A lady in need of shelter

Heiress Amelia Eastway is running for her life. Convinced she has committed a terrible crime, she seeks shelter in an overgrown country estate, only to discover the owner—a reclusive baron—does not take kindly to trespassers...

After losing his wife and son, Sir Edward Gray has shut himself away from the world. His honor demands he give Amelia a safe haven, but he’s determined to keep his distance. Until, that is, Amelia brings life into Edward’s home, and gives him hope for a new future!

Edward moved quietly, hoping to surprise the intruder.

The sight that met his eyes as he pushed open the door was not what he’d expected at all. Standing in front of the fire was a young woman in the process of undressing. Edward swallowed. She had already shed her dress and petticoat, and was now clad in just her chemise and stockings. Both items of clothing were soaked with rainwater, and the chemise clung to her body in a scandalous fashion, revealing much more than it had been designed to.

As he watched her chemise slipped from one shoulder, revealing the creamy white skin beneath. The young woman then bent down and started to unroll her stockings, sighing with pleasure as she peeled the wet material from her legs.

Edward knew he had already been watching for far too long to be considered a gentleman. Long-forgotten emotions were beginning to stir in his body, and as he watched the mystery woman arch her back and let her head drop backwards Edward felt a surge of desire.

Author Note

In my job as a doctor I am lucky enough to be a part of many people’s lives. Sometimes it is my role to comfort them when they receive bad news, sometimes to celebrate when the news is good. Often people just want to talk—to discuss the highs and lows of their lives and figure out ways to make it through the tough times. Over the past few years I have seen many suffer sad bereavements, lose the very people they got up for each and every morning, and I have marvelled at their resilience and fortitude. Despite these devastating losses these people struggle on, and after a period of time things do start to get easier.

Nevertheless, I think the old adage ‘time heals’ is only partially true. I believe that it is what you do with that time that helps the healing process, and this was a theme I wanted to explore in Heiress on the Run. Edward’s bereavement is still fresh and raw, and he’s locked himself away brooding; it is only as he begins to accept that there must be a future for him that he can truly begin to heal. In writing Edward’s character I sometimes wondered if I had given him too much to bear, but I kept reminding myself of all the real-life examples that show people can endure and can flourish again no matter what.

Heiress on the Run

Laura Martin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LAURA MARTIN writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing, she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book, and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially visiting historical sites and far-flung shores.

Books by Laura Martin

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

The Governess Tales

Governess to the Sheikh

Stand-Alone Novels

The Pirate Hunter

Secrets Behind Locked Doors

Under a Desert Moon

An Earl in Want of a Wife

Heiress on the Run

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk.

For Nic,

for all those marathon make-believe sessions.

One day I’ll forgive you for Jasmine’s head.

And for Luke and Jack.

you make all my dreams come true.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Amelia ran through the trees, ignoring the branches that whipped at her face and the brambles that caught at her skirts. She was exhausted, her lungs felt as though they were on fire and the muscles in her legs protested with every stride, but still she kept running. Risking a glance over her shoulder, Amelia stumbled, her ankle twisting dangerously to one side, but she caught herself and managed to stay on her feet.

A loud clap of thunder sounded overhead and seconds later the sky lit up with a fork of brilliant white lightning. Amelia felt exposed in the bright light, despite the camouflage of the trees, and was glad when the world returned to darkness again. Now the rain started in earnest, big droplets of water that pounded against Amelia’s skin and soaked her within minutes. Her dress hung heavily against her, rubbing like sandpaper with every movement, and for once she wished she was wearing something more practical, less pretty, something that might keep her a little warm in this awful climate.

Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, Amelia listened carefully. She’d been walking over these Godforsaken Downs for the past two days, unsure where to go, where would be safe and offer her sanctuary. It had been bad enough when it was just cold and windy, but now, with the storm raging overhead, Amelia wondered whether she might die out here on these hills.

At least the village was far behind her now, the village that she had hoped might give her shelter for the cold night. That had been a bad idea. The first person that had caught a glimpse of her bloodstained dress and windswept hair had backed away, calling for her to keep her distance, and alerting the entire population to her arrival. She’d fled quickly, sparing a glance for the warm glow coming from the roadside inn, and continued her dash over the sodden hills.

Amelia was convinced the villagers would have sent people to follow her. Her face was probably on posters by now, her crime known far beyond the seaside resort of Brighton where it had been committed. She let out a small sob, wondering where everything had gone so wrong, and allowed herself a moment of self-pity. This was not how her life was supposed to be. Four days ago she’d had everything to look forward to: a new life in England, a reunion with the man she loved and a Season in London, whirling through ballrooms and sparkling in pretty new dresses. She had imagined being complimented and courted, not condemned and chased.

Straightening up, Amelia noticed a low wall on her left and a little further on a set of wrought-iron gates, easy to miss as they were so overgrown with curls of ivy and creepers. It only took her a second to decide what to do. Her feet were hurting, her entire body shivering and she hadn’t slept for two days. The gates looked as though they belonged to an abandoned estate. If she was lucky there might be a barn or outbuilding still standing, somewhere to provide her shelter from the elements and to rest.

Cautiously she pushed open the gates and slipped through. As Amelia walked up the driveway a sense of unease began to uncurl inside her. The place had a ghostly feel to it and, if she wasn’t so desperate to stop for the night, she might have turned back to look for alternative shelter.

The house was magnificent, in a dark and Gothic sort of way. Gargoyles loomed from precipices and the windows all tapered to elegant arched points. Statues and carvings decorated the spaces around the windows and doors, and towards the back of the house Amelia could see two imposing towers climbing up into the sky.

The estate was abandoned, Amelia could see that straight away. The house had an empty, disused feel about it even from this distance and the east side was blackened by fire damage. She wondered how long ago it had been abandoned and whether there might still be a soft bed to rest on inside.

Cautiously Amelia approached the front door and pushed it open, surprised to find it swung inwards without a creak or protest, revealing an empty hallway.

‘Hello?’ she called out before stepping over the threshold. ‘Is anyone here?’

She waited for a second and then, hearing only the howling of the wind outside, she chided herself for the unease that prevented her from pushing the door closed behind her.

After another minute of silence she shut the door and stepped further into the hall. She had to wait for a moment until her vision had adjusted to the darkness before she could see anything properly. Summoning her courage, she walked down the hall, selected a door and pushed it open.

Amelia could see the room beyond must have once been a drawing room, or maybe a sitting room. A comfortable-looking armchair tempted her to take a step inside and once she was in the room she could make out the other contents. Most of the furniture had been covered over with white sheets, designed to keep the thick dust at bay, and on the floor was a heavy, luxurious rug covering the floorboards.

Her eyes skimmed over the details of the room and came to rest on the large fireplace set into one of the walls. A spark of hope flared inside her as she saw the basket of wood sitting beside it and visions of a roaring fire, warming her frozen limbs and drying her sopping toes, sprang into her mind. She almost cried with relief when she saw the tinderbox sitting on top of the mantelpiece. Finally her luck was beginning to change.

The practicalities of starting a fire were much more difficult than Amelia had first envisioned. She’d seen fires laid before—even in India they had needed fires in the kitchen and sometimes in monsoon season a fire would be lit to help dry out the clothes—but she’d never actually taken much notice of what the servants were doing. Hesitantly she piled some wood in the grate, ensuring there were some small pieces at the top, and then she set to work on the tinder box.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later and she was just about ready to throw the infuriating little box across the room. Her fingers were aching from trying to strike up a spark into the tinder and she had begun to shiver almost uncontrollably, which didn’t help with the delicate manoeuvres needed. With a growl of frustration she struck the steel against the flint one last time and almost cried with relief as a few sparks flew out and ignited the tinder. Carefully she fanned the flames, blowing softly, then touched the sulphur match to ignite it, before lighting the taper. With delicate movements Amelia knelt down in front of the fireplace and set about coaxing the wood to begin burning, feeling an unparalleled sense of satisfaction as slowly the wood began to blacken and the flames danced brightly in the grate.

Amelia almost flopped to the floor in exhaustion. The last few days had taken their toll on her not only physically but emotionally, and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep, but she knew she would be at risk of a fever if she didn’t get herself out of her wet clothes. With tired fingers she fumbled at the fastenings of her dress, wriggling and stretching to undo the buttons at the back. Finally she felt the heavy material drop to the floor and she was left standing in her long chemise and petticoat, with her mud-covered stockings on her legs.

She let out a gasp of horror as she looked down. The blood that had stained her dress had soaked all the way through to her undergarments and there were hideous pink patches covering her chemise and petticoats. Amelia felt momentarily sick and had to reach out to the mantelpiece to steady herself. For a few seconds she was back in Captain McNair’s study, brandishing the letter opener that had slipped so easily into his soft flesh. Amelia heard a sob escape her lips at the thought of what she’d done, at the image of his bright red blood seeping through his shirt and the knowledge that she had committed the ultimate sin. For two days she had been running, desperate to get away from that cursed room, and she hadn’t stopped long enough to allow herself to think. Until now. Here, with the heat of the fire finally warming her skin, Amelia knew her life would never be the same again.

* * *

Edward woke with a start. He had always been a light sleeper and any noise, even an animal call from half a mile away, was enough to rouse him from his dreams. For a moment he lay still, not moving a single muscle, but it only took a few seconds for him to be sure: there was someone in the house. He could hear them moving around downstairs, soft footsteps and the swish of material. Within seconds he was on his feet and felt a low growl issuing from his throat at the thought of an interloper in his domain. The cool night air hit his body, making him shiver, and a surge of irritation welled up inside him.

Swiftly he strode across the room, threw on a dressing gown and grabbed the poker from the fireplace in the place of a more conventional weapon. Despite his years of living alone Edward was confident of his ability to defeat any intruder even if they were armed. He wasn’t a violent person and much preferred his books and his sketches, but at just over six foot tall he had a commanding presence.

