Divine (32 page)

Birthday in minus 17 days plus two hundred years

“O
ooooh, Lord Stratton,
such
a pleasure to meet you,” tittered Mrs. Withering in her muslin high-waisted dress and mismatched polyester gloves. She shot Georgiana a delighted look and then sank into what could only charitably be called an awkward curtsy.

Ever the gentleman, Sebastian gave Mrs. Withering his most earl-ish bow in return.

Hand tucked around Sebastian’s arm and wearing the same white muslin dress and blue spencer she had on when she passed through the portal, Georgiana smiled warmly at her friend.

“Miss Knight, how extraordinarily kind of you to bring an—
ahem
—earl to our meeting.” Miss Cartwright said
sotto voce
at her elbow. “He is most
dashing
. . .”

Miss Cartwright peered around Georgiana, stealing a peek at Sebastian, and then gave a happy little sigh.

Honestly, a group of debutantes and match-making mamas at Almack’s could not have been more obvious.

Was there a group of women anywhere who did not go into a collective swoon at the sight of a man in tight breeches?

Every. Single. Time.

Sebastian’s arrival at the Bosom Companions of the English Regency reenactment group had been nothing short of an earth-moving upheaval. The group had always been slim on male members, particularly those under the age of fifty-five.

The eleven ladies and three elderly gentlemen had spent the first five minutes just gaping at Sebastian in his well-ironed and brushed green coat with its ivory waistcoat. Fawn-colored inexpressibles hugged his legs, disappearing into tassel-topped Hessian boots.

For his part, Sebastian had readily agreed to attend the meeting and had taken delight in dressing as the Earl of Stratton again. Relieved to do something he understood, that didn’t feel foreign and new. Georgiana had stared as he tied his neckcloth into a perfect mathematical. So precise and careful.

Tucking all of him back together into this wonderfully complex man.

She had to agree with all the ladies who now regarded him with decidedly starry eyes. He was most definitely swoon-worthy.

Sebastian caught Miss Cartwright’s gaze and winked. Georgiana nearly poked him in the ribs.

Impossible man.

Though she did clutch his arm tighter. It was in no way a sign of possessive jealousy. She just enjoyed being near him.

Well, there was perhaps the
smallest
amount of jealousy involved—a thought she was afraid to examine too closely.

“Well, Miss Knight, thank you for bringing us a most proper gentleman!” Mrs. Withering gave a giggle and clapped her hands in delight, looking around the old medieval guild hall where they met, making sure everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

“Ladies. Gentlemen.” Sebastian nodded in their direction. “It is indeed a pleasure to join you this evening. Miss Knight has been most lavish in her praise of your wonderful organization.”

And then he did his worst.

He gave them
that
smile.

The one that spread slowly and promised charm and kindness and good humor.

The smile that said
you
are all that matters to me.

His smile hit the room with all the subtly of a lightning bolt. Georgiana saw it instantly reflected on the faces of all those present.

That smile
incensed
her.

Sebastian should know better than to so cavalierly toss it about. Such bone-wilting charm could do some serious damage.

Captain Wilson cleared his throat first.

“Miss Knight has briefly regaled us with your ‘history,’ your lordship,” he said, obviously wanting to put air-quotes around the word
history
. “I understand you were part of the Eleventh Light Dragoons before becoming the Earl of Stratton. Didn’t the Eleventh Light Dragoons see action on the peninsula?”

Each member of the society had their own nineteenth century persona.

Mrs. Withering was the widow of a wealthy landowner. (“Imagine Mr. Darcy’s mother, were she still alive, bless her soul.”) Miss Cartwright was the precocious daughter of a vicar, patterning herself after Jane Austen. Captain Wilson was pensioned military. Mrs. Smith styled herself as Lady Ashton, the wife of a baron. Tonight, she had arrived with a new paid companion in tow—a tall girl with lovely brown eyes. Lady Ashton was the only twenty-first century person Georgiana had met who still employed a lady’s companion. It was odd, to say the least, listening to Lady Ashton chastise the girl for not fetching her laptop fast enough. The list went on around the room. Georgiana and Sebastian had opted to just be themselves.

