His Beautiful Wench (15 page)

She whirled to face Emmett and found him pulling on his breeches. “I know it isn’t proper for a woman to ask, but would you marry me, Emmett Dray?”

He looked up, eyes round. His mouth stretched into a wide smile and, clearly thankful her anger had subsided, he rushed over to her, bringing her to his chest, his arms about her back. Cheek against hers, his lips close to her ear, he said, “Of course, wench. On my next return we will make the arrangements for after my final voyage.”

Amelia reared back a little to stare into his eyes. “No. I mean today. Or tomorrow. Before you leave.”

He laughed, the sound rich and throaty. “We may not have time! The pastor may not be happy at performing the ceremony so quickly.”

She smiled. “Oh, he will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The pastor has secrets he wouldn’t like announced to his flock.” She jerked her head toward the stairs.

Emmett’s eyes widened again and he choked on a laugh. “What, downstairs? He…?”

Amelia nodded. “He does.”

“My word, the things that go on down there!” He kissed her nose tip and thrust his fingers through her hair. “Would it make you feel better if we were married before I left?”

“Yes. Yes, it would. I wouldn’t feel so bad about you keeping me then. And…” She cast her gaze to the floor, heat burning her cheeks.

“And what?” He rested his finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. “What is it, wench?”

“My toilette. I…we…”

“Ah.” Emmett smiled, his eyes bright. “Then we shall visit the pastor today. Impress upon him the importance of our union.”

A sigh left him, one of contentment she was sure, and he pressed his lips to hers. As their tongues twined, thoughts filled her mind, birthing tendrils of doubt. Did Emmett love her enough to forget the sculpture? Would it be enough for her to ask him to forget it?

It should be. But what if he doesn’t? Does that mean his love for me isn’t as I thought, isn’t as strong as I thought?

A lump expanded in her throat and she broke the kiss, mind awhirl with insistent queries she needed answered. Cursing herself for acting the needy female, she asked, “How much do you love me, Emmett?”

His eyebrows met above his nose and wrinkles marred his forehead. “More than life itself. You know that, wench.”

She took a deep breath. “Then you’ll forget the sculpture?”

His eyes closed briefly and he said, “I can’t. I—”

Amelia stepped away, sour bile stinging the back of her tongue. “Why not? Have events not shown you the trouble that thing has caused? Do you not see how much
more
trouble could come our way should you choose to pursue finding it again?” Chest heaving with angry breaths, she turned from him and walked to the bed. With stiff movements, she lifted her dress over her head and straightened it on her body. His silence irked her to no end and she snapped, “Don’t you have anything to say?” At his silence, she huffed out a wry laugh. “No?” Whirling to face him, she said, “Then let me tell you something. That I asked for you to forget the sculpture should be enough that you comply with my request—out of love, out of fear for those rogues coming to take my life,
your
life. That you have admitted you can’t forget it tells me…” Tears fell, and she dashed them away, resentment seeping from her gut to form a tight ball in her chest. “Tells me you do not love me enough.” She swallowed, hurt, and brought her arms together over her breasts, resting her clenched hands beneath her chin. “It tells me you do not love me as I love you.”

Emmett took a step toward her but she halted his progress with one hand held out, palm facing him.

“Don’t do this, Amelia. There are reasons I can’t forget it.”

“What the hell could they be that they are so important—more important than our lives?”

He raised his arm then let it drop back to his side. “I have to find it to
keep
our lives.” He gazed out the window. “I… The reason I only have two voyages left, the reason why we can live so well once they are over is because… God, Amelia, I had no idea it would come to this. No idea doing such a simple task would lead to such a string of events.”

Emmett’s sigh prompted Amelia to rush to him, turn his face so she could look into his eyes. He stared down at her, sunlight highlighting the planes of his left cheek and the raw gash on his brow. Strong arms surrounded her, crushed her to his chest, and the air seemed to solidify, making it hard for her to breathe. His heart thudded beneath her ear and she clutched his back, digging her nails into his flesh.

