Page 6

If Georgine recovered—no, when she was well—he meant to explore these conflicting feelings for the spirited bluestocking.

Even if the outcome wasn’t to his liking.

Three

Fernleigh House

Rose bedchamber

May 1819—evening

Georgine swallowed a moan.

She wasn’t dead then.

Dead people didn’t feel pain. So great was the agony thrumming in her shoulder that, for an instant, she wished she had expired.

Sweet Jesus, has someone impaled me with a molten fireplace poker?

Memories came flooding back.

Not stabbed—shot.

Sharp, throbbing heat radiated from the wound, and each breath sent a fresh, tormenting lance through her. An insidious, clawing pain dug into her flesh and refused to relent. Her feeble attempt to shift only worsened her discomfort, and a small, ragged gasp escaped her lips before she could suppress it.

Eyes closed, she struggled to recall the details of the shooting.

That blackguard Desmond and his thugs stormed into the garden, threatening Roxina and the others. Then Shelby Tellinger appeared—Robyn Fitzlloyd and Quentin Honeybrook too.

Georgine scrunched her eyebrows together, relieved when the minuscule movement did not cause another stab of agony.

Then what?

Oh, yes.

She remembered now.

Several volleys of gunfire had been exchanged, killing Desmond and one of his men.

Georgine vaguely recalled Aubriella exclaiming, “You’ve been shot, Georgie.”

How peculiar that I didn’t feel any pain in the garden, yet now this burning in my shoulder makes me nauseous and nearly causes me to swoon.

A tremor of consternation rippled through Georgine, making her break out in an icy sweat.

She had been shot.

Not merely grazed, but wounded severely enough to render her insensible. She remembered objecting to Robyn scooping her into his arms and racing toward the house, shouting orders, but nothing after that.

What if the bullet had shattered bone?

Had she lost the use of her arm?

What if an infection sets in?

Muted whispering roused Georgine further, but she didn’t have the strength to open her eyes at the moment.

“How is she?” a man asked, his tone low.