Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) (17 page)

CHAPTER 17

Amelia stood there for a moment, dazed, just staring at the beech tree between her and Julian.  At the hole in the trunk, not three inches from their heads, raining small bits of bark and wood over them.  The hole from a speeding pistol ball on a deadly mission.

As her brain assimilated that, she heard Julian’s voice.  He seemed far away, shouting across a vast distance.  How ridiculous, she thought, he stood right beside her.

“Get down!” He threw his body against hers, just as the second shot went off.

Landing hard, the back of her head connected soundly against the latticework of roots at the base of the tree.  The air escaped her lungs in a whoosh.  Julian lay over her, the entire length of his body covering hers.  She couldn’t draw in a breath.  The world around her tilted and a loud buzzing filled her ears.  Her limbs grew heavy and numb.

“Breathe, Amelia,” Julian said, his voice distorted, as if speaking through water.

She couldn’t do it, she thought, and started to drift.  But her husband’s voice sounded again, demanding she stay with him.  And she wanted to.  Dear God, she wanted that above anything else.

With every ounce of strength she could summon, Amelia parted her lips and sucked in some precious air.  After several more breaths, she opened her eyes, the ache in the back of her head pounding with each beat of her heart.

Julian kneeled at her side, his face etched in concern.  “Amelia, can you hear me?”

She swallowed and nodded as strength returned to her body.  Ignoring the soreness in her head, she began to sit up.

“No, love, stay still.” He held her shoulders down to keep her from moving.

And that’s when she noticed the rip on the arm of his gray coat and the crimson stain surrounding it.  “You’re hurt.”

“Just a scratch,” he said distractedly, his eyes narrowed on something in the distance.

Feeling much restored, she started to rise up and take a look at Julian’s ‘scratch’ when people rushed up to them.  Two middle-aged ladies, a servant, and a man near Julian’s age formed a semicircle around them as whistles blew in the air.

A man not as well dressed as the others parted the crowd.  “Let me through, I’m from Bow Street.”  He peered down at them.  “Are you all right, milord?”

“We’ll be fine,” Julian answered, “as soon as you catch the man shooting at us.”  He raised his uninjured arm and pointed toward the east.  “He went that way.  And his name is Jackson Townsend.”

Amelia sucked in a startled breath.  “Jack didn’t do it.”  But her words went unnoticed.  Three men blew their whistles and ran in the direction Julian had indicated.  The same direction Jack had gone.  Furious, she batted her husband’s hand from her shoulder and stood.  Dizziness struck but, thankfully, lasted for only a few seconds.

“For God’s sake, Amelia, you hit your head rather hard.”

Ignoring Julian’s so-called concern, she reached for his injured arm.  “Jack didn’t do this,” she said, studying his wound through the ripped material.

He sighed.  “The shots came from the exact direction Jack had—ouch!  That bloody well hurt.”

“You were right.”  She finished tying the handkerchief he had given her around his arm and stepped away.  “The wound is a mere scratch.  You’ll live.”  Then she swiveled around and started past the curious onlookers, heading back to the Claremont town house.

As soon as Amelia stepped up to the front door, it opened.  Carson bowed.  “Her Grace wishes to see you, my lady.”

With a frown, she asked, “I must first find my son.”

“In the kitchen, Lady Amersleigh, sampling baked apples and Shrewsbury cakes.”

With a nod, she headed upstairs.  Perhaps a long visit with Megan would help distract her from the fierce ache in her heart.

“You know Jack?” Megan asked after Amelia had explained what had happened.

“Yes.  We were best friends as children.”  When Megan shifted on the sofa and winced in pain, Amelia cleared her throat.  “It has only been a sennight since little Jordan was born, perhaps you should return to bed?”

“Absolutely not,” Megan said, those violet eyes set in determination.  “I’d die of boredom.”

Amelia’s lips twitched.  “We couldn’t have that.”

After a brief smile, Megan’s face tightened.  “I agree with you, Amelia.  I don’t think for a moment Jack was the shooter.”  Her brows snapped together.  “And if he didn’t do it, then who did?”

