His Beautiful Wench (18 page)

Conflicting emotions brewed inside her and she let the tears fall, uncaring if Graham saw them. This man was a pig, an abomination, and she prayed that Emmett had found the sculpture without incident and was on his way to collect her now. She shivered, unable to control herself. What if Emmett got caught? What if he was being held in that wooden box at this very moment? What if he’d been killed?

Anguished, she fell back onto her bottom, forehead to her knees.

“Come,” Graham said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

She looked up and sniffed. The lord held out his hand and she waved hers, indicating she would get up by herself. She scrabbled to her knees and stood with her back to the wall beside the window, a ball of emotion lodged in her throat and her heart rate soaring.

“We must go,” he said, eyes and teeth glinting in the darkness, “before they see us.”

He turned away from her and walked back the way they had come. Amelia followed, her heart and legs heavy. Guilt weighted her soul and she pondered what would befall her if Emmett didn’t return. Would Graham force the pastor to marry them without her consent, sentencing her to a life with a man she abhorred?

If he keeps me imprisoned here, I’ll kill him if he tries to touch me. I’d rather be hanged than endure his touch.

Despair brought on more tears and she indulged in self-pity until they reached the castle doors. Swiping at her face, she set her jaw and shoulders, resolving to get through the coming hours with dignity. Graham rapped on the door and it swung open to reveal a doorman, tight black breeches molded to his legs. A black jacket with velvet lapels fitted his trim form perfectly and he regarded her with flinty eyes. His hair, oil-slicked and shiny, brought on a shudder. It seemed the owner of this castle and his employees enjoyed liberal use of the stuff. She shifted from foot to foot beneath his gaze, heat infusing her cheeks, her bodice itching to a high degree.

“Morley,” Graham said. “Please call for Helena.”

* * * * *

Amelia huddled beside the front door in a foyer bigger than the ground floor of the whorehouse. Graham had sauntered through a side door and Morley had gone in search of the woman named Helena. No one would see her if she ran now… She looked around to stop herself fleeing. If she ran, she risked Emmett’s life. Wood flooring, polished to a high shine, held the reflection of a light wood sideboard on the other side of the front door. A cream taper in a silver candlestick stood in the center and a ceramic bowl held dried flower petals that gave off a pleasing scent. Ahead, a set of bare wood stairs stretched up to a railed balcony. The three closed doors up there prompted thoughts of what lay behind and she guessed that two more doors, one on either end, led to the left and right wings. Why did one man need such a huge home? Perhaps he expected to have a large family…

She swallowed bile and took in a deep breath. A clatter from above drew her attention. The woman from the gardener’s cottage kneeled on the balcony, picking something up from the floor. She stood and sighed, glaring at the ceiling, her cheeks an angry red. Blowing out a breath, she approached the top of the stairs and smoothed the skirt of her burgundy-colored dress. Her hair looked in need of a brush and she patted it, tucking some wisps behind her ears before descending the stairs. She glanced up, caught sight of Amelia and stopped. She stared, eyes wide, mouth an O, and flushed even redder.

“Uh, hello,” she said as she approached. “You must be Amelia.”

Amelia nodded, embarrassment flaming her cheeks. It seemed the woman was also flustered.
Did she see me peeping through the window while she…? Or perhaps she’d barely made it back to the castle when Morley went to find her?

“I’m Helena,” she said, placing her hand on Amelia’s arm and giving it a little squeeze. “Please forgive my state. I’m…giddy at times.” She held up two halves of what had been a small white vase. “I hope Lord Graham is in a good mood.”

“He was full of…high spirits when I last saw him.”

Helena slapped a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank goodness.” She leaned forward, the scent of lavender pomade strong, and whispered, “He has an awful temper.”

Amelia smiled. “I imagine he does.”

The woman moved closer still, their cheeks almost touching. “You must get away from here.”

Amelia closed her eyes briefly. She nodded, a tenuous movement she hoped Helena caught, and blew out a quiet sigh. “I can’t.”

