by Laura Martin
‘I needed a place to rest for the night, somewhere to shelter from the storm,’ she said quietly.
Instinctively Edward knew there was so much more to it than that. A well-bred young lady did not wander the hills of Sussex all by herself covered in blood and soaked to the bone. He opened his mouth to press her further and then thought better of it. Whatever drama this young woman was mixed up in, whatever it was she was running from, he didn’t want to know. He wanted his house back to himself and he wanted her gone.
‘I thought the house was empty,’ she continued after a few seconds. As she spoke her teeth chattered together and gave her voice a juddering quality.
‘It just looks empty,’ he said a little gruffly. ‘You should go home.’
Quickly her frightened eyes darted to meet his and he saw a flash of desperation in them.
‘I can’t go home.’
‘Then a friend, a family member. There will be someone to take you in.’
His heart sank as she shook her head. Part of him was whispering she wasn’t his problem, to usher her out into the night and forget she’d ever even been here.
‘You could stay at the inn in the village.’
The look of panic that crossed her face momentarily piqued his interest, but he refused to be drawn in and quickly moved on.
‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Amelia.’
‘Well, Amelia, you can’t stay here.’ He tried to say the words softly, but they came out as a harsh bark, almost an order. He watched as she recoiled from him as though she’d been slapped and felt a flash of guilt at the despair that permeated every inch of her body.
Silence followed as Edward waited for her response. As the seconds ticked by he could see her entire body shaking. The blood had drained from her face and suddenly Edward realised her eyes had become unfocused. If he wasn’t much mistaken his intruder was close to collapsing.
With quick, purposeful strides Edward crossed the space between them, took hold of Amelia’s shoulders and lowered her into a chair. He told himself he didn’t want to have to deal with a head injury on top of everything else, but Edward knew his humanity was buried somewhere inside him and chose moments like this to rear up and make him act like a decent person. As he touched the bare skin of her arms he was surprised at just how cold they were. He was no medical man, but Edward could see if Amelia didn’t get warm and dry soon she would be in real danger of catching a chill, or worse. He remembered the time he and his late wife had got caught out in a storm on the edge of the estate—by the time they reached the house both were drenched to the bone, but whereas Edward had shaken the cold off Jane had been lain up with a fever for a week.
‘You can’t stay here,’ Edward repeated quietly, almost to himself. In reality he knew if he sent Amelia back out into the storm in this state then she probably would die.
With a growl of frustration Edward hurled a cushion from the sofa towards the fire. It smacked into the mantelpiece with a loud thud before falling to the floor. He didn’t want to be put in this position, held hostage by his own conscience. He wanted to return to bed in a house only he inhabited and not feel guilty about it.
Amelia looked at him with her large, dark eyes and Edward knew there was nothing else to be done.
‘One night,’ he said eventually. ‘You can stay for one night. But you leave first thing in the morning.’
The relief on Amelia’s face should have pleased him, years ago it would have. Edward could remember being the type of person that cared about others, that would go out of his way to help someone in distress, but that part of him seemed to have withered and died along with so many other characteristics. Once he had been kind and caring, but now all he could think about was how he didn’t want this young woman in his house.
‘What’s your name?’ Amelia asked, her voice not much more than a hoarse whisper.
‘Edward. Sir Edward Gray.’
‘Thank you, Edward.’
Next to him Amelia shuddered violently and Edward made a conscious effort to shift his full attention to her, pushing his own concerns to the back of his mind. A warm bed and a good night’s sleep would be all Amelia needed to recover. If he sacrificed a little of his treasured privacy now he could send her on her way tomorrow with a clear conscience.
‘We need to get you warm.’
Amelia looked at the paltry fire struggling to burn in the grate and shuffled a little nearer.
‘Properly warm,’ Edward said with meaning.
He hesitated for a few seconds. The last woman he’d touched was his wife, and she’d been dead for three long years. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d shaken someone’s hand or laid a hand on someone’s shoulder.
Quickly, before he could overthink things any further, he stood and carefully scooped Amelia into his arms. She let out a murmur of protest, but her heart wasn’t in it. Already Edward could see the cold was affecting her brain, slowing her thought processes and making her sluggish.
He carried her through the house, up the stairs and into the West Wing where he kept his rooms. After the fire three years ago Edward had closed up most of the house, choosing to live his half-existence in the comfortable rooms of the West Wing rather than venture into the grander family rooms. The West Wing was warm and cosy, he’d had a fire burning in his bedroom grate earlier that evening and the embers would still be glowing.
‘I feel so cold,’ Amelia whispered, her body shuddering in his arms.
‘You’ll warm up in no time,’ Edward said and for the first time in years he felt a sense of purpose. He would not let this young woman die. Even though he didn’t know her or what she’d done he would offer her a warm bed and a safe place to rest.
Edward kicked open the door to his bedroom and set Amelia down in his armchair, pulling the heavy seat closer to the fire. He wondered if he had done enough now. With a glance at the door he weighed up his options: he could either leave Amelia here to fend for herself and retreat to the safety of the rest of the deserted house, or he could ensure she would not die from the cold in what remained of the night.
