Divine (20 page)

“In the middle of the night? In breeches?”

Sebastian was, once more, shaking his head, hand still pressed between his eyes.

Georgiana almost rolled her eyes. “Well, of course! A skirt would have been far too confining, not to mention noisy—”

“Of course.” His voice a wonder of sarcasm. “Foolish me for not realizing. So the only logical thing to do, at that point, was to don pantaloons and prowl through the house?”

“Exactly!”

He gave a frustrated grunt and lifted his head to stare out the window. The muscles in his jaw jumped in the faint light.

Why had she never noticed his magnificent jawline? Like chiseled granite. Would it feel hard if she reached out and touched him?

She blinked.

Honestly, this was getting out of hand. The sooner this conversation ended, the better.

Maybe.

“Georgiana, I have half a mind to march you down to your brother’s bedchamber and allow him to deal—”

“You are not striking the proper tone here. I thought you were supposed to be the master of charm, the easy-going earl, always with a ready quip—”

“There is nothing humorous about this. I am a
soldier
, Georgiana. Trained to hunt and kill. And when I see clandestine figures in dark breeches, I assume that something nefarious is going on.”

“Yes, something nefarious
is
going on—”

“Georgiana, you are giving me a headache.” He went back to massaging his forehead with his fingers.

“Sebastian, you are entirely overreacting. It is perfectly normal to investigate when mysterious people leave one threatening notes in the middle of the night.”

“And the hand-to-hand combat maneuvers you have so skillfully demonstrated for me?”

“Well, a woman does need to be able to defend herself.”

He stood, still shaking his head in the moonlight.

“Instead of sneaking about on your own, why didn’t you wake me for help? Again, I’m a
soldier
. Fighting is what I have been
trained
to do.”

Oh.

Silence.

“I . . . uhm . . . didn’t think of that, actually. That might have been a good idea.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek.
Not
mesmerized by how the barely-there light skittered across his hand as he pressed his fingers between his eyes.

“Are you deliberately trying to drive me into an early grave?” His voice a weary sigh.

Sebastian nursed the bridge of his nose for another minute. She was talking in circles. Purposefully trying to confound him. He felt torn between kissing her witless and strangling her.

Somehow he had forgotten this was how Georgiana
regularly
made him feel.

“Calm down, Seb. I am a perfectly capable swimmer. ‘Tis not my fault the skiff sank. Though I am quite disappointed the lake monster turned out to be simply a submersed tree.”

“Oh Seb, don’t be ridiculous. The common English adder isn’t that venomous. How could I be Cleopatra mourning Marc Anthony without a snake?”

“Heavens, Seb, you are completely overreacting. The roof tiles were only slightly slippery from the rain. Besides, now your sister thinks the vicarage is haunted! Isn’t it diverting?”

He drew in a ragged breath, trying to calm his shaking nerves.

Blast!

He had seen the dark figure stealing down the hallway and had come prepared for battle. Every instinct tense, his heart pounding. Instead, he had found himself on the floor on top of a decidedly female form.

And then to realize that it was
Georgiana
.

His brain was still trying to deal with the shock.

The soft warmth of her body, the thrum of her pulse under his hands.

The sheer
smell
of her—roses and fresh air and something elusively Georgiana.

He had hugged her, to be sure, several days ago in the meadow, but that had been nothing to
this
. The entire experience seared into his brain.

He was utterly rattled.

He could have seriously hurt her. A part of him still wanted to throttle her.

Again, where had she
been
for the past year? He knew enough of combat to realize that someone, somewhere had trained her to fight. But why? And when?

This man that she possibly loved?

She had seemed so much the same old Georgiana that he had known: insatiably curious, imaginative, sunshine.

And yet, somehow, she wasn’t. He should have realized she would change too. Heaven knew the past several years had changed him. War had a way of doing that.

That said, Miss Georgiana Knight was most certainly hiding things from him.

Important
things, if he knew her.

“You mentioned something about a note?” he asked, lifting his head to look at her.

That
was a mistake.

She was impossibly lovely. Moonlight raked through the window, illuminating her hair which had slipped out of the dark cap she wore and was now coming out of its braid, giving her an impish, disheveled look. Her leather jacket was cut short and seemed to be edged with metal in the front. And the breeches . . .

The less he thought of
those
, the better. Where had she found this absurd outfit?

Too many questions. Far too many.

“Oh, the note.” She twisted and pulled a piece of foolscap from behind her. Did her breeches have pockets behind?

No. He was
not
going to think about her breeches. No, he was not.

She extended the foolscap to him and then laughed softly, pulling it back.

“There’s no light. You can’t read it. Basically, it says that unless I send you away, something bad will befall me. It’s actually fairly feeble as far as threats go, but it does include a drawing of a bloody dagger this time which is an improvement, I must say. The notes before this one were positively infantile—”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say notes? Plural?”

Georgiana blinked.

“Did I forget to mention that?”

Sebastian shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“Well—yes—this is the third note, you see. I received two others earlier this week, but they weren’t nearly as menacing. I mean, this one at least gave me gooseflesh. The dagger was a nice touch and—”

“Dagger?!” Sebastian was quite sure his voice raised an octave. It was
not
his most manly moment.

“Yes, as I said earlier, this note included a dagger—” His wide eyes clearly alarmed her. “—Not a real dagger, of course. Just a hand-drawn one. The blood dripping off it was a bit much. It all seems a little amateurish—”

“Amateurish? Georgie, any threat of physical violence—”

“A good menacing note needs to have a ring of specificity to it—”

“And a dagger doesn’t do that for you?”

