by Faye Hall
“What letters?” she asked, looking very confused. “I never received any letters from you. Nor was I told you came to visit me after the fire. I thought you had deserted me.”
Reaching for her, he took her hand in his and led her to his study. Walking her inside, he went over to the desk and opened the drawer where he had kept all the returned letters.
“I never deserted you, Amalie. I begged to be allowed to see you, but always I was told you blamed me for Jacob’s death. I couldn’t give up though. I needed to make you listen to me and believe that I had nothing to do with the fire. I needed you to understand how much I lost that night too. When I heard about your engagement to Bastian Tanner, it broke my heart to think you had tossed me aside so easily. I continued writing letters though, hoping you might finally read one of them. As I said, they were all returned unopened. But I kept them.” He gestured toward the letters in the drawer.
She stepped toward the open drawer and glanced at the letters inside. “Why did you write me so many letters?” she asked, sounding confused
He stepped back away from her, no longer sure what she would think of him as he continued his confession. “After Jacob died, I was desperate to see you. I needed you to let me explain that I didn’t light the fire. That I tried to save your brother and Amanda.”
Watching as she reached into the drawer, grasping one of the envelopes in her fingers, he gathered all his courage and reached out to her, his fingertips lightly caressing the soft skin of her forearm.
“You were my everything, Amalie,” he admitted gently, his hand falling back to his side.
She ripped at the envelope in her hands, frantically trying to get to the letter inside. When finally she had it opened, she dragged her gaze away from him and to the folded pieces of parchment she was pulling out and opening up to read. He watched her gaze moving over his written words, tears filling her eyes and sliding down her cheeks.
The pages she was holding slipped from her fingers and to the floor as she reached for another envelope. Ripping it open as well, she pulled the folded papers out and began to read. Suddenly, her shifting gaze stilled and her hands began to tremble.
Her tearful stare lifted to him. “You said you loved me? Not just once, but so many times.”
“I would have given you everything you ever asked for.” He let out a shaky sigh, scared what his next words might cost him. “I still would, Amalie.”
The papers slid from her fingers to the floor. She stepped toward him, closing the short distance he’d put between them. Lifting her hand to his face, she cupped his scarred cheek and leaned into him, her lips pressing against his.
Her fingers pulled at his shirt, the buttons popping open as she ripped the item of clothing from him and threw it on the floor. Pushing him back toward the desk, she pulled at the fastening of his jeans. When finally she had them undone, she reached her hand inside, cupping his swelling cock. She moved her fingers up and down the shaft as her other hand continued to push his jeans down his legs.
He pulled at the fastening of her trousers and pushed them down her legs, his feet coming up and dragging them to the floor as she lifted her legs out of them. His arms going around her, he held her astride him as he turned them around and sat her rear on the desk. He placed one of his palms firmly on her pelvis, guiding her toward him as he pushed inside her. Feeling her stretching to welcome him, he withdrew and pushed inside her again, filling her to his hilt.
Pleasure filled him when he heard her gasp, her nails slightly piercing his skin. He kissed her shoulder, his hands sliding up her back under her shirt, caressing her skin. Lifting her legs to rest on his hips, he pushed inside her even deeper than before, feeling her body shudder as he did so.
“Tristen,” she moaned.
As she trembled in his arms, her body being consumed by sexual release, he lost all control, his seed pouring into her, her name barely a whisper on his breath. Holding her to him, he didn’t want this moment to end.
Their breathing ragged, and their bodies shuddering from their spent pleasure, their lips joined, softly kissing. She stroked her hands along his back, caressing his naked skin.
“Tristen, I—”
A knock on the door stopped her.
“Sir?” a man called from the other side of the shut door. “We need you in the west paddock.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Leaning into him, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “Yet it appears you must.”
His hands moved up under her shirt, cupping her breasts. “I could just tell him that I’m indisposed.”
“What if there’s another fire, or worse?” she asked. “You need to go. He wouldn’t have come for you if it wasn’t important.”
His lips pursed. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”
Her hand went to his face, cupping his cheek. “Take as long as you need. I will be here waiting for your return.”
Chapter 12
Amalie went downstairs a few moments after Tristen, needing a walk outside in the garden to try and clear her head. She couldn’t keep deceiving Tristen, not as she had been. He needed to know the truth about how she came to be back with him. She just needed to figure out how best to tell him so he might understand she had no choice in the matter.
“A message for you, miss,” one of the kitchen staff said, handing her an envelope just as she was almost at the back door.
Taking it, Amalie opened it. She took out the piece of parchment, unfolded it, and began to read. As her eyes skimmed over the words, her blood ran cold.
Bastian was demanding she meet him in town immediately. Though she had been expecting this summons, she couldn’t deny the fear she was suddenly consumed with. Nor could she ignore the summons. She would have to go see Bastian at once before he came out there looking for her, or even worse, went to the police to tell them where she was.
