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Chapter Twenty

The carriage ride to the Cheviots’ that evening could have been worse. For some reason, Rafferty chose to accompany their decrepit coachman, up front, but his manner was as smooth and unremarkable as always.

She didn’t make the mistake of thinking his presence meant anything.

That kiss on the rooftops had the flavor of goodbye, and she knew deep in her heart that there was nothing she could do to change his mind.

She was just a silly girl with an oversized crush, and the sooner she got over it, the better.

She had no real choice, except to marry Andrew Salton.

The one saving grace was that it would drive Norah mad, though Georgie had no idea why.

Every time the name of Andrew Salton came up, Norah’s beautiful eyes would narrow and she’d start pinching.

As revenge, it left a lot to be desired, but at least it was something.

Rafferty didn’t want her to marry Salton either, though that made absolutely no sense.

He kept telling her she needed to find an upstanding young gentleman to wed, and Andrew was the perfect choice.

Tonight, she would flirt with all her might, convince him that she was the wife for him.

He was a kind, handsome man. She’d be lucky to marry him.

Except she couldn’t do it. If he loved her, she’d be a fool to reject him.

She’d never been preferred over her stunning sister, and it was a small triumph.

If she couldn’t have Rafferty, she could have a man who adored her.

The Cheviots’ cotillion was an absolute crush, always a sign of a great success, and Norah’s coterie of admirers immediately gathered around her, eager for a condescending word from the goddess.

Her father decamped to the card room, and her mother, once she’d obtained a partner for her younger daughter, followed suit, leaving Georgie momentarily stranded once the waltz had ended.

But Andrew Salton was there, with his handsome face and brown eyes and charm, swinging her into a waltz before she could decide what to do, and she surveyed him dispassionately as they whirled around the dance floor.

He was more traditionally handsome than Rafferty, broader, with an open, friendly face and a flattering manner that should have made her swoon in delight. The only man who made her swoon was Rafferty.

Not a simple problem to solve, she thought, as Andrew guided her around the dance floor. Fight for the man who’d never love her, or marry the man courting her assiduously. She’d be a fool to turn him down.

She glanced up at him, at his noble profile and the stubborn lock of hair that graced his forehead.

He was looking, quite intently, at something at the far side of the ballroom, and Georgie wondered what had caught his attention.

There was an expression on his face, one might almost say of yearning, and with the next turn of the dance she followed his gaze.

He was staring at Norah, surrounded by her suitors, with a look of such burning desire that she felt scorched. And Norah was looking back, the same longing on her face.

Georgie froze in the middle of the dance floor, and Andrew stumbled to a stop, his attention finally on her. “Is anything wrong, Miss Georgiana?”

It shouldn’t have hurt. She didn’t care about Andrew Salton—the fact that he loved her sister shouldn’t mean a thing. Everyone was in love with Norah—after all these years Georgie should be used to it.

But Rafferty knew. Rafferty told her she should marry someone who loved her—he knew that Andrew, like everyone else, preferred Norah.

“I believe my sister has something to say to you,” she said, standing perfectly still among the whirling couples.

He looked startled. “I doubt Miss Manning would have anything to impart to me—I barely know her.”

“Liar.” She used the word pleasantly enough. She pulled away from him and crossed the dance floor, avoiding the swirling couples. It wasn’t until she reached the hallway that she began to run.

Rafferty was playing dice with the other drivers, crouched on the sidewalk when one of the lookers-on said, “Coo, oo’s that there?”

He didn’t bother to look up. They’d been trying to distract him from his deeply ingrained habit of winning, and he wasn’t about to lose focus.

“One of them young ladies just ran out of the building and took off into the night,” the man said. “Wonder what she’s running from. Not safe out ’ere, if she ain’t careful.”

Rafferty dropped the dice and rose, ignoring the pile of coin at his feet, and stared around him. “Where?” he demanded. He couldn’t be lucky enough that it would be a perfect stranger—he knew it could only be Georgie, running straight into trouble once again.

“She ’eaded that way,” the man, nodding toward the east, and Rafferty wanted to groan. Of course she did, headed straight into Stiles’s territory without a backward glance.

