by Nathalie Dae
She shuddered, recalling the only time she had met him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“A woman like you should not be working here,” he said, one hand on the bartop, the other fondling his chin. “So, what are you doing here?”
Amelia looked up from the ale she poured. Eyes so blue it didn’t seem possible a human could own them stared back at her. His gaze roved from her face to her chest and back up again. The penetrating stare bored into her and she experienced a sense of violation, as though he had snuck inside her and probed her mind. Her hand shook and ale splashed over her fingers. Flustered, she placed the tankard on the bar and reached blindly for a cloth, unable to break their connection. An icy chill rippled up her spine and she fought hard to keep from shuddering. She blinked, snapping their strange link, and a smile stretched his fleshy wet lips.
“I…I need to work here to live,” she said, her voice low. “May I pour you ale?”
He traced his jawline with a fingertip, his beard rasping. “It is not ale I want.” His clipped words, his accent, held a regal tinge.
“Whiskey, perhaps?” she asked, moving to reach for a bottle beneath the bar.
“Nor do I require whiskey.” His smile vanished and he gripped the bar edge, his knuckles whitening. “Tell me, do you belong to anyone?”
Amelia frowned. Everyone knew she was Emmett’s. Surely this man had heard the same? He had lived here for two years, residing in his castle-like home, the landlord to many of the townsfolk. A nefarious man, not to be crossed, Lord Graham ruled almost like a king. Rumor had it this man had fled his homeland, having angered other British nobility with his greed and desire for power.
“I…I am Emmett Dray’s woman, sir.”
A sly smile tweaked one corner of his mouth. “Emmett Dray. The seafarer. Hmm. Interesting.” He relaxed his hands, smoothing them across the wood toward her, fingertips almost brushing her dress.
Amelia stepped back. “Yes sir.”
“And he makes you happy?”
She nodded, unease pooling in her belly.
“I could make you happier,” he said, one eyebrow quirked. “What do you say?”
Alarmed, she widened her eyes and tamped down a nervous bubble of laughter. “No thank you, sir.”
“Ah, you have manners. You realize your refusing my offer has irked me, don’t you?” His cheeks reddened a little and he cleared his throat, smoothed thin hands down his black jacket fronts. “I am not used to refusal. One day,” he said, leaning forward, “you will be my wife. I have wanted you for quite some time, you know. And I always get what I want, you understand?”
Amelia fisted her skirt, heart beating fast, her throat dry. His words chilled her and she had no doubt he believed them. “I’m sure you will find another woman more suited to your social standing, sir.” She bobbed her head and made to walk away.
His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. “Social standing is not my concern with regards to my woman. That I desire her is.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “And, my dear, I desire you.” He kissed her knuckle, his mouth wet.
Revolted, Amelia pulled her hand from his, longing to run into the kitchen and wash his spittle away. Her cheeks heated, anger roiling inside her that this man thought he could snap his fingers and get whatever he wanted.
He’s not having me, damn him!
Lord Graham stood upright, eyes narrowed, back and shoulders straight. “Your parents had a horse and cart accident, did they not?”
Amelia nodded, the memory of her parents’ deaths still sharp and raw.
He fondled his beard. “Hmm. An innocent such as yourself would not have entertained that it could be anything else. Fascinating.” He bowed, gaze remaining on her face. “We shall meet again, dear Amelia. You can count on that.” He glared at her for long moments then abruptly presented his back to her. Clicking his fingers, he said, “Lock! I am ready to leave!”
Lock, a wiry-framed man, peeled away from a table where a card game took place, his brown breeches stuffed into black knee-high boots, his white shirt crisply pressed. A pistol handle peeked out of his waistband. Graham’s man regarded her, his black stare harsh and unyielding, his red hair combed back and slick with oil. He smiled as he reached Graham’s side, gave her a nod, and the two men left the saloon, the door banging smartly behind them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Now Amelia’s heart thudded dully. “Marry me today, Emmett. Please.”