What was she going to tell Tristen though? She didn’t know, but she certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. Hurrying out of the house, she ran toward the shed where the horses were kept. If she were quick, she should be back before Tristen returned from helping the men. Saddling the horse, she pulled herself up onto its back and, turning the beast toward town, kicked it hard in the flanks.
The horse’s hooves were hard against the ground, and the wind was blowing in her face. The last time she had ridden a horse with such urgency was the last time she had gone to meet Tristen in the old abandoned mansion on his father’s station. Unlike then, this journey wasn’t something she was looking forward to. She didn’t want to see Bastian, not with so many doubts about what he had told her all these months about her brother’s death. Everything she had been told was so very different to what Tristen told her. Her heart told her that Tristen had no reason to lie to her, but her foolish fear still couldn’t be certain that he was telling her the entire truth.
She arrived in town and slowed the horse to a trot. Bastian would demand answers, and she would have to tell him something. She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. If he were to learn she had again ended up in Tristen’s bed, there was no telling what might happen.
Stopping the horse at the front of the Anabranch Hotel, she jumped off and threw the reins over the post. She entered the tavern, and walked slowly up the stairs to Bastian’s room. Hesitating for a moment in front of the door, she breathed deeply and finally knocked. Amalie needed to tell him something—anything—and the only thing that came to mind was Tristen’s theory about the fire. If nothing else, she wanted to see how Bastian would react to such a possibility.
“Enter!” Bastian yelled from the other side of the door.
Taking a deep breath, she hesitantly turned the handle and opened the door, fearful of what was waiting for her.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded to know as soon as she entered.
She kept her eyes averted as she shut the door behind her. “I have been unable to find anything of intere
st at the Brone station as yet,” she explained in what she hoped was a believable tone. “I thought you only wanted me to report to you when I found something useful.”
“I want to know why you haven’t found anything yet!” he roared. “If you can’t do what I sent you there for, then maybe I should pay Tristen a visit myself.”
“No!” she insisted, stepping toward him. Seeing suspicion spreading across Bastian’s face, she knew she would have to think quickly if she were to stop him from wondering about her sudden defensive tone. “I only meant that there is no need. Tristen wasn’t the one who lit the fire that killed Jacob and Amanda. In fact, it was he who tried to save them. That’s how he got scarred.”
He eyed her intently. “And who told you this apparent new information?”
She fidgeted with her fingers nervously, keeping a safe distance from him. “Tristen did.”
His laughter echoed around the room. “You stupid bitch! He could tell you anything and you would believe him, wouldn’t you?”
“What he said made sense though. No one had anything to gain from my brother’s death, so there is more chance the fire was set to catch Tristen,” she tried again in desperation. “What if he was meant to die that night and not Jacob?”
He stepped toward her, and she immediately saw the anger building in his features and fear filled her. She tried to step away from him, but just as she did, his hand came up to her face. The sharp connection of the back of his hand against her cheek made Amalie crumble to the floor.
“That bastard will tell you anything. He’s playing on whatever childhood fondness you once had for him. If he can get you to believe him and vouch for his innocence, then no one else will believe the horrific crimes he is guilty of,” he yelled at her. “And you were foolish enough to believe him.”
“Please, Bastian,” she begged him for mercy as she struggled to her feet. “I never said I believed him,” she lied, fearful he would strike her again. “I was only telling you what he said in the hope it might lead us in the right direction to find our families’ papers.”
He raised his hand to her again, and she instantly cowered away from him. From the corner of her eye, she spied him lowering his hand away from her, and she breathed a short sigh of relief.
“We are already looking in the right direction, you stupid wench,” he spat at her, returning to the drinks tray on the desk and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “Tristen is the most manipulative of men, and he will tell whatever lies he has to in order to seduce a naïve bint like you into believing him. You need to stay concentrated on what needs to be done at that estate. That bastard needs to suffer for what he has done to us. He needs to pay as much as we have had to.”
Backing away from him, her fear grew as she watched the man before her change into one almost obsessed in his revenge.
“I will try harder,” she muttered, knowing she had to get as far away from him as she could before he flew in to another rage.
Quickly leaving the room, she hurried to her horse. She hadn’t lied when she said she would try harder. She would. She had to find out for herself if Tristen did in fact have anything to do with her brother’s death. At this moment she only had his word, and her emotion-driven hope. She also needed to find out exactly why Bastian seemed so focused on wanting to destroy Tristen.
Swinging up into the saddle, she steered the horse back toward the Brone station and kicked it hard in the flanks. As the beast galloped through town, she began to wonder if she should in fact tell Tristen why she was really at his station. She had no doubt he would be displeased with her, but at least he would be prepared for Bastian and anything he tried to bring to Tristen’s front door.
* * * *
Tristen was on his way back to the house when he caught sight of Amalie running from the back door and toward the stables. Stopping, he shifted to hide behind the trunk of a large gum tree, curious what she might be up to. When he was with her earlier, he explained that he needed to return to his workers to finish the construction of the new hay shed and would return as soon as he could. Had she grown tired of waiting and was going in search of him?
