His Beautiful Wench (25 page)

“I promise, my beautiful wench.”

She kissed him long and hard, raw emotion ripping through her, then broke their connection, panting, frightened. “I love you, do you understand? Adore you.”

“And I love—”

Several raps on the trapdoor ensued.

“We have to go,” Amelia said. After one last kiss, she pried herself away from him and got out of bed. She dressed, hurrying yet wanting to take her time, to prolong their last moments together.

Emmett rose and slipped on his clothing, draping the strap of the sculpture sack across his torso. He covered it with his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. Amelia stood and watched, her throat and eyes sore, a scream building in her chest. She put on her shoes and draped Helena’s cloak around her shoulders, its warmth doing nothing to dispel the chill seeping into her bones. Something felt wrong, a kernel of doubt inside her that grew with each passing second. She opened her mouth to tell him but his words repeated in her mind.
What choice do we have?

None.

She straightened, shoulders squared, and waited for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“I love you, wench, remember that.”

Amelia nodded, unable to respond, and Emmett came to her, his hands cupping her face. He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead, lips lingering for a long while, then rested his brow to hers. Eyes open, he looked at her as though for the last time, and that chill intensified, setting her body shaking.

She gripped his wrists. “Emmett, I—”

“Shh. Five days. You’ll see me in five days.”

I have to believe that, to be content with that. Hope is all I have left.

Nodding, she reluctantly let her arms fall to her sides. He kissed her nose then walked back to the bedside, dousing the light. The darkness oozed into her to join the sense of foreboding. His footsteps approached and his arm brushed hers as he climbed the steps and opened the trapdoor. She followed, tears falling, heart breaking, and emerged from their safe haven to start the first leg of their journey.

In the kitchen, she lifted her hood and, head down, shuffled to the front door. Matilda came down the stairs, her face pinched and drawn, shadows of a restless night beneath her eyes. Again guilt poked Amelia and she twined her fingers beneath her cloak, squeezing them together in an attempt to occupy herself with something other than the insistent, dark thoughts trying to overtake her.

Emmett stopped at the bottom of the stairs and gripped the newel post. “All clear, Matilda?”

She nodded. “As far as I can see, no one is about.” Looking at Amelia, she sighed and said, “We must go before daylight comes.”

Amelia opened the front door and Emmett held her arm, stopping her from stepping outside.

“I’ll go first,” he said, his eyes conveying a hidden warning. “Wait here until I call you.” He went to the end of the path and scanned the clifftop. Beckoning them with one hand, he said, “Come. It looks safe.”

Amelia left the cottage, a wispy, chilling breeze brushing her face. She shivered and rushed to Emmett’s side, taking his hand. The sea appeared calm and she was thankful that at least her lover wouldn’t fall prey to the sometimes cruel ocean, dying in its cold, wet arms. Matilda locked the door and joined them, striding ahead to give them space.

“I should lead,” Emmett called out to her. “It isn’t safe in the forest at night.”

Matilda turned and walked in reverse, hands on hips. “With the anger inside me, no one would dare stand in my way.” She clamped her lips into a thin straight line and swiveled around, her purposeful footfalls fast taking her across the dew-laden grass.

Amelia gave a smile tinged with sadness, her mind cursing the speed with which they approached the forest. Every footstep took her closer to their goodbye, yet she couldn’t slow down, couldn’t falter. The oncoming dawn saw to that.

Emmett squeezed her hand and, as if he’d read her thoughts said, “Look at it as a moment closer to seeing me again.”

She smiled up at him, her lips feeling alien in a position that showed happiness. “I will.” She couldn’t bear to look at him, but at the same time wanted to drink in his features—and how strange that battle of emotions was. Gaze ahead, she strode onward, her feet meeting with the forest floor, brittle twigs cracking beneath her weary tread. She cleared her mind—too many questions, too much information fighting for dominance—and cast her thoughts to the future. Resolve strengthening, she wove through the trees, ignoring the tendrils of unease as the darkness bled its inky presence around them.