Chapter Six
In a dark green velvet dress borrowed from Madam, her hair swept up and pinned on top of her head, Amelia clasped Emmett’s hand as they entered the large building, their footsteps echoing. The church smelled of dust and she twitched her nose, warding off a sneeze. Motes danced in the shaft of sunlight streaking through the high, stained-glass window above the altar. Dark wood pews stood in rows on either side of the aisle and the wooden flooring needed a good sweep. The pastor was busy behind the altar to the right, arranging hymnals on a bookcase. In black breeches and shirt, he looked different from the times he’d visited the whorehouse, now devoid of the long cloak and hood that usually hid his gray hair and face.
Emmett jiggled his black tie and cleared his throat. The pastor turned, hymnbook in hand. His eyes widened briefly, then he regained his composure, pasting on a bright smile and walking to greet them at the door.
“Welcome!” he said, giving Amelia a worried glance before settling his gaze on Emmett. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Mr. Dray.”
Emmett cocked his head. “And why not?”
A blush stained the pastor’s cheeks and he blustered, “Oh, well, no reason. No, no reason at all. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Amelia frowned. Was the pastor edgy because he was aware she was privy to his nighttime activities? Or was it something else? She chewed her lower lip. Something to do with Emmett…?
“We have come to ask you to marry us today,” Emmett said, squeezing Amelia’s hand.
“Ah, uh…” The pastor held up a shaking finger, his nail bitten to the quick. “That isn’t…possible. No. Not possible.”
Emmett sighed and rounded his shoulders. “Forgive me for repeating myself—but why not?”
“Uh, well, let me see…” The pastor turned his back and stalked down the aisle, his soft-soled shoes thudding on the wooden slats. “I won’t be a moment.” He disappeared through a doorway to the right of the altar. The snick of the latch reverberated loudly and then silence overtook the cocoonlike atmosphere.
“What’s the matter with him?” Amelia whispered, looking up at Emmett. “And why can’t he marry us?”
“Maybe he means today. We may have to wait until tomorrow.” Emmett patted her hand and kissed the top of her head.
The dress made her breasts itch, the unlined bodice insert rough on her skin. She wriggled to ease the irritation then slipped her hand inside to scratch. She cursed herself for not donning a chemise then smiled. Her intention had been to whisk Emmett away from here once they were wed and make love in the forest, the dress the only item of clothing he would have to remove. Her cunt throbbed at the thought of his hands roaming her body, her back pressed against tree bark or mulch on the ground. A blush singed her cheeks at such images floating through her mind while in church and she concentrated on the stained-glass window instead.
The door beside the altar swung open and she whipped her hand out and held it by her side. Behind the pastor, Amelia caught sight of a young man leaving the room via the rear exit. The holy man’s face had paled and he walked toward them as though he carried a burden. Lines marred his brow and he clamped his lips closed until they almost leached of color.
He stopped in front of them. “I have no way to marry you today. My schedule is full.” A bony hand swept out as though to indicate a church full of parishioners. “And I cannot marry you tomorrow or the day after, either.”
Emmett huffed out a laugh. “It would only take a few minutes. And it seems your church is empty.”
Amelia
placed her hand on the pastor’s arm. “Please. You must.”
The pastor’s pale eyes watered and his head bobbed. “I cannot. There are forces at work that I cannot speak of, but please, just know that I—”
“Your parishioners hold you in high regard, Pastor,” Emmett said. “They would not look upon you kindly if they found out a man of the cloth visited women of the night.”
The pastor’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He blinked, then managed, “But I…I don’t partake of pleasures, you understand? I visit for…” He hung his head, patted Amelia’s hand. “For embraces. Comfort.”
Amelia swallowed a lump of sorrow and mentally made the sign of the cross. God forgive me, but I must do this… “But your parishioners wouldn’t believe such a thing, Pastor.”