She shook her head.  “I wish I knew.”

The door flew open, making Amelia jump.  With her hand splayed over her pounding heart, she found Julian marching into the room.  “I’ve ordered our bags packed.  We are returning to Sagemeadow.  If we leave within the hour, we’ll be there before nightfall.”

“Oh, Jules, must you leave?” Megan asked.

Glancing at his sister, Julian’s expression softened.  He kneeled before Megan, taking her hand.  “Yes, Moppet, we must.  That bloody pirate won’t find me such an easy target at Sagemeadow.”

The sadness melted from Megan’s face.  She narrowed her eyes and withdrew her hand.  “Jack didn’t shoot at you.”

Amelia nodded her agreement.

Julian rose to his feet.  “Be ready to leave in half an hour, Amelia.”

“Stubborn ass,” Megan said as the door closed behind her brother.

Amelia cut her gaze to her sister-in-law, who grinned at her.  Then they both began to laugh.

****

Amelia buried her pain like she always had.  She worked.  After arriving at Sagemeadow Hall, she tended every sick or injured servant.  From boils to broken bones, she immersed herself in treating their injuries.  It didn’t take long for her healing prowess to spread to the nearby village.  Soon, she had no time to think about Julian and their sham of a marriage.  No time to dwell on the fact that Alex had been conceived because of some horrible wager.  No time to consider what to do about any of it.

Due to the shooting incident, Julian wouldn’t let her venture from the house.  Not even to pick herbs.  Servants brought her toothwort, broomrape, mallow root, and anything else she requested that they could locate. Unfortunately, the sick and injured had to come to her.  Though it irritated her, she withheld her displeasure.  At least her husband allowed her to heal these people.  Something she thought he’d object to.  Instead of objecting, however, Julian saw to it that she received anything she needed.  Healing herbs, clean linens, even a room off the kitchen where she could receive patients.

Working also got her mind off the fact that Alex would soon leave for Eton.  Oh, how she was going to miss her son!  Amelia was surprised when Julian announced those plans hadn’t changed, but she knew the reason behind the decision.  Although certain Jack was the shooter, Julian didn’t think he’d stoop so low as to come after Alex. 

Hmmmmph.

Amelia and Megan both had concluded someone had spotted Jack and was shooting at
him
.  It was simply unfortunate the ball landed where it had.  Even more unfortunate, Julian would not listen.

Hmmmmph.

A movement outside the window caught her attention.  She spotted Alex walking up the path that led to the river, a cane pole resting over his shoulder.  Sunlight glistened off his dark, wavy hair, and he wore a large smile.  Exactly like the man who walked beside him.  Unwillingly, her gaze slid over to Julian.  She couldn’t help the tightness in her chest, like an iron fist gripping her heart.

She turned away, wishing she did not love her husband.  No matter how hard she’d fought the unruly emotion, it had happened all the same.  Perhaps, it never left.  Perhaps her love for Julian had always been there, lying dormant within the recesses of her heart all these years.  She shook her head weakly.  No matter, she knew the love existed.  Choking, smothering her.  And it wasn’t intangible.  It hummed through her veins and wrapped itself around her very soul.

A tapping at the door brought Amelia out of her silent deliberation.  Grateful for the interruption, she opened the door and found a pair of dove-gray eyes on the other side.  Julian stepped into the room, filling the small area with his presence.  She could only back away, half-afraid, half-thrilled to see him.  “You’ve been ignoring me,” he said, closing the door.  “Why?”

Amelia swiveled around, searching for something to do that would hide her reaction to him.  She located the mortar and pestle on a nearby table and walked to it.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She began to grind the contents into a fine powder, not exactly sure if she were ruining the herbs or not.

