The Ambitious Orphan (3 page)

As soon as she was
done, she put the letter and the book back on the shelf.
Thankfully, they had been dusted recently enough that there was no
evidence she'd even removed it from its place.

After putting her
notebook on the window seat where she'd left her writing pad the
night before, Amelia went back to the task she'd first intended to
do and looked for a book she might read.

By the time
another ten minutes had passed, she was sitting in her usual seat
and reading a mystery book by an author she'd never heard of. Her
heart was still pounding in her chest, but her breathing had slowed
somewhat and her hands were no longer shaking. If Myron returned
now, he would have no idea what had transpired while he was
gone.

It still didn't
sit very well that he was another person in her head, but she knew
she couldn't dwell on it too much. If nothing else, she still
needed to call him Myron, as if that was the only name she knew for
him. But if he truly was immortal, then he'd been alone a long time
and kept the secret well. It might go a long way to explaining why
he was so intelligent. He'd had more than one lifetime to learn
everything he knew.

Over the next
hour, Amelia did her best to read the book she'd picked out, but
her mind kept returning to thoughts of Myron really being a man
called Mycroft. Eventually, she gave up reading and put the book
down. There was little point holding a book open on the same page
for ages.

While she thought
about all the implications of being immortal, Amelia stared out at
the garden. Her final conclusion was that it must be lonely living
so long, and if they had once grown attached to someone, if they'd
not found a way to pass their immortality on, it would mean
watching someone die.

This thought
saddened her the most. It was highly probable that both Holmes
brothers had watched people they cared about, and grew up with, get
old and die. Their reluctance to get too attached to her made so
much more sense in light of this. Was it worth the pain she might
cause them to even try to seduce either of them further?

Tears threatened
her eyes as she imagined what it might be like, but she fought them
back knowing she'd never be able to explain what the tears were for
if Myron spotted them.

To try and occupy
herself in another way, she grabbed her writing pad and continued
fleshing out the next novel in her main series. With everything
that had happened to her over the last week she had a fresh insight
into the world of crime, and she intended to put it to good
use.

Lunch time was
announced by the housekeeper at the usual time, despite the still
missing presence of the owner. Amelia made her way through to the
dining room anyway and found it laid out just for her. She ate
alone and with nothing but the continual ticking of the large
grandfather clock to keep away the silence.

When the
housekeeper came back to clear up, Amelia decided to pose a
question.

“Do you know when
Myron's likely to be back?”

“No, dear. I'm
sorry I don't. We'll see him when we see him.”

“Right.” Amelia
frowned, searching her memory for the last thing he'd said to her
before he left. She realised he had only told her he was going to
the palace and hadn't known how long it would take. “Does he do
this often?”

The housekeeper
stopped what she was doing and gave Amelia a gentle smile.

“I'm afraid so,
dear. He usually goes to that club of his, but there's never any
warning to it. Even Daniels doesn't always know where he is and
what he does. It's his way.”

“Well, I guess I
shall have to wait here along with you, then. Do you need a hand
with anything?”

“Bless you, my
love, but no. Relax and enjoy yourself. You're the first woman he's
ever brought home with him. It's wonderful enough that you're
here.”

With that, she
carried the dirty crockery away. Amelia didn't move at first,
digesting all the information she'd been given. It was yet another
sign that Myron might be Mycroft and keeping everyone at arm's
reach because the pain of losing yet more people was too much. An
emotion she could relate to. It had taken her several years to open
herself to the idea of loving again after losing her own
husband.

Sighing with
emotion, Amelia took herself back to the study to write and wait
out whatever reason Myron had strayed from the house for. If
nothing else, it would be good to let him know she didn't mind his
peculiar habits. Her previous husband had also had plenty of
strange quirks, and she'd always loved him.

The silence
soothed Mycroft's weary mind as he sat at his desk in the Diogenes
Club. Although he'd enjoyed having Amelia around, he had to admit,
getting away from her for a few hours was a relief.

She'd not
distracted him. If anything, the tension in him had dissipated now
his base needs were being met, but she was still another presence
in the house he wasn't used to. It also might send the wrong signal
to both her and others, to keep her there any longer.

On top of that, it
would be safer for him and Sherlock to deal with Nesterov, and
whoever Nesterov worked for, without her assistance. He would send
her home and have someone watch her at all times to keep her safe
while he dealt with the man who'd tortured her himself. They would
draw him out of Russia.

Over the next
hour, Mycroft put his plans into place. Tom was a wonderful option
to keep an eye on Amelia. The man already spent plenty of time with
her in training, and he could continue her lessons without making
it too obvious. Mycroft was paying him enough that a little extra
work would probably be considered nothing more than a favour.

Afterwards, he
buried himself in his work, looking over government documents and
making recommendations wherever necessary. In the three days he'd
been chasing Amelia across Europe the emails and messages had
stacked up. By the time it was dark outside he'd cleared his plate
of tasks. That left him with Nesterov and Delra. Both of whom
needed investigating.

Nesterov was the
more immediate threat, and if Mycroft was honest with himself, the
more enticing one. The Holmes brothers both intended to make him
suffer for the torture they'd had to listen to. Even now, Amelia's
face was still sporting signs of an old bruise.

The agent who'd
recognised the man's voice had already been looked up by Mycroft,
and every mission report or incident that mentioned Nesterov had
been retrieved for Mycroft's perusal. He spent the rest of the
evening reading through them. By the time he was done, he probably
knew more about the Russian than the Russian knew about
himself.

Mycroft had just
finished sending out a request for his secretary to keep an eye on
several key transport hubs, when the clock chimed out twelve
identical gongs. The time had come to return to Amelia and see how
she'd react to her involuntary solitude for the day.

