The Wedding Escape (26 page)

“Of course I don't expect you to let her stay here more than one night.” Amelia decided he was displeased with her intrusion into his home. “I mean, you can't possibly take responsibility for a young orphan girl—I understand that. But I can't just let Alex return to her life in the streets, either, where she might end up in prison, or worse. So tomorrow I'm going to take her to Annabelle's, and ask her if she wouldn't mind letting Alex share my room with me, until I have enough money saved that I can rent a place in which we both can live. Now that she's been bathed she actually looks quite presentable, and I think if I just explain some basic rules of appropriate behavior to her—like not belching at the table and refraining from cursing—she won't be too much of a disruption to Annabelle's household.”

She was leaving him, Jack realized. What could he do to make her stay? What could he possibly say that would make her forgive him for the appalling way he had taken advantage of her? His mind began to race. Amelia was here because she cared about this urchin named Alex. It was incredible that in her current situation, in which there was a reward on her head and she was trying to adjust to a new life and learn how to take care of herself, Amelia was also bringing home stray orphans. But she was nothing like the spoiled, selfindulgent heiress he had assumed she was as he sat impatiently waiting for her to appear at her own wedding. Bringing home a little thief who tried to snatch her reticule was only logical for a woman who had insisted on feeding and clothing an entire community of homeless people with her precious emerald earrings.

He didn't want her to go to Annabelle's. He didn't want her to go anywhere. That was all he could focus on as he stared at her, filled with longing and despair and a kind of tentative hope, that maybe, just maybe, she could come to forgive him for who he was and what he had done to her.

“She can stay here.”

Amelia frowned in confusion. “You mean for tonight?”

“For as long as you need a place for her.”

Surprise drifted across her lovely face, but it was quickly usurped by resignation. “That's very kind of you, Jack, but I don't think it will work. You have to travel a great deal, and I don't see how you could possibly look after a young child on your own.”

“I didn't mean that I would look after her,” Jack clarified. “I meant that you both could stay here—until you felt you were ready to find a place of your own. I expect to be leaving shortly for several months,” he added, lest she fear that he might force himself upon her again. “But I would arrange for Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen to stay on, to help you look after Alex. You will need their help—especially since you will be working at the hotel during the day, and can't take her with you.”

He was right, Amelia realized.

“I'm sure Annabelle would want to assist you with Alex, but she already has a husband and four children of her own, in addition to her writing,” he continued. “With so many demands upon her already, is it really fair to ask her to take on even more?” In fact he was quite certain that any of his sisters or brothers would have happily opened their homes to both Amelia and her young charge, but he was not about to tell her that.

“I suppose not,” Amelia conceded. “But what about Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen? Don't you think they are anxious to go home?”

“If they were, they would have left by now and given me some peace,” he muttered. “I think they are having a wonderful time staying here, cooking and cleaning and nagging me. Genevieve and Haydon have so many other younger servants, those three don't have much to do anymore. Having you and Alex around will only make them feel useful—and deflect some of their attention from me.”

“They did seem to enjoy feeding Alex this evening.” Amelia smiled. “And they knew all her tricks—like when she was hiding food in her napkin, and pretending to be sick so she wouldn't have to leave.”

“They know how children think.”
Especially urchins who have been forced to steal and lie in order to survive.

Amelia studied Jack a long moment. He returned her gaze with weary resignation, as if it did not matter to him what she decided. But his jaw was clenched and his hands were fisted at his sides, indicating to her that it did, in fact, matter.

“Stay, Amelia,” Jack urged in a low voice, afraid that she was about to refuse him. “Let me at least do this for you.”

The words hung in the air, an awkward, inadequate apology.
Forgive me,
was what he had meant to say.
For everything.

Given the way he had taken advantage of her, he knew she had every right to refuse him. But something had brought her back to him that night, and he did not believe it was simply that an urchin had been in need of a good meal. No, Amelia had returned to his home because she believed it was safe to do so. On some level he couldn't begin to understand, she still trusted him, despite all he had done to destroy that trust.

