Page 11 of Winning the Wallflower's Heart
“Came back, did you?”
She froze, pulse stuttering.
Sam was leaning against the doorframe, his lanky frame blocking her path down the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot, his shirt stained, and the familiar reek of gin clung to him like a second skin.
“Didn’t think you’d dare show your face here,” he sneered, pushing off the frame and swaying unsteadily. “Figured you were too busy being some rich man’s whore.”
Her heart pounded in her throat, but she forced herself to stand tall, meeting his gaze. “I only came for my things, Sam.”
“Your things?” He barked out a cruel laugh. “You don’t own a damn thing in this house, Georgie.”
Rage flared hot and sharp inside her, mingled with a helplessness she hated. “Please, just?—”
“What?” He took a step closer, his expression twisting into something ugly.
Her stomach twisted. She shouldn’t have come here. Ellis had been right.
“I’m not afraid of you, Sam,” she said softly, even though her pulse was racing.
He snorted, eyeing her with contempt. “You should be.”
He lurched forward, and instinctively, she stepped back, her foot catching on the threshold. She stumbled, grabbing for the doorframe to steady herself.
“Get out, Georgie,” he snarled. “Before I throw you out myself.”
Her throat tightened, and for a long moment, she couldn’t breathe. But then she straightened, lifting her chin. “I’ll leave,” she whispered. “But I’ll be damned if I go empty-handed.”
Ellis didn’t waitfor the carriage to come to a stop. He jumped, racing over the pavement to reach Pickins House, and burst through the front door as his best friend dragged Georgiana across the floor.
In the space of a hair’s breadth, the man who had once been his dearest friend snapped his attention toward Ellis, just long enough for him to see the tears on Georgiana’s face, before he dove forward, rage consuming him.
He threw his fist against the man’s jaw, his knuckles meeting flesh and bone. The blow sent Sam staggering, enough for his grip to loosen on Georgiana. She slipped away, crawling backward against the tattered rug.
“Don’t you dare touch her, Harland.” He forced his arm against his friend’s throat, driving back against the wall. Though he attempted to strike Ellis, his movements were too sloppy. “Do you understand?” he shouted, pushing his arm tighter against the man’s throat.
Once, they had been schoolmates. Once, he had spent nights with him in London finding mischief as all young bucks do. But he barely knew the stranger glaring back at him now, reeking of alcohol, with glazed empty eyes and spittle at his pock-marked mouth. His auburn hair hung around his shoulders, thin and stringy.
“Have the damn whore, then,” he sneered. “Bought her, didn’t you? You coward. You couldn’t?—”
“Stop!” Georgiana screamed.
The pain in her voice was enough for Ellis to make one vital mistake. He didn’t see the bottle before it crashed over his head, didn’t feel it slice his scalp until his fingers returned bright red.
Sam collapsed against the wall, the broken bottle still clutched in his hand and snarled. “Pretend to be tough all you like, but you’ll always be a lord. Soft like us all.”
Bait. That’s all it was.
But the confrontation had fizzled as her brother turned and staggered into the empty sitting room, collapsing instead onto a stained mattress in the corner by a dying fire.
“Come on,” Ellis said, reaching out a hand to usher Georgiana farther into the house to gather her things. “We will be quick and be rid of this place once and for all.”
She crossed her arms, glancing over to her brother. “This is my home.”
“Not anymore,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. “It’s with me. And you’re safe.”
It wasn’t lost on Ellis how she remained stiff under his touch, or how she sniffed back tears as she led him up to her room.
“There isn’t much,” she confessed, stopping in the upstairs hallway, as though embarrassed.