“I’m out,” he said, starting after her.

“You’ll never catch ’er,” the man said. “She was running fast.”

Rafferty didn’t dignify that with an answer as he took off.

He’d been an idiot, letting down his guard.

He’d accompanied the carriage for one thing—to keep the Mannings, and Georgie in particular, safe from Billy Stiles and his men, and he’d assumed that as long as she was inside, he wouldn’t have to worry.

How could he have forgotten how headstrong she was—proper behavior wasn’t for the likes for Georgie

There was no sign of her when he turned the corner, and he let out a string of useless curses. Where did she think she was running to, alone in the chill night air? Hadn’t he warned her...?

If she thought she was heading home, then she didn’t have the sense God gave chickens.

But then, Georgie had proved herself to be totally lacking in sense, up to and including her declaration that she was going to marry him.

It had almost worked in his favor—if he’d left then, it would have freed him from his unlikely attachment and he could have devoted all his energies to finishing up with Billy Stiles.

He assumed he could still keep an eye on her to make certain she was safe until Stiles was done with.

Now she was lost somewhere in the darkness of the city, heading into the worst part of it, all the while he’d stood by and done nothing.

He was a fool, and he had no one to blame but himself.

He never should have gotten involved with her in the first place, never agreed to her stupid game, never chosen to be her butler, of all the ridiculous things.

It didn’t matter that it had given him access to Belding’s hiding place—he was beginning to think the legendary cache never existed, and he’d brought Billy’s wrath down on Georgie’s fair hair for nothing.

What would he do if Stiles caught her? Rafferty refused to think about it—he only knew he would rip Billy’s throat out if he put one finger on Georgie’s sweet body. Jesus, how did he get himself into such a mess? And where the bloody hell was Georgie?

Tears were blinding Georgie as she raced down the empty sidewalks.

It was a dark, cold night, with ominous clouds scuttering overhead, but she barely noticed, so intent was she in simply getting away.

She’d been such a fool, thinking Andrew Salton was hers to choose or discard at her whim.

Chances were that Rafferty was in love with Norah as well—he so clearly disliked her sister that it was probably the reverse side of love.

After all, what man was immune to Norah’s vaunted beauty?

Her breath was coming in sharp rasps, and she had a stitch in her side, so she began to slow her headlong pace, pressing her hand against her ribs.

A light mist had started falling, and she stopped to look around her, into the deep shrouds of darkness.

These streets were not well-lit, and they were deserted.

She’d thought she was heading toward her home, but nothing looked familiar, everything looked dark and dangerous.

And then she heard the footsteps, slow and steady, behind her, and she turned, certain it was Rafferty come to rescue her from her foolishness once again, only to falter at the sight of the giant who approached her.

He was bigger than Rafferty’s impressive height, broader, none of which mattered. What mattered was the huge knife he carried in his hand as he came directly at her.

She turned to run, not daring to waste time in screaming for help, but she was only a few feet away from him, and she felt his hand reach out, the knife slash through her beautiful dress, slowing her.

She did scream then, racing down the street with a sudden burst of speed, and for a moment she thought there was a chance she might outrun him.

Until a beefy hand came out and caught her arm, yanking her around to drive that vicious knife into her, when suddenly she was free, sprawling on the wet pavement, going down hard.

Two men were locked in a battle—she could see the fierce grimace on the giant who’d followed her, and Rafferty could be no match for him. She wanted to scream again, but she had no intention of distracting him.

“Run!” he panted as he knocked the monster to the ground.

But Georgie wasn’t going anywhere. Either Rafferty would win, and protect her, or he would die, and she wouldn’t want to live. She could only lie there in the rain and watch them, brutal, savage, horrible, the grunts and the groans shocking in the still night air.

She saw the flash of the knife, carving upward, and she buried her face, unable to watch any longer, sobbing into her hands, when a sudden silence descended.

The only sounds were one man’s tortured breathing, the noise of a body falling to the pavement, the sigh that could mean nothing less than death.

She braced herself for the hands that caught her arms, letting herself be hauled upright, to face Rafferty’s blazing eyes. “I told you to run!” he shouted at her, shaking her, hard.