Amelia stared at him in silence, as helplessly drawn to him in that moment as she had been a week earlier. But she was not the same uncertain, inexperienced girl she had been on that night. Only a week had passed, and yet she had changed. She had assumed the role of an older, independent woman, with responsibilities, deadlines, and a salary, and incredibly, people actually thought she was good at what she did. If she continued to work hard, she could carve out a successful career for herself, which would enable her to make her own decisions about her life. Although Jack had not been supportive of her working, she realized she had him to thank for her new life. But for him, she would have been married to Whitcliffe, crying herself into a state of hysteria every night as she agonized over her fate. Jack had helped her escape that. He had done something that no one else had ever done: He had asked her what she wanted.

And then he had tried to give it to her.

“Very well. We'll stay—but only until I have managed to put aside enough money to rent a place of our own.” She did not want Jack to think that she was going to impose upon his generosity indefinitely.

Relief poured through him. “You are both welcome to stay as long as you like. Alex can stay in this room, and you will have my chamber again.” He walked down the corridor and opened his bedroom door for her. “I'll send Oliver to get your things from Annabelle's in the morning.”

“But where will you sleep?”

“I'll take the sofa in the drawing room.”

“But that won't be comfortable.”

“I can sleep anywhere, Amelia,” he assured her, shrugging. “I'm used to it. Besides, it will only be for a few nights. Then I'll be leaving again.”

Of course
. A shadow of longing fell across her heart. “Well, then,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward, “good night.”

“Good night, Amelia.” He watched as she closed the door. Then he leaned against the wall and exhaled.

She was back. And they were still friends.

Beyond that, he refused to contemplate.

Chapter Twelve

I
T BEGAN AS AN UNEASY SENSATION.

He had been jerking his head around to see if he was being followed from the moment Amelia first hurtled into his life. In the nearly two weeks since she had returned with Alex, the habit had become so acute he was developing stiffness in his neck. He stared suspiciously at every man, woman and child, to the point where he was certain his neighbors had decided he was probably touched in the head.

He had never felt welcome on his tidy little street of elegantly restored homes, occupied by respectable families complete with doughy-faced children and haughty servants. He had no doubt they preferred it when he was away, so long as his three odd servants came in once a week to keep the vermin out of his home. When he was absent, he posed no threat to his neighbors' staid lives. Now that he was in residence with an American widow and a sullen little girl who was rumored to be an urchin and a thief, his neighbors had taken to staring at him with disdain. Although he tried to ignore it, they made him feel the same way he always had whenever he tried to exist in the privileged world Genevieve had brought him into.

Despised and unworthy.

“I think we're being followed,” he said tersely, staring out the back window of the carriage.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Ye always think we're bein' followed,” he scoffed. “Yesterday I had to stop ye from accostin' old Mr. Anderson because ye were certain ye'd nae seen him on yer street afore, when the old sod's been livin' here thirty-five years.”

“He looked different,” Jack pointed out, defensive. “He shaved off his beard.”

“Aye—three years ago.”

Jack scowled.

“The day afore ye wanted to question that new maid of Mrs. Ingram, because ye were sure ye'd seen her walkin' near ye in London, and wanted to know what coincidence could have brought her all the way to Inverness—”

“She looked familiar—”

“When 'twas just her new hat ye were recallin', on another woman's head.”

“They shouldn't make them look the same.”

“An' let's nae forget the day ye scared that Rafferty lad so bad, his mother had to give him a tonic and put him to bed.”

“That wasn't my fault,” Jack objected. “He came charging down the street toward Amelia with a rope in his hand—”

“He was chasin' after his wee puppy.” Oliver snorted in disgust. “Ended up flat on his arse with you standin' over him, threatenin' bloody murder.”

“He shouldn't have let the damn thing escape in the first place. How was I to know that he wasn't a threat?”

“He's scarcely twelve years old.”

“He's very tall for his age.”

“He's shorter than Doreen.”

“He seemed taller at the time.”

“I dinna know how ye'd ken, given how quick ye had him sprawled on his backside.”

“Just turn left down the next street,” Jack instructed. “Then left again. I want to see what the carriage behind us does.”

“An' what will ye do if the driver makes the same turns?” asked Oliver. “Will ye accuse him of followin' ye all the way from London?”

“I don't know how you can be so relaxed about Amelia's safety. The newspapers report sightings of her every day. Just this morning, someone said they had seen her in Inverness.”

“Aye—while others have seen her in Paris, Rome, Athens, and New York. Miss Amelia read it to us as she took her tea afore she went to work. She said she didna realize steamships had become so wonderful quick, and maybe this Saturday she'd take a trip to China, as she's always fancied seein' it.” He chuckled.