Edward moved quietly, hoping to surprise the intruder before they had a chance to find a weapon of their own, making his way down the main staircase and pausing outside the sitting room.

The sight that met his eyes as he pushed open the door was not what he expected at all. Standing in front of the fire was a young woman in the process of undressing. Edward swallowed. She had already shed her dress and petticoat and was now clad in just her chemise and stockings. Both items of clothing were soaked with rainwater and the chemise clung to her body in a scandalous fashion, revealing much more than it was designed to.

As he watched her chemise slipped from one shoulder, revealing the creamy white skin beneath. The young woman then bent down and started to unroll her stockings, sighing with pleasure as she peeled the wet material from her legs.

Edward knew he had already been watching for far too long to be considered a gentleman, but later he would tell himself it was the shock of finding a half-naked woman in his sitting room. Long-forgotten emotions were beginning to stir in his body and as he watched the mystery woman arch her back and let her head drop backwards Edward felt a surge of desire. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, peel the remainder of her wet clothes from her body and lay her down in front of the fire.

Immediately Edward felt guilty for the thoughts. He loved his wife, missed her every day, but it was a long time since he’d had any human contact.

Just as he made to clear his throat he paused and frowned. He hadn’t taken much notice of the state of the woman’s clothes before, more surprised at her degree of undress than what she was actually wearing, but he now noticed the pink stains on her chemise and on the discarded dress that was draped over a chair. If he wasn’t very much mistaken she was covered in blood and it didn’t look as though it was her own.

Edward cleared his throat. The young woman turned round, her eyes widened and she screamed. It was an ear-piercing sound that bore right through Edward’s skull and irritated him immensely.

‘Will you be quiet?’ he bellowed.

Immediately the young woman clamped her lips together. She started to back away from him, fear etched on her face, and Edward sighed. He wished he was back upstairs in bed instead of dealing with this melodrama.

He wanted to order this young woman out of his house, push her and her problems out of the door and forget she had ever been there.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, grimacing as the words came out more as a growl than a question.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ she stuttered.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said, in the friendliest voice he could muster. He tried to smile, but the baring of his teeth just seemed to make her cower away more and whimper with terror.

Abruptly he pressed his lips together and took a couple of short steps across the room. He needed this young woman to be conscious and coherent if he was to have any chance of getting his solitude back as soon as possible. As he approached she backed away and Edward saw her sway slightly on her feet. For a terrible moment he thought she might faint, leaving him to deal with an even bigger problem, but at the last moment she seemed to rally.

‘What are you doing here?’ Edward repeated, more softly this time. He tried to remember how he’d interacted with people in the days when he’d run a successful and thriving estate and slowly opened his hands, palms outwards to show he wasn’t a threat, and made eye contact with the shivering young woman.

As he looked into her eyes he saw her relax just a little and Edward felt a spark of curiosity about the woman standing in front of him. Now he was closer he could see what a state she was in—not only was her chemise covered in blood, but her entire body was caked in mud and grime. Her legs had a myriad of scratches and bruises on them and he had to wonder what trouble she was running from.

‘I needed a place to rest for the night, somewhere to shelter from the storm,’ she said quietly.

Instinctively Edward knew there was so much more to it than that. A well-bred young lady did not wander the hills of Sussex all by herself covered in blood and soaked to the bone. He opened his mouth to press her further and then thought better of it. Whatever drama this young woman was mixed up in, whatever it was she was running from, he didn’t want to know. He wanted his house back to himself and he wanted her gone.

‘I thought the house was empty,’ she continued after a few seconds. As she spoke her teeth chattered together and gave her voice a juddering quality.

‘It just looks empty,’ he said a little gruffly. ‘You should go home.’

Quickly her frightened eyes darted to meet his and he saw a flash of desperation in them.

‘I can’t go home.’

‘Then a friend, a family member. There will be someone to take you in.’

His heart sank as she shook her head. Part of him was whispering she wasn’t his problem, to usher her out into the night and forget she’d ever even been here.

‘You could stay at the inn in the village.’

The look of panic that crossed her face momentarily piqued his interest, but he refused to be drawn in and quickly moved on.

‘No,’ she said firmly.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Amelia.’

‘Well, Amelia, you can’t stay here.’ He tried to say the words softly, but they came out as a harsh bark, almost an order. He watched as she recoiled from him as though she’d been slapped and felt a flash of guilt at the despair that permeated every inch of her body.

Silence followed as Edward waited for her response. As the seconds ticked by he could see her entire body shaking. The blood had drained from her face and suddenly Edward realised her eyes had become unfocused. If he wasn’t much mistaken his intruder was close to collapsing.

With quick, purposeful strides Edward crossed the space between them, took hold of Amelia’s shoulders and lowered her into a chair. He told himself he didn’t want to have to deal with a head injury on top of everything else, but Edward knew his humanity was buried somewhere inside him and chose moments like this to rear up and make him act like a decent person. As he touched the bare skin of her arms he was surprised at just how cold they were. He was no medical man, but Edward could see if Amelia didn’t get warm and dry soon she would be in real danger of catching a chill, or worse. He remembered the time he and his late wife had got caught out in a storm on the edge of the estate—by the time they reached the house both were drenched to the bone, but whereas Edward had shaken the cold off Jane had been lain up with a fever for a week.

‘You can’t stay here,’ Edward repeated quietly, almost to himself. In reality he knew if he sent Amelia back out into the storm in this state then she probably would die.

With a growl of frustration Edward hurled a cushion from the sofa towards the fire. It smacked into the mantelpiece with a loud thud before falling to the floor. He didn’t want to be put in this position, held hostage by his own conscience. He wanted to return to bed in a house only he inhabited and not feel guilty about it.

Amelia looked at him with her large, dark eyes and Edward knew there was nothing else to be done.

‘One night,’ he said eventually. ‘You can stay for one night. But you leave first thing in the morning.’

The relief on Amelia’s face should have pleased him, years ago it would have. Edward could remember being the type of person that cared about others, that would go out of his way to help someone in distress, but that part of him seemed to have withered and died along with so many other characteristics. Once he had been kind and caring, but now all he could think about was how he didn’t want this young woman in his house.

‘What’s your name?’ Amelia asked, her voice not much more than a hoarse whisper.

‘Edward. Sir Edward Gray.’

‘Thank you, Edward.’

Next to him Amelia shuddered violently and Edward made a conscious effort to shift his full attention to her, pushing his own concerns to the back of his mind. A warm bed and a good night’s sleep would be all Amelia needed to recover. If he sacrificed a little of his treasured privacy now he could send her on her way tomorrow with a clear conscience.

‘We need to get you warm.’

Amelia looked at the paltry fire struggling to burn in the grate and shuffled a little nearer.

‘Properly warm,’ Edward said with meaning.

He hesitated for a few seconds. The last woman he’d touched was his wife, and she’d been dead for three long years. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d shaken someone’s hand or laid a hand on someone’s shoulder.

Quickly, before he could overthink things any further, he stood and carefully scooped Amelia into his arms. She let out a murmur of protest, but her heart wasn’t in it. Already Edward could see the cold was affecting her brain, slowing her thought processes and making her sluggish.

He carried her through the house, up the stairs and into the West Wing where he kept his rooms. After the fire three years ago Edward had closed up most of the house, choosing to live his half-existence in the comfortable rooms of the West Wing rather than venture into the grander family rooms. The West Wing was warm and cosy, he’d had a fire burning in his bedroom grate earlier that evening and the embers would still be glowing.

‘I feel so cold,’ Amelia whispered, her body shuddering in his arms.

‘You’ll warm up in no time,’ Edward said and for the first time in years he felt a sense of purpose. He would not let this young woman die. Even though he didn’t know her or what she’d done he would offer her a warm bed and a safe place to rest.

Edward kicked open the door to his bedroom and set Amelia down in his armchair, pulling the heavy seat closer to the fire. He wondered if he had done enough now. With a glance at the door he weighed up his options: he could either leave Amelia here to fend for herself and retreat to the safety of the rest of the deserted house, or he could ensure she would not die from the cold in what remained of the night.

Now she was up here in his bedroom Edward had to suppress the trepidation that was creeping through his entire body. He had shut himself away from the world to avoid exactly these sort of interactions. After the fire he hadn’t wanted anyone to venture into the house, into the space he had shared with his family. This was their private domain and he had tried to keep the memories alive by not allowing anyone else in.

Tonight, with Amelia shivering in the armchair his late wife used to sit in, Edward felt as though he’d already somehow desecrated those memories.

‘You need to get out of those wet clothes,’ Edward barked, knowing he was taking his displeasure out on Amelia, but unable to temper his tone. As he spoke they both glanced down to the almost-transparent chemise and Amelia shifted in embarrassment.

‘I’ll give you a nightshirt to wear. It’ll be far too big, but at least it will be warm and dry.’

Edward crossed to his chest of drawers and selected a nightshirt, shaking out the creases as he returned to Amelia’s side. Living alone, with no servants to surprise, Edward normally slept naked, but he had a nightshirt from the days the house had been bustling and full of life.

In the chair Amelia hadn’t moved and Edward had to pause before he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

‘Will you be able to undress yourself?’ Edward asked.

The image of him having to peel the wet chemise from her body, lifting it inch by inch to reveal the silky skin underneath, had imprinted itself in Edward’s brain. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and rallied. He had been without a woman’s touch for a long time, but that was no excuse for the entirely inappropriate thought.

He didn’t wait for her reply, instead throwing the nightshirt down on the empty armchair by the fire and striding out of the room.

Once outside Edward rested his forehead against the cool stone wall and tried to quash the contempt he was feeling towards himself. For three years he had consoled himself by promising to always remain true to his late wife, and the first time he was tested, the first time a pretty young woman stepped into his world, he allowed his imagination to run wild.