“I’m frightened, Emmett. What have you done?” she whispered.

“Christ, wench,” he said, his voice thick. “If I’d have known my tasks would result in this, I—”

“What have you
done
?” She lifted her head to gaze up at him.

“I…” He pressed her head back to his chest, his fingers playing with her hair. “I was commissioned to purchase jewels for a prominent member of society while on my last voyage. He paid me much coin, and I bought what he sought. I am to deliver the jewels tonight and collect
more
money to buy
more
jewels on my next voyage. The process would be repeated on my final sail. I will not be paid the coin for this until the final voyage is completed. Then we will have enough to live in comfort for the rest of our lives. Don’t you see?” he asked, thumbing her cheek. “It would mean we could build our own home and raise our children without fear of being poor.”

Questions fought for prominence in her mind. Was something preventing him still honoring that agreement? Who was the important member of society? And why had this person picked Emmett? Lord, how did he even
know
of Emmett?

Amelia pulled away and took her lover’s hands in hers. “So take the jewels as was arranged. Continue with your agreement, make the last two voyages, and everything will work out fine. Won’t it?”

Emmett’s face darkened—the wrinkles about his eyes deeper, his mouth a thin straight line—and he squeezed her hands and sighed again. Fear gripped her. He looked out the window once more, at the ocean that hopefully kept their dreadful secret in its depths, the vast expanse that carried him away from her all too often.

“I wish I could, but I can’t. I don’t have the jewels.”

“But you said you’d bought them. You said—”

“Amelia…” He clenched his jaw, the muscles spasming. “The jewels are inside the sculpture.”

Her head lightened and her knees buckled. Emmett guided her to the bed and helped her sit. She rested her palm against her chest, her heartbeats hard and fast, and stared out the window. From her position she made out a spire and imagined folks getting on with their everyday lives, unaware that such terrible things happened in the place they called home. She envied them their ignorance and wished she could turn back time to when she’d had that luxury.

“We’re damned either way,” she whispered, her throat tight.

Emmett sat beside her and rested his hand on her lower back, his other covering the fist she clenched in her lap. “I would rather face the wrath of Bates’ men than that of the other.”

She swallowed. “Who…who is the other?”

He sniffed. “He is someone from overseas. England. He now lives here.”

Everything from her peripheral vision faded, leaving only a tunnel of sight ahead. She fixed her gaze in the direction of a palatial home situated on the far outskirts of town. Turrets on either end stretched up into the sky, the windows in them black squares of menace. Amelia’s breath hitched.

“Please don’t tell me it’s Lord Graham. Please—”

“I’m sorry, wench, I…”

His voice came from far away and faded into nothing. Her ears buzzed in the silence and images of Lord Graham danced before her. Cruel blue eyes stared at her and a rigid face boasted a precise beard that only edged his jaw and lower chin. A severe, thin mustache appeared as a slash beneath his nose, the black of it so dark against his overly white face. Tight curls laced with oil hung to his shoulders, though the time he had visited the saloon he had pulled it back in a red ribbon at his nape. That a man of his standing visited such a place had puzzled Amelia—until he made his reasons clear.

She shuddered, recalling the only time she had met him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“A woman like you should not be working here,” he said, one hand on the bartop, the other fondling his chin. “So, what
are
you doing here?”

Amelia looked up from the ale she poured. Eyes so blue it didn’t seem possible a human could own them stared back at her. His gaze roved from her face to her chest and back up again. The penetrating stare bored into her and she experienced a sense of violation, as though he had snuck inside her and probed her mind. Her hand shook and ale splashed over her fingers. Flustered, she placed the tankard on the bar and reached blindly for a cloth, unable to break their connection. An icy chill rippled up her spine and she fought hard to keep from shuddering. She blinked, snapping their strange link, and a smile stretched his fleshy wet lips.

