His Beautiful Wench (19 page)

Helena entered the room and Amelia turned from the window to face her.

“Your bath is ready. I’ll be back shortly.” She strode to the door, her dress swishing, and clasped the knob. “I know it will be difficult, but try and relax.” With a reassuring smile, she opened the door and left the room.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia picked up the black gown, went into the bathroom and locked the door. She folded the dress and placed it on the floor then removed the green velvet, the air a blessed relief on her tortured skin. She moved to the mirror. A red mark where the fabric had chafed signified its angry heat beneath her breasts. She looked away, saddened that her wedding dress had hurt her as much as the events before and after she’d put it on. Amelia sighed and stepped into the tub, easing herself below the water. She cringed, the warmth exacerbating the soreness, and reached for a bar of soap from a dish on the bath’s edge. Creating lather in her hands, she dropped the soap and washed her body and hair. Finished, she leaned back and stared at a small wooden sideboard, wondering if it housed a drying cloth. Two stout candles in platelike holders burned brightly, creating shadows that danced upon the cream-colored walls. She shuddered and closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself back home. If only she could open her eyes and be gone from this place, with Emmett beside the tub soaping her.

“Oh Emmett. I miss you. Please stay safe.”

Unable to bear thinking about him lest she break down, she stood and stepped out of the tub, careful not to slip on the polished wooden floor. She opened the sideboard and found a stack of linen cloths. Pulling one from the pile, she wrapped it around herself and stood shivering—but not from the cold air. Fright at the coming hours chilled her and her teeth chattered. She rubbed her body dry then donned the black gown, grateful for the loose bodice and soft material. Stooping, she picked up the green velvet and then stood upright to blow out the candles.

In the bedroom, she sat at a small table with an oval mirror and a silver hairbrush on top. She picked up the brush and studied the back. Engraved swirls surrounded her initials. Shocked, she threw the brush down and stood. The presumptuousness of her find was hard to digest. Lord Graham, so used to getting what he wanted, obviously believed he would get her too.

Oh God, that man is so… I can’t bear to eat at the same table as him.

Amelia shuddered and strode to the window, ire lending her speed. She stared at the grounds. Movement in the trees beside the gardener’s cottage caught her attention and she leaned forward, peering into the gloom. A swathe of light from inside lit the grass in front of the window and another joined it as the front door opened. John appeared as a silhouette, bending to look at the trees. Helena stepped out of the darkness and hurried inside. John appeared to glance up at the castle and give a slight nod. Amelia raised her hand and the gardener stepped back and closed the door. Helena walked to the window and pulled the white drapes closed, leaving Amelia with nothing but their moving shadows behind the fabric and a sense of anticipation so great it stole her breath. She struggled to breathe through the panic, head swirling. Gripping the headboard, she willed herself calm. Air finally entered her lungs and she sat on the bed, heart beating painfully fast and hard.

Just get through the meal and come back here. Then…then we leave this place and find Emmett. Then what?

She stared at the floor, her mind sifting through their options. Should they go to her home or his? Or Emmett’s ship? Or even a new town? Indecision gripped her and she stood and paced the room, concentrating on remaining unruffled. It wouldn’t do for Graham to spot something amiss.

Footsteps rapped, brisk and hard on the floor outside her room. Amelia stood still, pulse thudding in her ears and waited for them to pass. They were male, she was sure of it. Graham? Morley? Someone she had yet to meet? She held her breath as the footfalls grew louder then paused. Outside her room? And was that heavy breathing filtering between the jamb and the door? Stifling a gasp, she laid her hand on her chest and waited. The breathing gained volume, harsher rasps, as though the person tried to contain anger or excitement. A shudder ripped through her and she slowly released air through pursed lips.

Go away! Please, just go away!

A series of shuffles, then the footsteps resumed their journey, fading as she imagined them descending the stairs. Their timbre changed, sounding tinny, then vanished. Had Graham intended to see her before dinner?

