You Again (10 page)

He wasted no time leaping out of the SUV.  “Good, because I’ve got plans and they might take a while.”  He came round to her side and opened the door for her.

“Got your handcuffs on you?” she asked as he helped her out.

He grinned.  “Of course.  Want to play cops and robbers?”

"Only if get to be the cop."

He kissed her hard.  "Whatever my Lily wants."

THE END

A message from the author:

I hope you enjoyed reading YOU AGAIN as much as I enjoyed writing it.  As an independent author, getting the word out about my book is vital to its success, so if you liked this book please consider telling your friends, lending or sharing it, and writing a review at the store where you purchased it.  If you would like to be contacted when I release a new book, please send an email to
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***Read on for an excerpt of SURRENDER, a historical romance by my alter-ego, C.J. Archer***

SURRENDER

By C.J. Archer

CHAPTER 1

Georgiana Appleby had the distinct impression she wasn't wanted at Mr. Alexander Redcliff's Mayfair townhouse.  It wasn't that anyone said as much to her.  Indeed, there was no one around at all to voice an opinion one way or another.  It was more the
lack
of people that gave it away.  Not a single maid or footman had entered the elegant drawing room in which Georgiana had been waiting for over twenty minutes.  Redcliff himself certainly hadn't made an appearance and since he lived alone—servants notwithstanding—and was currently at home—she'd asked—it was clearly a snub.

Being unwanted wasn't a new experience for Georgiana in her professional capacity as curer of opium addicts.  Several of her patients reacted in a similar way to Mr. Redcliff when they learned she'd been commissioned by their loved ones.  The difference with Mr. Redcliff was that it wasn't one of his loved ones who'd commissioned her.  It was a public servant—the man who'd coordinated his spying activities, and therefore arguably the person responsible for Mr. Redcliff's current predicament.

Perhaps there was a simple explanation for her abandonment, but Georgiana didn't think so.  She was well aware of the tactics employed by recalcitrant patients and her employer had described Redcliff as the most stubborn man in his spy network.  And the best.

She took a turn about the room, admiring the twin blue and white Oriental jars on the mantelpiece and the other exquisite curios.  She was studying a Paul Sandby watercolor when the door finally opened and the butler entered.  He reminded her of a dying patient she'd met years earlier when assisting her father.  The sharp angles of his cheeks cast shadows across skin the shade of death.  His eyes, however, sparkled, softening the cadaverous effect.   

"My apologies for the delay, Miss Appleby," he said, bowing.

"Is Mr. Redcliff available now?"

The butler, Worth, lowered his gaze.  "Not at present.  He apologizes profusely for his absence."

She gave him a wry smile.  "I'm sure he does.  So when will he be available?  The sooner I can see him, the better."

"I understand, Miss Appleby," Worth said with bland politeness.  He did not suggest a meeting time.  "I'll have your belongings brought to your room immediately.  If you require anything, please do not hesitate to ring.  Milly will bring you tea shortly."

"Tea will be lovely.  Thank you, Worth."

He bowed smoothly.  "If you will follow me, miss, I will see you to your room personally."

She followed him up the grand staircase, past a series of portraits hung on the walls, mostly of people long dead judging by their historic clothing.  Below her, the glorious crystal chandelier with its hundred or more candles dangled on long chains to illuminate the entrance hall.  It must be spectacular when ablaze at night. 

The townhouse was magnificent, its situation on Mount Street highly prized.  A most unlikely residence for the second son of an earl and a bachelor at that. 

"Did the house belong to Mr. Redcliff's late father?" she asked Worth.

"It did not, miss.  Mr. Redcliff's mother's father, the last Duke of Moreland, bequeathed it to him."  He stopped at the end of a hall lined with more paintings, this time depicting the lush countryside, hounds and stiff-backed gentlemen. 

He opened a door and Georgiana entered a bedroom little bigger than a cupboard.  It wouldn't be the house's best guest chamber, or even its second best.  Indeed, Worth's own bedroom was likely to be bigger than the space allocated to her.  The bed not only dominated the room, it filled it.  Between the bed, wardrobe and dressing table there was little space to move about.

Clearly her host did not want Georgiana to make herself too comfortable.

"Mr. Redcliff regrets the...meagerness of the accommodation," Worth said with a hint of an apology in his otherwise flat tone.  "The main bedchambers are soon to be occupied."

"They are?"  Her irritation at this news forced her words out in a rush.  She'd told her employer she didn't want any obstacles during her stay.  Guests were obstacles of the most inconvenient kind.  She couldn't cure her patients with anyone peering over her shoulder. 

She eyed Worth who in turn watched her with guarded interest.  Servants were different to guests.  They were a necessity.  The household couldn't expect to run without them, and run the household must if appearances were to be maintained.  Loyal and discreet servants could prove useful if they were aware of the nature of her employment.

"Do you know why I'm here, Worth?" she asked, removing her bonnet.

"Yes, Miss Appleby.  Sir Oswyn Crisp, Permanent Under-Secretary to the Foreign Office, has commissioned your services to return Mr. Redcliff to his
full
health."  The way he said it left her in no doubt he knew she was there to do more than mend Mr. Redcliff's external wounds.  Wounds which should be almost healed.  What he thought of that, however, he kept to himself.  The perfect servant.

As Permanent Under-Secretary to the Foreign Office, Sir Oswyn Crisp reported to the Foreign Secretary, Lord Castlereagh.  Although Castlereagh was the body of the Foreign Office, Crisp was its blood.  It was he who managed the day-to-day operation of the department and as such it was he who'd posted Redcliff to Switzerland as a diplomat.  The role had been a cover for his spying. 

