Page 9

Four

Still in her bedchamber at Fernleigh House

Several unimaginably frantic heartbeats later

NO!

No, no, no.

I cannot bear the thought of being shackled to any man, but most especially that insufferable, controlling⁠—

Horror slowly unfurled in Georgine’s chest.

Her shoulder throbbed anew, a cruel reminder of her delicate condition.

Robyn must leave.

Not normally given to flying into a dither or entertaining nonsensical imaginations, she blamed her wound and the persistent pain on her elevated emotional state.

The bed shifted a fraction, as though he had moved nearer and bumped the mattress as he loomed above her.

A touch so light she might have fabricated it.

“I imagine the pain is nearly unbearable,” he said beneath his breath. “I would wager a swallow of brandy would not go amiss either.”

For him or her?

She would take more than a swallow, thank you very much. An unladylike gulp, or better yet, half a bottle. No, an entire bottle.

Not that she regularly indulged in strong spirits.

In truth, she had only ever tasted brandy once…

She had been fourteen, and her father had passed out in another drunken stupor, only this time, a few drops of brandy remained in his glass.

A rarity indeed, given his penchant for the spirit.

Curious to learn what about the strong spirit caused him to become an angry, violent monster, she had dared to taste the umber liquid. The brandy had burned hot and sharp upon her tongue, its bitter bite singeing her throat and leaving behind a cloying heaviness that made her cough.

Georgine had not liked the taste and had no desire to sample it again, but such was her pain at the moment, she would down a glass, coughing and sputtering, if the unpleasant liquor provided her with any relief.

She caught a whisper of movement, the faintest rasp of fabric, and then, impossibly gently, Robyn ghosted a calloused fingertip over the uninjured part of her arm, also wrapped to prevent movement.

Upon my word.

A goose trussed for Michaelmas supper could move more than she.

It took Georgine a moment to realize Robyn merely checked her injury.

Regardless, her breath caught, but she forced herself to remain still, to feign unconsciousness. She could not let him know she was awake—not when her mind swirled with indignation, not when outrage burned hotter than the pain in her shoulder.

Georgine prided herself on her ability to display decorum, even when not at her best. But as assuredly as she had been wounded, such control was beyond her at this moment.

Robyn cannot stay.

He absolutely cannot stay.

Suffocating and relentless, the night closed in, helplessness wrapping around Georgine like a shroud.