Divine (41 page)

Georgiana sighed. Just
such
a disappointment. “Very well, allow me to continue to fill in the gaps. I assume, based on what you said earlier about inheriting your title of Lord Zeus, that your father was Zeus before you. With his death, you took over the mantle. I’m guessing you had some sort of interaction with General Brock in Canada, enabling you to forge letters of recommendation. So, you made it back to England sooner rather than later, probably lying and blackmailing along the way. Gathering secrets. I’m guessing poor Miss Franklin last year was just another of your victims. You were blackmailing her and then killed her when she was no longer useful. Did her death force you to lay low for a while? Take your forged letters of recommendation and set off for the Channel Islands?”

Phillips sat stonily, coughed twice again. Saying nothing.

“And then you met Lord Stratton in the billet in Jersey. But why attach yourself to him?” Georgiana tapped her lips, thinking. “Obviously, you wanted money. And Stratton’s need to marry would have been a good opportunity. No, but I’m wondering if there isn’t more to it—”

“Revenge,” Blackwell interrupted.

“Ah yes, Bertie, it was definitely revenge,” Sir Henry agreed. “Knowing that GLIB was involved, we knew it must have something to do with old Lord Tangert. We spent most of this week discussing the matter with Stratton.”

“Precisely,” Blackwell agreed. “Tangert hated us—me, Sir Henry and the previous Lord Stratton, John Carew. We called him out for cheating, for injecting water into his gooseberries. Saw to it that he was banished from the Royal Gooseberry Show. Tangert was the type to seek revenge, even beyond the grave.”

Phillips sniffed and shifted to stare at the door beyond them.

“Ah, that makes more sense,” Georgiana agreed, gesturing toward the Captain and drawing his still-glazed eyes to her. “Clever, Phillips. Getting both money and revenge. Always a winning combination. What was the nature of the revenge?”

“Horrid,” Sir Henry rumbled. “Two weeks ago, Stratton sent his Bow Street Runner after the case. The Runner turned up evidence that Lord Harward’s death was anything but accidental. The carriage axle had been cut through causing it to snap, sending the carriage careening and killing Harward and his family.”

“How dreadful!” Georgiana gasped.

Phillips glared at them in hostile silence.

“So he then hunted down Sebastian as the heir?”

“No. We still think that was a coincidence. Phillips was just fleeing the nastiness of Miss Franklin and Lord Harward.”

Georgiana nodded. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Captain?”

Phillips merely clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

She shook her head and gestured toward him. “So let’s continue this story. You ferreted out some indiscretions in Lord Blackwell’s youth—we don’t need to know them, by the way, your lordship”—said as an aside to Blackwell—“and used that leverage to force him into helping you and Lady Ambrosia prevent Stratton from marrying. Once Stratton failed to meet the criterion outlined in the will, twenty thousand pounds would go to Blackwell and then on to you. Further avenging your father and giving you a nice nest egg.”

Still nothing from Phillips.

“And then you bludgeoned the Prince Regent to death and stole the royal jewels—”

“What the blazes?!” Phillips interjected, instantly sitting taller.

“Just wondering at what point you would contradict me. I take it everything else is true.”

Phillips ground his teeth, his pointed silence her answer.

“Well, this most certainly has been an entertaining evening,” Blackwell said. “We will need to bring Linwood and Knight into this matter. As magistrates, they will head up the rest of the investigation and prosecution.”

Sir Henry nodded. “Agreed, Bertie. It has been nice to finally get some answers and understand how Tangert has been involved with this mess.”

“Indeed, Sir Henry.” Georgiana shook her head. “Imagine it. Gooseberries were part of this whole mystery from the beginning. Who knew such an innocent little fruit could be so nefarious?”

Sir Henry gave his characteristic booming laugh, mustache twitching.

“Ah yes, m’dear,” he said affectionately, patting her arm. “Now you finally understand their captivating appeal.”

Chapter 26

The library

Stratton Hall

Warwickshire

October 7, 1813

Late evening before birthday

T
he fire had died low, casting the library into deep gloom. Only the candelabra at Sebastian’s elbow provided a small pool of light. After days of rain, the weather had finally lifted, leaving the night air chill, hinting at winter. The firelight flickered, casting weary shadows on the books and dark wood.

A large window to the left of the room rattled.

Sebastian had arrived only that afternoon. In his haste to rush to Lyndenbrooke, his horse had come up lame, forcing him to spend the previous night in a cramped inn.

Once arriving, he had gone first to Lyndenbrooke only to find Georgiana was not there. And, even worse, she had not visited Lyndenbrooke for years, since before her illness.

After his desperate, mad dash to reach her, the devastation—the depth of the deception—left him speechless.

The housekeeper at Lyndenbrooke must have thought him a little crazed, as he stood in stunned silence, dripping wet in the front vestibule, looking all too much like a fool. The pity in her eyes had
not
been flattering.

He had then ridden the two miles to Stratton Hall nearby. But with the late hour, returning immediately to Haldon Manor was not advisable. He would wait for first light.

He had come to the conclusion that the love letter was a dupe, obviously a decoy sent by Lord Zeus, luring Sebastian away from Haldon Manor before Georgiana ‘returned’ from Shropshire. Part of him was relieved she was still in the twenty-first century. At least, she was safe.

But . . . it also meant that Georgiana had not, in fact, returned.

The despair sat bitterly in his throat as he stared into the fire. For nearly thirty-six hours he had believed. Had thought she had returned to be with him. And then that letter . . .

That remarkable love letter—the one he had read in Duir Cottage, tucked into its plastic sleeve—to believe it had been meant for him all along.

The searing joy of it had been . . . indescribable.