Without making a sound, he neared.  The heat of his body scorched her back.  “You have been ignoring me, Amelia.”  His warm breath stirred the fine curly hairs on her exposed neck.  She shivered.  “During the day, you heal burns and cuts.  And at night, you’re brewing remedies.”  His hands settled on the sides of her upper arms, making her flinch.  “We haven’t shared the same bed in two weeks, since our return to Sagemeadow.”  He turned her around.  Placing two fingers below her chin, he lifted her head.  She had no choice but to look into his eyes.  “Is it because I named the shooter?”

“No,” she said, the word out of her mouth before she realized.  “Although it wasn’t Jack.”

He stroked her lips with his thumb, sending sparks down her body.  “Then why?” he whispered, not commenting on her last words.  His eyes had turned smoky, his mouth curving into a sensual half-smile.

Years of pain that had been simmering within her suddenly came to a raging boil.  She knew it was bound to happen sooner or later.  She slapped his hand away.  “You want to know why?”  She didn’t give him the chance to respond.  “I’ll tell you exactly why.  It is because of a little wager between you and Lord Fielding.  A little wager that cost me everything.”

When the meaning of her words sunk in, he staggered back a step.  “You know?”  He shook his head, clearly stunned.  “How?  When?”

She gripped the table behind her.  “That doesn’t matter.  The only thing that matters is because of some stupid bet ten years ago, I lost my innocence, my family…everything.”  Her fingers bit into the hard oak.  “You threw me away and left me with nothing when I came to you with the news of carrying your child.”

He closed the distance between them, though he didn’t touch her.  “I didn’t leave you with nothing.  I gave you Alex.”

Seeing the guilt in his eyes, Amelia bowed her head.  She released the table.  “Yes,” she said, “you gave me Alex.”  And to assuage his guilt, Julian had married her.  Nothing more.  What a fool she had been to think he had ever cared for her, would ever care for her.

“What can I do to atone, Amelia?”

When those raspy words penetrated, she lifted her head.  “I just want to be free.”

“Free of what?”             

“Free of you,” she whispered. 
Free of loving you
, her heart amended.

Alex backed away and closed the door slowly.  Lord Julian was his father?  His real father?  Numbly, he walked into his bedroom and straight to the mirror on the wall.  It was true.  He scowled at his reflection.  Why hadn’t he realized the resemblance sooner?  Why hadn’t he known?

Spinning away from the reflective glass, Alex started to pace.  With every question his mind conjured, his anger rose.  Why hadn’t Lord Julian married his mother ten years ago?  Why had he allowed her to go to America?  Why didn’t he come find them?

His mother’s words crept into his mind. 
You threw me away and left me with nothing when I came to you with the news of carrying your child.

He halted.  Mama had come to Lord Julian?  He forced her to leave?  He had known she was going to have a baby and he threw her out?

Pure hatred washed over Alex.  He shook with it.

The door opened, gaining his attention.  “I knocked but you didn’t answer—Alex?”  His mother rushed to him, her eyes turning anxious.  “What is wrong?”

He shrugged her hand from his shoulder and started pacing again.

“Alex?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked without breaking the rhythm of his steps.

“Tell you what?”

He stopped near the door and faced his mother.  She looked pale and scared.  His hands balled at his sides.  She had suffered so much, he thought.  Too much.  But he could help her now.

She took a step forward.  “Alex?”  And then her eyes went round.  “Oh, God.  You heard us downstairs?”

“Yes,” he said, the words echoing around in his mind.  When his mother took another step toward him, he held up a hand.  “Don’t.”  She came to an abrupt halt.  Tears glistened in her eyes.  “I don’t want you to—” he paused and shook his head. “I don’t want you to tell me everything is all right.”  She began to tremble and tear drops slid down her cheeks.  “Everything is not all right.  What he did to you is unforgivable.”  Unable to stand seeing his mother cry, Alex rushed for the door.  “I wish he were dead.” 

He ran out of the room without looking back.

CHAPTER 18

Amelia had no idea how long she sat on the edge of her son’s bed staring at the closed door, waiting for his return.  It seemed an eternity.  The look in his eyes haunted her and she shivered.  Never had she seen him like that.

