He glanced around as if to verify they were still alone. “Then it came to me.”
She wet her lips even as a shiver of apprehension raced along her spine. “What came to you?”
“That you can help the Cause.”
Georgina stared at him.
Jamie grasped her wrist and squeezed it in a manacle-like grip. “You see, the United Irishmen have had to divide our efforts between amassing our army and trying to find the names of those who would quash our efforts. I want the names of our enemies.”
She yanked her arm.
He held fast.
“You’d have me betray my husband and my country?” she demanded. “Why would I do that?”
He tightened his hold and she clamped her lips together to keep from crying out.
“Why, because your husband is far less faithful than you, my dear.”
A coldness settled in her heart. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself and rub warmth back into her body, but Jamie’s grip prevented movement.
At last, he let her wrist go. Her arm fell to her side.
“I see you understand. Her name is Grace Helling. She is the lovely woman in the sketchpad and,” he dropped his voice to a punishing whisper, “if the papers are to be believed, even more stunning than Helen of Troy.”
The muscles in her stomach tightened.
“And Mrs. Helling and your husband have resumed their relationship.” He spoke as casually as if discussing the weather yet each word was like a dagger being thrust into her heart. In and out. Twisting. Aching.
“You lie,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Oftentimes, yes. This is not one of those times. They appear to communicate through very personal, very detailed notes.”
Georgina’s breath hitched as she remembered Watson’s interruption. The note. Adam’s preoccupation. His annoyance with Georgina.
This time she did wrap her arms around her body. The agony of Jamie’s cruel revelation was so much greater than any physical pain. Every blow she’d taken paled when faced with this crushing loss. Her knees buckled and she caught the edge of the shelf to keep from falling.
“I expect you to help us,” Jamie said.
A bitter laugh bubbled up from her throat. She’d never help them.
“I want an answer, Georgina. Take some time to think on it. You’ll see for yourself that your husband is undeserving of your loyalty. When you realize that, I suspect you’ll help us.”
Then, as quickly as he’d come and shattered her world, Jamie left.
Georgina stood there staring after him, until his retreating form was no more.
She smothered a sob with her hand and sank to the floor, attempting to put together her overturned pile. Except her fingers trembled so badly, her efforts were in vain.
“Do you require any assistance, miss?”
She cried out, her nerves still frayed from Jamie’s sudden appearance.
A tall, elegantly clad stranger dropped to a knee beside her. From his perfect posture to the gold signet on his finger, everything about him fairly oozed refined nobility.
The shopkeeper hurried over, but the ominously handsome man waved him off.
It took a moment for Georgina to realize the merchant awaited a sign from her that she was indeed well.
A flood of heat rushed her cheeks. “I-I am fine,” she managed. “I-I was merely startled and tipped over my assortment of books.” It wasn’t altogether a lie. She’d been startled, but more by Jamie’s resurrection from the pits of hell.
The old shopkeeper moved on, leaving Georgina alone with the stranger. As she looked at him—at the unfashionably long, black hair, the expert cut of his midnight jacket, even the hard glint in his sapphire eyes—only one word came to mind: dark.
He continued his methodical work, reorganizing her books. A nervous laugh nearly strangled her. Noblemen weren’t supposed to see to such menial tasks…in old, unfrequented bookshops, no less.
He looked up from the neat, efficient stack he’d made. “What a large selection you’ve made, miss.”
Georgina didn’t comment.
He stood. “Considering our rather odd encounter, perhaps introductions are in order.” He bowed low at the waist. “The Duke of Aubrey.” The young duke held his hand out to assist her to her feet.
Georgina eyed it momentarily before placing her fingers in his. He helped her up and she reminded herself to curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She tried to place the Duke of Aubrey. Something about his title rang oddly familiar. She scoffed. It was utterly preposterous to think she knew anyone of this man’s lofty ranking.
She focused her attention on a book on the shelf. Though highly unlikely that anyone should discover the two of them in Ye Olde Bookshop, it would be a terrible scandal if she were caught clustered behind a bookcase with the illustrious duke.
Except the duke seemed of a different mind altogether and not at all inclined to simply take himself off and leave her to wallow in the misery of Jamie’s reappearance. “Have you read all these books, Miss…?”
Georgina froze on the next volume beneath her fingers. “Mrs. Markham,” she corrected. When he still appeared to have no intention of leaving, she sighed. “No, I have not read them all.”
He held up a single copy. The cracked, black leather showed an abundance of wear. “I highly recommend this copy.”
Geoffrey Keating—Foundation of Knowledge on Ireland. Her heart faltered then picked up speed. The duke’s words contained a subtle hint of knowingness. She fought back an insatiable urge to look around for Jamie. Had the Duke of Aubrey heard her and Jamie’s discussion?
Georgina forced herself to accept the copy, marveling that her fingers weren’t shaking. Their hands brushed and she jerked the book close to her chest. “Thank you for the recommendation.” She lowered her head and proceeded to study the title, willing him to leave.
Of course being a duke, the man was clearly accustomed to doing just as he pleased. “You are Adam Markham’s new bride.”
It wasn’t a question.
The bothersome noble tapped his chin. “I wonder that your husband has not joined you.”
A jolt of sick humiliation coursed through her.
Salvation came from an unexpected source. “He didn’t join her because his younger brother insisted on quality time with the lovely young woman.”
Georgina spun around, her eyes alighting on Tony. Like a conquering hero, he may as well have climbed off Pegasus with sword and shield in hand. He stood at the end of the row, arms folded in a mock nonchalance, though the tension in his tight smile hinted at the anger just below the surface. Of course, the disconcertingly perceptive Duke of Aubrey was too polite to point out that said “brother” had been suspiciously absent until now.
Tony sauntered down the aisle and stopped next to Georgina, bowing low at the waist. “Your Grace.”
The duke bowed in return. “You are Markham’s younger brother, I presume?”
Tony gave him a young, cocksure smile. “I am. Anthony Markham.” He looked pointedly down at Georgina’s scattered pile of books. “Were you able to find the book you sought?”