“I…I need to work here to live,” she said, her voice low. “May I pour you ale?”

He traced his jawline with a fingertip, his beard rasping. “It is not ale I want.” His clipped words, his accent, held a regal tinge.

“Whiskey, perhaps?” she asked, moving to reach for a bottle beneath the bar.

“Nor do I require whiskey.” His smile vanished and he gripped the bar edge, his knuckles whitening. “Tell me, do you belong to anyone?”

Amelia frowned. Everyone knew she was Emmett’s. Surely this man had heard the same? He had lived here for two years, residing in his castle-like home, the landlord to many of the townsfolk. A nefarious man, not to be crossed, Lord Graham ruled almost like a king. Rumor had it this man had fled his homeland, having angered other British nobility with his greed and desire for power.

“I…I am Emmett Dray’s woman, sir.”

A sly smile tweaked one corner of his mouth. “Emmett Dray. The seafarer. Hmm. Interesting.” He relaxed his hands, smoothing them across the wood toward her, fingertips almost brushing her dress.

Amelia stepped back. “Yes sir.”

“And he makes you happy?”

She nodded, unease pooling in her belly.

“I could make you happier,” he said, one eyebrow quirked. “What do you say?”

Alarmed, she widened her eyes and tamped down a nervous bubble of laughter. “No thank you, sir.”

“Ah, you have manners. You realize your refusing my offer has irked me, don’t you?” His cheeks reddened a little and he cleared his throat, smoothed thin hands down his black jacket fronts. “I am not used to refusal. One day,” he said, leaning forward, “you will be my wife. I have wanted you for quite some time, you know. And I always get what I want, you understand?”

Amelia fisted her skirt, heart beating fast, her throat dry. His words chilled her and she had no doubt he believed them. “I’m sure you will find another woman more suited to your social standing, sir.” She bobbed her head and made to walk away.

His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. “Social standing is not my concern with regards to my woman. That I desire her is.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “And, my dear, I desire you.” He kissed her knuckle, his mouth wet.

Revolted, Amelia pulled her hand from his, longing to run into the kitchen and wash his spittle away. Her cheeks heated, anger roiling inside her that this man thought he could snap his fingers and get whatever he wanted.

He’s not having me, damn him!

Lord Graham stood upright, eyes narrowed, back and shoulders straight. “Your parents had a horse and cart
accident
, did they not?”

Amelia nodded, the memory of her parents’ deaths still sharp and raw.

He fondled his beard. “Hmm. An innocent such as yourself would not have entertained that it could be anything else. Fascinating.” He bowed, gaze remaining on her face. “We shall meet again, dear Amelia. You can count on that.” He glared at her for long moments then abruptly presented his back to her. Clicking his fingers, he said, “Lock! I am ready to leave!”

Lock, a wiry-framed man, peeled away from a table where a card game took place, his brown breeches stuffed into black knee-high boots, his white shirt crisply pressed. A pistol handle peeked out of his waistband. Graham’s man regarded her, his black stare harsh and unyielding, his red hair combed back and slick with oil. He smiled as he reached Graham’s side, gave her a nod, and the two men left the saloon, the door banging smartly behind them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Now Amelia’s heart thudded dully. “Marry me today, Emmett. Please.”

Chapter Six

In a dark green velvet dress borrowed from Madam, her hair swept up and pinned on top of her head, Amelia clasped Emmett’s hand as they entered the large building, their footsteps echoing. The church smelled of dust and she twitched her nose, warding off a sneeze. Motes danced in the shaft of sunlight streaking through the high, stained-glass window above the altar. Dark wood pews stood in rows on either side of the aisle and the wooden flooring needed a good sweep. The pastor was busy behind the altar to the right, arranging hymnals on a bookcase. In black breeches and shirt, he looked different from the times he’d visited the whorehouse, now devoid of the long cloak and hood that usually hid his gray hair and face.