Helena’s breath skimmed Amelia’s ear and a prickle of unease wended up Amelia’s spine. The pomade’s aroma intensified, leaving Amelia nauseous and lightheaded.

“You can. I will show you a way. It’s not safe here, you understand?” Helena swallowed, the sound striking in the quiet foyer. “He has plans. Awful plans.”

Oh God…
“I can’t leave until Emmett returns. If I leave before then, the lord will kill him.”

“My sweet, he’s going to kill him anyway.”

Amelia’s pulse raced, the echo of it the dull thud of a breaking heart. She clutched her throat, suddenly unable to breathe. Her eyes misted and her knees jolted as though empty of bone and muscle. Helena stepped back and clasped Amelia’s elbow, steering her toward the stairs.

“Come,” she said, overbright and loud. “Let me show you to your room. I’m sure you’ll love it here!”

Amelia walked like a condemned woman, stuck between her need to stay here for Emmett and leaving to find him, warn him. What if it was too late? What if Graham’s men had already waylaid him? Murdered him? She took each step in a daze, barely aware of where Helena led or what surrounded her. Visions of her lover shot and tossed overboard clouded her mind, foiling any effort she had of working out what to do.

A door creaking pulled her to the here and now and she found herself in a candlelit bedroom. A double bed placed beneath two arched windows overlooked the rear grounds, the gardener’s cottage to the far right. Lights still flickered inside and Amelia wondered if the green-fingered man had finished work for the day. A quick memory of what had occurred inside just minutes ago intruded into her foggy mind. She ousted the image away, angry that she could think of such a thing when Emmett’s life was clearly in danger. And what of her life? Would it be as she’d suspected? Surely the pastor wouldn’t comply with her being forced into a marriage she didn’t want.

Oh God, I… What will I do?

She sat on the bed and stared at a wooden ottoman at the foot, the intricate carvings like those on her attic chest. A pistol shot of longing swept through her—for the familiar, for home. Her throat swelled with a lump of emotion and the ottoman blurred into a smudge of no discernable shape. Hands clasped in her lap, she let the tears fall. Helena rushed to her side, the mattress dipping as she sat. She embraced Amelia, hand stroking her hair, bringing a little comfort.

After what seemed a long time, Amelia’s tears ceased and she wiped her face with shaking fingertips. “I…I don’t know what to do.”

Helena cupped Amelia’s cheek and turned her face to meet her gaze. “I have limited time before I have to report back to Graham that you are settled in here, so listen carefully.” Her brown eyes widened slightly and she lowered her hand to cover Amelia’s. “I’m here to see to his
needs
, you understand?”

Amelia nodded, disgusted by Graham’s use of this woman.

“I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t come to work here, he would have harmed my family.” She sighed, the breath shaky, then said cheerfully, “So here I am.” Her wobbly smile belied her apparent nonchalance. “When Graham takes a wife, I can leave.”

“So why are you helping me? He has made it quite clear what his intentions are regarding me.”

“I understand the ways of love. I…I have fallen for the gardener here, but if the lord found out I’m sure my employment and my family’s lives would be terminated. If you feel for your Emmett the way I feel for John… How can I possibly deny another woman her beloved?”

Gratitude laced with a wave of sentiment swamped Amelia. “But you may risk seeing to his needs for some time should he not get what he wants with me. What if he doesn’t find another woman to wed?”

“For as long as John is here, I will manage. He understands my position.” She gave a sardonic laugh. “He doesn’t like it, but what can we do?”

The coupling in the gardener’s home took on new meaning, and guilt that she’d witnessed what she’d thought just an act of sexual release brought a blush to her cheeks. Would she ever hold Emmett in her arms like that again?

“It’s not too late. Emmett should still be alive. John overheard Graham talking to his men. They are to waylay your man on his way back here, on the road that leads to this dreadful place.” Helena squeezed Amelia’s hand. “We have a plan. Emmett was told to arrive here at midnight.” She glanced at a clock on the bedside cabinet. “That gives us time to leave here and meet him before they do.”