“Well,
no
, quite frankly. Now pin the note to my bed frame
with
a blood-soaked dagger—
that
would give me chills for days.”

She shuddered just to emphasize the point.

Sebastian pressed fingertips against his temples. She was maddening.

She was killing him—slowly but surely shaving years off his life.

“Georgiana, did it not occur to you to
tell
anyone about this?”

More and more, Sebastian wanted to pound his head against the wall. Nice and slow.

Or strangle her. That thought was also proving attractive.

“Well, if the notes had smacked of a professional, I most certainly would have said something,” she continued. “I don’t know why you are so upset. I mean, it’s not as if you and I are betrothed, so the threats are entirely unfounded.”

Ah, back to
that
were they.

“I still intend to marry you, if only to stop—”

“You are
not
my protector, Sebastian. I am practically betrothed to someone else—”

“Of course, this nameless mystery man who is
such
a paragon of virtue—”

“Shatner cares deeply about me and—”

“Shatner? That is his last name? Shatner.”

There was a small silence.

“Shatner is his first name, Sebastian. Shatner D’Avery.”

Startled, he laughed. “Who names a child Shatner?”

A smile touched her lips. “I know, it’s a terrible name, but Shatner is a wonderful person, and I would appreciate you not mocking him.”

Sebastian paused. “Shatner D’Avery. Can’t say I have heard of anyone by that name.”

Georgiana laughed—a hollow, little sound. “You don’t exactly move in the same circles,” she said dryly.

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow.

“What do you mean? Is he not a gentleman?”

Georgiana let out an irritated puff of air. “Of course, he is a
gentleman
. He is a solicitor in London and does charity work. Just not a high and mighty earl—”

“Wait, he is a solicitor? You are considering marrying a solicitor?”

Georgiana stared at him, eyes pensive with a look that was vaguely . . . disappointed.

“Of all people, I would think
you
least likely to get caught up in ideas of rank and importance.”

“I don’t care if you marry a farmer, Georgiana. I am just surprised that a solicitor would capture your attention. That seems far too staid. I would have thought a pirate more to your taste.”

She gave a knowing chuckle. “Well, he is a decidedly dashing solicitor.”

Sebastian held up a staying hand. He did
not
want to hear Georgiana rhapsodize about Shatner D’Avery.

“Enough,” he said, glancing out the window. “Whoever left you that note must be long gone. Let me escort you back to your bed chamber.”

Georgiana made a disgusted noise.

“Heavens! I can most certainly make my way back to my bedchamber on my own.”

“I am well aware of that fact. However, you are just as likely to go traipsing through the gardens. Come.”

Despite her breeches, Sebastian placed a hand in the small of her back and walked with her back to the family wing.

All the while, pondering Shatner D’Avery. He had no recollection of ever hearing about a D’Avery family. It seemed unlikely she had met him in Italy, if she had indeed ever been in Italy.

All in all, it just did not add up.

But it was decidedly useful information to pass along to Phillips and the Bow Street Runner in London. And maybe finding this D’Avery fellow would also solve the problem of where exactly Georgiana had spent the last year.

Chapter 12

The drawing room

Haldon Manor

September 12, 1813

Birthday in minus 26 days

A
week. It had been a
week
.

Georgiana wrapped yet another minuscule paper ribbon around her quill, securing the end with a drop of glue to prevent the tight spiral from unraveling.

A week since she had received her last threatening note. Two weeks since seeing the glowing symbol on the garden wall. Nearly three weeks since returning to 1813.

And she was no closer to understanding the mysterious love letter than when she arrived.

And now it was September—she could write it at any moment.

If only she knew why. And to whom.

She pinched the quilled circle tightly on each side, morphing the circle into a marquis, diamond shape.

Twisting and molding tiny strips of paper had to be the most
ineffective
way to manage frustration. The entire process was an exercise in self-control. But she had no choice.

Done. She was almost done.

“Your design is most interesting, Miss Knight,” said Miss Michaelina Burbank at her elbow. Or was this one Mica? Another Miss Burbank lifted her head across the table and studied her work.

“Is it supposed to be the number four?” she asked. Georgiana was quite sure that she was Miss Micayla.

“Yes.” Georgiana nestled the small diamond shape into place within her design. “Or something very like it.”

The ladies exchanged a conspiratorial look and then went back to their own paper filigree. Marianne smiled indulgently from across the table. She was ornamenting a tea caddy with butterflies. Georgiana subtly flexed her shoulders, working out the stiffness in them. Though, thank goodness, she seemed to have redeveloped her back muscles. Lady-like posture wasn’t proving quite as much a strain.

Every day for the past week, Lady Michael had come with her brood. She had quickly capitalized on Marianne’s love of paper filigree, and now all the ladies sat about rolling thin strips of paper for hours on end, squeezing and teasing the small paper rolls into a variety of shapes.

It sounded
much
more exciting than it actually was.

Georgiana was going mad.

But the ladies kept coming, even Lady Ambrosia most days. Everyone hoping for a Sebastian-sighting so they could all flaunt their various charms in his direction. Lady Ambrosia being a particularly adept charm-flaunter.

Georgiana had been diligent in her chaperoning duties. Which meant, much to her dismay, many hours spent quilling and listening to the Miss Burbanks’ bickering. All to ensure Sebastian was never left alone with any other woman.