by Faye Hall
Bastian watched the doctor patching Amalie up, his steps backing him toward the door.
“I suggest you stay right there, mister,” Abbey addressed him, her voice raised and stern. “I saw the police up here before. I already told you that I wanted no trouble while you were here.”
Bastian stopped. “Yes, ma’am. Nor do I want any. We’re just trying to earn some money.”
The doctor stood and began gathering his tools. “I’ve done all I can do for her. She’s very lucky the knife missed all her internal organs. Provided that the wound is kept clean, she should make a full recovery and be up and around in a few weeks.”
With all eyes on him, Bastian knew he had to play his part and act as if he cared about Amalie and her well-being. He feared if he didn’t, the police might be called in about the incident. Going over to where she lay on the bed, he sat down and brushed her hair back from her face.
“Thank you all. I don’t know what we would have done without your help.”
But Bastian knew where he would have been—free.
Waiting until the doctor and the women left the room, he looked down at her as she slowly opened her eyes.
“The doctor said you should be up and around in a couple of weeks,” he told her. “And then it’s time you repay me for saving your skin at the Heather’s estate.”
Amalie looked terrified. “What do you expect me to do?”
He smiled. “I want you to go to a few rich, old bastards I know and beg them for employment. Once you’re securely in the house, you send word to me and I will come and collect what valuables I can carry.”
“I don’t want to do this,” she cried.
He squeezed her face cruelly. “Yet you will, or next time you might just receive more than a scratch on your stomach.”
Watching as fear filled her face, he grinned. Amalie might well be his answer to everything. If she did as she was told and helped him steal from the rich land owners of the area, he could be living in the lap of luxury yet again by the end of the year.
Chapter 7
Winter 1871
Bastian Tanner stood from the bed in the small room he’d rented in the molly house and reached for his trousers. He’d been there too long already.
“You don’t have to leave you know,” the young man on the bed said, reaching for a cigarette. “I’m not needed back at my father’s for another hour.”
Bastian buttoned his pants before turning to look at the youthful image of David Netley. “And what will your old man say when he finds out you’ve been in bed with me for the last few hours instead of taking care of his cattle station?”
David shrugged. “What do I care what the old bastard says? He’ll be dead soon enough, and everything he owns will finally be mine. Then we can live wherever we want.” He left the bed and went to Bastian, his lips caressing the still naked skin of his chest. “We won’t have to hide anymore.”
Bastian’s fingers entwined in David’s hair, pulling him away. “But for now we must pretend we are little more than business partners,” he reminded him. Stepping back, Bastian pulled on his shirt and began to button it.
“Are you going back to her?” David asked, reaching for his clothes and dressing.
“I need Amalie for a little while longer,” Bastian replied. “There is business I still need to take care of that only she can help me with.”
David buttoned his shirt. “You are already a man of great wealth. Why must you continue to play these games?”
Bastian smiled, marveling at how easily David believed the lies he was told. “I am only wealthy because of the reputation I keep in this town. A reputation that will vanish if it should be discovered I’d rather fuck you than my fiancée.”
Going to the door, he opened it and left before David could argue with him anymore. The young man was getting a little too clingy for his liking. Usually he was able to keep such affairs short and sweet, certainly not dragging them on long enough that any feelings should be ignited. Unfortunately, his liaison with David hadn’t quite gone as planned.
When he lured David into one of the bedrooms here at the molly house, his wealthy father was on his deathbed with weeks to live. He needed their relationship to last just long enough that he could use their affair as leverage to blackmail the young man out of all his inheritance. Never could he have banked on the old man making a miraculous recovery practically overnight because of some native medicine given to him by an Aboriginal medicine man.
Leaving the molly house, Bastian turned the corner and walked in the direction of the main road and the Anabranch Hotel in which Amalie was boarding. That too was an association he didn’t think to still have. Never could he have imagined he would be saddled with Amalie for nearly an entire year. It had to be that way though. The money from the sale of the treasures he stole faded fast, and soon he was back to luring lovers to his bed in order to blackmail them only a few weeks later.
Amalie still knew nothing of the young men he had been regularly bedding, each of them the son of a rich property owner on their deathbed. If she ever questioned his whereabouts, he told her he was trying to negotiate a successful business deal to see them both returned to the comfortable lives they’d once lived. There was some truth to what he told her though. He was doing business—the kind that pleasured him and may yet return his family’s wealth to him. As for Amalie...she was little more than a means to an end.
Reaching the hotel, he walked inside and up the stairs to the room she was staying in. As he retrieved the key from his trouser pocket, he stalled for a moment, preparing himself for any amount of backlash from Amalie, before placing it in the keyhole and turning it in unison with the handle. As he entered, his gaze went to Amalie standing against the window. She was dressed in a simple, black, flared skirt and white blouse, her hair flowing around her shoulders.