He waited a few minutes, then knocked on the door. When he didn’t get a reply he hesitated before opening the door and stepping back into the room.

Amelia had managed to finish undressing herself and don the nightshirt Edward had found for her. The bloodstained chemise was hanging over a chair. Now it wasn’t plastered to her body Edward could see just how much blood there was.

‘What happened?’ he asked sharply, pointing at the bloodstains.

Amelia turned and looked at him with vacant eyes and just shook her head.

Part of Edward wanted to drop the topic. What did it matter to him how she had got to be covered in blood and running through a storm? She’d be gone tomorrow, out of his life never to return.

‘Tell me or you can leave,’ Edward said firmly.

The frightened eyes that looked back at him were almost enough to make him regret the threat.

‘I was attacked,’ Amelia said.

‘You’re hurt?’

She shook her head. ‘I fought back.’

For now that would have to be sufficient. Edward knew enough about human nature to be sure Amelia wasn’t a threat. He didn’t want to be drawn in to whatever trouble she was in, so he let the matter drop.

‘Get to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

He turned and began to walk towards the door, pausing only when he realised Amelia had not even made an attempt to move.

‘You’ll be warmer in bed,’ he said more softly.

She nodded her head, a minuscule movement which seemed all she was able to do. Edward waited for a few more seconds, just to see if she would move, before realising she was just too exhausted to take the few steps to the bed. Cursing under his breath, Edward strode back to her side and without asking permission he swept her up in his arms, carried her over to the bed and deposited her underneath the covers. The encounter must have only lasted ten seconds and throughout Edward gritted his teeth and concentrated on not becoming aware of the contours of Amelia’s body in his arms.

Efficiently he pulled the sheet and blanket up to Amelia’s chin, stood back and nodded in satisfaction. For a man who had barely spoken to anyone for three years he was rather pleased with his hospitality.

Amelia’s teeth began chattering and he could see her body spasming under the covers. Gently he leant over and touched her cheek. Her skin was still icy cold and had that worrying clammy feel to it. Edward hesitated. He wanted to leave, to retreat to another part of the house and sit out the night, waiting for the moment he could send Amelia on her way. He glanced down at Amelia again. Her lips had an unhealthy blue tinge and there were deep black rings surrounding her eyes.

Edward didn’t want Amelia here in his bed or in his house, but now she was he wasn’t going to let her die. He couldn’t have another death on his conscience. He knew the best way to warm a freezing body, but it felt wrong. Amelia let out a pained moan, her whole body convulsing, and Edward heard her begin to sob.

‘You’re going to be all right,’ he said as he slipped into the bed behind Amelia and looped his arm around her.

Through the covers he felt her stiffen as he made contact with her body. He wondered if she would throw him out, demand he leave her alone despite her desperate need for warmth. After a few seconds of indecision Edward felt her relax a little and bury her body closer to his, luxuriating in his warmth.

It was an unfamiliar sensation, having a young woman’s body pressed up against his own, and Edward found he kept having to remind himself exactly why he was doing this. He would take no enjoyment out of this situation, but despite his determination he found himself gripping Amelia just a little tighter. For years he had denied himself any human contact. Only now he was lying with a strange woman curled up against him in bed did he realise quite how much he’d missed another’s touch.

Chapter Two

Amelia awoke slowly, revelling in the warmth of her bed and the comforting presence beside her. For just a few moments she was back in India, lying beside her cousin Lizzie, and her life was easy and pampered. Her eyes fluttered open and as she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling the events of the past few days came crashing back.

Warily Amelia turned her head and almost jumped from the bed with shock. Lying beside her, an arm flung casually across her waist, was the man who had rescued her from the cold, wet night and given her shelter. Forcing herself to remain calm, Amelia tried to piece together what had happened the previous night. She remembered seeking refuge from the storm and nearly dying from fright when Edward had surprised her as she’d undressed in front of the fire. After that her recollection of events was patchy at best. She had a vague feeling he had carried her through the house, but she couldn’t remember how she had got out of the rest of her wet clothes or just what had happened to mean they ended up sharing the same bed.

Risking another glance at the man beside her, Amelia studied his face. He looked youthful and innocent whilst he slept, the frown she remembered from the previous night smoothed over as he relaxed in his sleep. He had a shock of dark hair, too long to be fashionable, and strong, manly features. Edward was the complete opposite of McNair, who was lithe and slender and beautiful.

Choking back a sob, Amelia remembered the events of three days ago and had to close her eyes as a wave of nausea overcame her. She’d killed someone. Never again would she wake up and not be a murderer. She might be a fugitive, running from the law, but McNair, beautiful, vibrant McNair, was dead and it was all her fault. Amelia could feel her hands shaking as she remembered McNair’s gasp of surprise as the letter opener slid into his flesh and how after that one movement she had frozen, unable to let go, unable to pull away.

Beside her Edward stirred and Amelia rallied, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin.

It wasn’t my fault. She repeated it to herself, forcing the disturbing images and memories from her mind.

She watched as the man beside her slowly emerged from his sleep. Amelia had never woken to a man in her bed before and it was fascinating to see how he stretched and wriggled before finally opening his eyes.

Edward’s body froze and his eyes shot wide open the moment he saw her.

‘Good,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re still alive.’

Amelia bristled. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in this situation, but she rather thought he should greet her with something more poetic, more reassuring.

Without any further communication Edward swung his legs out of the bed and stood, gathering the dressing gown he’d slept in around himself. Amelia caught a glimpse of muscular legs and strong forearms before he was halfway across the room.

‘What happened last night?’

Edward turned to face her.

‘I remember you finding me in the drawing room, but not much else.’

He shrugged. ‘You were cold. I put you to bed.’

A man of few words it would seem.

‘And how did you end up in bed with me?’ Amelia asked frostily. Two could play at that game.

Edward had the decency to colour a little, but otherwise he seemed unperturbed.

‘You were shivering despite the fire and the blankets. I didn’t want you to die so I added my body heat.’

He made it sound so detached, so clinical. Without another word he crossed to the door and opened it.

‘Thank you,’ Amelia said softly.

Edward turned around, gave a short nod, then left. Amelia stared open mouthed after him. Despite all her flirtations she was an innocent, but even so she knew a man of good breeding did not just run out on a woman he’d spent the night in the same bed with. She felt the irritation at being so easily dismissed build inside her and it was a welcome distraction from the guilt and despair she’d subjected herself to over the last few days.

With a huff she got out of bed, gathering the loose material of the nightshirt around her body and letting her bare feet sink into the plush woven rug. Slowly she started to explore the room, running her fingers over the well-made if slight tatty furniture and examining the paintings on the wall. As she came to the large desk set at one end of the room she paused, her eyes settling on the numerous pieces of paper scattered across it. Eyes stared up at her from beautifully rendered sketches, drawing after drawing depicting people as they really were, not the stylised creations you often saw in professional portraits.

‘I’ve brought you some clothes,’ Edward’s voice came from near the door. For a tall, powerful man he moved surprisingly quietly.

Amelia jumped back guiltily. She hadn’t done anything wrong, the sketches had been lying on the desk, not locked away in a drawer, but still she sensed she’d trespassed on something very private and personal.

‘Thank you,’ she said, crossing the room and taking the clothes from Edward’s arms.

‘I will be downstairs in the kitchen. Once you’re dressed join me. It’s at the back of the house.’

‘I’m sorry...’ Amelia started to say, but Edward had already gone, closing the door behind him with a resounding thud.

Laying the clothes out on the bed Amelia was surprised to find the styles modern and the garments in good condition. She wondered why this strange, solitary man had women’s clothes stored in the house. She couldn’t picture him with a mistress squirrelled away somewhere—maybe a wife, someone mousy and quiet, but evidently not around any more.

Everything was too big on Amelia’s petite form, but the clothes were clean and dry, and vitally not covered in blood. She badly wanted a bath, a long soak in a deep tub to clean all the grime from her body and soothe her aching muscles, but she sensed she was as likely to get that as the possibility of a man walking on the moon. So instead she scrutinised herself in the small mirror hung on one wall and tidied herself up the best she could.

Grimacing as she noticed the slight swelling to one side of her face, Amelia touched her cheek gently. She could still feel McNair’s fist crunching against her delicate bones and quickly she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the memory of what happened next flashing before her eyes.

With great effort Amelia opened her eyes and tried out a breezy smile. She needed Edward to let her stay here in this strange, half-derelict house, at least for a few days. McNair’s death would have been discovered by now and someone would be hot on her trail. Even though Amelia knew she had committed an awful crime, she didn’t want to hang for it. She felt remorse and regret, but truly it had been in self-defence. Nevertheless she had fled the scene and, as a young woman with no husband and her father many thousands of miles away in India, Amelia wasn’t so naive to think she would get off lightly. No, the best course of action would be to hide away somewhere until her trail had gone cold and then find a way to fund her passage back to India. Her father would be irate, but he loved her and would make sure she was safe.

No one would think to look for her here in this house inhabited only by a reclusive bachelor. She just had to persuade Edward to let her stay for a few days, maybe a week. She wished she had something to offer, some practical skill that would make her indispensable, but her upbringing had consisted of painting watercolours, playing the piano and dreaming of a more exciting life.

Straightening her back, Amelia raised her chin and took a deep breath. She was Amelia Eastway. She’d never struggled to get men to do her bidding. Although she rather suspected she had never come across a man quite like Edward before.

* * *

Edward clattered around in the kitchen, his mood blackening with every second he couldn’t find the bread Mrs Henshaw had left him the day before. For three years he had lived undisturbed in his private refuge. Only Mrs Henshaw, his old housekeeper who had retired to a cottage in the village, came to visit him nowadays, bringing fresh food every few days and keeping the house from falling into complete disrepair.

