Page 55 of Unmasking the Earl

She gave him a mischievous look. “Well, I can’t make a proper comparison until I’ve persuaded Julian to make love to me as you have just done.”

He stiffened in outrage. “I would much prefer you did not.”

Her smile widened.

She was joking. She had to be joking.

“I think this may be the place,” Cassie said, stopping to indicate a timber-framed cottage with a thatched roof.

“Ah.” They had come upon it too soon. Much too soon. He wanted to talk about their lovemaking. About their marriage.

But they could still do that on the walk home, after he’d learned the identity of the woman who lived in this cottage—and if she was his beloved sister.

The moment of truth had arrived.

The sun reflected brightly off the glossy leaves of the roses which trailed and spread all about the wooden fence enclosing the cottage’s garden. Great hollyhocks strove to reach the eaves of the ancient-looking thatch, but had not yet opened their rounded buds in flower. Lavender bloomed along the edge of the path, creating a refreshing scent.

A woman wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat with a veil was in the front garden, a trug on the ground in front of her and a pair of snips in her hand. A pair of gloves lay beside the basket. She was so engrossed in removing some bindweed which was threatening to choke a rose stem, she did not notice their arrival.

As Ned gave the woman a cautiously cheerful, “Good morning,” he saw with a shock that the skin on her hands was fresh and unblemished, not those of an old woman.

His breathing became shallow, and he pressed Cassie’s hand tightly against his side.

The woman straightened, her large straw hat throwing her face into shadow. She cocked her head and peered up at them. Then she sucked in a horrified breath.

And fainted clean away.

Ned darted forward, sprang over the fence, and collected the limp form in his arms.

“Cassie, see if the door is open, please.”

She responded to the urgency in his voice and raced forward to open the door, allowing him to carry the woman into the house. He passed through a tiny kitchen and into an equally tiny parlor, where a shabby sofa from the previous century proved just long enough to lay his burden gently down upon.

“Cassie.” His voice held a tremor he was unable to hide. “Help me.”

His fingers shook as he struggled with the veil and the hat. Cassie knelt by his side and loosened the ties under the lady’s chin.

His heart was hammering, and he was starting to feel sick. He looked at Cassie, and she understood. Together, they carefully removed the veil.

A peculiar strangled sound came from deep within him, and he pressed his knuckles against his teeth in an attempt to contain his emotions. He was dimly aware of Cassie sliding an arm about his shoulders and squeezing him with all her strength.

“Georgiana,” he said on a strangled breath.

It was his sister.

But she was so changed, he barely recognized her.

For a moment he felt only anguish, a pain that struck through him right to his heart, cutting him so deeply he knew not how he could bear it.

The woman on the sofa looked like some strange creature concocted by Blake or Fuseli. Half her face was pale, smooth-skinned, and would have looked youthful were it not for the white eyebrows and the white hair which swept in thin wisps across her forehead. The other half of her face was wizened and discolored. In places, the skin looked like parchment, stretched so tight it seemed ready to tear. The eyelid on that side was reddened and drooped in grotesque fashion. She was half monster, half angel.

Ned’s heart shattered for his dear sister. For her ruined face, and the lost beauty of his adored Georgiana.

Slowly, the anguish gave way to anger, and the anger gave way to fury. He shot Cassie a glare as she gazed up at him, white-faced.

“Wycherley did this,” he erupted. “He tried to run away with her and must have set the fire to deter pursuit. But something went wrong, and Georgiana ended up like this. I am going to hunt that man down and slaughter him like the vermin he is!”

“No!” Cassie burst out. “You can’t do it. That would be murder. Take a moment, I beg you, and think!”