I would never have let him in.

But would she have had a choice?

She blinked, telling herself to stay strong. She would get out of here and wait for Emmett on the road. What other choice did she have?

Chapter Seven

Helena knocked then entered Amelia’s room, her cheeks flushed, hair awry. Amelia smiled and Helena flushed redder and smoothed her dress front.

“Is it obvious that I—?” she asked, fussing with her locks.

“Only because I know where you’ve been.” Amelia sat on the bed and took in a deep breath. “Someone came by. Stopped outside my room. I heard them breathing.” She looked at Helena, wanting…wanting what? Confirmation of what she already knew? That Graham had lurked on the landing?

Helena snorted and strode to the small table. Picking up the brush, she said, “I suspect it would have been him. He likes to…smell women.”

Amelia closed her eyes and released a shaky sigh, revulsion for him bringing gooseflesh to her arms. “He…he’s made that clear before.”

“He’s disgusting,” Helena whispered, then brightly said, “Well, you’ll be gone very soon. Come. I’ll style your hair, though it’s still a little damp. We may need to leave it as it is.”

Amelia stared at the brush and nodded, pushing away any thoughts of it bearing her initials.
It’s just a brush…
She sat before the mirror, shocked at her appearance. Dark half-circles beneath her eyes shouted of her fatigue and hard lines had formed on either side of her mouth. Haunted eyes glared back at her, the whites bloodshot, and they filled with tears. Helplessness seeped into her. She almost gave in to it, let it swamp her mind and body, but an image of Emmett shot at the roadside forced her spine straight and strengthened her tenacity.

I won’t let a bully like Graham win. He’s already taken my parents. I won’t let him take Emmett too. Then me…

The brush smoothing through her hair felt good and she took a moment to relax, safe in Helena’s company. How could she ever repay this woman for what she had done, was about to do?
I’ll find a way. Maybe Matilda can help.

Amelia studied Helena’s reflection and their eyes met. No words were necessary. Both of them knew the danger that lay ahead. The timing was crucial and if they were delayed upon leaving…
No, I can’t think about it going wrong. We’ll succeed and get away. Find somewhere Graham can’t reach us.

“It will be fine,” Helena said with a final stroke of the brush. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her worried eyes.

“It has to be. I can’t live without Emmett.”

They regarded one another, the knowledge that they had one chance only hitting Amelia hard. She batted away her nerves and uncertainty, stood and paced the room. She wrung an unseen cloth and went through what she knew of the plan. It wasn’t enough.

“Exactly what are we going to do?” she asked, still pacing, still wringing. “When you come for me, what happens then?”

Helen placed the brush on the table and sat on the chair. She linked her fingers and sighed, the exhalation as wobbly as Amelia’s knees. “I’ll lead you outside to the right of the castle. The grounds there lead to a neighboring farmer’s land and we’ll travel on horseback to the main road. We wait there for Emmett and when he comes you will go your way and John and I will come back here.”

“What will you do if Graham suspects you helped us?”

Helena looked down at her hands. “He will do as he’s threatened and hurt my family, but he won’t suspect. By the time he realizes you’re gone, only one horse will be missing and I’ll be in bed—or waking him tomorrow morning.” She winced.

“Do you wake him like
that
every day?”

“I do.” Helena stood and smiled. “And I will continue to do so until we can leave here. I need to save enough money so my family can come too.” She went around the room dousing the lights then walked to the door. “Now we must go down to dinner. I suspect I’ll have to eat with Morley, John and the cook. He has no need of my company at the meal.”

Sucking in a breath, Amelia held her stomach, hoping the touch would still the flutters inside. It didn’t. She sighed and slipped on some shoes, shuddering that he knew her size, then followed Helena from the room, along the landing and down the stairs.