Now his refuge had been invaded by an impish and vivacious young woman who had already started going through his private possessions. Granted the sketches had just been left lying on his desk, but when he’d first got into bed the night before he hadn’t expected to start the morning with a stranger in his bedroom.

He needed her gone, Edward decided as he located the loaf of bread and cut two thick slices. His reaction to her was uncomfortable and he knew it was more than a desire for a return of his privacy that drove that reaction. This morning as he’d woken to a warm, soft body in his bed he’d felt a primal stirring deep inside him. It was absurd and now Edward was even more determined to hasten Amelia’s departure from his house.

‘Do you live completely on your own?’ Amelia asked as she swept into the room. For such a petite little thing she had a way of commanding your attention. A breezy smile was affixed to her lips and Edward wondered again what pain she was trying to hide.

‘Completely. My old housekeeper visits twice a week to deliver some food and other essentials.’

‘You don’t go down to the village?’

Edward shook his head, trying to ignore her incredulous expression. He had ventured out in the painful months after the fire, but the looks filled with pity and the expressions of concern had soon put a stop to his trips to the village.

‘I have everything I need here,’ he said brusquely, trying to discourage her from asking any more questions.

Amelia wrinkled her nose and looked around.

‘Don’t you get lonely?’ she asked. ‘Or bored?’

‘No. Not everyone likes chattering away incessantly.’

Amelia looked at him as if she expected him to elaborate further.

He had his sketches and his books, he still kept an eye on the running of the estate, although he had a reliable steward who did most of the work for him. As for loneliness, it was a welcome penance for the guilt he felt for surviving the fire.

‘Maybe you would like a little company?’ Amelia asked, with a quick glance at his expression.

Edward’s first instinct was to march Amelia straight out the front door that instant, but then he paused. She’d survived the night and was back on her feet, there was nothing to hinder her departure today so he could afford to be a little more courteous.

‘I can be very good company,’ Amelia said.

She might think herself a woman of the world, this little minx, but he could tell straight away that she was innocent in many of her ways.

‘Company?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Immediately he saw the colour start to rise in her cheeks and her bottom lip drop slightly.

‘Not like...that is to say...’

‘I know we shared a bed last night, but I am not that sort of gentleman,’ Edward said.

‘I wasn’t suggesting...’

‘I’m teasing you,’ he said, knowing his serious expression didn’t quite tally with his words. Maybe he should stick to his more sombre demeanour.

‘Oh. Of course.’

Amelia drummed her fingers on the table as she struggled to regain her composure and Edward took the opportunity to study her properly. She was pretty, there was no denying it. Petite and slender with large brown eyes and soft blonde hair. The sort of young woman who would cause a stir when making her debut in society. His keen artist’s eye also caught details others might not notice: the nervous energy that stopped her from standing still for more than two seconds, the little pucker in the skin between her eyebrows that appeared when she was thinking and the way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she decided what to say next.

She was nervous, Edward realised, more nervous than the circumstances should warrant. True, she was in a strange house with a reclusive man, but she’d survived the night unmolested—most young women would solely be concerned with how to leave with their reputations intact. Edward didn’t think it was her reputation she was worried about, there was something much bigger going on in Amelia’s life.

He thought back to the blood-covered clothes and the panicked state she had been in when he’d first found her almost collapsed in his sitting room. Last night she’d said she had been attacked and had fought back, but Edward sensed there was more to the story than that. For a few seconds he deliberated, wondering if he should delve deeper, find out exactly what sort of trouble Amelia was in, but he knew that would just prolong the time until he could usher her out of his life so he kept his mouth shut.

‘Maybe I could stay for a few days?’ Amelia suggested, looking up at him hopefully.

For all her beauty and feminine wiles, Edward could read her easily. She might think she was an enigmatic young siren, but every emotion was written across her face just as soon as she experienced it.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ Edward repeated. It would be a bad idea. A terrible idea.

‘You can’t just say no. Why not?’

He guessed she was an only child. There was a sense of entitlement about her that suggested she had been spoiled most of her life.

‘I can. It’s my house.’ Edward grimaced and then relented. He was not a child and he would give her a proper answer. ‘I live alone. I like living alone, and in a few hours I will go back to living alone.’

Her face fell and he tried to soften the blow.

‘Besides, your reputation would be in tatters if you stayed here with me unchaperoned.’

‘What reputation?’ Amelia murmured under her breath. ‘I don’t care,’ she said louder. ‘I could tidy the place up a bit,’ Amelia suggested.

‘Do you have much experience at domestic chores?’

Amelia bit her bottom lip again. Edward felt the pulse of his blood around his body as his eyes flickered to her lips. ‘No,’ he said much more brusquely than he had intended, ‘I didn’t think you did.’

‘I could cook you a decent meal at least.’

Edward looked down to the two roughly cut chunks of bread and sighed.

‘I’m sorry, Amelia, but the answer is still no. After breakfast I will take you down to the village and you can catch the stagecoach to London.’

‘I don’t have any money.’

‘I’ll pay.’

‘What if I don’t want to go to London?’

‘Then you can get off at one of the stops beforehand.’

She fell silent, but Edward could see the cogs turning inside her head as she tried to think of another excuse not to leave. He wondered why she wanted to stay so badly and what it was she had been running from the night before. Just as he opened his mouth to ask, he once again caught himself and silently shook his head. It wasn’t his place to get involved. Later, when Amelia was safely on the stagecoach to London, he could brood over his lifestyle decisions, but the fact was right now he didn’t want to delve deeper into Amelia’s problems and if that made him unsociable that was fine by him.

Chapter Three

Amelia fidgeted as Edward placed a thick coat over her shoulders. She didn’t want to leave. Somehow this strange half-derelict house felt safe, and once she was out in the real world again she knew it was only a matter of time before the consequences of her deeds caught up with her.

‘Maybe I could stay for lunch?’ Amelia suggested.

‘I don’t have any food in the house.’

The man was infuriating. Every suggestion she came up with he shot down with that calm tone of voice and unshakeable demeanour.

‘I think I left something upstairs.’ Amelia was beginning to panic now. The outside world was looming closer and she didn’t know if she could cope with another indeterminate period on the run.

‘You didn’t bring anything with you.’

Amelia scrabbled for something, anything she might have left behind, just to buy herself a few more minutes. She needed to think of a reason to stay, something that would convince Edward it would be in everyone’s best interests.

‘Please,’ she said quietly, ‘I can’t go out there.’

This quiet plea made Edward pause and for a moment Amelia thought he might relent.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

Amelia swallowed and bit her lip. She couldn’t exactly tell him the truth. Admitting she was a murderer would only speed her departure from the house, not prolong her stay.

With wide eyes Amelia felt the desperation and despair all come crashing together and knew she had everything to lose. If Edward insisted she leave, she had no doubt whoever it was that was chasing her would catch up with her within a day or two. She couldn’t sustain her progress any longer, she was exhausted and her feet covered in blisters. Here she had a chance at avoiding the hangman’s noose and she realised she would do anything for it.

Straightening her back and lifting her chin, Amelia looked Edward directly in the eye and smiled shyly at him.

‘If I stay we could get to know one another better,’ she said, trailing a finger up his arm.

Edward stood completely still, his eyes following the progress of her finger. The heat began to rise in Amelia’s cheeks, but she knew she had to give this her best shot. Humiliation and ruin was nothing compared to being found guilty of murder.

‘I promise I’m very good company.’ She didn’t even really know what that meant, but she’d overheard some of the less virtuous women use the phrase at a regimental party a few years ago.

Edward took her hand, removed it from his arm and let go, allowing it to drop back to her side. His face was stony and devoid of expression and his movements almost stiff. Amelia felt the flood of shame wash over her. In a way it would have been better if he’d laughed, at least then she would have known he wasn’t disgusted by her proposition.

‘It must get lonely, living here all by yourself,’ Amelia said, giving it one last try. She was desperate and she knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. Self-preservation was at the top of her list of priorities, she would have time for embarrassment and regret when she was safe.

‘Come on, otherwise we will miss the stagecoach.’ Edward said, ignoring her last few comments. He didn’t sound angry or disgusted, just tired and worn down, and for a moment Amelia wondered why he was so keen to get rid of her.

Amelia dawdled a little longer, wasting as much time as possible fiddling with the laces on the boots he’d found her and adjusting the bodice of her dress.

Eventually Edward sighed, gripped her arm and led her firmly out of the front door.

It was a cool day, clear and crisp after the storm of the night before. Amelia huddled into the cloak draped around her shoulders and reluctantly allowed Edward to lead her down the sweeping driveway.

‘I could tidy up your garden,’ Amelia said without much hope as they passed another overgrown flowerbed.

‘I like it this way.’

‘No, you don’t.’ No one could. The garden had potential, great potential, and Amelia could see a few years ago it would have looked much different. Someone had lovingly planned and planted, landscaped and tended, but it had fallen into ruin along with the rest of the house.

Edward shrugged again, that infuriating movement he seemed to favour when she challenged him about anything, and continued his steady pace down the driveway. Amelia glanced back at the house and found her heart sinking. Every step they took resulted in her being further away from the place that she’d hoped would be her sanctuary for a few days. She felt like turning and running back inside, slamming the door and locking it shut.

‘The village is only twenty minutes away,’ Edward said as they reached the wrought-iron gates Amelia had squeezed through the night before. ‘If you don’t walk at the pace of a lethargic snail,’ he added under his breath as she lagged behind, dragging her feet.

She watched as he tore some of the overgrown vegetation from the bars of the gates, frowning thoughtfully as he did so. Amelia wondered if he saw the house and gardens as she did, with all the cracks and faults, or if when he looked around he saw the place as it used to be.

As Edward pushed open the gates Amelia felt an icy stab of panic jolt through her body. Inside the estate grounds she felt peculiarly safe and now she was being asked to step over the threshold. Out here, in the wider world, who knew what awaited her.

