Page 62 of This Earl of Mine

A cloaked figure loitered amongst the trees, and Georgie left the gravel path and headed that way. He disappeared behind a trunk, and she hastened forward, soaking her leather boots in the dew-damp grass. She entered the copse, peering around, and gasped when a hand shot out from behind a tree and captured her wrist.

“What’s—?” She recoiled in horror. “Josiah! What are you doing here?”

Her cousin’s smile turned her stomach. She’d been hoodwinked. Benedict hadn’t written that note at all.

“Well met, Cousin. You look a little peaked. Did you have a late night?”

She tugged on her wrist. “I did, not that it’s any of your business.”

His lip curled. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. It is very much my business.”

At this close distance, she could smell stale alcohol fumes on his breath and clothes.

His fingers tightened cruelly. “I saw you. At the Tricorn. I may have been drunk, but even four sheets to the wind I can still recognize my own cousin.” His eyes glittered. “You little tart! You were going to Wylde, weren’t you?”

She pressed her lips together.

Josiah shook his head. “At first I thought you’d taken a fancy to him after he defended you at Vauxhall. That you’d fallen into his arms out of gratitude,” he sneered. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she tried again to free her wrist, but his hold was inescapable. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do, love. This morning I had a rather unexpected visitor. Tell me, does the name Knollys ring any bells?”

Her blood ran cold.

“You’ve gone pale,” he mocked cruelly. “Cat got your tongue? I’ll tell you, then. Mr. Knollys is the turnkey of Newgate prison. A rather revolting character, I’m afraid, but a man who possesses an excellent memory. As luck would have it, Mr. Knollys was present at a cock fight I attended in Blackheath recently. He heard someone shout my name across the pit and recalled another Caversteed he’d dealt with just recently. He decided to pay me a visit. Imagine my surprise when he told me he had some interesting information aboutyou, dear heart.” His sickly grin made Georgie want to retch. “What do you think he told me? Hmmm?”

“I can’t hazard a guess.”

“He made the outrageous claim that you and Wylde are man and wife.” Josiah rounded his eyes in mock horror. “I didn’t believe it, of course, but then he showed me the marriage register from Newgate, and there it was, clear as day: your signature and Wylde’s. Married not five weeks ago.” He shook his head, his expression changing to one of disbelief mingled with fury. “You vindictive little bitch. You did this to spite me, didn’t you?”

His cheeks, already spidered with veins, grew even redder and more mottled. Georgie had never seen him insuch a passion. Her heart began to thump in fear but she didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes. I did. Because I’d rather be married to a Newgate felon than to you.”

His laugh was ugly. “You think he doesn’t want your money? Of course he does. I bet you paid him a pretty penny to go along with your plan, didn’t you?” He snorted in disgust. “God, that bastard must have laughed himself silly. You spring him from jail then let him slip between your legs.”

Georgie winced at his crude summation. “What do you want? More money? You won’t get it. I won’t give you another shilling. Benedict was right. You need to take responsibility for your own actions. You’re a grown man, Josiah. Act like one. Now let me go.”

“It’s not about money anymore, you little whore.”

She almost laughed in hysterical disbelief. Josiah not wanting money? The world had gone mad.

“It’s you I want now.”

“Well, you can’t have me,” she snapped.

He tilted his head, and the calculating look in his eye made her shiver. His voice was almost a caress. “Ah, Georgie. I could have understood if it was just business. But to see you whoring yourself out to him? I can’t bear it.”

Georgie had heard enough. She dug her heels into the soggy ground and bent her knees to get free of his grip, tugging with her whole weight behind her. Josiah cursed, and a flash of white fluttered in her peripheral vision as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Before she could react, he pressed the fabric over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air. She cried out in panic and kicked at him, but he caught her in a crushing grip around her ribs. She tried to inhale, to bite him, but it was impossible. The edges of her vision grew fuzzy and narrowed like a tunnel closing in. She heard Josiah laugh.

“Shhh, sweeting.”

She’d been so stupid.

Her knees grew weak, and her lungs burned. She scratched at his hand, desperate to remove the fabric so she could breathe. Then his fingers pressed into the side of her neck, hard against her pulse, and everything went black.

Chapter 33.

She awoke in a moving carriage. Her head felt heavy, her throat raw. Sounds came and went, as if she were beneath a pillow or under water; the blowing of the horses, endlessly pounding hooves. A painful jolt as the wheels bumped through a rut.

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