Now she was up here in his bedroom Edward had to suppress the trepidation that was creeping through his entire body. He had shut himself away from the world to avoid exactly these sort of interactions. After the fire he hadn’t wanted anyone to venture into the house, into the space he had shared with his family. This was their private domain and he had tried to keep the memories alive by not allowing anyone else in.
Tonight, with Amelia shivering in the armchair his late wife used to sit in, Edward felt as though he’d already somehow desecrated those memories.
‘You need to get out of those wet clothes,’ Edward barked, knowing he was taking his displeasure out on Amelia, but unable to temper his tone. As he spoke they both glanced down to the almost-transparent chemise and Amelia shifted in embarrassment.
‘I’ll give you a nightshirt to wear. It’ll be far too big, but at least it will be warm and dry.’
Edward crossed to his chest of drawers and selected a nightshirt, shaking out the creases as he returned to Amelia’s side. Living alone, with no servants to surprise, Edward normally slept naked, but he had a nightshirt from the days the house had been bustling and full of life.
In the chair Amelia hadn’t moved and Edward had to pause before he could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
‘Will you be able to undress yourself?’ Edward asked.
The image of him having to peel the wet chemise from her body, lifting it inch by inch to reveal the silky skin underneath, had imprinted itself in Edward’s brain. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and rallied. He had been without a woman’s touch for a long time, but that was no excuse for the entirely inappropriate thought.
He didn�
�t wait for her reply, instead throwing the nightshirt down on the empty armchair by the fire and striding out of the room.
Once outside Edward rested his forehead against the cool stone wall and tried to quash the contempt he was feeling towards himself. For three years he had consoled himself by promising to always remain true to his late wife, and the first time he was tested, the first time a pretty young woman stepped into his world, he allowed his imagination to run wild.
He waited a few minutes, then knocked on the door. When he didn’t get a reply he hesitated before opening the door and stepping back into the room.
Amelia had managed to finish undressing herself and don the nightshirt Edward had found for her. The bloodstained chemise was hanging over a chair. Now it wasn’t plastered to her body Edward could see just how much blood there was.
‘What happened?’ he asked sharply, pointing at the bloodstains.
Amelia turned and looked at him with vacant eyes and just shook her head.
Part of Edward wanted to drop the topic. What did it matter to him how she had got to be covered in blood and running through a storm? She’d be gone tomorrow, out of his life never to return.
‘Tell me or you can leave,’ Edward said firmly.
The frightened eyes that looked back at him were almost enough to make him regret the threat.
‘I was attacked,’ Amelia said.
‘You’re hurt?’
She shook her head. ‘I fought back.’
For now that would have to be sufficient. Edward knew enough about human nature to be sure Amelia wasn’t a threat. He didn’t want to be drawn in to whatever trouble she was in, so he let the matter drop.
‘Get to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
He turned and began to walk towards the door, pausing only when he realised Amelia had not even made an attempt to move.
‘You’ll be warmer in bed,’ he said more softly.
She nodded her head, a minuscule movement which seemed all she was able to do. Edward waited for a few more seconds, just to see if she would move, before realising she was just too exhausted to take the few steps to the bed. Cursing under his breath, Edward strode back to her side and without asking permission he swept her up in his arms, carried her over to the bed and deposited her underneath the covers. The encounter must have only lasted ten seconds and throughout Edward gritted his teeth and concentrated on not becoming aware of the contours of Amelia’s body in his arms.
Efficiently he pulled the sheet and blanket up to Amelia’s chin, stood back and nodded in satisfaction. For a man who had barely spoken to anyone for three years he was rather pleased with his hospitality.
Amelia’s teeth began chattering and he could see her body spasming under the covers. Gently he leant over and touched her cheek. Her skin was still icy cold and had that worrying clammy feel to it. Edward hesitated. He wanted to leave, to retreat to another part of the house and sit out the night, waiting for the moment he could send Amelia on her way. He glanced down at Amelia again. Her lips had an unhealthy blue tinge and there were deep black rings surrounding her eyes.
Edward didn’t want Amelia here in his bed or in his house, but now she was he wasn’t going to let her die. He couldn’t have another death on his conscience. He knew the best way to warm a freezing body, but it felt wrong. Amelia let out a pained moan, her whole body convulsing, and Edward heard her begin to sob.
‘You’re going to be all right,’ he said as he slipped into the bed behind Amelia and looped his arm around her.
Through the covers he felt her stiffen as he made contact with her body. He wondered if she would throw him out, demand he leave her alone despite her desperate need for warmth. After a few seconds of indecision Edward felt her relax a little and bury her body closer to his, luxuriating in his warmth.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, having a young woman’s body pressed up against his own, and Edward found he kept having to remind himself exactly why he was doing this. He would take no enjoyment out of this situation, but despite his determination he found himself gripping Amelia just a little tighter. For years he had denied himself any human contact. Only now he was lying with a strange woman curled up against him in bed did he realise quite how much he’d missed another’s touch.
