Page 64 of This Earl of Mine

“This way, my dear.”

With no other option, Georgie hobbled after him and into the first room on the right, a tiny front parlor with a fireplace filled with ashes and dead leaves, a shabby chaise longue, and an overstuffed armchair that seemed to have been recently inhabited by mice. The straw stuffing spewed out of it onto the floor as if it had been disemboweled.

Josiah indicated the chaise longue—only slightly less moth-eaten than the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll see if I can make a fire.”

As soon as he’d left the room, Georgie felt for her knife in her boot. Hell and damnation—it wasn’t there. He must have searched her whilst she was unconscious. The thought of his hands sliding over her body made her nauseous.

She made a quick search of the room, looking foranything she could use to free herself or use as a weapon, but there was nothing except a small mirror-backed wall sconce. If she could break it, she could use a shard of glass to cut her bonds. A few heavy-looking books sat on a bookshelf, their leather bindings dusted with white mold, but she doubted she’d be able to lift them with her hands tied.

Her stomach churned as she tried to imagine what Josiah planned. Did he mean to rape her? She clenched her jaw. If so, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

Josiah returned with an armful of logs and set about building a fire in the grate.

“Now what?” Georgie asked stonily.

“Now we wait.”

“For what?”

“Your husband.” He almost spat out the word. “He’s going to bring us the funds we need to get to the Scottish border. And I’m going to kill him.” He smiled at her horrified expression. “You’ll be a widow before the day is out, my dear. When we reach Gretna Green, you’ll marry me, without some ridiculous contract restricting my access to your fortune.”

Georgie tried to keep her voice calm. “How will Benedict know where to come?”

“I’ve sent instructions to the Tricorn.”

Her stomach dropped. “He won’t be there.” He’d already be in that tavern on Ore Street waiting for Johnstone.

“Then it will take him a while to get here. I’m sure we’ll be able to think of something pleasant to pass the time.”

Chapter 34.

Benedict, Seb, and Alex converged in the Tricorn’s checkered hallway at precisely ten o’clock. A familiar sense of nervous energy swirled between them. How many countless times during the war had they met like this, about to set out on a mission?

Alex shot Ben an eager grin as he tugged on a pair of leather gloves. “Remember the ambush we set up in that gorge above Talavera? Six hours, sweltering on a rocky mountainside, before we got our man. At least this time we can wait for our target in a nice comfortable tavern.”

Seb nodded. “So, what’s the plan? Wait until Johnstone arrives, barge in, and arrest him?”

“That’s about it,” Ben said. “Let’s just hope he shows. Admiral Cockburn wants us to commandeer the submarine rather than destroy it—he wants it sailing down to the Royal Navy dockyards at Woolwich, but I’ll be damned if I know how to get it there. Either of you know how to sail?”

Alex grimaced. “Don’t look at me. I spent the entirecrossing from Belgium casting up my accounts, if you recall. I get nauseous if I look at a puddle.”

Seb shook his head. “I’ve only ever manned row boats.”

“Well, Bow Street only wants Johnstone,” Benedict said. “If Cockburn wants the vessel, he can bloody well send someone to get it. When we’ve nabbed Johnstone, one of us can guard the warehouse until the Admiralty arrives.”

Georgie could have sailed it, he thought. She’d studied the plans, knew how the infernal contraption worked. She’d be miles better than anyone the Admiralty could send. Perhaps he’d suggest it to Cockburn. She’d be in no danger once Johnstone was in custody.

He wondered where she was now. Probably still in bed, catching up on much-needed sleep. The thought brought a smile to his lips, and he realized how impatient he was to see her again. That in itself was unusual. With every other woman, he’d found that sleeping with her invariably got her out of his system. His curiosity was assuaged, the itch satisfied. Not so with Georgie. Making love to her, knowing her more intimately, had only tightened the strings that bound them, increased his curiosity. He wanted her again. Maybe tonight, she—

Seb’s hand, waving in front of his nose, reclaimed his attention, and Benedict felt an uncharacteristic heat flush his neck. Christ. He was acting like a besotted schoolboy.

“Distracted by your lady love?” Seb teased mercilessly, uncannily accurate as ever.

Benedict scowled. “Let’s go.”

He reached for the brass doorknob at the same moment an urgent hammering sounded on the other side. A scruffy lad was panting on the steps. “Benedict Wylde?”

“Yes.”

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