I assumed would be on his ancestral land. But His Grace mentioned that Lord Percy’s maternal uncle had purchased property with intriguing mounds on it sometime before his death. I just had to see for myself if one could be the barrow that contained such a marvelous treasure.”
“ Pffft. Of course we are welcome here.” Foxglen waved his hand dismissively as he otherwise ignored Lord Clifville’s impassioned speech. “I am an old friend of Miss Harrington’s father.”
“You were rivals, and barely civil ones at that by the end of my uncle’s life.” Georgina’s voice started to go high at the end, but she quickly lowered the register. The duke and the earl didn’t appear to notice, but Malbarry’s gaze bored into her.
“I will not stand here and be maligned!” the duke protested. “Who are you to judge the relationship of your elders? You’re just a young upstart with more sense of importance than actual substance. You don’t even possess a title.”
“I don’t need one to defend my cousin’s own land.” Georgina had to work hard to keep her voice sounding masculine despite the anger sweeping through her.
“Mr. Harrington makes a salient point,” Lord Malbarry said, a calm and conciliatory contrast to his grandfather. Not a single emotion flitted across his countenance as he spoke with a dispassion that was at odds with everyone else’s heightened emotions.
Foxglen whirled on his stoic heir. “I have reared you better than to question authority.”
“I may be a cheeky fellow myself, but it appears to me that Mr. Harrington is the one with the law on his side.” Alexander was slightly out of breath as he joined them, but his voice remained relentlessly cheerful.
“But I am—”
“The Duke of Foxglen,” Alexander finished for him. “A very laudable title that harkens back nearly to the days of William the Conqueror. Yet I do not believe that even your impressively ancient letter of patent includes the right to freely trespass wherever you wish.”
The duke’s lips twitched with palpable displeasure while he pointedly directed his gaze toward Alexander’s cane. Protective anger flared through Georgina. How many times had Alexander endured similar speaking glances, including from his own parents, the people who were supposed to defend him the most?
“I would be surprised that your father had not curbed your glib tongue and instilled better respect in you, but then I’ve heard you’re a perennial disappointment.” Foxglen’s voice had obtained a brittle quality as rage seemed ready to break through his control at any moment.
“That is an unfair assessment of—” Georgina began to protest.
“Your Grace, perhaps it would be best if—” Lord Malbarry said in that quiet tone of his. It was telling how he used his grandfather’s public title instead of a familial name.
Even Lord Clifville attempted to relieve the tension with a clumsy apology that would have been more suitable earlier. “I am exceedingly sorry. I truly thought we had permiss—”
But it turned out that none of them needed to come to Alexander’s defense. He already had his arsenal of wit.
“A disappointment is precisely what I endeavor to be. It is so much more fun than trying to live up to expectations, don’t you think?”
The duke appeared downright apoplectic. Malbarry stepped closer to his grandfather, his expression dutiful. “Your Grace, you mustn’t give over to anger like this. Remember what the physician said after your last—”
“I told you not to speak of it,” Foxglen snarled. “Who are you to offer me advice? Have you still not learned your place?”
Was the duke in poor health? He had always been a presumptuous man who thought he should be more respected as an antiquarian than Georgina’s father simply because he bore a prestigious title. It did not seem out of character for him to boldly strut onto her land to claim her discovery as his own, but he seemed even more bellicose than she’d recalled. He’d always possessed an almost lethal disdain, but before, he’d wrapped it under more layers of dignity. Had ill health and perhaps impending death made him thirsty to leave a legacy? Finding Arthur’s helmet would certainly ensure fame even after death.
“I am only saying that we should be careful, Your Grace,” Malbarry said, remaining utterly calm and gracious despite his grandfather’s cutting words. “I am thinking of the reputation of the dukedom. It would do no good if anyone learned that we were chased away under the threat of gunfire from the land of a daughter of a mere fourth son.”
“Gunfire?” Lord Clifville blinked, looking a bit like a slumberous owl disturbed in its roost. “Why would you mention that?”
Malbarry nodded to Alexander’s coat pocket, where the decorative handle of Alexander’s pistol was visible. “Lord Heathford is armed and is a very keen shot.”
Georgina glanced over at Alexander for his reaction. She didn’t think he was particularly friendly with the reserved marquess, so how would Malbarry know about his prowess with a pistol? Had he been their assailant yesterday? Or was Alexander’s talent simply well known?
“Will you shoot at us?” Lord Clifville asked, sounding oddly eager.
“Pardon?” Alexander asked, clearly as confused as Georgina was by Lord Clifville’s reaction.
“A warning volley, I mean. I wouldn’t actually like a gun trained at my person. But over my head, at a safe distance, would be exceedingly thrilling. I could better understand the chaos of battle—for research purposes, of course.” Lord Clifville spoke with a cheerful earnestness that did not contain even a hint of sarcasm.
“You wish for me to discharge a weapon in your general direction for research purposes?” Alexander asked, disbelief drenching his voice.
“Have you entirely lost your senses?” Foxglen snapped. Lord Clifville’s ridiculous statement had evidently chased away the duke’s anger and replaced it with patent incredulity.
Even the dispassionate Malbarry looked disgusted. “How privileged is your existence that you would consider coming under fire a lark? Do you realize how many people of all races and backgrounds are dying around the globe because of our war with France, Russia, and Austria? If you wish to experience battle, join that conflict.”
Georgina’s estimation of Lord Clifville dropped precipitously. The man was more fool than scholar.
Lord Clifville seemed unperturbed by Malbarry’s criticism. “It is not necessary for me to actually participate in a fight. I just wish to understand the feel of it. Besides, it was not me who decided to face danger today. His Grace is the one who hoodwinked me into engaging in the crime of trespass.”
“I thought you were an intelligent man even if too given to woolgathering. I see, now, that I have assessed you wrongly. I no longer wish to collaborate with you.” Foxglen managed to look down his nose at Clifville despite being much shorter, even on his huge mount.
“Are you here together to steal my—Lord Percy’s discovery?” Georgina stepped forward as renewed anger coursed through her. “How much of your scholarship is purloined from others?”
Lord Clifville smacked his hand against his chest so hard that his body swayed a bit in the saddle. “I never poach from others! My findings are all my own.”
“How dare you malign me!” Foxglen snapped. “My body of work shall be my legacy along with the dukedom.”
“Then prove you are not here for some nefarious purpose. Turn around and leave!” Georgina barely managed to keep her voice deep. The outrage pumping through her naturally raised her tone, but she battled against it.
“Your Grace, there is nothing more to do here,” Malbarry said. “It is best we depart. We still have to travel northeast for some distance to reach your holding.”
“I, for one, plan to leave. I will not have my honor further besmirched.” Lord Clifville’s narrow chest had puffed out to an absurd degree.
“Very well,” Foxglen said. “I came for a friendly visit, but I will not remain with such ungracious hosts. Let’s return to the inn for luncheon. I’d rather sup with the odious Lord Henry Talbot than consort with these ingrates.”
Even the mention of the belligerent Lord Henry did not dim Georgina’s immense relief as the three men turned their steeds around and headed back toward the main road. Still, she could not move from her position. Alexander did not urge her, either. Instead, he stood by her side as a salty breeze from the sea buffeted them. Only as the minutes passed did he reach out, his warm fingers curling around hers.
She should withdraw. She had to start their separation sometime.
But she couldn’t. Not now. Not when she needed his quiet but steady support. Her heart knew this would only make it harder on her when they parted ways, yet she’d face future pain to have this moment now.