As if sensing her reticence to step through the gates, Edward paused for a moment and looked at her with his searching brown eyes.

‘The road is clear,’ he said, ‘So unless there’s any further reasons you can’t possibly leave shall we be on our way?’

For a second she almost blurted it all out. It would be a relief to share what had happened with someone, to tell the whole sordid tale. She wondered how Edward would react, if he would respond kindly and calmly, or push her away. Maybe he would let her stay, take pity on her and agree to shelter her from the world. Or maybe he would turn her over to whoever was hunting her down.

Unconsciously she raised a hand to her throat, rubbing the skin of her neck at the thought of a noose tightening around her throat.

‘Nothing,’ she replied eventually. She would be safer if no one else knew what she had done.

‘The coach runs to London in one direction and Brighton the other,’ Edward said, disturbing Amelia from her thoughts.

She nodded absentmindedly.

‘Would you prefer to go to Brighton or London?’

Dear Lord, not Brighton, Amelia thought.

‘London. Definitely London.’

‘Do you have any family there?’

Amelia shook her head. It was a lie, but a necessary one. It wasn’t as though she could turn up on her aunt’s doorstep, it would be the first place a magistrate would look for her.

‘How about friends?’

Again Amelia shook her head.

‘Where are your family?’

She sensed Edward was starting to feel a modicum of responsibility for her. He might not want to let her stay in his strange house, but he wanted to make sure she was safe all the same.

‘India.’

‘Ah. I see.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘Surely you didn’t come over here on your own?’

Amelia stopped walking and waited for Edward to turn.

‘I’m out of your house and soon I’ll be out of your life,’ she said coolly. ‘After today you will never have to think of me again. I have no friends or family in this country, but as you have made clear, that is not your concern.’

She saw the flicker of hurt in Edward’s eyes and for a moment she felt remorse. Her cousin Lizzie always said she had a sharp tongue and Amelia knew she often spoke before she’d had chance to think through what impact her words might have. Edward was kind, for all his brusque manner, and he had taken her in for the night when others might have thrown her out. It wasn’t his fault she was in such a mess, but she was just wishing for a reprieve, a few days to decide what to do with her life, and Edward couldn’t give that to her.

‘Come on,’ he said stiffly and began walking again.

Amelia watched his back for a few seconds before hurrying to catch up. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders, a strong man. He emanated power and Amelia found herself wishing to be enveloped in his arms, pressed up against his chest and kept safe.

Trying to suppress the thought as she drew level with him, Amelia risked a sidelong glance. In his own way he was handsome, she supposed, although not in the same way McNair had been handsome. Edward had strong features and kind eyes, but he had a slightly wild look about him with his tousled hair and creased shirts. McNair had always been beautifully presented, but thinking back there was a coldness about him, a calculating, detached look on his perfectly symmetrical face.

* * *

After ten minutes they reached the outskirts of the village, with a few simple cottages appearing on either side of the lane. Amelia felt herself instinctively hunch her shoulders, trying to appear less conspicuous. Although there wasn’t anyone around at the moment, she felt nervous and frightened all at the same time.

The small cottages gave way to bigger dwellings once they reached the village proper and as they turned on to the high street Amelia froze. People were milling about, women walking arm in arm and talking, men going about their business with purpose. Beside her Amelia felt Edward go still at the same moment she did and she wondered fleetingly how long it had been since he’d visited the village.

All thoughts about Edward’s lifestyle were swept away as he took her arm and guided her down the high street. People were looking at them strangely, a couple of women actually pointed and stared, and Amelia knew it would only be a matter of seconds until some officer of the law clamped his hand on her shoulder and hauled her off to face the consequences of her crime.

As they reached the clock tower that stood proudly in the middle of the village square Amelia caught a glimpse of a smartly dressed man coming out of a small shop. He looked out of place in this small village, his clothes were too well tailored, his hair too well groomed. It was obvious from a single glance he was an outsider.

With a pounding heart Amelia grasped Edward’s arm and pulled him behind the clock tower, squeezing her eyes shut as she did so, wishing she could just will the well-groomed man away.

‘Amelia?’ Edward asked, his voice a mixture of concern and irritation. He probably thought she was just trying to waste more time.

‘Shh,’ she hissed.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Everyone’s looking at us.’

Edward chuckled, the first real laugh Amelia had heard him utter.

‘Do you think it might be because you’re acting so strangely?’

Amelia opened her eyes and looked up into Edward’s face, frowning.

‘They’re looking at me,’ she insisted.

He shook his head, a self-deprecating little smile playing on his lips.

‘I think they’re probably looking at me. I am rather notorious. The recluse of Beechwood Manor.’

Amelia paused and glanced out from behind the clock tower. No one was coming for her—in fact, everyone had just returned their attention to whatever it was they’d been doing. Maybe Edward was right, maybe it was him they had all been staring at.

‘What are you afraid of, Amelia?’ Edward asked.

He reached out and touched her gently on the arm and Amelia found herself looking up into his concerned face. Edward had been generous to her, she couldn’t deny it. He’d allowed her to stay and ensured she was warm and dry for the night, but until now she hadn’t really caught more than the occasional glimpse of his kind side. His outward demeanour had always been stern and distant, but right now there was warmth in his eyes, genuine concern and compassion. She sensed this was the man he really was, his true nature, and the gruffness was a wall he erected to keep everyone at bay.

For a moment the rest of the world disappeared, the noise of the villagers going about their daily lives faded into the background and it was just the two of them, hidden in their own little world behind the clock tower. Amelia wondered what it would be like to raise herself up on her toes and kiss Edward, to allow him to fold her in his strong arms and protect her from the world. She felt her body sway slightly, her lips part with anticipation, but just as she began to lean in McNair’s face flashed before her eyes.

The last time she’d kissed a man it had ended in tragedy. She wouldn’t allow it to happen again. She couldn’t be trusted, her instincts had been proven to be wrong before and just the fact that she felt attracted to Edward should be enough to tell her to stay well away.

* * *

Edward saw the moment Amelia’s eyes glazed over and her lips parted. He had been without female company for a long time, but in his youth he’d experienced enough to know when a woman wanted to kiss him. She’d even began to lean in, swaying towards him, but then something had happened. Amelia had stiffened, a look of horror had passed over her face and now she’d backed away to a more respectable distance.

He found himself a little disappointed. He shouldn’t want to kiss this enigmatic little minx, but the idea of tasting her lips, just once, was rather enticing. Before he could stop the thought it had taken hold and all the guilt and feelings of betrayal it conjured up were right there with it. Quickly he balled both his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to try to distract himself. He knew his wife was dead and gone, nothing would ever bring her back, but he owed it to her to honour her memory.

‘Shall we find the stagecoach?’ Amelia said formally once she’d recovered some of her composure.

Edward stepped out from behind the clock tower and waited for Amelia to follow. Before she ventured out into the open square, she checked each direction, her head swivelling this way and that like a skittish horse.

‘There’s no one poised and waiting to attack you,’ Edward said impatiently as she eventually stepped out into the square.

She gave him a withering look, still checking each direction every few seconds. He wondered what she was afraid of. There was an air of innocence about Amelia, the demeanour of someone who hadn’t experienced much of the world on their own, so he couldn’t imagine she’d got mixed up in anything too heinous, although maybe the bloodstains on her clothes were evidence against that opinion.

Edward gently took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm and guided her further along the high street to the point where the stagecoach stopped to pick up passengers. Now they were nearing the point of farewell Edward felt a great weight being lifted from his shoulders. He had found it difficult sharing his home even just for one short night and was quite looking forward to getting back to the peace and quiet of an empty house. For a second he felt a pang of sadness. Once, long ago, he had enjoyed noise and company and laughter. With a sideways glance at Amelia he rallied. Now was not the time to waver in his resolution to put this troubled young woman on a stagecoach and wave her on her way.

If Jane were here, standing beside him and giving advice in that calm and sensible way of hers, she’d tell him to start living, to stop stagnating. She’d probably convince him to take pity on Amelia, shelter her from whatever trouble she was running from and learn once again to tolerate the company of others. Edward knew one day he would have to pick up the reins of his life again, to do more than spend his time sketching and reading, but with living came memories and he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront those yet.

‘You’re looking rather serious,’ Amelia said as they slowed to a stop at the side of the road.

‘Do you need any money?’ Edward asked, knowing he was avoiding Amelia’s comment.

She bit her bottom lip and fidgeted a little. It was the curse of the human race not to be able to ask for monetary help when they needed it.

‘Maybe just a little something to help you on your way,’ he said, placing a hand into his coat pocket.

One second he was standing at the side of the road, reaching for his coin purse, the next he was lying in some rather prickly bushes with Amelia on top of him.

‘What...?’ he began, but Amelia pressed a finger against his lips.

He tried to speak again, but was silenced by the look of pure terror in Amelia’s eyes. For almost a minute they lay there, Amelia frozen by fear and he trapped under her body. They were half-hidden from the road, but if anyone walked passed they would have a lot of explaining to do.

When another minute had passed without Amelia explaining or letting him up Edward began to feel the damp from the ground soaking into his trousers.

‘Will you tell me what’s going on, woman?’ he asked, quietly but firmly.

Amelia’s eyes widened with shock and fear and immediately Edward regretted his tone of voice.

‘Come, let’s stand up,’ he said more softly.

Amelia allowed him to help her to her feet, although he noticed she did not step back out on to the road, and her restraining hand on his arm stopped him from doing so too. For an instant Edward missed the warmth of her body as it had been pressed against his, but soon the feeling was replaced by irritation. The woman was crazy. First darting behind the clock tower and now wrestling him to the ground whilst they waited for the stagecoach.

‘Is he still there?’ Amelia hissed.

‘Who?’