He had no doubt she was thinking of times gone by and the life she once lived, something he had been certain to keep constant in her mind these last few months. He spent so much time conditioning Amalie to believe what he wanted her to about Tristen and the man he had become. Bastian needed her to think only of the monster Tristen now was so when he took her back to the Brone station, she wouldn’t think twice about taking any and all property papers she was told to.
She hadn’t been an easy woman to manipulate though, even after the death of both her brother and father. His only saving grace was managing to keep Tristen as far away from her as humanly possible. The distance between them, combined with his constant reminder that it was Tristen who lit the fire that killed Jacob and Amanda, was all that enabled him to convince her Tristen had abandoned her. It had not been enough to break her into submitting completely to his will though. Even after so many tragedies—losing Tristen, Jacob, and her father—the strength in this woman never wavered.
When she was forced to take up the life of a housemaid for rich gents of the area, Bastian was sure to push her toward the richest and most lecherous of men. Never did he think she would beat off every one of them, choosing unemployment and poverty instead. Through it all, Amalie continued to show him she still had the strength to keep living. He cursed her vigor for life, thinking he would have to find some other way to break Amalie’s spirit. However, he now found himself being grateful she indeed had so much strength. She would need it for the next gauntlet he put her through.
“I have a job for you,” he said upon entering the room, shutting the door behind him.
Turning around, she looked at him. “Where have you been?” she asked, her tone harsh. “I have been stuck in this room for nearly two whole days.”
Had he not needed her so bad, he would have happily slapped her for her insolence. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the drinks tray.
“I’ve been trying to find out who took possession of your father’s assets,” he lied to her, setting his plan in motion. “I finally have some answers too.”
“You’ve been claiming to look for such information these
last few months, and always you come up with nothing. I’m beginning to think this is some wild-goose chase.”
Bastian sipped his drink, eying the woman in front of him. He had managed to play on Amalie’s desperation and fear after he’d found her running from the Heather estate house. Now though, she didn’t seem to be as scared of him as she had once been. He would have to activate his plan now before it was too late.
“Someone at the bank told me that Tristen Brone did a lot of business with your father before Jacob was killed.”
She nodded. “That is no secret, but I think you will find it was Tristen’s father who did most of the business, at least until he died.”
He shook his head. “You really are naïve. Tristen controlled all the deals his father made. After the old man’s death, and your brother’s, he figured he could expand his wealth by buying your father out. With no one left to control him, Tristen could do whatever he pleased, including taking away everything you were to inherit.”
“It makes no sense though,” she remarked. “I remember Jacob telling me years ago that Tristen already had quite a substantial business and properties to inherit. Why would he need what little my father had?”
“After the fire, Tristen was so badly scarred that he wanted to destroy everyone around him as he felt he had been. You were just his first target,” he lied. “But from my own experience, I know for certain you were but one of many who fell victim to him.”
“How can you be so certain?”
Bastian pursed his lips. “Because he stole everything my father owned too.”
She appeared to think on what he said. “Say you are right about Tristen, how do you suppose we get back my father’s properties?” she finally asked. “We can’t very well just walk up to him and offer to buy them back. Even if he were willing to part with them, we don’t have the money to do so.”
“You sound as if you’re giving up.”
“I’m just starting to think all of this is far more trouble than it is worth,” she explained.
He raised his brow. “More trouble than it’s worth?” he repeated, irritated that she would think such a thing after everything he tried to brainwash her with. “Are you saying you would rather play at being a housemaid again instead of being returned to the life of comfort you were born into?”
“What life of comfort? My father wasn’t some rich duke. He was a cattle farmer,” she rebutted. “Anyway, at least being a housemaid is honest work.”
“And what happens the next time your employer tries to crawl under your skirt?” he asked, needing to remind her of what landed them together in the first place.
She turned away from him and looked back out the window. “Then I will find work as a seamstress somewhere instead. I’m sure the women who work here would be willing to pay me something if I made them new gowns.”
He closed the distance between them. Stopping behind her, his hands came up and rested on her shoulders. “Or you could just hold out a few more months and I can get you your properties back and you won’t have to lower yourself to a life of drudgery.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “How do you suppose to convince Tristen to sign the properties over to me? From what you’ve told me, he has very few sympathies left to plead to.”
“You won’t have to play to anything,” he explained. “You’re going to go to his station and beg for work as a maid.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m deadly serious,” he replied. “It’s the perfect plan. The only servants still at the Brone station are there to look after the animals and a few skeleton house staff. Tristen has scared most of the rest away, either by his erratic behavior or his hideous appearance. He’ll be sure to employ you in an instant, especially if you put on some of that female charm you hypnotized him with once before. Once you’re inside the house, it won’t take long for you to gain access to his private papers, including his property papers.”
