Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) (24 page)

CHAPTER 25

Amelia sipped her tea in Mrs. Templeton’s parlor, knowing full well the woman or one of her spies stood in the dining room trying to listen to every word.  She kept her voice down, wishing Jack would do the same.

“I don’t understand, Amy,” he said, shaking his head, just like before.

She gave him a sideways glance taking note of the rice powder he’d applied to his face.  Her eyes slid down to his pink and lavender waistcoat, and she couldn’t resist a grin.  “I’ve never seen you looking so dandy, cousin.  Have you a new tailor?”

He took a deep breath, his painted brows crashing together.  “Why won’t you talk about it?  Every time I broach the subject, you change it,” he gave her a perturbed frown, “or comment about my attire.”

“Because there is nothing to discuss,” she said softly, cutting her eyes to the crack in the dining room door, to the shadow hovering in the middle.  “I’m staying here.”

Jack followed her gaze and lowered his voice.  “But why are you staying?  Julian cleared your name.  You’re free.”

She shook her head.  How could she explain Hilda’s dreams and have Jack understand?  He wouldn’t.  That she knew for certain.  Atypical for a man of sea, he didn’t believe in anything of the sort.

The silence grew thick.  Amelia, aware of Jack’s hard stare as he tried to make sense of her decision to stay, changed the subject.  “Tell me again about Alex,” she whispered.

He paused.  “He is leaving for Eton next week.”

She bowed her head, close to tears.

Jack rose from his chair and took her teacup from her hands, placed it on the table, then knelt before her.  “Amy, don’t you realize your name has been cleared?”

An idea came to her.  How she would end the discussion once and for all.  Blinking the tears from her eyes, Amelia pulled away and stood.  “You of all people should understand what I am going through.”

He rose to his feet, confusion building in his dark eyes.  “What?”

“I was blamed for something I didn’t do.  Utterly humiliated before everyone.”  She forced her chin up.  “And now I am expected to return as though nothing happened?”  Her arms came up to cross over her breasts.  “Not only that, I was forced into marriage.  Did you know that?  Blackmailed into it.  Julian threatened to take Alex from me if I didn’t agree.  So you expect me to go back to him?  You expect me to give up the freedom I have here and go back to what, exactly?  That sham of a marriage?  At least here I’m not shackled to someone like that.”

Jack drew back in surprise.  “I didn’t know.”

Julian’s hand tightened on the doorknob, then slid off, falling limply to his side.  He had heard every word Amelia said through the paper-thin door.  His heart sank.  Turning, he found Mrs. Templeton standing behind him.  “That isn’t her,” he said, his body still numb with shock. “That isn’t my wife.”  Then, without another word, he left the boarding house.

The Amersleigh crest flashed in the sunlight as the footman opened the coach door.  Julian entered the vehicle woodenly, Amelia’s words echoing within his mind.  Spying the bouquet of snowy white roses on the opposite seat, he tossed them out of the window when the coach lunged forward.

As the minutes ticked away, Julian’s rage began to wane.  Amelia’s words haunted him, pricking at his conscious like a searing-hot poker.  She was right, dammit.  He had forced her into the marriage.  But that had been just one of the many terrible things he had done to her.  It started years ago.  It started when he’d so callously tossed her out when she’d needed him most.

His eyes closed as pain struck the center of his chest.  Pain much worse than getting shot.  My God, all he ever did was hurt her.

When the carriage halted before the Kenbrook house in London, Julian didn’t move.  The door opened and the footman pulled out the iron steps.

The man cleared his throat.  “We have arrived, my lord.”

“Take me to the office of William J. Prescott in Oxford Street.”

“Very good, my lord,” the footman said and closed the door.  With a whistle, the horses lunged forward.

Thirty-seven minutes later, Mr. Prescott squinted in disbelief across his polished desk.  “You want what, my lord?”

