Fool for Love (Montana Romance) (12 page)

She swallowed her panic and stepped back into the hall.  A porter with a dolly stood at the far end.  He unlocked a door and stepped inside to retrieve the luggage there.  She scurried to meet him, resting a hand over her belly as she reached the open stateroom door.

“Excuse me,” she asked, cheeks pink with the shame of what she was doing and what she had done.  “Excuse me, could you help me?”

The uniformed porter turned to her with a startled look.  “Ma’am?”

“Where has my suitcase been taken,” she asked.

The porter dropped his shoulders and sighed.  “Off the ship.”

“Oh dear.  Where can I find them?”

“In the baggage claim area after customs,” the porter said and returned to his work without another word.

Amelia’s stomach filled with butterflies.  “Thank you,” she mumbled to the porter then turned to rush down the hall.

She would have to find another way to get off of the ship and find her carpet bag before Eric spotted her.  She ducked low when she reached the open air of the deck, glancing around for Eric to keep out of his sight.  He was hard to miss, standing aside from the flow of people now walking freely down the gangplank, searching through the passengers.  Amelia darted to the side away from him.

There weren’t many ways off a ship.  The third-class passengers had been dropped off at Ellis Island before dawn.  The first and second-class passengers were all disembarking by the same gangplank that Eric watched.  Amelia found the stairs to second-class and scurried down before anyone could stop her.  The second-class decks were in view of first-class, so she kept as hidden as she could as she searched for another way off.  There had to be something, a gangplank for the crew to unload cargo at the least.

“Hello!  Hello, Mrs. Amelia!” a high shriek came from the deck above.

Amelia jumped and turned to find young Christopher smiling and waving down at her.

With a wince she waved back.

“Mrs. Amelia!  Mrs. Amelia!  Hello!” the boy continued to shout.

“Ssh!”  Amelia held a finger to her lips, but to no avail.

“Mrs. Amelia!  Over here!”

She spotted a narrow bridge from a lower deck of the ship to the shore and dodged back inside and away from Christopher.  The hallways of second-class were narrower but still fine.  She rushed down one after another, looking for clues that would lead her to the crew hallways and the cargo hold.  It was her luck that the lower she crawled in the ship, the more signs were posted telling her where not to go.  She followed sign after sign that said “Crew only.  Keep out!” until emerging in a musty hold shining with light from an open hatch.

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief as she hurried out onto the cargo gangway and crossed over the narrow stretch of water separating the ship from land.  Her legs wobbled as they touched the pavement of New York.  The stream of crew and cargo departing the ship littered the dock as they ferried loads of crates to warehouses.

She scanned the warehouses for a way out.  The gangplank where passengers disembarked rose high above her.  There was no sign of Eric there or on land or along the railing still aboard the ship.  She’d made it.

“Excuse me, ma’am, where do you think you’re going?” a man that looked more like a policeman than a sailor stopped her as she tried to cross out of the cargo area.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she spun a story.  “I’m afraid I’m lost.  I don’t know how I ended up here.”

The policeman-sailor eyed her.  At least she had her accent and her clothing on her side.

“Your name, ma’am?”

“Amelia Elphick.”  It was a bittersweet relief to use her real name again.  She’d grown too used to being called Mrs. Quinlan.

“Amelia Elphick,” the policeman-sailor frowned.  “Come this way please.”

Amelia pressed a hand over her queasy stomach.  That was it then.  She was on her own once more.  She smiled and followed the man for half a dozen steps before dread took the place of relief in her chest.  He wasn’t leading her to the building where new arrivals were being processed, but to a station manned with police officers.

“Oh dear,” she whimpered.

“You!  What are you doing down here?”

Amelia whipped around to see the irate porter from second-class who she’d berated for harassing Christopher.  Inexplicable tears of relief sprung to her eyes.  The policeman-sailor escorting her stopped and turned his frown on the porter.

“You know this woman?”

“Yeah, I know her all right,” the porter answered.  Amelia held her breath.  “She’s a trouble-maker from first-class.  She’s got a brat of a boy who nearly destroyed some shuffleboard equipment.”

Amelia wasn’t about to contradict the horrid man.  “Have you seen my son?”  She grasped at whatever opening he would give her.  “Dear Christopher wandered off.  I was just searching for him.”

The porter narrowed his eyes at her.  “No, I have not seen him.”

“Oh dear.”  Amelia heaved a mock sigh, face bright red.  “He must have disembarked with his nanny.  I should go after them.”

“They’ll be in the customs building, no doubt,” the policeman-sailor said, none too pleased.  “Take her up there before she hurts herself.”

The porter scowled at the policeman-sailor.  “This way.”

Amelia trembled with anxiety as the porter escorted her out of the cargo area and up to the customs building.  She clutched her purse to her chest with shaking hands, searching for Eric in the tightly-packed crowd, praying her luck would hold.

“Get in line,” the grumpy porter ordered her, “and don’t get out.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with as much contrition as she could muster.

Her expression worked.  The porter stomped off, shaking his head.

The queue of people waiting to pass through customs moved at a snail’s pace.  Ameila’s heart pounded against her ribs as she inched forward, always looking behind her for Eric.  She pressed a hand to her stomach, then forced herself to keep her hands to her sides and pretend everything was fine.  When her turn came to present herself to the customs official behind the desk and to show him her papers, it was all she could do to keep a straight face and answer his questions.  It was a small miracle that he let her pass.

And then she was free.  England was behind her.  America loomed ahead.

She followed signs to find her carpet bag.  The area where luggage could be claimed was swarming with first-class passengers and their servants.  She picked her way through, looking for her carpet bag and for Eric with a growing sense of urgency.  When she found the pile of their suitcases amongst the rest of the ship’s luggage
her heart leapt to her throat.

