Heiress On The Run

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.