“It isn't funny, Oliver,” Jack said flatly. “The reward her family has offered is enormous. All of Europe is searching for a woman matching her description in the hopes of making themselves rich.”

“Well, thanks to me, Miss Amelia doesna look like herself anymore,” Oliver pointed out, turning the carriage for the second time. “So ye needn't be so—”

“He's turning.”

The old man clacked his tongue in exasperation. “Aye—an' so did that carriage in front of us. Next thing ye know, they'll be accusin' us of followin' them.”

“Just drive to the end of the street and head west, beyond the edge of the city. If he isn't following us, it would be strange for him to suddenly decide he had to head toward the countryside as well.”

“If we're late for dinner, Eunice will be sorely mad.”

“Just do it, Oliver.”

Oliver huffed in frustration and snapped his reins.

The day was fading as the carriage rolled beyond the busy streets of Inverness. Jack refrained from twisting around to look out the back window as Oliver steered the vehicle onto the road that led to and from the city.
Give it a few minutes.
Just because a carriage was traveling the same routes as his didn't mean it was following him. There had been numerous times in the past few weeks when instinct had told him he was being watched, but he never could be entirely sure, as the offending vehicle or person always disappeared at the last moment.

“There's a small road running south after that clump of trees ahead. Speed up and take it, then stop the carriage after we pass the crest of the first hill.”

“When Eunice is blatherin' about how her roast is ruined, I'm nae takin' the blame,” Oliver grumbled, cracking his whip.

Jack waited until they had disappeared into the valley beyond the first hill. The moment Oliver brought the vehicle to a stop, he leapt out.

“Wait here—I'm going to the top of the hill to watch.”

“Call me if ye need me to come save ye,” Oliver joked.

Ignoring the old man's sarcasm, Jack raced back through the deepening darkness to the top of the hill, where he concealed himself amidst the shadowy spires of the pine trees looming at the side of the road.

Long moments passed. Finally Jack caught sight of the same carriage he had seen in Inverness, moving briskly along the deserted country route. It barreled past the turnoff he and Oliver had taken.

Oliver was right. He was becoming completely paranoid. He turned, annoyed. Now he would have to suffer Oliver's infernal mocking all the way home.

The sound of a horse's hooves made him stop.

It had turned back, Jack realized, watching as the carriage sped along the narrow ribbon of road. The driver must have realized he had lost his quarry and was now racing to find it. Jack's jaw tightened as the carriage sped past the turnoff, which was not obvious in the waning light. After a moment the carriage stopped again.

Come on. I'm over here.

The carriage slowly moved forward again, heading toward the pale glow of Inverness.

Shit.

The carriage stopped once more, hesitating in the darkness.

At last it turned and began to move carefully down the westerly road, searching for a place to turn.

“What's happenin'?” demanded Oliver, who had grown bored waiting and decided to hike up the hill to Jack. “Any sign of it?”

“The driver has found the road,” Jack replied. “Stay here—I'm going to the other side. As soon as he slows on the crest, I'll grab the horse's reins while you make a lot of noise and open the carriage door. We don't know how many are inside, so make it seem like there are more than just two of us.”

“Dinna worry, lad.” Oliver's aged eyes sparkled with anticipation. “I'll fill them so full o' fear, they'll think they're about to take their dyin' breath.”

Jack sprinted across the road and stood in the shadows, waiting.

Finally the carriage rounded the hill.

Jack leapt out and grabbed the horse's reins, causing the startled animal to rear.

“Jesus Christ—
what the hell are ye doin'?
” roared the stunned driver.

“Keep still an' yer mouths shut, an' maybe we'll nae slit yer throats,” bellowed Oliver dramatically as he flung open the carriage door, his dirk flashing in his withered fist. Blinking against the darkness, he peered inside. “ 'Tis empty,” he informed Jack, clearly disappointed.

Jack hauled down the driver. Before the astonished man could do more than gasp Jack had jerked his arm painfully behind him.

“I'm going to ask you some questions,” Jack drawled, “and you're going to answer them truthfully.”

“Bugger yourself!”

“Take a moment to think about it,” he advised, pressing the point of his dirk into the driver's throat. “Because I don't want there to be any confusion about what I mean by truthfully. What I mean is, if I discover you have lied to me about any detail, no matter how small or insignificant, my men and I will find you and we will smash every bone in your skinny, quivering little body. Is that clear?”