In the foyer, Morley guarded the door, arms across his chest, legs apart. He eyed her with an eerie disdain, and Amelia felt his gaze boring into her back as she trailed Helena and entered a room to her left. Inside, the scene erased the unease she had felt around Morley, bringing on a stronger, more frightening emotion. Graham sat at the far end of a long table, his sneer that of a man who thought he had already won. He drummed his fingers beside an empty plate, the tips repeatedly brushing a knife, which pinged loudly. A sideboard held numerous lit candles and a bowl of fruit and above it hung a painting of the castle during summertime. Amelia’s pulse raced and she swallowed, looking at Helena, who stood at the near end of the table.

Helena turned to face her. “I hope you enjoy your meal, Amelia. Good night.” Her features tightened momentarily then relaxed as she addressed the lord. “I wish you the same, Lord Graham.” She bobbed and whirled, her skirts billowing as she brushed past Amelia on her way out.

The door closing sounded so final, so awful, that Amelia’s knees almost gave way. She held her hands by her sides, fisting them to keep her mind from entertaining what was expected of her now. Graham leered at her and she noticed a second place setting to his left.

You have to do this. You must
.

“Come here, Amelia,” the lord said, his voice soft and with a peculiar lilt she hadn’t heard before.

She inwardly shivered and moved toward him, the walk seemingly endless, his gaze upon her chest. The black gown’s neckline revealed the top swells of her breasts and he licked his plump, slack lips.
Oh God, give me the strength to get through this.
She sat, the chairback hard against her spine, and placed her hands in her lap. The plate before her suddenly fascinating, she studied the gold whorls edging the white china and gnawed her lip.

“I trust your room is to your liking?”

She nodded.

“Although you won’t occupy it for long.”

The implication sickened her and bile burned her throat. She swallowed, the plate whorls blurring. She nodded again, the motion stiff, and linked her fingers.

“Have you lost your voice?”

His tone irked her and she snapped her head up and glared at him. “No. I didn’t feel your questions warranted a spoken answer.”

She stared at his face, the broken veins across his nose prominent in the flickering candlelight. Red cheeks bloomed redder and he flexed his jaw muscles, teeth audibly gnashing. His fingers drummed harder and the knife tapped his plate, the cadence irritating. Mouth parted, he released a gusty breath that reeked of wine and she stifled a retch.

“Do you know, you’re quite rude.” His eyes narrowed. “But I like a feisty woman. They are the best performers in the bedroom.”

A shriek built inside her, threatened to emerge and reveal her true feelings. “I’m no good in the bedroom, I assure you.”

“I beg to differ. I rather feel you’re a wild one.” He paused, then, “Especially from the stink of you earlier while we watched—”

“Stop!” She held up a hand and stared at the opposite wall. Another painting hung there, of a countryside scene, the gold frame dull in the shadowed half of the room.

His laugh rippled toward her. “Don’t tell me you’re shy. I won’t believe you. You like sex more than whores do.”

She turned to him once more, a wicked retort on her tongue, but a door behind Graham swung open and stopped her speaking. Clamping her lips together, she forced them into a semblance of a smile and nodded at a thin, elderly woman who approached with a large tray. She placed it on the table, the graying bun on top of her head bobbing with her action, and removed the lid from a silver tureen. Picking up two bowls, she rested them on the plates and, ladle in hand, served soup. Chunks of soggy vegetables sank to the bottom of the bowl and the clear liquid looked tasteless. The woman dumped a platter of burned bread rolls onto the table and gripped the tray, leaving as sternly as she’d entered.

“I’m not hungry,” Amelia said.

Graham reached over and selected her spoon, pressing it into her hand. “Eat.”

With immense effort, Amelia managed to eat half the soup while battling the urge to reprimand Graham for slurping. The main meal arrived in the same fashion as the last, dished up in silence and with a rigid hand. The cook strutted out, leaving the scent of undercooked pork and overcooked boiled potatoes behind. Peas, shriveled and light green, swam in the insipid gravy on her plate, and Amelia’s stomach revolted. She reached for a jug of water and sloshed it into her glass, taking a large gulp.