Mr. Redcliff had directed much of the British government's secret operations from his base in Berne, sometimes taking a more active role when required.  It was while he was in Switzerland that he incurred his physical injuries after an evening attending a ball.  But something else must have happened that night.  He claimed he took opium to help him sleep but Georgiana and Sir Oswyn Crisp suspected he took it to suppress the nightmares that were the only link to what had really occurred.  Under the influence of opium, dreams could be directed, altered, to become whatever the dreamer wanted.  So any event that was only being remembered through dreams could be conveniently stifled and forgotten.

For some reason, Redcliff did not remember that night nor did he want anyone else to learn what had really transpired. 

"I've been informed that you shall be with us for as long as necessary."  Worth looked about the cramped room again and cast her a sympathetic look.  He must suspect her visit would not be a short one and he didn't approve the allocation of the small bedroom to her.

A footman appeared at the door carrying Georgiana's valise and medical bag. 

"If there is nothing else, miss, I'll leave you now," Worth said as the footman deposited her luggage, bowed then left. 

She thanked the butler.  No sooner had he too left than a maid arrived with tea and a plate of butter biscuits.  The sturdy, milky-faced girl set the tray down on the table and curtsied.  She looked about her, taking in the small room, the battered leather valise with the scuffed edges and its owner in one heavy-lidded gaze that failed to hide her curiosity.  No doubt she was wondering how to treat someone like Georgiana who was neither lady nor mistress, guest nor servant. 

"Shall I unpack for you, miss?" she asked. 

"Thank you, yes."  Georgiana sipped her tea as the maid placed her garments in the wardrobe.  The girl worked in silence except for the occasional grunt.  Of disapproval?  She was probably more used to serving ladies with finer and more expensive tastes than Georgiana's. 

"Where would you like this box, miss?" the servant asked, holding up the small oak box Georgiana carried with her everywhere.

"On the dressing table please."

When she left, Georgiana carefully removed her loaded muff pistol from her reticule and buried it beneath a chemise in the second drawer of the wardrobe.  She took up the oak box and checked that powder flask, balls, flints, bullet mould and turnscrew were all in order inside then hid it with the pistol.  A woman could never be too careful, especially when sleeping under the same roof as strangers. 

With pistol and associated paraphernalia safely stowed, she squeezed between the mismatched pieces of furniture to get to the window.  Her room looked out upon the roof of the neighboring house.  Smoke billowed from a chimney and disappeared into the grey miasma that shrouded the city.  She craned her neck to see if she could see anything else but the neighbor's roof was too big and her own window too small.  Mr. Redcliff really didn't want her to grow too comfortable.  She felt like the crazed relative from a Gothic novel, stashed in the attic and all but forgotten.  All that was needed was a virginal girl dressed in a white nightgown to stumble upon her.

With a sigh, she picked up her copy of
Medicine and the Mind
but couldn't concentrate so she put it down again.  The portraits of her parents, carefully unpacked by the maid and placed on the dressing table, caught her eye.  For a fleeting moment Georgiana thought she saw her physician father's image winking at her.  But she blinked and there was no smile on his handsome face, just a serious expression he'd adopted for the picture.  Strange really, since he had rarely looked so serious in life.  The only acknowledgement of his eccentricity was the waistcoat lavishly embroidered with a floral pattern, the bottom of which emerged from beneath his coat like an overgrown garden bed.  Even his hair which had always jutted out from his head as if he'd tugged on it had been smoothed down by the artist's brush.

"Do you think Mr. Redcliff will be as difficult as this unenthusiastic beginning implies?" she asked his image.  "I hope not.  I can't afford to walk away from this one, Papa."

He stared back at her, his dark eyes sparkling the way they always did when he was about to offer her advice.  At a time like this, he would tell her to take charge of the situation.

"You wouldn't hide away in this room and wait for your patient to be ready to be cured, would you?" she said to the portrait.  "You would go and find him and make him see that we need to start immediately."

Georgiana tenderly touched the picture, then opened the door and went in search of Mr. Redcliff.  She hoped he wouldn't throw her out immediately.  Indeed, the future of her career depended upon it.  The fact he'd not done so already boded well. 

A maid directed her to his study in a part of the house that was as far away from Georgiana's room as possible.  She lifted a hand to knock when a deep, bland voice spoke from behind her, making her jump.

"Mr. Redcliff does not wish to be disturbed," Worth said.  She hadn't seen the butler's approach and for one irrational moment she wondered if he'd emerged through a wall like a spirit.  He certainly looked the part.  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle an unfortunate smile.  She doubted Worth would see the humor.

"I'll only be a moment," she told him.

He stepped closer, dwarfing her.  His hollow face watched her grimly.  "I will let Mr. Redcliff know you wish to speak to him."

She paused.  She didn't want to begin on a sour note or place the butler in a difficult situation.  "Thank you, Worth.  I'll wait here."

He didn't look altogether pleased that she wasn't going away.  Nevertheless he lifted a hand to knock but before he could put fist to wood the door was suddenly wrenched open from the other side. 

A tall, broad shouldered and strikingly handsome gentleman filled the doorway.  Striking in that his good looks hit her in the chest and stole her breath.  Dark hair curling at the ends framed a strong, lean face.  A wide mouth was saved from being overly generous by the sculptured, defined lips.  The square jaw could have been hewn from marble and wouldn't look out of place on a classical statue.  He was perfection, or he would have been if it wasn't for the slightly bent nose.  It was as if someone's fist had nudged it.  Knowing Redcliff's history the way she did, perhaps it
had
been damaged in a fight.  But instead of marring his looks it made them more interesting and served to balance out the perfection which could be quite dull she'd always thought, particularly in a man.