“Why so late?” Amelia asked, her stomach contracting with fear.

“It’s unlikely anyone would be on the road at that time, so killing him there would go undetected. Emmett will either be on foot or horseback—if he owns a horse.”

“He doesn’t.”

Helena stared at their hands and murmured, “Then we will take another horse.”

The implications of Helena’s plan slammed into Amelia and her heart rate sped up. “What have you planned?” she whispered, dread swirling through her body. “Although I appreciate your help, I’m frightened of the consequences for you.”

Helena smiled. “Don’t you worry about that. We won’t be caught. It will appear you stole two horses for your escape, that’s all. One would have been more plausible, but needs must—unless you don’t mind riding two to a horse with Emmett?” She shrugged and offered a smile. “You will attend dinner as though everything is as it should be. You must act as you normally would with the lord. If he senses anything… How do you usually behave around him?”

“I’m a little waspish.”

“Good, then continue with that. After dinner, claim tiredness and ask to be excused. I will come for you at eleven. Graham retires at ten and he will undoubtedly want to keep to his routine in case he is questioned by the authorities about Emmett’s murder—which
will not
happen.”

Amelia clenched and unclenched her fists. “But what if we’re not on time? What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t. I promise.”

But how can she be so sure? Unforeseen circumstances could ruin everything and Emmett will be dead and I’ll be…

She cursed herself for falling apart at a time when she needed to be strong. Gathering her resolve, she straightened her spine and exhaled slowly. She would do this for Emmett, just as he was taking back the jewels for her.

“He planned it all, didn’t he?” she whispered, eyes narrowing. “He sent Emmett on a voyage to get those jewels with marrying me in mind.” She thought back to Graham visiting the saloon. “Before I had even met him he had bided his time, knowing what he had in store for me.”

“My sweet,” Helena said, smoothing a wisp of Amelia’s hair behind her ear, “he wanted you from the first time he saw you. Before your parents died. Do you understand?”

Amelia nodded. A wave of anger enveloped her, consuming her tears and helplessness, replacing it with determination and a desire to see Graham dead. Shocked at the level of her hatred, she tried to erase such thoughts from her mind, but they remained, stubborn, unwavering.

“How can one man organize such a terrible set of events without remorse?” she asked, looking at Helena.

“Some people are born without remorse, and believe me, the lord is one of them.” She rose and walked to an armoire beside the door, swinging the doors wide. “Now here are your clothes.”

Amelia frowned, not recognizing any of the garments hanging inside. “But—”

“He purchased them. We must choose something with a gathered skirt, one that will spread wide enough so you can ride like a man.”

Fingering the bodice of Matilda’s gown, Amelia said, “Are there any that don’t itch?”

Helena turned, one hand fondling a black gown, and smiled. “None of these will itch.” She laughed. “Thank goodness we can find amusement in such dire circumstances. It lessens the tension.” She took the gown from the armoire and held it to her chest. “It’s safe for me to say you won’t mind leaving your dress behind then?”

Amelia swiveled as Helena moved to the foot of the bed and laid out the gown. “It isn’t mine. It belongs to Mad—to Matilda, my friend.”

“Ah, Madam. She’s my friend too. I worked there before coming here.” She smiled tightly. “I know you won’t enjoy it, but I must run you a bath. You must play this charade as you would have done had I not been here. While you bathe, I will report to Graham. Dress, and I will return to do your hair. Dinner is served at eight and lasts around an hour. Remember, you must be back in this room before ten. The hour’s wait will be dreadful, I know, but I must ensure everyone has retired before I come for you.”

Helena disappeared through a door to her right. Water splashed and Amelia stood and walked to one of the windows. She looked out without really seeing anything and imagined what Emmett was doing now. Had he already collected the sculpture? Being in Graham’s employ, Bates’ men would offer Emmett no trouble, probably paid a hefty sum to hand over the goods. Or would they act out a play, making it seem as though they thought Emmett was stealing, a trespasser on their ship, and beat him?