She didn’t answer so Edward stepped forward and looked up and down the lane. It was completely empty. Maybe there was something not quite right in Amelia’s head. She seemed normal, if not conventional, most of the time, but then she went and did things like this. Then he remembered the blood-soaked clothes and the state Amelia had been in the night before and softened slightly. Something bad had occurred in Amelia’s life recently. That must be what was driving this fear.

‘There’s no one there.’ Edward wondered if this was another of Amelia’s time-wasting ploys, but the terror in her eyes convinced him otherwise.

Warily Amelia edged forward, peering out from the bushes until she was satisfied they were alone.

‘I think you should tell me what’s going on,’ Edward said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

Amelia shook her head, tears forming in her eyes and spilling out to roll down her cheeks. Edward almost reached out to brush them away, but he stopped himself. It was an intimate gesture, too intimate. He couldn’t believe he’d even contemplated it.

‘Who did you think you saw?’

Again Amelia shook her head, still glancing furtively up and down the road.

Edward ran his hands through his hair and studied the young woman who stood before him. She was petrified, that much was clear. He didn’t know if her demons were real or imaginary, but he did have experience with living with events he’d rather forget.

His brain screamed to let her go, to get back to his reclusive existence, but his heart recognised another wounded soul. He wanted to leave, to walk off down the road without as much as a backwards glance, but something was holding him back. Edward even tried placing one foot in front of another, but his body just wouldn’t obey his commands. Something sparked inside him, something that he thought was long dead and buried. He wasn’t sure if it was compassion or pity, but he realised he didn’t have it in him to abandon Amelia here in such a state of dread. For years he might have suppressed his humanity through lack of interaction, but he’d been brought up to be kind and chivalrous and there were a few strands of those characteristics that refused to leave him despite years of disuse.

‘Amelia, look at me.’ He grasped her by the arms and turned her to face him. She looked distractedly around her. ‘I will make you a bargain,’ he said.

This caught her attention.

‘You tell me exactly what is going on, what trouble you’re in, and I promise to help you as much as I can.’

She shook her head, ‘I can’t.’

‘Then you’re on your own.’

Edward had only taken two steps before he felt her clutching at his sleeve.

‘Please don’t leave me here.’

It would be so easy to give in to her beseeching eyes, but Edward knew he had to stand strong.

‘Then tell me what has you so scared.’

‘I’ve done something terrible,’ Amelia said quietly.

He looked at her youthful, innocent face, and wondered what it was she could have done that was making her quite so worried.

‘What?’

He watched as her whole body began to tremble. With difficulty she rallied, squeezing her eyes tight for a few seconds before looking up at him with an expression full of pain and regret.

‘I’ve killed a man.’

Chapter Four

Amelia sank back into the comfortable, worn armchair and closed her eyes for a few seconds. She felt exhausted, even though it wasn’t yet midday. For the duration of the trip out to the village she had been petrified, in a state of high alert, seeing danger where there was none and ready to flee at the slightest provocation.

When she’d leaped into the bushes at the side of the road, taking Edward with her, she really had thought someone was looking for her. A tall, serious man with an official-looking uniform had started walking down the lane towards them and Amelia had been convinced this man had tracked her across the South Downs and was here to take her away to face justice. When she’d pointed him out to Edward on their return dash through the village he’d actually laughed before telling her he was the local postman.

After her confession Edward had gone quiet, studied her for some time, then started to lead her back through the village.

‘We’ll talk back at the house,’ he’d said and hardly uttered a word after that.

Amelia wondered if she should be scared. He might be summoning the local magistrate right now, eager to hand over the murderer sitting in his cosy armchair and be done with the drama she had brought into his life. Although she hardly knew the man, Amelia couldn’t find it in herself to be overly worried. He seemed fair and honourable, and she thought he would at least give her the chance to explain the circumstances before deciding what to do with her.

‘Whisky,’ Edward said as he entered the room, ‘and biscuits, it’s been quite a morning.’

Amelia watched as he poured out two glasses of whisky and handed her one. Cautiously she sniffed the rich, caramel-coloured liquid before taking a gulp.

‘Careful,’ he cautioned.

She felt the wonderful burn in her throat followed by a warm sensation in her stomach and felt herself relax a little.

‘Not the first time you’ve had whisky?’

She shook her head. ‘Back home in India the soldiers were always happy to share.’

‘So you actually did grow up in India?’

‘I’ve lived there my whole life. Until I disembarked the ship a week ago I’d never been to England before.’

‘I think you should start at the beginning,’ Edward said quietly. ‘Tell me everything and then we will decide what is to be done.’

Amelia felt herself complying with his order and bristled. She didn’t like being told what to do and especially not by a man who she barely knew, but there was something authoritative about his tone, something that promised to sort things out, that made her relax back into the chair and do as he suggested.

She wasn’t quite sure where the beginning was. In all honesty she probably would have to start far back in her childhood to make complete sense, but she felt Edward might lose patience if she began recalling the details of her mother’s death and the emptiness that followed. He wasn’t a man to hide his irritation.

‘Two years ago I met a man out in India. My father is a retired colonel and he still has much to do with the army and the officers stationed in India. He hosted a ball and it was there I met Captain McNair.’

Amelia didn’t confess how she’d been swept off her feet immediately by his easygoing manner and charming façade. She had been bored, tired of the same routine day in and day out, and she’d been ripe for a seduction.

‘We met in secret, in the months following the ball, and after a few meetings McNair professed his love for me.’

‘Why the secrecy?’ Edward asked, getting to the point in that calm, shrewd, way of his.

Amelia felt her cheeks start to colour with the shame of her naivety. At the time she’d believed McNair’s wishy-washy excuses to keep their relationship a secret; his desire to gain a promotion before approaching her father, not wanting to conduct their courtship under his commanding officer’s watchful eye. Amelia had believed him because she’d wanted to believe him. At first she’d even kept the relationship secret from her cousin Lizzie, her closest confidant.

‘I was young and naive and I thought he wanted to marry me,’ Amelia said simply.

He had wanted to marry her, of course—most men in India did when they discovered she was the wealthiest heiress in the subcontinent.

‘We courted in secret for almost eight months, snatching precious moments whenever we could, and then suddenly he disappeared. I waited for him, searched for him and eventually found out he had been sent back to England. I even wrote to his commanding officer for information, but his reply was a curt note telling me to forget about Captain McNair.’

Amelia glanced at Edward sitting across from her. It felt strange to be admitting all this to a virtual stranger, especially when she hadn’t even told her nearest and dearest the truth.

‘Can I surmise you didn’t take the commanding officer’s advice?’

Amelia shook her head. ‘I couldn’t forget about him. I thought we were meant to be together.’

It was galling, really, when she thought of how much time and energy she had wasted trying to track McNair down.

‘My behaviour became a little...erratic, and after some time my father decided to send me to England to stay with my aunt and have a London Season.’

And find a respectable husband. The words had never been explicitly said by her father, but he’d made it quite clear he wanted her happy and settled, and that he expected a good match from her. Edward leaned back in his chair and watched her intently as she told her story. There was something searching and assessing in his gaze, and she had the impression he was committing her to memory, maybe for one of his sketches he seemed so fond of.

‘When I got to England I persuaded my cousin Lizzie to assume my identity for a few weeks whilst I slipped away. I’d found McNair’s address and was determined for us to be reunited.’

Amelia didn’t recount the dizzy anticipation she’d felt on her journey to Brighton. Her thoughts had been full of breathless reunions, impassioned kisses and romantic vows never to be apart. The reality had been so much different.

‘When I got to his address McNair was more than a little shocked to see me, but he recovered quickly.’

She closed her eyes as she remembered the honeyed words he’d used to placate her after his first expression had not been of complete pleasure. He’d led her into his rooms, entwining his fingers with hers and had whispered all manner of scandalous endearments in her ear. Amelia had fallen for him all over again, her infatuation deepening every minute she was in his company.

Amelia glanced at Edward, unsure how much to say. He seemed to pick up on her hesitation and wordlessly stood, crossed the short distance between them and refilled her glass with whisky. Amelia took a fortifying sip as she remembered McNair’s kiss, the way his lips had trailed over her skin, the light dance of his fingertips over her back and the warmth of his body pressed close to hers.

She would have given herself to him, completely and utterly. It was only pure luck that she had not fallen into bed with the man she’d thought she loved.

‘We were disturbed and McNair left the room for some moments. Whilst he was gone I wandered around, looking at this and that. Then I saw the will on his desk.’

She’d stared at it for a whole minute, uncomprehending. Reading the letters, but their meaning not fully sinking in.

‘It was his wife’s will. It transpires that she had become unwell just over a year ago, coinciding with McNair’s return to England. She had passed away at the end of last month.’

‘You didn’t know he was married?’

Amelia shook her head. She’d stared at the piece of paper detailing McNair’s wife’s bequests to certain charitable organisations and she’d felt as though her heart was actually ripping in two. Years of flirtation and infatuation had immediately soured and as McNair had walked back into the room she’d finally seen him for what he was: a trickster, an adulterer. She’d hated him in an instant, but more than that, she had felt all of her self-confidence and trust in her own judgement destroyed in one fell swoop. She’d allowed herself to be taken in by this villain and that hurt almost as much as the scoundrel’s betrayal.

‘I confronted him when he returned and at first he tried to deny it. I became a little hysterical and suddenly he turned nasty.’

He’d shown his true colours then. Gone was the man who had whispered his desire to spend eternity in her arms and the real McNair replaced him. This McNair snapped and snarled like a wounded animal and let her know it was just her father’s substantial fortune he was interested in.

‘He admitted his plan had been to seduce me, entice me to run away with him, then extort money from my father for my safe and scandal-free return.’

It had been the ultimate humiliation. Just one more man who wanted her for her money.

‘What a bastard,’ Edward said, not apologising for his language. Amelia felt her spirits buoy a little as she continued. It was the most animated she’d seen him.