Julian, out of patience, stood and snatched up a piece of paper and a quill.  He dipped the pen into the ink, scribbled a few words, then shoved the parchment to the man.  “Here, William, just see to it right away.”

A sheen of perspiration appeared on the man’s wide forehead.  He pulled a monogramed handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the wetness.  “This will not be easy, my lord.  You realize this is a matter of canon law and administered by one of its advocates?  A barrister of common law is not part of the process.”

Julian narrowed his eyes.  “But not impossible?”

The man glanced down to the note and shook his head slowly.  “Not impossible, no.  I happen to be acquainted with an advocate.  The expense will be extraordinary.”

Impassively, Julian removed the heavy bag from his pocket.  It landed before the man with a loud clink, the jingle of gold unmistakable.  “That should begin the process.”  He swiveled on his heel and left William sitting there with his mouth hanging open.

Climbing into the coach once again, he ordered the driver to take him to the Claremont town house.  He expelled a weary sigh.  Alexander would not be happy.

The journey didn’t last nearly as long as he had hoped.  Traffic had been light for once, and miraculously, no one blocked their path the entire way from Oxford Street to Upper Brook Street.  The coach rolled to a smooth halt and Julian climbed out, his heart heavy with sadness.  With dread building with each step, he neared the house.

One of the twin doors opened and Alex shot out, scrambled down the steps, and came to a skittering halt, his chest heaving.  His anxious gaze focused on the vehicle’s empty doorway.  He shuffled closer, confusion building on his face.  Then his expression turned alarmed and he raced to the coach.  “Mama,” he cried, halting when he saw the empty interior.

In jerky movements, he turned.  “Where’s Mama?”

Julian cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry, Alex.  She didn’t want to come back.”

His son’s eyes went round.  “Didn’t want to come back?”

“I am sorry, Son.”  Julian laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder.  God, if he could just absorb some of the boy’s pain.

Alex shook his hand off, his face turning red with indignation.  “That’s a lie!  Mama would come back for me.”  He stumbled back a step.  “You probably didn’t even find her.  You didn’t want to find her.”  Spinning around, he ran back to the house.  “I hate you.  I hate you.”

The weight of his grief crashed down on him.  Julian could take no more.  He turned back to the coach and started to climb in when he heard Megan call his name.

“What happened?” she asked nearly out of breath when she reached his side.

With each low word ripping up his heart a little more, he repeated what Amelia had told Jack.

Megan’s hands flew to her cheeks.  “Oh, Julian, no.  What are you going to do?”

“I need to be alone for a while.”  He climbed back into the coach.  “Will you watch Alex for me?”

Her hands came down slowly.  “Of course.”  Tears glistened in her amethyst eyes.  “Come back soon.”

After a curt nod, he instructed the driver to take him to his ship.

****

Amelia went to see Hilda whenever she wasn’t assisting Dr. Landon.  She brought the elderly woman baked apples, warm blankets, and medicine for her aching joints.  Everyone in the village thought the old woman crazy, having lost her mind when she lost her husband and tiny daughter to small pox many years ago.  Small pox had also been the reason, according to Dr. Landon, that had caused Hilda to go blind.  What a terribly sad story.  Amelia never brought it up.

She was just about to set out to see Hilda when Mrs. Templeton announced she had a visitor.  Thinking it was Jack, Amelia stepped into the drawing room, stunned to find a short man with a curling mustache and round brass spectacles pacing before the fireplace.  He held a package in one hand, his hat in the other.

Her heart pounded.  Had she been found?  Was she going to be arrested and hanged?

Slowly, she backed up, trying not to make a sound.  The movement must have caught his attention and he glanced over at her.  Amelia froze.  Her mouth went dry.  What would she do?  Turn and run?  Where would she go?

“Ah, my apologies, my lady, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, heading in her direction.

She backed away, making the man stop.

“Please, do not be alarmed.  My name is William Prescott and I have a delivery for you.”  He held out the package.