His gaze glued to where she’d walked into the stable, he didn’t have to wait long for her to reappear with a saddled horse. When she pulled herself up into the saddle, he thought he should step out of hiding and call out to her. Watching as she turned the animal in the direction of town, he stopped, feeling a fool. She wasn’t out there looking for him.
Walking toward the gardens at the rear of the house, he began to wonder why she was suddenly hurrying into town. When he was with her before, she mentioned nothing about needing to run any errands, nor did the station need any supplies.
Catching sight of the old gardener, Nicholas, he walked toward him. Nicholas had worked for the Fergus’s for many years, only coming to work for Tristen when Amalie left her family’s station.
“Do you know where Amalie has gone?” he asked once he was in hearing distance.
Nicholas looked up from what he was doing. “I heard the kitchen staff talking while they were out here on their break. I overheard one of them say that a message arrived for Miss Amalie. If I had to guess, I’d say someone sent for her,” he replied before bending down and returning to his duties.
Tristen stopped in front of him. “Do you know who she might be meeting with?”
The gardener shook his head. “Only person I ever knew who sent messages to Miss Amalie requesting her company was you.”
He didn’t miss the tone in the old man’s voice. “You knew about us, didn’t you?”
Nicholas looked up at him. “I did, yes. I knew many things that happened at that station.”
His gaze narrowed on Nicholas. “Would you know who came to see Amalie after Jacob died?” he asked, realizing this man might have the answers he needed.
Nicholas looked back down at the weeds he was pulling. “I know you came to see her every day.”
Tristen shuffled his shoes in the ground beneath him. “I meant apart from me.”
The gardener stopped what he was doing and struggled to his feet, looking straight at Tristen. “Carter Dix came by every day to see Miss Amalie. There was another man too, but I’m not sure of his name. All I can remember was he had blond hair.”
That sat uneasy with Tristen, knowing that not only one, but two men had befriended Amalie in his absence. Despite his uncomfortableness, he was the one who asked to know such things, so he must now listen to what the old man had to say.
“Would you know this other man if you saw him again?” he asked hesitantly.
Nicholas nodded. “He went to the Anabranch Hotel in town asking if they knew where I was. He wanted to know if I saw anything the night of the fire.”
“And did you?” Tristen asked.
“I saw a man running from the back of the workers’ cottage moments before Jacob and yourself ran in the entrance.”
“You saw him light the fire?”
Nicholas shook his head. “I only saw him for a moment, then I was called away by Mr. Fergus. It was a short while after that someone came running inside to say the cottage was on fire.”
“You’re certain it was a man you saw though?”
“I’m positive. He was wearing a suit and had light-colored hair,” Nicholas continued. “I never saw his face though.”
Tristen nodded his thanks before turning and retreating into the house. Nicholas had no reason to lie to him, yet his information about that night conflicted with everything Bastian had told him. He told Tristen he saw a woman running from the cottage before the fire, even hinted it could have been Amalie. Now though, someone with no reason to lie, revealed the person he saw was in fact a man.
Stopping at the kitchen, Tristen ducked his head inside. “Could someone let Amalie know I need to see her immediately when she returns? Tell her to come to my study.”
Not waiting for any reply or agreeance, he left and went straight to the stairs and up to his study. He needed to s
ee Amalie and tell her what Nicholas had told him. There was more though. He wanted to know who this man with the blond hair was who went to visit her after Jacob’s death. Was it Bastian? Despite knowing about their engagement, such a thought sickened him. He knew what kind of man Bastian was, and yet he had been allowed to be engaged to Amalie. Why?
Chapter 13
Returning to the station house, Amalie walked quietly in the back door, hoping not to be noticed. She was almost past the entrance to the kitchen when she heard someone yell out her name.
“Excuse me, Miss Amalie,” one of the younger kitchen staff said, walking toward her. “The master said he wanted to see you in his study as soon as you came back.”
“Came back?” she asked. “Does he know where I’ve been?”
The servant shrugged. “I don’t know, miss. But he was very insistent that you went to see him immediately upon your return.”
Amalie nodded her thanks for the message before continuing on her way into the house, her steps no longer cautious. Tristen obviously saw her riding away from the estate earlier. No doubt he was curious as to where she was going in such a hurry, especially when she hadn’t mentioned any notion of going into town to him.
Memories of their lovemaking returning to her, she felt a pang of guilt over hiding so many things from him. This wasn’t how she wanted things to be between them, but if she had told Tristen the truth, she doubted he would have allowed her to go into town to see Bastian. Given what Bastian knew about her shaded past, she couldn’t afford to anger him any more than she already had.
She hurried up the stairs and along the hallway toward Tristen’s study, stopping when she caught her reflection in the sideboard mirror. Lifting her hand to her face, she lightly ran her fingertips over the reddened mark on her cheek from where she had been struck. She didn’t want to tell Tristen about Bastian, or the hold he had over her. She was ashamed to have allowed herself to again fall victim to this man’s destructive nature, but she had no other choice. If she turned her back on Bastian now, he would go to the authorities and tell them she was a murderer.