“Yes, indeed Captain Wilson. We did see action on the peninsula. I was unfortunate to catch a bayonet from a Spanish loyalist in Portugal. Ugly wound that. I lay in a field hospital outside Porto for weeks afterward.”

Georgiana only barely stopped herself from wincing. Would she ever be okay thinking about him wounded and ill so far away?

“Capital, capital, my fine fellow.” Wilson clapped Sebastian on the shoulder, drawing him away from Georgiana. “I should love to swap tales of our adventures.”

Captain Wilson—actually Fred Wilson who owned a dry cleaning shop in Leominster—obviously considered Sebastian’s tale an excellent piece of fiction. For his part, Wilson was sometimes a captain in King George’s navy and, at others, an officer at Waterloo. It depended on his mood and which of his two uniforms he chose to wear. Wilson always found a way to wear his sword.

Tonight, he was naval Captain Wilson, complete with bicorn hat, gold epaulettes on the shoulders of his blue coat and a sword strapped around his waist. Deep in conversation—well, Wilson talking to Sebastian—the men drifted to the side of the room.

Georgiana found herself talking with Mr. Montrose (accountant by day, Regency dandy by night) who had detained her with concern over the care of
his
new rapier. Georgiana didn’t have the heart to tell him that wearing swords had gone out of style around 1790 for everyone but the military. But as Wilson wore a sword, Montrose insisted on sporting one too.

As she listened to Mr. Montrose, she watched Sebastian from the corner of her eye, strolling around the old whitewashed room with Wilson. He stopped to debate the age of the ancient ceiling beams with Lady Ashton and her companion and then paused before the flagstone fireplace to compliment Miss Cartwright’s embroidery.

Irresponsibly, whipping out that smile of his again and again.

When she had the chance, she grabbed his arm.

“You need to be more careful,” she muttered in his ear.

He instantly lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “I beg your pardon? Was I not kind enough about Miss Cartwright’s embroidery? The orange and purple roses are not to my taste, but—”

She gave him a decidedly unladylike elbow to his ribs.

“No, it’s your smile. You can’t just go tossing charm around like that.”

He gave a surprised burst of laughter.

“Like what?”

“Like—like its candy. Show some responsibility. Someone could get hurt.”

“Get hurt?” His face was now comically confused. “Because of my smile?”

“Yes!” she hissed.

He stared at her for a moment. Chuckled.

“You mean
this
smile.”

And then he did it again. That look spreading sweet and syrupy across his face.

The
nerve
of the man.

Georgiana had to clutch his arm a little tighter as her legs suddenly felt wobbly.

What right did he have to stand here and give her knee-liquefying smiles? The kind of smile that turned her insides to mush.

Wait, what?!

Oh dear
.

Georgiana nearly gasped as she examined her emotions.

He
did
turn her insides melty. Every. Last. Inch.

Of all the
terrifying
things . . .

Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Sebastian cocked his head questioningly.

The large, guild hall door crashed open.

“Georgiana!” A familiar voice called behind them.

She whirled around to see Shatner closing the door and walking toward her. His stride was all swagger, and he smiled, though the expression seemed a trifle forced.

“Georgie.”

“Shatner.” She was sure her eyes were wide, wide.

He sauntered up to her. “I knew I would catch you here, luv. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.”

He threw an arm around her shoulders, looking like he always did: tight t-shirt, tailored jacket, designer jeans. Hair studiously disheveled, chin stubbled. Though his scruffy beard seemed perhaps a titch longer than normal, his eyes blood-shot.

“Hey you,” she managed weakly, turning her eyes to Sebastian. He stared at them together. In particular, his gaze drifted to Shatner’s hand draped around her, eyes unreadable.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Shatner said, leaning into her ear. “I’ve really missed you.”

Georgiana still looked at Sebastian. Coming right after the realization of the depths of her affections for him, Shatner’s interruption was awkward.

The entire
situation
was awkward. Particularly as her knees were still decidedly wobbly.

And how was it Shatner seemed so much smaller. Thinner. Was it possible for a man to shrink in just a matter of days?

She wanted to send Shatner on his way, slide her hand into the crook of Sebastian’s arm and spend the rest of the evening basking in his bone-melting charm.

She knew she needed to break up with Shatner. Just to make it official. Her affection for him seemed so paltry now that Sebastian had taken up residence in her heart. Her heart pulsed in fast agreement with the thought.