Their relationship
wasn't at a stage where she'd feel the liberty to complain – of
that he was sure – and it never would reach that point. Mostly, he
expected her to act indifferent, even if she was put out by it. How
badly she had to hide her disappointment would let him know exactly
how much farther away he needed to push her. It wouldn't be good
for her to have any expectations of him, and if sleeping together
the last four nights had caused any, he would shatter them all in
the next twelve hours.

With this resolve
in mind, Mycroft made his way out to Daniels and his waiting car.
His chauffeur stifled a yawn upon seeing his boss and opened up the
door.

“Good evening,
sir. Home?”

Mycroft nodded and
slipped into the leather interior, making a mental note to let
Daniels rest for another couple of days. The man wasn't young
anymore, and their adventure had taken a lot of energy out of
him.

As the car pulled
up on the drive, Mycroft glanced at the house. The only light that
could be seen was around the edges of the curtains in the study
windows. Amelia had waited up for him. Only a few more minutes and
he'd know how contently.

Silence greeted
him as he went inside and continued as he took his shoes off and
pushed his feet into his slippers. Walking almost soundlessly, he
carried on down the corridor and stopped in the open study doorway.
Amelia was curled up in one of the chairs by the fire, a woollen
blanket draped over her legs and one of his books on her lap. She
didn't look up, her eyes moving swiftly over the words on the
pages.

“Good evening,” he
said, realising she hadn't even heard him come home. She visibly
jumped and then let out a small laugh at her own reaction.

“I was totally
absorbed,” she said, putting her hand to her racing heart. She then
glanced at the clock and he saw her eyes widen almost imperceptibly
as she noticed the time. He lingered by the door a moment, to see
if she'd follow the reaction with an action but she didn't say
anything. She merely looked to him to see what he would do.

He glanced over
the book she was reading and realised it was one he'd been given
over the years and never read. Some mystery book one of his staff
had decided might make a good Christmas present.

“Did you have a
good day?” she asked, placing the book down on her lap. He nodded,
keeping his reaction to the question hidden. The words were neutral
enough but there had been a hint of the emotions she really felt in
them. She wanted to be a part of his life a little too much for her
own good.

“I achieved what I
set out to. There's always a lot to be done, however.”

“I can imagine, at
least given what your brother has said you do. A lot of people must
rely on you.”

Mycroft frowned.
He didn't like the sound of what Sherlock might have been telling
her. Before he could comment she stood up and placed the book on
the small table nearby. She then flicked the reading lamp off.

“I'm tired. I
think I should get some sleep. Do you want me to join you again
tonight?” she asked, failing completely to hide the hopefulness in
her voice. It almost made him say no, but he knew it would be good
to indulge one last night before he cut her off.

Instead of
answering, he took her hand and she knew enough about his ways to
let him lead her up to his room. Once there, he took his time
easing her out of the corset, letting the anticipation build
between them. Already, she knew better than to try to do more than
be led by him through whatever he wanted.

The first couple
of nights she'd tried to touch him somewhere he hadn't instigated
she'd received a rebuttal for her actions. Now she was completely
surrendered to him, letting him remove her clothing piece by piece,
until she stood before him, her smooth skin almost glowing in the
flickering firelight.

For a few seconds,
all he could do was stare while she waited. Knowing he could do
whatever he wanted to her and she'd cooperate was intoxicating, and
he almost went back on the decision he'd made earlier. He wanted to
take her to bed and please her until she couldn't take any more,
but he couldn't. Already, she was too comfortable, too yielding and
eager with him, and if he wasn't careful he'd ruin her from ever
wanting anyone else.

Trying not to
think about what he really desired, he picked her up and carried
her over to the bed. Again, she yielded to his arms, only moving
enough to help him place her down underneath him. He trailed kisses
around her neck and throat, and then down towards her breasts,
hearing her suck in her breath as he took a nipple between his
teeth.

Being a little
rougher with her than normal, he pushed her legs apart and held
himself against her, letting her know his body was ready for what
would follow. Still teasing her with his mouth, he freed himself
and plunged into her, knowing she was only just ready for it.

She let out a
small grunt, but still didn't do anything but yield to him, lifting
her knees to give him a better angle. Not wanting to see the look
in her eyes at what he was doing to her, he buried his head in her
neck and thrust harder.

By the time he was
shuddering and spilling his seed into her he had taken everything
he wanted and left her with nothing. He stole a glance at her and
found an amused smirk on her face. It stopped him in his tracks,
his body still poised over hers.

“You know, if you
wanted to tell me you think we've got too close and it's time we
backed off, you could have just said it. You didn't have to screw
me so relentlessly and pretend to prefer it that way.”

He let his body
down on one side of her and she rolled to face him.

“If you realised
that's what I was doing why didn't you stop me?” he asked a few
seconds later.

“Because I'm
willing to give you as much, or as little, as you want of me,
Myron.”

“But you want
more?”

“Yes, I do, but
not if you can't give it willingly. I'm not going to push you, nag
you, or otherwise whine. However, I most certainly don't want to
play games. Don't treat me badly because you think I'm growing too
attached or needy. You've made it clear you don't want my heart so
let me take care of it myself.”

Mycroft reached
out and lifted her chin so he could get a better look at her face.
He scanned her eyes and expression and could see the traces of
disappointment and hurt, yet beneath it all was a calm resolve. For
someone so young she had a steadiness only decades had brought to
him and Sherlock.

In an
unprecedented display of affection, he leant forward and placed a
gentle kiss on her lips. It was more of an apology than anything,
but he knew she'd understand that now.

“I don't think you
should stay another night,” he said as he pulled back.