When another ten minutes slid by, she left his room.  Why hadn’t he returned wanting to know everything?  She’d been certain that’s what he would do.

After walking to the observatory and finding it empty, she headed for the back door.  The stables were the second most likely place Alex would go.  Rays of sunlight stabbed her eyes as she walked outside. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the brightness, then continued forward.

A terrible noise exploded in the silence.  Amelia stopped, knowing that sound.  A pistol had been fired.  And it had come from the stables.  With a gasp, she picked up her skirts and ran.

“Alex!”  She flew into the stables.  Panting, she glanced around.  “Alex,” she called again, her eyes gradually focusing in the dimness.  A crumpled form lay several yards in front of her.  “Oh, my God!”

Crashing to her knees at his side, Amelia carefully rolled him onto his back.  “Julian,” she whispered.  Then she noticed the crimson stain, about the size of a dinner plate, saturating the front of his waistcoat.  With a gasp, she ripped open the material to ascertain the extent of damage done.

Several inches above his left nipple, a jagged hole marred his smooth flesh.  From the center of the wound, deep red blood gurgled up and spilled out.  She sucked in a breath, the sweet metallic smell filling her nostrils.  An artery had been hit.  At least it hadn’t hit his heart, she thought, watching his chest rise and fall.  But his breaths grew weaker.

Three grooms entered the stables just as she tore some material from her petticoat.  They rushed forward.  “Quickly, bring him and follow me,” she said, rising from the ground.  “Hold that material tightly against the wound.”

A cry of alarm sounded from several of the servants as Julian was settled on the bed in her healing room.  Amelia ignored them, instead she barked out commands to any of the others who weren’t hysterical.  She turned back to Julian and frowned when she noticed how pasty his face looked.  With a quick prayer, she began to work.  The lead ball had to be taken out, although it would cost him even more precious blood.

After washing her hands, Amelia cleansed the wound.  A loud crash sounded and she looked up in time to see that one of the maids had fainted.  “Get that woman out of here,” she yelled to one of the footmen.  “You and you stay.  The rest of you leave.”

It took longer than she had hoped to locate the ball and remove it.  Julian’s breathing had grown shallow, his pulse weakening.  She knew he had lost way too much blood.  Tears sprang into her eyes, but she blinked them away.  No!  She would not give up.  With firm resolve, she worked faster.

With the last stitch in place and tied off, she glanced up to her husband’s chalky face.  “Julian.”  Her throat went dry.  “You must fight.”  Knowing he wouldn’t for her, she bowed her head.  “For Alex.  For our son.  I know he has come to mean a great deal to you.  So fight for Alex.”

Thinking of her son, Amelia turned to one of the servants in the room.  “Where is Alex?”

“I haven’t seen him, my lady.”

“Please, go find him.”

He bowed.  “Right away, my lady.”

When the man returned an hour later, he shook his head.  “I cannot find him, Lady Amersleigh, and no one seems to know where he is.”

Her heart stopped momentarily in her chest.  “Begin a search at once.”

“It’s already begun, my lady.”

She turned back to Julian.  His dark lashes rested against his wan cheeks.  Her gaze lowered to the bandage around his chest.  “Send a message to His Grace, the Duke of Kenbrook.”  Her lips trembled.  “Tell him and the duchess to come at once.”

****

Amelia pressed the backs of her fingers against Julian’s cheek.  His skin had grown warm.  She lifted the spoon from the bowl and dribbled more of the pungent liquid down his throat.  “Please,” she whispered, “don’t get a fever.”

A knock sounded just as she set the bowl back onto the table.  Praying for news that Alex had been found, she rushed to the door and threw it open.  “Alex?”

“No, my lady,” the footman answered with a hint of sadness.  “The Duke of Kenbrook has arrived.”

Just as the words were out of the man’s mouth, she heard her father-in-law’s voice.  “Where is my son?”

Heavy footsteps sounded.  The footman bowed and held the door open as the duke appeared.  Amelia backed out of the way lest she get trampled.