But she had watched enough television to know the process probably wasn’t going to be quick. And she really didn’t want to spend the entire Bosom Companion meeting huddled outside in Shatner’s car listening to his (deserved) recriminations, all the while wondering if Miss Cartwright was succeeding in her flirtation with Sebastian.

Shatner apparently had other ideas. “Georgie, c’mon. We need to talk.”

With a hand on her shoulder, Shatner turned her around, drawing her toward the door.

“Shatner, this really isn’t a good time.” Georgiana tugged away from him. “I’m so sorry. Can I call you tomorrow—”

He whirled on her, his good humor slipping. “I’ve had enough of this little game, Georgiana.”

“Shatner—look—I’m really sorry. I’ll call—”

“Call me? You’ve been saying that for weeks now and I haven’t heard one single damn thing—”

“I know, I know—I’m really sorry. Things have been a little . . . complicated and—”

“And what, Georgie?” Shatner closed the small space between them. Grabbed her arm. “I thought we had something. I thought you cared—”

Someone cleared his throat loudly behind her.

“Are you in need of assistance, Miss Knight?” Sebastian’s deep bass sent goosebumps up her spine.

“No, she’s fine.” Shatner’s eyes did not leave her face. “She and I were just leaving—”

Georgiana pulled on her arm. “Shatner, seriously, this is really a bad time—”

She felt the strength of Sebastian’s body behind her finally drawing Shatner’s attention. Shatner raised his head and gave Sebastian a good long look.

“You!” Shatner nearly spat the word, moving past Georgiana to stand in front of Sebastian, hands on hips. “You again. You’ve been keeping her from me, haven’t you?” Shatner asked, voice taut.

Sebastian inched an eyebrow upward. Every line of him pure, carved aristocratic hauteur.

Intense Sebastian.

“I do believe Miss Knight is mature enough to know her own mind. If she has chosen not to contact you—”

“Who are you? Do you ever wear
normal
clothing?” Shatner raked him up and down with a derisive look.

Fluttering, Mrs. Withering intervened, ever the conscientious hostess.

“Mr. D’Avery, what a pleasant surprise.” Her tone indicating it was anything but. “May I introduce the Earl of Stratton—”

Shatner rolled his eyes heavenward. “Again with this
earl
nonsense. Do any of you take reality seriously?” He swept his arm to indicate the group of people now surrounding him. “I mean, you are grown-ups, but you traipse around in ridiculous clothing wearing damn swords. Why don’t you try living in the real world instead of some fantasy make believe?”

Shocked gasps echoed through the room.

“Really, D’Avery, a gentleman could demand satisfaction for such insulting words.” Captain Wilson strode forward to Sebastian’s side.

“Satisfaction?” Shatner stared at Wilson as if he had sprouted wings. Wilson drew his sword with an illustrative sibilant hiss.

“Are you kidding me? What in the bloody hell are you suggesting?” Shatner looked sufficiently outraged.

“Mr. D’Avery,” Sebastian said in his most repressing of tones. “As there are ladies present, I would politely ask you to moderate your language—”

“Language?” Shatner let loose a string of profanity that was decidedly educational in its depth and creativity.

Even Sebastian’s eyes widened in shock.

“Now see here, Mr. D’Avery,” Mr. Montrose said, joining them, sword tangling awkwardly with his coattails. “As Lord Stratton has said—”

“
Lord
Stratton can kiss my—”

Shatner bit off his sentence and lunged for Montrose’s rapier, whisking it out.

Everyone gasped.

“So what is this
satisfaction
you demand?” Shatner growled.

Mrs. Withering and Miss Cartwright clapped excitedly.

“Ooooooh, Miss Knight, how thrilling! You didn’t tell us you had arranged a duel too.” Mrs. Withering seemed poised to go off in raptures.

And then she let out a little scream of horror as Shatner swiped the sword at Sebastian’s head.

With thinly concealed contempt, Sebastian backed up a few paces. Casually, he shrugged out of his green coat and handed it to Miss Cartwright to hold. He then ran a finger around his neck, loosening his cravat. Even in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, he was a magnificent figure. Captain Wilson immediately handed his own sword to Sebastian.