Matilda disappeared between two tree trunks and dread pooled in Amelia’s gut. Emmett tightened his grip and walked faster, glancing at Amelia briefly before staring ahead again. The madam reappeared in a shaft of moonlight that spilled through a gap in the leaves above and lit a patch of ground. Relief left Amelia lightheaded and her heart thudded too hard, too fast. What if Graham had instructed his men to lurk in the forest?
No, they would have spied Matilda earlier when she visited the docks.
But what if they had and took note of her activities? What if they were waiting to see why she had gone there, waiting to see if the three of them left the cottage now?

Amelia glanced around. There was barely enough light to make out anything but the ebon tree trunks and black spaces between. She pressed on through the slice of moonlight, looking up at Emmet, his face illuminated, night’s glow showing his pale skin.

He is as worried as I. Dear God, let our plan work.

She offered a smile then focused ahead. Matilda had reached the cobblestone road and surveyed it, a sudden gust of wind jostling her skirts and sending her tresses up into the air. The leaves rustled and Amelia gasped, glancing first behind them and then to the sides, fearful that Lock or another of Graham’s men readied to accost them.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Emmett, nerves strung taut, “I thought—”

“Shh. It’s all right. Come.”

He helped her navigate the last sharp decline and together they stepped onto the path, the stones knobby underfoot. Crossing the road, they entered the alley and kept going until they reached the town. As they walked down the main thoroughfare, a figure stepped out between two shops, his clothes crumpled and his eyes wide upon seeing them. Amelia jumped and Matilda uttered a string of curses, her hand to her chest.

He laughed and tipped his hat. “Morning!” he said, then headed in the direction of the docks.

“Was that one of the lord’s men?” Amelia whispered, heart beating hard. She glared ahead at the man’s departing figure, waiting to see if he looked back.

“No,” Matilda and Emmett said together and Matilda continued, “He’s one of Emmett’s men. The one I hired to man the boat.”

“Oh God!” Amelia blew out between pursed lips. “I thought… Never mind. You know what I thought.”

They continued in silence and rounded the corner at the end of the street. The stench of the docks slapped Amelia in the face.
How I hate that smell.
Her stomach churned at the sight of huge ships in the distance, the path they now traversed empty of the man or any other person. Small houses lined the road, emitting no lights from their small windows. At the end of the street they crossed a rough, dusty road running left to right and stepped down a set of stone stairs.

Matilda whispered, “This way,” and led Amelia and Emmett to the far right, toward the smaller boats that bobbed on silent swells. “It’s this boat here.” She pointed to a wooden fishing vessel.

The man from the town stood on the gloomy deck coiling some rope and he dipped his head in their direction then turned away to resume his task.

“Right. Well.” Matilda wrung her hands and looked at Emmett, tears in her eyes. “Be safe, and maybe one day I can visit you both when you send word of where you’ve settled. And just to be sure you’re kept hidden, sign any correspondence as Mr. Wells. My father’s name, God rest his soul.”

Emmett embraced Matilda and said, “Thank you. For everything. Look—”

“Yes, yes, I’ll look after Amelia, don’t you worry about that.” She patted his arm and smiled, seemingly unsure what to do next. “Well. Goodbye now.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll wait for you at the steps, Amelia.” The madam stalked away, head moving this way and that, stance rigid.

Amelia stared after her, throat swelling. Once she looked back at Emmett, it meant their time was over and the real pain would begin. If she studied Matilda’s retreating form she could spend a few more moments with her love. As though the fates conspired against her, the sky brightened perceptibly and she swirled to face him in shock, panic stealing her breath.

“My beautiful wench,” he said. His voice didn’t sound like his under the strain of the moment. He held out his arms. “Come to me.”