“This is for the best,” she reminded herself, swallowing the urge
to weep that snuck up on her.

She pulled her carpet bag from the pile.  She’d done her best and repaid Eric for his kindness.  She’d proven that she was a wanton wretch who didn’t deserve that kindness.  He didn’t need her to pull the rest of his life down, but there was no use denying that she would miss him.  She would miss his kind smile and his deep voice, like a fire on a warm night.  She would miss his arms around her and his kiss and the passionate abandon with which he made love.

That was why she had to go.

No one stopped her as she gripped her carpet bag and marched through the do
or and out into New York City.

She’d grown used to London since moving there after her father’s downfall, but there was something about the buzzing American city that gave her pause.  It had the same tall buildings and busy streets as London, but the atmosphere was entirely different.  Instead of stately old grandeur, New York had a frantic restlessness that burst at the seams.  Or perhaps that was her own anxious doubt.

She hadn’t taken three steps in her new world before she was accosted.

“Want a ride, miss?” a young man hounded her.  “Best rates in town for the finest taxis!”

She ducked away, rushing down the street.  Another young man followed her with, “Carry your bag, miss?  Where are you going?”

Amelia dismissed the unnerving entrepreneurs as best she could, second-thoughts haunting her.

“Spare a penny for an old soldier, miss?”  A particularly persistent beggar chased after her.

Another followed, saying, “I got four kids at home that are starving.  Anything you can give will help.”

A voice in the back of Amelia’s head whispered that she was a fool to run in a strange city.  She picked up her pace, no idea where she was going, rushing to get away from those men.  Her path took her up a street that looked like it had seen better days.

“
Just a bit, miss,” the man who said he had four kids stepped in front of her when she hesitated.

“No, I don’t have anything to give you,” Amelia said.  She tried to avoid his eyes and change directions.

“Oh, a limey!” The old soldier remarked at her accent.

Amelia ignored him as well.  She only wanted to get away.  Without direction, she cut down a side street.  Her pulse pounded in her ears and fear made it difficult to breathe as she rushed on.  Her palms sweat so much she had to adjust the grip on her purse and carpet bag.  It didn’t help that she was wobbly after being at sea for a week.

“Let me carry that for you,” the man with four children offered nicely, but grabbed at her purse.

“No!”  As soon as Amelia yanked away from him the men dropped their suffering acts.

“You won’t give us just a little bit, you rich bitch?” the old soldier said.

“I don’t have any money?”

“No money in a dress like that?”

“We’ll just have to take what we need
then,” the younger man echoed.

He lunged for her, knocking Amelia into the side of the brick building.

“No!” she shouted, holding on to her carpet bag for all she was worth and screaming.

“Oh, she’s a lively one, isn’t she?” the old soldier laughed.  “Maybe she’s got something else she can give us too.”

He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her toward him.  One hand clamped over her breast.

Amelia barely had time to scream before the man jerked away from her.  She blinked in shock as Eric spun her attacker around and punched him square across the face.  The old soldier stumbled and recovered himself quickly enough to lunge at Eric.

Eric dodged to the side, grabbing the back of the man’s shirt and using his momentum to throw him into the brick wall.  A sick crunch of something breaking followed.  Eric pulled the man’s crumpled form back and punched his face again for good measure before letting the old soldier drop.

He whipped around to face the man with four children.  The man crouched in ready position, glancing between her and Eric as if weighing whether it was worth it.  He jumped at Eric, swinging his fist.  Eric was faster and bigger and caught the man, twisting his arm with a snap that made the man cry out.  He finished the move with a fist in the man’s nose that ended with a crack and splattering blood.  The man scrambled to get away as soon as Eric let him go.

Without missing a beat Eric whipped to face her.

“What in the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”  he panted, face red with fury and exertion.  His hands were still balled in red-knuckled fists at his sides and he approached her with a force of anger that made Amelia quiver.

“I-”

“What the hell kind of fool wanders off into a dark alley with a pair of thieves first thing off the boat in a city like this?” he continued to rail.  “And why the hell did you wander off alone anyhow?”

His last demanding question pushed the anger out of his eyes, filling them with hurt instead.

Against her wishes, Amelia burst into tears.  It was the only thing she could manage these days, tears and lust.  She was every bit the fool he railed at her for being.

“Aw, don’t cry,” Eric ordered, still angry, his shoulders slumping.

He reached for her carpet bag, but as he leaned close she sagged against him.  She couldn’t help herself.  He closed his arms around her, holding her close even as his chest continued to heave and his heart thumped against her breast.  It felt so good.  And that was her problem.

“Come on,” Eric grumbled after a long moment of silence.  “Let’s get you out of this hellhole and into a nice hotel.  I need a cup of coffee … or something stronger.”

She pulled away, shaking her head and summoning her courage.  “I can’t go with you,” she confessed.

“What?” he balked.

“I can’t, Eric.  You’ve been so kind to me.  Too kind.  I don’t deserve your kindness.  I need to leave before I hurt you any more.”

“What in the hell are you talking about, woman?”  He reacted with even fiercer anger than he’d shown at her attack.

“Look at me, Eric,” she sobbed.  “I’m a wretch who ruined herself for lust.  I was thrown out of decent society.  My mother and sisters are … are whores.  I can’t even walk three steps without bringing trouble to someone trying to help me.”

Eric shifted his weight to one leg and planted his hands on his hips.  “You’re a beautiful, warm woman who’s been treated poorly, even by herself.  So stop this nonsense and come on!”