Like a sunburst in his chest.

It had taken a while to resume breathing after reading it.

He had tucked it into his greatcoat pocket and then hurriedly packed for Stratton Hall and Lyndenbrooke. But when he had arrived, neither the letter nor Georgiana were to be found.

And so here he was. Staring into the fire in his library.

Alone.

Georgiana-less.

Aching to hear her voice, the tripping sound of her bare feet. Still vainly hoping that the portal would work. That she would chose to leave James and the twenty-first century to share a life with him.

He leaned his head against the wingback chair, trying to relax into its comfort.

He would wait for her, would return to Haldon Manor and keep his vigil, all the while trying to track down Lord Zeus and unravel the conspiracy.

He hoped Lord Zeus would not remain a problem for much longer. It was his birthday tomorrow and, as Georgiana Knight was still centuries away, the money would likely go to the gooseberry societies. Sebastian needed to return to Haldon Manor, if only to monitor the circumstances.

Though, it had been nice to see his parents and sisters this evening. They had gathered to greet him soon after his arrival, his married sisters bringing husbands, nieces and nephews with them. Everyone had begged him to stay for his birthday, at least, before leaving for Haldon Manor. Perhaps he would consider it.

The heavy ache would not leave. He knew Georgiana cared, but did she care enough? Would she choose him?

Over everything and everyone else?

And even if she
did
choose him, would the portal let her through? Were their lives truly linked?

Sighing, he settled farther into the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dressed comfortably in fawn-colored trousers and loose shirtsleeves underneath a heavy blue brocade banyan. The nineteenth century forerunner to flannel pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt.

The window rattled again.

His subconscious registered the sound first, dismissing it. But then he remembered there was not a breath of wind outside.

What?

Warily, he stood and walked over to the window, intending to latch it more firmly. Only to see a familiar shape standing in his bushes, waving at him.

An impossibly beloved figure.

His heart stuttered to life.

Grinning widely, he opened the window and stared at Georgiana. Dressed in jeans, t-shirt, moto jacket and black beanie.

Despite the darkness of the night, it was like seeing the sun.

Hope flared through him, choking, effervescent.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, giving him a bow.

“Georgie! You scapegrace!”

“I was hoping to have a word with his lordship, the most
dashing
, devastatingly handsome Earl of Stratton and was told he might be in residence . . .”

“Horrid woman! Get yourself in here before you freeze to death.”

Chuckling, he reached down and helped her climb through the window, her hand decidedly chilled.

She was
here
. But how? When?

“I thought we agreed you would curtail your nighttime prowling.” He shook his head as he latched the window shut.

“True.” She gave him a decidedly unrepentant smile. “Consider this one last hurrah before I turn in my prowling sneakers.”

She had chosen to return. Did that mean she had decided to . . .

His train of thought abruptly fled. Georgiana had reached up and pulled the cap off her head, her glorious golden hair tumbling down her back.

Sebastian forgot how to breathe, much less anything else.

Lovely. So lovely.

Had it really only been two weeks since he had last seen her? It felt like a lifetime. Far too long.

His arms acted without conscious thought, tugging her to him. Georgiana clutched him instantly, pressed her cheek against his thin shirt. She sniffled, kneading his back with her hands.

It took a second for him to realize she was shaking. Hard.

“I have missed you so.” Her voice trembled.

“Georgie . . . darling . . . sweetheart,” he choked, gathering her closer, kissing her head.

And, suddenly, her hands were on his face, in his hair. He saw a flash of her tear-stained face before her mouth claimed his.

Hot, needing.

Desperate to somehow hold him closer.

She tasted of tears and hope. Loss and joy.

“Seb—oh, Seb—I—” she whispered. Kissing his mouth, his jaw, his eyes, his cheeks. Over and over.

She was here
! Georgiana Elizabeth Augusta Knight was here, in his arms, kissing as if she never intended to leave.

Happiness scoured him, seared with its intensity. Champagne bubbles in his blood.

Holding his head between her hands, she pulled back to gaze at him.

Eyes luminous pools, brimming with such wonder, such happiness.

With his thumb, he brushed a lingering tear off her trembling cheek. She still shook like a leaf.

“Can we move over to the fireplace? I am quite frozen,” she chattered.

“Poor darling!” He laughed and instantly swung her into his arms, carrying her over to the fireplace and setting her down. He turned and snatched a blanket from a corner cabinet as she crouched, warming her fingers. Face bathed in flickering amber light.

Smiling, he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and grasped her chilled hands in his, pulling her to her feet. Shamelessly using it as an excuse to pull her back to him. Again. He had been far too long without her in his arms.

“I can think of much more effective ways to warm your fingers,” he murmured against her hair.

Sighing, she slipped her hands inside his banyan and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into his chest. Her frigid palms burned like two firebrands on his back.

He returned the favor, engulfing her. Pressing one hand between her shoulder blades and sending the other into her hair. Breathing her in.

“Ah, Georgie.” Whispered in her ear. “My love.” Brushed her cheek. “Georgiana.”

Soft, so soft. Her lips were chilled, but Sebastian felt up to the task of warming them. He kissed her slowly, tenderly. Adoring how readily she kissed him in return. Savoring the rightness of her in his arms.

“Dearest, I was so worried. I got that letter and came rushing to Lyndenbrooke but—”

“Oh! That ridiculous love note!” She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Sebastian, I am so sorry you had to deal with that letter. Turns out, it was—”

“A forgery,” he readily finished. “Yes, I suspected as much when I didn’t find you here.”

“I was so stupid! I should have realized from the very beginning it was a forgery.”

“Darling, there is no need to berate yourself over it. It was an excellent mimicry of your handwriting—”