Amelia stared at the neat string bow in the center of the crisp brown paper, wondering what to do?  Perhaps Jack had sent her something?  With a shaky step, she reached out and took the package.

Mr. Prescott waited with a pleasant smile for several seconds.  When she didn’t move to open it, he nodded to her hands.  “If you please, my lady?”

She didn’t like him calling her that.  It was almost as though he knew who she was.  But she didn’t wish to question him about it.  She just wanted him to leave.  From the determination in his eyes, however, he wasn’t going anywhere until she opened the package.

Amelia pulled the string and the wrapping fell apart.  She frowned, her bad feeling intensifying as she read the three words scribbled on the note before the sheaf of papers. 
For your freedom
.  She looked at the pages beyond and almost collapsed. Documents to nullify her marriage to Julian based on duress.

Staggering to a nearby chair before her legs gave way beneath her, she sat then glanced at Mr. Prescott.  He cleared his throat and began to maul his expensive hat between his hands before him.  “I was instructed to wait until you signed your consent, my lady, then bring it back right away.”

With jerky movements, she rose from the chair and moved to the secretary in the corner of the room Mrs. Templeton kept for boarders who wished to write letters.  Her trembling hand reached for the quill.

Amelia was too numb with shock to do anything but watch Mr. Prescott gather up the papers and hurry from the room with a sad little apology on his lips.  Her mind could only focus on one thought.  Julian knew where she was and he no longer wanted her for his wife.

She continued to stare at three dried ink drops on top of the secretary, trying to make sense of what just happened.  Had Julian found someone else?  The beautiful Lady Bridgewater came to mind and Amelia bowed her head.  Most likely.  Of course Julian wouldn’t want someone who had confessed to shooting him.  She had hoped…

A tear scurried down her cheek, splashing in the center of the ink stains.  Oh, God, Alex!  How would he be treated?  Amelia recalled the face-slaps and endless berating suffered at the hands of her own stepmother.  She shuddered.  That could not happen to her son.  But how would she make certain?

Amelia raised her head.  She pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.  Perhaps Jack could do something.  At least, see that Alex was well.

****

For nearly a month, Julian prowled around his ship, snapping orders and making the lives of his crew miserable.  He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep.  During the day, he worked alongside the carpenters, making repairs to the deck and masts.  The work was hard and tedious, yet he welcomed the long, exhausting days.  His chest ached continually, although he couldn’t be certain it was from the wound or a broken heart.  The nights were torture.  When he wasn’t keeping his hands occupied, thoughts of Amelia filled his mind.  Whiskey helped, but it wasn’t enough.  Nothing would ever be enough.

After another sleepless night, Julian rose before the sun and climbed up on deck.  Beneath his feet, the ship lunged up one side of a wave then rolled down the other.  The cold wind gusted, snapping the sails above.  His hands remained locked at the small of his back, his eyes closed.  For the entire time he’d been at sea, he’d found none of the peace he craved.  Strange, really.  Being adrift in the center of the ocean usually brought tranquility, a sense of calmness to any tumult he felt.  But not this time.  No, this time it brought the sense of doom. That disaster would explode at any moment.  Perhaps the explosion would come from his heart.  It certainly ached enough.

“You should go and rest, Master.”

Julian opened his eyes and blinked, realizing he had been standing there for over an hour without moving.  The sun had already lifted up from the horizon and streaked the eastern sky with fingers of honey-gold and salmon-pink.  He turned to Marcus.  “I don’t need rest.”

The ship’s surgeon pursed his lips.  A sure sign of disapproval.  “It has not been all that long since you were standing on death’s door, sir.”

It seemed an eternity to Julian.  He sighed and turned his head back to the chilled wind.

“What you’re searching for, you’ll not find out here.”

Julian cracked his eyes open.  “And what am I searching for, Marcus?”

The doctor grunted.  “A way to stop loving your wife.”