She turned around to face him. “You can’t honestly believe it would be that simple. You’re a fool if you think I could just turn up at Tristen’s station and he would welcome me with open arms.”
Bastian clenched his fist, itching to slap the insolence from her. Sighing deeply, he forced himself to control his anger, knowing that at least for a while longer, he needed this wench to do his bidding.
“Tristen won’t suspect anything if you play your part right,” he assured her. “He already knows that you’ve lost your entire family and have been cast into the life of a working woman. In which case, it is perfectly believable that you would turn to your childhood friend to help you. Should he try to turn you away, you could always claim that he owes you because of what happened to your brother.”
“He’s never going to believe any of that. Tristen is many things, but he is no fool. He’s certainly not going to believe that after almost a year of absence, I have sought him out to help me financially.”
He raised his brow. “You could always tell Tristen the truth—that you need somewhere to hide until suspicions surrounding Albert Heather’s death dies down.”
She stepped away from him. “I doubt he would care,” she uttered, starting to walk toward the door.
“If you don’t go to Tristen’s to look for our property papers, I will let it be known that it was you who killed Albert Heather,” he threatened her.
She stopped, turning to face him, her stare narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
He nodded. “Oh, I would, my dear. Now, you get yourself ready to be dropped off at the Brone station this afternoon, or I will tell the authorities that your late employer and you had more than just a working relationship. I’m sure they’ll be very interested to know that you in fact stabbed Albert Heather with that letter opener with the intention of stealing his jewels to sell at the pawn shops.”
“You know that’s not what happened,” she cried desperately. “That bastard tried to rape me!”
“I only know what you told me,” he reminded her. “And you can’t prove if you’re innocent, remember. That’s why you begged me to help you. I gave you a roof over your head and safety when no one else would. You promised you would pay me back for all my help. That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do now.”
Amalie stared at him, and he knew she was trying to find a way out of this situation. Knowing there was none, he smiled. He had her trapped.
“What it is you want me to do?” she asked, a submissive tone in her voice as she stepped toward him.
“It’s simple,” he told her. “You tell Tristen you are without a home and money to live by. Beg him to provide both of those things until you can get back on your feet. Tell him you will work hard to pay your way. Then once you are settled in there, you start searching the house for whatever property papers belonged to both of our fathers and bring them back to me.”
She appeared to think on his orders for a few seconds before her brow furrowed. “And what if I can’t find any papers?” she asked. “From what I’ve heard, no one has seen Tristen since the fire. Not even his business partners. His lawyer handles everything for him, so chances are he doesn’t even have any papers kept at the house.”
“Then you seduce him until he gives them to you!” Bastian ordered, irritated by her reasoning.
“You can’t expect me to do that,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, after so long, I doubt it would do any good. He won’t be fool enough to believe I have only now returned to him to initiate some affair with him.”
He stepped toward her. “Then you make it do some good. You need to do whatever it takes to get those papers from that bastard, or the pair of us will be stuck living this shitful existence we have been burdened with!”
* * * *
Amalie turned to walk away. She couldn’t stand there and let this bastard order her about. Maybe there was once when she would have been happy to go along with this plan of revenge to regain her father’s properties, but not anymor
e. She was tired and she craved to move on with her life, not be constantly reminded of the tragedy of the past year.
Her frustration mounting with Bastian, and his constant need to want to punish Tristen, she needed to escape him and this room, even if only for a moment. She was almost at the door when she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked, spinning her around to face him.
She looked at his hand, then back to him, instantly noticing the growing anger filling his eyes. “I’m going for a walk.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re thinking of trying to escape from me, you just remember all I have to do is visit the police station and tell them I saw you leaving the Heather’s estate the night Albert died.”
She was no fool. She had no doubt Bastian would do such a thing too. As much as she ached to damn him to hell, if she didn’t want to hang, she would have to do as he was asking of her.
“I just need to stretch my legs,” she explained. “I’ve been cooped up in this room for too long, and if you want me to enter another prison this evening, then I would like one last look at freedom.”
Pulling her arm free of his hold, Amalie left the room and walked down the stairs and out of the hotel. She desperately needed some fresh air. Bastian was relentless in his search to get back his father’s properties. He would stop at nothing until he once again had possession of them. She wanted so much to tell him she wanted no part of this evil anymore, but she couldn’t. If she dared do such a thing, there was no telling how violent Bastian may become toward her.
As she walked across the street, with no direction in mind, she wished for the life she once had with friendship and family, love and passion. Sadness filled her with these thoughts and memories of her past. Though she ached for it, the reality was that even if she were able to get back her father’s properties and return herself to some life of comfort, she knew she would never be at peace. How could she? Her family was dead, and the man she loved…