Amelia rushed into his embrace, cheek to his chest, the sack handle rasping her skin. Hands snaking beneath his jacket and settling on his back, she breathed in his scent, his body heat surging up and warming her. Overcome with grief, with the sharp, tangible force telling her something was wrong, she looked up at him, tears spilling. “Take me with you. Please, just take me with you.”

His mouth turned down. Jaw muscles working, he said, “Come now. You know I can’t. We must stick to the plan.”

“But I’m afraid, so frightened. I feel it inside. Something’s
wrong
.”

He eyed her a moment longer then cast his gaze around them. “I can’t see anyone around except Matilda. Sweetheart, it will be fine. I’ll go and you’ll wait, and I’ll see you again soon.” He looked at her. “Five days.”

“Five days,” she whispered, nodding, telling herself he was right and she was being silly.

“Here,” he said, releasing her and fumbling in the sack. “Take these. For Helena and John. And Matilda.”

She held out her hand and a tinkle of jewels filled her palm. Not looking at them, she slipped them into her cloak pocket and gazed at him, fists clenched, eyes stinging.

“And take this.”

He handed her a handkerchief, its whiteness startling in the semidarkness, and she put it in her pocket with the jewels.

His lips met hers then, a hard, passionate joining, his hands in her hair. She clutched his shoulder blades, pulling him closer, and lost herself to a kiss that would die all too soon.

The boatman’s call ended it. “Gotta go, Dray. Light’s comin’.”

Breathless, heart hurting, Amelia fitted her face into the curve of Emmett’s neck and peppered kisses there. His chest jerked.

God, Emmett, please don’t cry
.

Holding her elbows, he gently moved her away from him and she stepped back, arms falling limply to her sides. She took in his face, the sorrow etched into his brow, the love shining from his eyes, and could take no more.

“I love you, Emmett Dray. Please come find me,” she said and fled, her heart breaking with every jolt of her feet hitting the ground.

* * * * *

The hours passed in a blur of sleep and waking nightmares, her mind plagued with terror and her shoulders burdened with remorse. She closed her eyes again to block out the madness and as she drifted, a searing pain racked her gut. Crying out, she clutched her stomach and another, sharper pain jabbed her heart. Dread and panic seeped into her, a slow infiltration that grew in intensity until she lost her breath. She sat up, the quilt pooled over her legs, and snatched off the cloak. Again the pain came, great waves of it that lightened her head and sent her backward onto the mattress. Distress pinned her there, her arms and legs unable to move, the dread’s ferocity too fierce to fight. Her heart constricted, squeezed by unseen hands.

Something has happened to Emmett…

An eerie calm stole over her, giving her the strength to get out of bed.

She pushed up the trapdoor and left the basement, wandering into the kitchen on light feet, her senses alert, her heart hollow. As though it was an absolute truth, she knew Emmett hadn’t made it to his destination. She looked out the kitchen window. Once again the moon hung in a sootlike sky. Amelia went to the sideboard and pulled out a drawer, selecting a knife. She knew what would happen next, her instincts screaming that Graham would arrive soon. Her feet took her up the stairs and she lingered on the landing outside Matilda’s door. Everything was so
quiet
—even her heartbeat seemed silent. At the attic door she paused, hand gripping the knob, unable to move. That calm brushed over her again, nudging her to swing the door wide and climb the stairs, her tread soft, the first step still issuing its mournful creak.

At the window, she stared out at the sea and surmised she’d spent the whole day in the basement. She sat on the sill and gripped the knife, sawing the blade deep into the wooden edge.

The night thickened and the moon brightened, its glow highlighting the dips and swells of the ocean. She gazed at the horizon, barely perceptible as pitch sky met black water, but she’d spot the difference should something appear over that line. Time passed, the moon shifting position, and Amelia sat on, her heart sore and half her soul missing.

It came as a speck, a tiny blot in the distance that grew all too quickly to show its true form. A ship glided toward shore, one she had waited for so many times before. In a trancelike state, she remained seated until the vessel moved in the direction of the docks, its stern disappearing behind a jutting curve of land.