Chapter Two
Amelia awoke slowly, revelling in the warmth of her bed and the comforting presence beside her. For just a few moments she was back in India, lying beside her cousin Lizzie, and her life was easy and pampered. Her eyes fluttered open and as she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling the events of the past few days came crashing back.
Warily Amelia turned her head and almost jumped from the bed with shock. Lying beside her, an arm flung casually across her waist, was the man who had rescued her from the cold, wet night and given her shelter. Forcing herself to remain calm, Amelia tried to piece together what had happened the previous night. She remembered seeking refuge from the storm and nearly dying from fright when Edward had surprised her as she’d undressed in front of the fire. After that her recollection of events was patchy at best. She had a vague feeling he had carried her through the house, but she couldn’t remember how she had got out of the rest of her wet clothes or just what had happened to mean they ended up sharing the same bed.
Risking another glance at the man beside her, Amelia studied his face. He looked youthful and innocent whilst he slept, the frown she remembered from the previous night smoothed over as he relaxed in his sleep. He had a shock of dark hair, too long to be fashionable, and strong, manly features. Edward was the complete opposite of McNair, who was lithe and slender and beautiful.
Choking back a sob, Amelia remembered the events of three days ago and had to close her eyes as a wave of nausea overcame her. She’d killed someone. Never again would she wake up and not be a murderer. She might be a fugitive, running from the law, but McNair, beautiful, vibrant McNair, was dead and it was all her fault. Amelia could feel her hands shaking as she remembered McNair’s gasp of surprise as the letter opener slid into his flesh and how after that one movement she had frozen, unable to let go, unable to pull away.
Beside her Edward stirred and Amelia rallied, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin.
It wasn’t my fault. She repeated it to herself, forcing the disturbing images and memories from her mind.
She watched as the man beside her slowly emerged from his sleep. Amelia had never woken to a man in her bed before and it was fascinating to see how he stretched and wriggled before finally opening his eyes.
Edward’s body froze and his eyes shot wide open the moment he saw her.
‘Good,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re still alive.’
Amelia bristled. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in this situation, but she rather thought he should greet her with something more poetic, more reassuring.
Without any further communication Edward swung his legs out of the bed and stood, gathering the dressing gown he’d slept in around himself. Amelia caught a glimpse of muscular legs and strong forearms before he was halfway across the room.
‘What happened last night?’
Edward turned to face her.
‘I remember you finding me in the drawing room, but not much else.’
He shrugged. ‘You were cold. I put you to bed.’
A man of few words it would seem.
‘And how did you end up in bed with me?’ Amelia asked frostily. Two could play at that game.
Edward had the decency to colour a little, but otherwise he seemed unperturbed.
‘You were shivering despite the fire and the blankets. I didn’t want you to die so I added my body heat.’
He made it sound so detached, so clinical. Without another word he crossed to the door and opened it.
‘Thank you,’ Amelia said softly.
Edward turned around, gave a short nod, then left. Amelia stared open mouthed after him. Despite all her flirtations she was an innocent, but even so she knew a man of good breeding did not just run out on a woman he’d spent the night in the same bed with. She felt the irritation at being so easily dismissed build inside her and it was a welcome distraction from the guilt and despair she’d subjected herself to over the last few days.
With a huff she got out of bed, gathering the loose material of the nightshirt around her body and letting her bare feet sink into the plush woven rug. Slowly she started to explore the room, running her fingers over the well-made if slight tatty furniture and examining the paintings on the wall. As she came to the large desk set at one end of the room she paused, her eyes settling on the numerous pieces of paper scattered across it. Eyes stared up at her from beautifully rendered sketches, drawing after drawing depicting people as they really were, not the stylised creations you often saw in professional portraits.
‘I’ve brought you some clothes,’ Edward’s voice came from near the door. For a tall, powerful man he moved surprisingly quietly.
Amelia jumped back guiltily. She hadn’t done anything wrong, the sketches had been lying on the desk, not locked away in a drawer, but still she sensed she’d trespassed on something very private and personal.
‘Thank you,’ she said, crossing the room and taking the clothes from Edward’s arms.
‘I will be downstairs in the kitchen. Once you’re dressed join me. It’s at the back of the house.’
‘I’m sorry...’ Amelia started to say, but Edward had already gone, closing the door behind him with a resounding thud.
Laying the clothes out on the bed Amelia was surprised to find the styles modern and the garments in good condition. She wondered why this strange, solitary man had women’s clothes stored in the house. She couldn’t picture him with a mistress squirrelled away somewhere—maybe a wife, someone mousy and quiet, but evidently not around any more.
Everything was too big on Amelia’s petite form, but the clothes were clean and dry, and vitally not covered in blood. She badly wanted a bath, a long soak in a deep tub to clean all the grime from her body and soothe her aching muscles, but she sensed she was as likely to get that as the possibility of a man walking on the moon. So instead she scrutinised herself in the small mirror hung on one wall and tidied herself up the best she could.