Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)

Chapter 35

Georgie awoke shivering.

Her mouth was dry as cotton and the ground was hard beneath her. Her head was pounding.

Bringing her fingers to her temples, Georgie massaged them, letting out a groan as she rolled onto her back. Her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes, confused to see the area around her dark but for the eerie glow and crackle of a nearby fire.

There was a dankness to the air, stale and stiff and slightly moldy, as if the place hadn't been opened in years. The timber above her head and the soft glow of a flickering fire illuminated the area around her. It looked like a hunting cottage.

That couldn't be right.

Georgie knew that. And yet, her eyes were heavy, her limbs more so, and her vision cloudy.

"Finally," a disembodied voice drawled. "You awaken."

Tilting her head up, Georgie winced as a throbbing started in her head. She groaned. Not able to make out the person above her, she pushed her hair to the side, trying to remember what had happened, where she was, and how she had gotten here.

"But I suppose not even I can hurry the grip of unconsciousness. Rather inconvenient, I must confess."

Her gaze strove ever upwards as the person--her captor--kept speaking. It appeared as if...Heavens, was her abductor stitching?

"You weren't my first choice for my son, to be sure. The last five years you have chosen to remain hidden away from society, decidedly absent from the circles you would need to fill your role." The voice huffed. "Granted, with that unsightly blemish one could understand why. You weren't society's darling anymore, were you?"

Georgie propped herself up, aghast as the form turned towards her. She blinked, hoping the fog would clear from her eyes and she would discover that it was all one big, unfortunate dream. Or a nightmare, as the case may be.

Georgie's vision did not change.

"You know, when my son named you his potential bride, I had believed he had lost his wits."

Georgie was struck momentarily mute as Lady Elizabeth wavered in Georgie's vision. Brushing aside the tangle of auburn curls that had fallen from her topknot, Georgie's memory of the night came rushing back. The garden at the masquerade, the tall man and the cloth that smelled of antiseptic. Her head turned as she tried to figure out exactly where she was.

"What am I doing here? Where am I?"

Lady Elizabeth's soft chuckle whispered through the room. "Not too bright, are you?"

Georgie blinked right before a flicker of anger took over. Whatever game the duchess was playing, it wasn't funny. What was the meaning of this? "I don't know who you think you are, Duchess or not, Sebastian's mother or not, but I demand to know what is your purpose. If you think my absence will not go unnoticed," she said, remembering Charlie and Sophie, and somewhere in that room was her brother and Thorne. God, but she would give anything to see Thorne, "I'm afraid to say you are mistaken."

Her words went unanswered, as Lady Elizabeth pushed her foot, setting the chair in motion. Her hands never stopped their decisive movements as Georgie's eyes focused on the object in her hand. It looked like little shoes.

Before Georgie could process the ridiculous notion, Lady Elizabeth continued. "You know, perhaps if you had remained in polite society—kept abreast of the rules inherent in our culture—you wouldn't have allowed that scoundrel, Thorne, to remain in your presence, and I would have done away with him in the first place. But no," she clucked, threading the needle, "over and over again you let that man debase you, for why else would a man sneak into a lady's bedchamber?"