“Julian!” Margaret cried, rushing around her husband.  Arriving at her son’s side, she crumpled onto the chair beside the bed and scooped up his hand into hers.  “Oh, Joseph, look at him.”

Margaret’s garbled words tore at Amelia’s heart.

Joseph approached his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder as he looked down at Julian.  Then he turned and glanced around the room.  “Where is the doctor?”

Even though she shook uncontrollably, Amelia stepped forward.  “The nearest doctor is twenty miles away.  There was no time, Your Gr—”

Joseph’s mouth tightened in anger.  He turned fully, his gaze appraising her rumpled, blood-stained clothes.  “Are you telling me you stitched him?”

She gave a jerky nod.

His eyes lifted to someone behind her.  “Summon Dr. Benson, Jennings.  And tell Mr. Porter I’d like a word with him in the study.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

Amelia breathed her first real breath when the duke left the room.  She turned and approached the duchess.

“Is my son going to die?” Margaret asked, her hand clamped onto Julian’s.

“Not if I can help it.” Amelia’s throat grew raw from swallowing back tears all night.  Her gaze slid over to her husband’s bandaged chest.  His breathing had gotten a bit stronger.  She closed her eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks.  Then she added another prayer.  One for Alex.

“Your ladyship?”

Startled, Amelia spun around.

“His Grace would like to see you at once,” Jennings said.

With a nod, she followed the butler to Julian’s study.  Her father-in-law and two other men rose to their feet as she stepped into the room.  Jennings bowed and closed the door.  She didn’t know why, but something about the two men made her nervous.  Very nervous.  Perhaps it was because one of them looked at her as though she’d done something wrong.  It made her stomach knot with fear.

“Amelia, this is Thomas Porter,” Joseph stated, drawing her attention to the larger of the two strangers.

“Mr. Porter,” she said quietly with a nod.  Although he watched her, his eyes held no judgment, no condemnation—like the other man.

“Your ladyship.” Mr. Porter inclined his head slightly.

“And this is Mr. Weaver, the local magistrate.”

At the duke’s words, Amelia swung her gaze back to the other.  “Magistrate?”

“Lady Amersleigh,” the man said, his dark eyes marking her guilty of some heinous crime.

Clamping her hands together, she turned back to her father-in-law.  “What is going on, Your Grace?”

“Come, have a seat, Amelia,” he stated instead of answering her question.

She shook her head.  “I prefer to stand.”  She could hardly speak, her throat so closed up in fear.  Something terrible had happened.  “What is it?”

“Have you any idea where Alex is?” Joseph asked.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes.  “No, I don’t.”

“We understand you and his lordship had a nasty little argument before he was shot.  Do you know if your son overheard it, perchance?”

Amelia turned to the magistrate as understanding began to dawn.  They thought Alex shot Julian!  Her mind could not help recalling how Alex had looked when she last saw him, or his last words. 
I wish he were dead.
Had one of the servants overheard?  She shook her head.  “Alex didn’t shoot Julian.”  She looked from one man to the other, willing them to believe her.  “We were shot at before,” she said.

“Mr. Porter just learned the reason behind that, Amelia,” the duke said, stepping forward.  “Old Lord Clifton was having visions of Napoleon again.  We never would have found out if not for him shooting a horse the day before yesterday.  His valet confessed it was he who shot at you and Julian.”

Closing her eyes, she bowed her head.

“Amelia,” the duke continued, “we found a pistol in the stables near the place where the shooting occurred.  It matches the one missing from a box in Julian’s desk.”

Images of a rope tied around her son’s neck filled her mind.  She could almost hear the snap when the rope pulled taut.  Her legs went weak.  If her father-in-law hadn’t been so close, she would have toppled to the ground.

Knowing she couldn’t allow her son to die, she fought the weakness pulling at her.  Taking deep breaths, she locked her knees and opened her eyes.  Slowly, she looked up into the duke’s concerned expression.  “Alex didn’t shoot Julian.”  Her words came out raspy.  She swallowed back her tears.  “I did.”