‘I threatened to expose him as a scoundrel and a liar, empty words, but I think he had a new scheme afoot, some new girl he was trying to con, for he became enraged.’

Amelia raised a hand to her cheek where McNair had left his mark.

‘He hit you?’

She nodded. ‘He punched me, right on the cheek. He was livid, like a wild beast.’

It was no excuse, not for what she’d done, but Amelia truly had been afraid for her life.

‘There was a fancy letter opener on his desk and I grabbed it, thinking to brandish it and warn him away, but he just laughed at my efforts and came at me again.’

She closed her eyes as she relived the moment the blade had sunk into McNair’s flesh, the soft resistance, the warm trickle of blood that had flowed over her hand, McNair’s surprised exhalation before he collapsed on to the ground.

‘I stabbed him,’ she said so quietly she wasn’t sure Edward would hear her words.

She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t bear to see what another person thought of her taking a man’s life and all because of a seduction gone wrong.

‘I stabbed him and I killed him.’

Some men would come and take her hand, try to comfort her despite there being nothing that could change the fact she was a killer. Some men would chastise and condemn her, even restrain her until they could summon a magistrate. Edward did neither. He sat in the chair across from her in silence, giving her time to collect herself, to steady her nerves and to continue.

‘I fled, I ran as far as I could as fast as I could, then when I couldn’t run any more I kept walking.’

‘And that’s how you came to be here, on the night of the storm.’

Amelia looked up at him, trying to read his expression, to garner exactly what he thought of her.

‘How long was this letter opener?’ he asked, taking her by surprise.

She measured out a few inches with her fingers, trying to recall the look of the blade before it had been covered in blood.

‘And where did you stab him?’

‘What does it matter?’ she asked, feeling sick.

‘The blade was small. Unless you hit a vital organ I think it unlikely you killed the man.’

She shook her head. She’d killed him. No one could bleed that much and not be dead.

‘He collapsed to the floor...there was blood everywhere.’

‘Did you check to see if he was breathing? If he had a pulse?’

She hadn’t. In fact, she hadn’t been able to look at his body at all once the blood had started seeping from the wound around her fingers.

‘There was too much blood,’ she repeated.

Edward fell silent, seeming to realise if he pushed her much further Amelia wouldn’t be able to keep her tenuous grip on her composure.

‘What do you want to happen now, Amelia?’ Edward asked.

‘I don’t want to hang.’

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Amelia watched as Edward fought it and returned his expression to the more familiar frown.

‘An admirable ambition. I don’t think any judge would hang you.’

Amelia wasn’t sure. And even if she wasn’t sentenced to death, a long spell in one of the country’s notorious prisons was just about as bad as the noose.

‘It was self-defence. You’re a young woman of a good family and by all accounts McNair seems to be a known scoundrel.’

It sounded as though Edward was justifying handing her over to the magistrate to face the penalty for what she’d done.

‘It’s up to you, of course, but if you run then you will spend your entire life looking over your shoulder, wondering whether this crime will catch up with you.’

Amelia hadn’t thought of that. She’d been so preoccupied with the here and now, avoiding being apprehended for murder and getting as far away from the scene as possible, she hadn’t thought what her life would be like with this always hanging over her. She would always be a murderer. Even if she returned to India, to her father’s protection, she would never be able to undo what she had done.

‘I want to go home,’ Amelia said in a small voice.

She wanted her father, with his gruff voice and stiff embraces. She wanted the rolling hills of Bombay with the humid heat and monsoon rains.

‘To India?’

She nodded. He looked thoughtful.

‘You can stay a couple of days,’ he said eventually. ‘I will summon my steward and instruct him to make discreet enquiries, see what the state of affairs is with this McNair. We will make a further decision when we have all the facts.’

She didn’t know how he could reduce her momentous revelation to such a cool, calculating plan, but as his words sunk in Amelia felt a surge of hope blossom inside her. He was going to help her and, more importantly, he was going to let her stay.

With a yelp of relief Amelia sprang from her chair and launched herself across the room at Edward. He was stiff under her embrace and momentarily Amelia remembered how his body had moulded to hers the night before as she lay in bed shivering from the cold. He was capable of warmth and closeness, but he wasn’t comfortable with it.

‘There are conditions,’ Edward said quickly. ‘I don’t like to be disturbed. We shall take dinner together and nothing more. The rest of the time you may do as you please, but you will not venture into the East Wing. Is that clear?’

Amelia nodded, willing to agree to anything if it meant she could stay. For a while at least she was safe. She would remain hidden in this strange, half-empty house until they could be sure exactly what the situation was with McNair’s death. It was a reprieve, the sanctuary she had hoped for during her mad dash over the Downs. Of course it wouldn’t bring McNair back to life, wouldn’t change the fact that she was a murderer, but for now she would have to be content with safety over absolution for her crime.

Amelia pulled away, pausing as she got to arm’s length. Something made her stop, to hesitate. Her eyes met Edward’s and for a second there was a spark, a flare, between them. Amelia felt skin begin to tingle and her blood rushing around her body. She was aware of every tiny movement, every breath, every muscle. There was something captivating about this gruff, generous man, something not obvious at first glance, but hidden beneath his cool exterior.

Then Edward shifted and the moment was lost. Amelia stood, turning away to cover her confusion. She wasn’t sure what had just passed between them, but she did know she had no right to experience whatever it was. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile to her lips before turning back to face Edward.

Chapter Five

As Edward’s pencil danced over the paper he felt all the tension and worry from the last couple of days flow from his shoulders. Drawing preserved his sanity, it was a hobby that had become much more. In the last few years he had lost himself in his sketches, picking up his pencils whenever his grief or solitude threatened to overwhelm him. Sometimes he drew from memory, a person from his childhood or scene from the village. Often he would sketch faces, allowing his pencils to flow over the familiar lines of the faces of the people he had lost over the years.

Today he was sitting by the window, drawing the view he could see. He’d needed this time alone, some space to regroup and sort through the events of the last couple of days. So he had retreated to his rooms soon after Amelia had finished telling him her story.

It was strange having another person in the house. Ever since he had dismissed the servants a few weeks after the fire he had lived alone. Edward knew he’d turned the house into a sort of mausoleum, a place of memorial for all that had he had lost. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way of dealing with his grief, but he’d never felt he deserved anything more than the loneliness he had imposed on himself. Now, with Amelia’s presence, he felt uncomfortable and guilty. It should be Jane here with him, not some pretty young woman.

He didn’t believe for a second Amelia had actually killed this Captain of hers. A petite little thing like her wouldn’t be able to best a seasoned soldier with just a letter opener. Far more likely the scoundrel was still alive and hell-bent on vengeance. That was the real reason he’d allowed her to stay, to ensure she was kept hidden from McNair and whatever plans he had for the woman who’d injured him. Part of him had wanted to hold back and send her on her way, but he knew his conscience couldn’t bear the burden of another death.

So he had promised to look into Amelia’s claims and before he had retired to his rooms he’d walked to the edge of the estate and found a willing boy to deliver a message to his steward for a couple of shiny coins. Hopefully the man would visit later and they could get the business sorted as soon as possible.

Then life can return to normal. Edward grimaced. As if anything in his life could be termed normal.

Mulling his future over in his mind, Edward glanced out the window again, his hand with the pencil in falling to his lap as he saw Amelia pacing about the garden. As he watched he saw her heft a spade from the ground and start to dig.

For years the lawn had been overgrown, but covered in lush, green grass. Now it was beginning to be peppered with several muddy holes of varying depths all scattered about in front of the flower bed. It looked a complete mess.

It wasn’t the mess, however, that made Edward spring up from his chair, it was the realisation of exactly where she was digging. Now there was only a thorny tangle of overgrown bushes and Edward couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a flower, but he knew for certain the area she was attacking had once been the rose garden. The rose garden Jane had once loved so much. With a growl of displeasure Edward stood, pushing his sketches to one side, and quickly made his way downstairs. Out in the garden the full extent of the damage became apparent.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation.

‘Digging,’ came Amelia’s cheery reply.

She carried on plunging the spade into the ground, a look of steely determination on her face.

‘Why are you digging?’

‘To rescue the roses.’

She didn’t look up at him as she spoke, too intent on her task.

‘Stop,’ he said, adding a quiet ‘please’ as an afterthought.

‘Won’t be long now.’

She carried on wielding the spade.

‘Stop now.’

The hole in front of them got a little larger and Edward’s shoes were sprinkled with mud.

‘Stop,’ he bellowed.

Amelia halted, the spade frozen in mid-air, and looked at him with puzzlement.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ Edward tried to keep his temper in check, but as he looked around at the devastation in front of him he lost the battle. ‘You’ve destroyed my garden.’

Amelia took a step back, but Edward couldn’t regret the volume of his outburst. She had desecrated the rose garden, the patch of ground he and Jane had spent hours planting and tending together.

‘It was a mess to begin with.’

Edward felt guilty. He knew he had neglected a lot in the past three years, allowing the house and gardens to fall into disrepair. He regretted allowing the garden he and Jane had planted so lovingly become this overgrown mess of tangled brambles, but that did not give Amelia the right to swoop in and attack it with a spade.

‘If I had wanted it any different, I would have done it myself.’

‘Like the rest of the house?’ Amelia challenged him.

He could see she regretted her comment as soon as she’d said it, even going so far as clamping her hands over her mouth as if trying to pull the words back in.

‘Do not touch anything else,’ Edward said, his voice low and dangerous. ‘Now leave.’

She hesitated for just a second and then dropped the spade and hurried back to the house.

‘I’m sorry,’ Edward whispered, closing his eyes. ‘I’m sorry for letting things get like this.’

