Never Judge a Lady by Her Cover

She was not laughing anymore, and neither was he. Suddenly, the story seemed incredibly serious. “What happened?”

“She ran from him,” he said, the words soft and serious, punctuated by his kiss on her brow. “She ran to the farthest edge of the sea.”

She was silent for a long moment. “She was terrified of his power.”

“He wanted to share it with her. He followed, desperate for her, aching for her, refusing to rest until he found her. She was all he wanted. He was desperate to worship her, to marry her. To make her goddess of the sea.”

She was breathing heavily now, as was he, lost in the tale. “When he could not find her, he became lost, refusing to rule the sea without her by his side. He neglected his duties. The seas rose up, and storms devastated the islands of the Aegean Sea, and he could not bring himself to care.

“When Amphitrite realized what Poseidon had offered her, what she had refused, how he had searched, she wept for him. For the love he had for her. For his passion and desire. For what she had lost.” There were tears in Georgiana’s eyes now, the story taking on a new meaning. New power. “Her tears were so many that she wept herself into the ocean. She became the sea itself.”

“Lost to him, forever,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “No. With him, forever. His strong, tempestuous partner. His equal in every way. Without her, there is no him.”

The music in the ballroom stopped. He pulled back from her. “You run from me.”

“I don’t,” she said, and they both knew it was a lie. She pulled away, took several steps back, putting space between them. She tried again. “Yes. I do.”

“Why?”

She took a breath. Released it. “I run from you,” she said, sadness in her tone, “because if I didn’t, I would run to you. And that can never happen.”

He kissed her then, because he did not know what else to do, savoring her taste, beauty and life and scandal and sadness. It was the sadness that stopped him. That had him pulling back, waiting for her to speak.

“Who is Tremley to you?”

She surprised him with her directness. Of course, he should not have been surprised by her. She was not one to shy away from difficult conversation. “He came to me last night.”

He went cold at the words. Cold, and furious. “Why?”

“He nearly killed his wife. She fled to the club, searching for sanctuary.”

“Christ,” he said, falling back a few steps. “I did that.”

She met his gaze, anger and betrayal showing. “We. We did it.”

“Is she —”

“She will heal,” Georgiana said. “She will heal and she will triumph. We will find her a place to live out from under his thumb.”

The words made him weak – weaker than he’d ever in his life felt. Weaker than when he did Tremley’s bidding. “By we, you mean you and Chase.”

“Among others.”

“I want him dead,” West said, the words coming out ragged with frustration and guilt over what he’d done to Tremley’s innocent wife. And for what? “I want him ruined forever.”

“Why not do it?” she asked, the words high-pitched with confusion. “You have the means to do it. To destroy him. I gave them to you. Who is he to you? What hold does he have over you?” She paused. Collected herself. “Tell me. We can fix it.”

She meant it. He could not stop the laugh that came at the ridiculous pronouncement, as though she had any control over Tremley, Or Chase. “There is only one way to fix it,” he said. “A secret is only a secret before a second person knows it.”

“And Tremley knows yours.”

If only it were that simple. “This story is not as good as Poseidon and Amphitrite.”

“I shall be the judge of that,” she said.

He couldn’t stand still as they talked, not for this. Not as he revealed his past sins for the only time. So he turned and walked, and she followed, keeping pace, but seeming to know – as she always seemed to know him – that he could not bear her touch. Not now.

He did not want the reminder of what he might have had, if not for this.

Finally, he confessed. “Tremley has known my secrets for all our lives.”

She’d known there was a connection, of course, but not what it was. It had never occurred to her that he and the earl might have been so connected for so long.

She watched him carefully, working to keep the shock from her face. Working to keep herself from asking the myriad questions immediately on the tip of her tongue.

“My father died when I was no more than four.” He looked away, into the darkness, and she watched him in profile as he spoke, loving the strength in his face. The emotion there. “And my mother, saddled with a child and no knowledge of how to live on the land, was offered a place in the main house.”

“Tremley’s house,” Georgiana said.

He nodded. “She went from farmer’s wife to washwoman. From sleeping in her own house to sleeping in a room with six other women, her child in her bed.” He looked up at the trees rustling in the spring breeze. “And she never once complained.”

“Of course she didn’t.” Georgiana could not stop herself from speaking. “She did it for you. For you and your sister.”

He ignored the words. Pressed on. “The estate was horrifying. The former earl, if you can imagine it, was worse than the current one. Servants were beaten. Women were assaulted. Children were pressed into service too harsh for their age.” He looked into the darkness. “My mother and I were lucky.”