Loving Lady Georgianna (Spirited #2)

Chapter Nine

The world was muffled.

Georgie could feel the heat of the ballroom and through the spaces in Thorne's shielding arms, she could see the gathering slippers and polished boots surrounding her prone body. She could feel her chest lifting and falling rapidly as if she were being squeezed a mite too tight, and she could smell the tang of sweat and the edge of fear that permeated the room.

But, why couldn't she hear?

Thorne carefully lifted his head, and Georgie watched in fascination and a touch of horror as his lips moved, his hands cupping her face and his eyes wide in disbelief. But there was no sound.

Had she gone deaf?

Georgie shook her head helplessly, the pall of tears filling her eyes, as she gazed mutely at him. Her voice seemed to have disappeared with her hearing, and her eyes flitted from face to face. Just over Thorne's broad shoulders, Georgie made out the Duke's concerned brown eyes. He was grumbling at Thorne, scowling, as he tried to push his way towards her, but Thorne refused to move. Instead, he tilted her face back to him, and slowly, as if liquid was drained from her ears or cotton balls removed from deep inside, his voice - melodic and gentle - floated to her.

So soft at first and then louder, and all at once, the noise of the crowd overwhelmed her. A buzz of activity that made her feel nauseated and energized all at once.

The green of Vincent's eyes offered her the grounding she needed. His face was inches from hers, his brows creased in concern for her. His deep voice called to her, the first thing she heard, and the only thing she could grasp onto.

"Georgie," his lips were full, and she absently traced their shape, wishing he would bury her face in his neck, that she could surround herself in his nearness and make the last few moments disappear. "Sweetheart. Are you okay?"

Something dug into her spine, and Georgie's sluggish brain finally caught up with the last few moments. She sat up suddenly, her head protesting the movement as a sharp jab settled into her right temple. "W...what happened?"

Thorne scowled, his eyes taking in the scattered rock, his palm heating the back of her shoulders. "You were nearly pulverized by that bloody atrocious slab of rock."

Georgie would have laughed if the direness of the situation hadn't settled firmly in her throat and in the pounding of her heart. Surely it had been an accident. Hadn't it?

His grip tightened on Georgie, his cheeks ruddy with anger and his eyes dilated. His whisper was so soft, Georgie wondered if she had imagined his next words. "I could have lost you."

Georgie's eyes widened a fraction at the confession, and she wanted nothing more than to believe him, the comfort of him making her surroundings waver like the rippling of water. She opened her mouth, to say something she could never guess, for the duke finally got his way, shoving aside Thorne's touch as his big hand swept under her head, cradling it, his other holding her ruined cheek.

"My lady, is anything paining you? Can you move your arms for me? Tilt your head?"

All at once, Thorne's eyes seemed to flicker around him, and Georgie watched as, in the next moment, his eyes shuttered and his face closed off. His jaw clenched and a pulse beat rapidly in his neck. She tried to catch his eye, but he avoided her, standing up and casting one last glance over Burkeley before he clasped his hands behind his coat of green superfine and stepped back. As if the last few moments had never happened.

The gesture sliced through Georgie. As quickly as his concern for her had shown through, it misted away, leaving Georgie cold. 

Empty.