He knew the house and gardens were in a terrible state. No one could live there and be unaware of the dust and the weeds and the crumbling stone, but over time he had become used to it. Each time he’d noticed another cobweb or another fault he’d closed his eyes to it and tried to forget. He knew this was partly due to his need to punish himself. The problems arose when he realised he’d let the things Jane had loved fall into disrepair. He should have been a better custodian.

Carefully he began replacing the clumps of earth Amelia had dug up, patting the turf on top and trying to return the grass to how it had looked before. Once he had finished he sat back and regarded the overgrown rose bushes thoughtfully. After a few minutes he got up, walked to one of the outbuildings and began his search for the gardening equipment.

* * *

Half an hour later his fingers were scratched and bleeding, but the tangle of rose bushes had been trimmed back to a more respectable size. Each individual plant was distinguishable from its neighbour now, and although there were no buds on the bushes it looked more like the garden it had once been.

As he sat back on his knees he sensed Amelia’s presence behind him.

‘They must look beautiful when the flowers are in bloom,’ she said quietly.

They had been beautiful. The whole garden had been beautiful. He and Jane had often taken evening strolls through the grounds in the summer months, stopping to admire the roses or sniff the fragrant flowers.

He turned to face her, trying to work out what to say. Amelia was already walking back towards the house, her head held high, but the slight hunching of her shoulders belying the burden she was carrying.

* * *

Amelia didn’t want to return inside just yet. She had been shocked by Edward’s reaction to her trying to do a spot of gardening and was still smarting from his harsh words. She couldn’t quite understand why he had reacted in such a fashion; it was only a rose garden. Part of her had wanted to be helpful, to repay Edward’s kindness with an act to show she was grateful for him letting her stay. Her other motivation for wanting to attack the flowerbeds was much more selfish.

Amelia couldn’t bear to be idle, not at the moment. Every second she wasn’t occupied with some task or other her mind wandered back to the encounter with McNair in his study. Over and over she would relive the moment he had lunged at her and she’d plunged the letter opener into his abdomen. It made her feel sick and light headed, but no amount of willpower could stop her from dwelling on her crime.

Only when she was occupied, preferably doing something physically demanding, did her mind take a break from brooding over the events of earlier in the week. So she’d decided to attack the flowerbeds, thinking Edward would be pleased to see some part of the estate tidy and thriving.

Amelia kicked at a pebble on the path, taking her frustration out on the small stone. She wanted to be angry with Edward for speaking to her in such a tone, but part of her wondered what had fuelled the outburst. There was something deeper going on at Beechwood Manor, something she didn’t quite understand yet. Edward was a damaged soul—no one shut themselves away from the world like he did without a good reason. She rather suspected he had lost someone close to him and that loss had prevented him from moving on with his life.

Ever since she had first arrived Amelia had felt the grief and heartache emanating from Edward, but she had felt something else as well. There was a power there, a sense of authority that made Amelia wish he would just fold her in his arms and keep her safe from the world.

Pausing, Amelia flopped down on a bench and closed her eyes. Here she went again, jumping to conclusions about people before she really knew them. With McNair she had been taken in by his good looks and easy charm. She’d fallen for him within ten minutes of meeting him and declared her undying love less than a week later. Her judgement when it came to men couldn’t be trusted. She didn’t know Edward, not really, and she wouldn’t allow herself to ever fall victim to a man ever again. From now on she wouldn’t pin her hopes on anyone but herself.

‘Good afternoon, miss.’

A voice startled Amelia from her reverie. She sprang to her feet, ready to flee if the need arose, and was confronted by a stout, portly man in his sixties. Slowly Amelia relaxed. If he did pose a threat she rather thought she would outpace him with nothing more than a brisk walk.

Forcing her racing pulse to slow, Amelia smiled warily at the newcomer.

‘Tobias Guthry at your service, miss, and what a pleasure it is to meet you.’

Amelia took his proffered hand, allowing his podgy fingers to enclose hers briefly.

‘I am Sir Edward’s steward, been summoned by the master himself. Sorry if I startled you at all.’

Mr Guthry was looking increasingly anxious and Amelia decided he was most likely harmless.

‘You must forgive me, Mr Guthry, I was miles away and I wasn’t expecting anyone.’

‘You gave me quite a surprise yourself, miss. In the past three years I’ve been working for the master I’ve not seen a single other person about the grounds.’

‘Yes, I understand Sir Edward is a very private person,’ Amelia said, wondering if this amiable little man might be willing to tell her any more about her host.

‘Oh, very private, miss, the most private a man could be.’

‘Tell me, has he always been this way?’

Mr Guthry gave her a sidelong look and his already pink complexion turned beetroot.

‘I wouldn’t like to speculate, miss, I’ve only known him since after the...er...the incident.’

He glanced at the fire-damaged portion of the building as he spoke.

So the fire had been the turning point in Edward’s life. She wondered if he’d been injured in it, or whether he’d lost someone he loved as she had first suspected. A slither of guilt slid into Amelia’s consciousness. After all he was doing for her she ought to know more about him and the reasons behind his peculiar choice of lifestyle. The worst thing was he’d probably dropped hints, even alluded to whatever terrible event had affected him so badly, but she had been too caught up in her own world to notice.

‘Do you come to see Sir Edward often?’ Amelia asked, changing tack.

‘Only every couple of months.’

She was surprised at this. Edward seemed the sort of man who liked to be in charge of things, completely in control. True, to manage an estate such as this, which must encompass land outside the boundaries of Beechwood Manor with tenants and farmers and livestock, you would have to not live in such reclusive circumstances, but all the same she couldn’t picture him giving up complete control.

‘Sir Edward must trust you very much, Mr Guthry.’

The portly man visibly swelled with pride at Amelia’s words.

‘Come inside and please make yourself comfortable, I will let Sir Edward know you are here.’

Amelia ushered him into the sitting room she’d entered the night before. It was the only room in the main part of the house vaguely suitable for guests. At least the chairs were no longer covered in dust sheets, but still there was rather a ghostly feel to the room.

She left Mr Guthry wiggling his ample backside into one of the armchairs and set off in search of Edward.

Cautiously she knocked on the door to his set of rooms in the West Wing, and when there was no answer after a few seconds she took a few steps inside. Edward’s sketches were scattered across the desk, with an open pad of paper resting on the windowsill, but there was no sign of Edward. Amelia knew he wasn’t outside or in the main portion of the house, which only left the fire-damaged East Wing.

Quickly Amelia padded along the landing, feeling like a rebellious child for even thinking about venturing into the East Wing. His warning never to enter that part of the house was ringing in her ears, but she couldn’t exactly leave Mr Guthry waiting indefinitely.

At the end of the landing another long corridor swept off at an angle to the main house, identical upstairs and down. Amelia paused before stepping over the threshold, a shiver travelling down her spine and making her glance back over her shoulder to check she was alone.

She took a step and then another. Already the fire damage was evident: blackened walls, the faint smell of smoke, damaged paintings hanging over the peeling wallpaper.

‘I told you not to enter the East Wing.’ Edward’s voice made Amelia jump with fright.

He emerged from the shadows like a phantom, taking Amelia firmly by the arm and guiding her quickly back to the main section of the house.

‘You are never to enter the East Wing.’

Amelia was about to protest, about to question why, but she saw the haunted look in Edward’s eyes and decided for once to keep her mouth securely shut. She waited for him to reprimand her further but he just continued to lead her away from the fire damaged corridor.

‘There’s a Mr Guthry waiting to see you,’ she said, once her heart had stopped pounding and she’d caught her breath.

The normality of her response, or the familiarity of Mr Guthry’s name, seemed to pull Edward back from whatever precipice he was teetering over. Slowly he regained his focus and Amelia was relieved to see the haunted look fade from his eyes.

‘Good,’ he grunted as they descended the main staircase, ‘He can find the proof all this murder business is nonsense and then you can be on your way.’

Normally Amelia would have bristled at his tone and his dismissive attitude towards her plight, but even she could recognise a man who had just confronted some past demon and deserved a little forgiveness for his sharp manner, so instead of making a withering retort she led Edward calmly to Mr Guthry, all the time wondering what it was in the East Wing that Edward didn’t want her to see.

* * *

With Edward and Mr Guthry ensconced in the sitting room Amelia wandered the house for a few minutes before finding herself back in the homely West Wing. Safe in the knowledge that Edward would be busy for at least the next half an hour Amelia ventured into his bedroom, the room they had both shared the night before, and made her way to the desk. Trying her hardest not to pry any further through his personal documents, she sat and rummaged through the drawers until she found a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

Amelia was not a keen writer of letters. Sitting and constructing beautifully worded, descriptive prose was not in her character, she much preferred to be outside doing something. Nevertheless today she would grit her teeth and get on with her task.

Dearest Lizzie,

How long it seems since I left you in London and how much has happened during that time. I hope you are faring better than I, and that my aunt has not discovered our deception and is treating you well.

Amelia paused, sucking on the end of the pen as she wondered how best to word the description of what had happened over the past few weeks. She did not want to trouble her cousin more than was necessary, but Lizzie was currently masquerading as Amelia Eastway and, if Edward was right and there was a chance McNair had survived, her cousin could become a target.

A hundred times I have wished for you to be by my side these past few days. I have been sorely in need of your calm words and sensible cautions. As you had suspected, McNair was not the man I had hoped and ever since I tracked him down in Brighton

a series of unspeakable events have occurred.

I cannot go into detail on paper, but I hope we will be reunited soon and I will tell you everything then.

The most important thing, dearest Lizzie, is for you to be vigilant. I fear I am being hunted, most likely by a magistrate or one of his officers, but also possibly by McNair. As you are currently going by the name Amelia Eastway I urge you to be careful. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you because of my foolishness.

I will write again soon, hopefully with a solution to this predicament rather than all these concerns, but until then know that I am safe. A gentleman has given me shelter in his old dilapidated house for a few days until things have settled down. I feel peculiarly safe here.

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