“Mrs. Markham!” Suzanne cried, pulling her back just as a phaeton came whirring by.
The fog lifted and Georgina crashed to the ground. She landed on the pavement with a pained oomph. The passing horses kicked a spray of dust and dirt into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
Several gentlemen hurried forward to offer their assistance, but Georgina climbed to her feet before they could reach her. Throwing propriety to the proverbial wind, she raced to the opened carriage door and allowed the tiger to assist her inside. Then, saints be preserved, the door closed, and she found herself alone with Suzanne.
“Are you all right?” Suzanne asked.
Georgina glanced out the window at the passing scenery. “I have a name for you,” she said. “Lord Ackerly.”
She didn’t answer the maid’s question, because Georgina had a sinking feeling she’d never be all right again.
*
For the first time in a fortnight, Adam hadn’t gone out to take dinner at his club or attend some other ton function. Seated behind his desk, he stared down at the note he’d received from his superior. It seemed Fitzmorris needed to meet with him on a matter of some urgency.
At a different point in his life, at a time before Georgina, those words would have galvanized him into motion. Now the whole blasted organization could go hang. Where had they been when he’d been taken captive? With their far-reaching influence, they’d been unable to spring him from Fox and Hunter’s clutches.
The only person he cared to see was his bloody wife.
So, of course, this would be the one night she’d gone out.
He pulled the watch fob from his jacket pocket and, for what was surely the hundredth time that day, consulted the piece. Thirty minutes past six.
Where in hell is she?
Folding up Fitzmorris’s note, he placed it inside the hidden compartment on his desk and rose.
Someone had to know where Georgina had gone.
“Watson!” he bellowed, striding out of the room. “Watson!”
He nearly collided with the old, graying man. “Yes, Mr. Markham?”
“Where in the hell is my wife?”
Watson angled his head as if Adam had just asked him to fetch the king’s crown and not the woman he was married to. A nugget of guilt jabbed at him. His disregard had been abundantly clear, not only to his family and the ton, but his staff as well.
“Watson?” Adam prodded with a trace of annoyance.
“She went out,” the butler blurted.
Adam briefly closed his eyes. “Yes, I had rather guessed that. Where has she gone?”
“A bookshop.”
“A bookshop?” Adam repeated.
Watson nodded. “Yes, a bookshop.”
Well, now that they’d cleared that away… “When did she go to the bookshop?”
The corners of Watson’s mouth tipped down ever so slightly. “I’m not sure sir.”
“You’re not sure?”
Watson nodded. “I wasn’t aware I was to keep track of Mrs. Markham’s whereabouts.”
Adam growled at his butler’s subtle disapproval.
For all anyone knew, his wife may as well have gone out hours ago. An inexplicable fear ate at him. He told himself to take a deep breath. When that made no difference in staving off his dread, he made himself take another. There had to be something more to Georgina’s absence. His heart slowed, panicked hurt blinding him.
Good God, what if she’s left me?
Adam pointed a finger at Watson. “I want my horse readied and the address of the establishment.”
Watson bowed his head. “Very well, sir.” He hurried to do Adam’s bidding.
Not even ten minutes later, Adam stood in the foyer, preparing to head out in pursuit of his wife when Watson opened the door.
Georgina swept through, her maid in tow.
She jerked to a stop at the sight of him. Her cloak was drawn tight about her, the billowing hood concealing her face.
His knees all but knocked together in relief. “Where did you go?” The harsh demand conveyed none of that to his wife, however.
Her body went rigid. “I went to a bookshop.” Her words were nearly lost in the muslin fabric of her cloak.
Watson made a move to retrieve it, but she waved him off and proceeded up the stairs.
Adam’s mouth fell open. Now that Georgina had returned, all his fears had abated, and he was left feeling more than a little foolish.
“Are you dismissing me?” he barked, taking the steps two at a time to keep up with her swift pace. He didn’t like his sweet wife discharging him as if he were nothing more than a wayward servant.
Georgina didn’t pause in her long, slow climb. “Please, Adam. You mustn’t pretend there is anything we have to talk about.”
Her words brought him up short and, by the time he’d collected his confounded emotions, Georgina had gone. The tall maid he’d employed for Georgina paused to shoot him a long, black look before hurrying after her mistress.
It was only as he stared bemusedly after them that he realized—Georgina hadn’t returned from her shopping with any purchases.
Doubts ran rampant.
Something was decidedly suspicious about his wife’s behavior, but Adam was too bloody confused too examine the reason for his apprehension. He couldn’t, however, turn a blind eye to her activities.
If she were betraying him again, God help her, because there would be no mercy on his part.
Chapter 25
Seated behind his desk, Adam stared down at the second letter Fitzmorris had sent round. There was a greater note of urgency in this missive. The other man requested an audience on the morrow. Adam sighed, tossing the sheet onto his desktop. He’d pay Fitzmorris a bloody visit and be done with him.
The day Adam had been dismissed from The Brethren, his role within the organization had been amputated. Like a petulant child, he delighted in ignoring their bloody summons. Except now, he needed the diversion, something to keep his mind from the state of bloody confusion Georgina had plunged him into.
Fighting the urge to bury his head in his hands, Adam gripped the side of his desk. He and Georgina had managed to co-exist in a relatively peaceful existence, which was a tremendous feat considering he’d wanted her thrown into Newgate not too long ago.
Now he didn’t know what he wanted for her.
Or them.
If Georgina had pleaded with him, professed her innocence, he suspected it would have fueled his hatred. She did none of those things. Rather, she moved through their household like a ghost. Her head lowered in an abject misery no one could possibly feign. It made him feel bloody guilty. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty over—it was Georgina who had deceived him—but it made no difference. His stomach roiled with agony until he wanted to reach for her, beg her forgiveness. Until he had to shake his head and think on the ludicrousness of such flawed thinking.
It is Georgina who should be pleading on her lovely knees for absolution.