The man regarded him in hostile silence.

“If you need a demonstration to understand what a broken bone feels like, I shall be happy to oblige.” He grabbed hold of the man's little finger and began to bend it back.

“All right!” shrieked the man. “I'll tell ye what ye want to know!”

“Your cooperation is appreciated.” Jack released his finger. “What is your name?”

“It's Neil. Neil Dempsey.”

“And just what are you doing out here, Mr. Dempsey?”

“I was followin' you.”

“Why?”

Neil's mind began to race.

“Why?”
Jack repeated, sharply twisting his arm.

“Because I've been hired to watch ye!” he squealed.

Jack was careful to conceal his surprise. Watch
him?
Why the hell would anyone be watching him? It had to have something to do with Amelia.

“Who hired you?”

Neil whimpered. “Please—I canna say—”

“You can say,” Jack assured him, wrenching his arm a little further up his back. “But if you would like me to help you remember by tearing your shoulder from its socket, I will be happy to oblige you—”

“Lord Hutton!” he shrieked.

Jack eased his punishing grip. “Who?”

“The Earl of Hutton,” Neil explained, his voice quaking.

“And just what does the Earl of Hutton want with me?”

“I dinna know—I swear it!” he screeched as Jack tightened his hold. “All I know is, he hired me to follow ye while ye're here, and let him know everythin' ye do.”

Jesus Christ.
“And how long have you been following me?”

“Nearly four weeks, now. Ever since ye come back to Inverness.”

“I imagine that has kept you quite busy, hasn't it?” Jack didn't know who the Earl of Hutton was, but if he had hired someone to watch him, it was obvious he also knew about Amelia. Why then hadn't he taken her to claim his reward? What sort of game was he playing?

“Where does Hutton live?”

“On an estate about twelve miles from here.”

“How convenient. You'll take us there now.”

“Dinna make me do that,” pleaded Neil. “If I take ye there his lordship will be boilin' mad—”

“Do you think he will kill you?” enquired Jack blandly.

Neil looked shocked. “Of course not—”

“Then you have less to fear by taking us there than you do by refusing. Is that clear?” He scraped his dirk across the soft flesh of Neil's wildly pulsing neck.

Neil whimpered and nodded.

 

T
HERE NOW, YE JUST FILL THAT UP AND I'LL BE BACK
in a moment to take it away,” instructed Mrs. Quigley, handing him his chamber pot. “Are ye sure ye dinna need me to help ye?”

“I can still piss by myself,” Edward assured her sourly.

“Well, then, that's somethin' ye should be grateful for.” She pulled down his richly embroidered covers so he wouldn't have to struggle with them.

“I shall try to remember to thank the good Lord for that particular boon when I say my prayers tonight.” His tone was dripping sarcasm.

“Ye might also thank him for grantin' me the patience to put up with ye,” she suggested, carefully arranging the sheets over his bare, skeletal feet so they wouldn't get chilled while he relieved himself. “I know that's somethin' I pray for every night.”

“Let me know when you think he has given you some.”

Mrs. Quigley fisted her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Ye'd think a man with yer brains and station in life would know better than to insult the woman who's in charge of his medicine.”

Edward shrugged. “If you don't give it to me, I'll die. And if you do give it to me, I'll die. The only appealing possibility is that you'll give me too much one day, which might make me die sooner.”

“Dinna be countin' on that any day soon,” she said breezily, opening the door. “I'll be workin' hard at keepin' ye here as long as I can, because I know the good Lord needs all the rest he can get afore ye show up to make his life a misery.” She banged the door behind her.

His mood foul, Edward pulled up his nightshirt and waited impatiently for his swollen body to cooperate. He hated pissing into a chamber pot while lying in bed. There was something insufferably demeaning about performing one's bodily functions in such a manner. He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, trying to force himself to relax and forget about how narrow and pathetic his life had become.

There were many days he heartily wished that Mrs. Quigley would give him far more of the laudanum his doctor had prescribed for the pain than his shriveling, faltering body could tolerate. It would be wonderful to just close his eyes, never to waken again. But he could not be sure the medicine would be so kind. There was the possibility that instead it would make him grotesquely ill, with vomiting and shivering and convulsions, and then not kill him after all, but render him more damaged and helpless than he already was.

Such a fate was unthinkable.