He sighed and removed her hand from his arm, rubbing the place she had touched as though the Devil himself resided within her. “I see. Then come with me.” He walked down the aisle stiff-legged and dragged a wooden chair across from the bookcase. Positioning it before the right-side pew, he called, “Well, come on then,” and sat.
Amelia glanced at Emmett, who nodded and guided her down the aisle. A pang of grief speared her that her father wasn’t the one escorting her to the altar and that her wedding would be a hurried affair, no witnesses or friends to celebrate their union. They sat in the pew, Emmett’s hand covering Amelia’s clasped ones in her lap, and waited for the pastor to begin.
“First,” he said, his gaze fixed behind them, “we must talk about the sanctity of marriage and what you are about to undertake. It is something you should not go into lightly and without serious thought.” He spoke of the wedding ring signifying the circle of love and the unending bond they would share. He droned on about their union being right in the eyes of God, the quantity of his words proving his lie that he had no time to marry them.
“Yes, yes, we realize this.” Amelia’s impatience had seeped into her words, making them sharp and unfriendly. She inhaled to calm her annoyance, her fear of Emmett leaving her a single woman for Lord Graham to… “Quickly. Just speak the necessary words that bind us and we’ll be on our way.”
The main door creaked behind them and footfalls pounded on the stone steps. The pastor’s face smoothed and he gave a faint nod to whoever had entered.
He said, “You have no witnesses.”
Amelia bristled and held back an angry retort. Instead she said, “You have wed folks before with no witnesses. Pastor, why are you being so difficult?”
“Because I asked him to,” said a loud male voice.
Shivers wended through Amelia and she gave Emmett a sidelong glance. His jaw muscles worked beneath the skin and he squeezed her hands rhythmically. He straightened and stared ahead, possibly focusing on the image of Jesus Christ in the stained-glass window. She looked to the pastor, who blanched as his gaze met hers.
You bastard!
Amelia stood, Emmett’s hand leaving hers, and whirled to face the newcomer. “Why would you do such a thing?” she asked, irritation and dread combining to leave her lightheaded and unsteady on her feet.
Lord Graham lifted a hand to finger his beard, his smile tight and ugly. “Because I can.” He tittered, the tinny timbre echoing around the church. “And because the man you wish to marry owes me something, and by marrying you today, he would break our agreement.”
Emmett stood and Amelia turned from Graham to her lover. She tilted her head slightly, the movement conveying her question well enough, but Emmett looked away, his cheeks guilt-stained.
“Ah,” said Graham, moving toward them, his strides purposeful, assured. “Did you not tell this fine young woman that you could not marry her until you had completed the tasks I asked of you?” He laughed, his head thrown back, sunlight glinting on his oily hair. “You didn’t, did you? Oh, how utterly amusing.”
Amelia hiked in a breath and clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t allow this pig of a man the satisfaction of thinking Emmett didn’t share information with her. “Sir, I think you will find I did know of your agreement, but I pushed for our marriage to go ahead earlier than you saw fit. I had thought no one would be aware.” She flicked a glance behind at the pastor, who quaked beneath its ferocity, then turned back to Graham. “But it appears our man of the cloth commits sins just like those he preaches against. Lies, deceit… I could go on, but there really isn’t any need, is there?”
The pastor let out a strangled sob.
Emmett grasped her arm. “Amelia—”
“What?” she snapped, focusing her gaze on him. “Are you telling me you are going to do as this man asks?”
Emmett stared wide-eyed, seemingly unable to speak.
What’s wrong with him? What can Graham possibly do that has rendered him voiceless? I know he is a powerful man, but—
“Yes, he is going to do as I ask,” Graham said. “He is, because if he doesn’t, he knows what will happen.”
“And what is that?” Amelia asked, dreading the answer.
Graham waved his hand as though her question was beneath him. He glared at her for long moments then snatched his gaze away, settling it on Emmett. “Do you have what I asked for?”
Emmett clasped his fingers in front of him. “I wasn’t due to bring it to you until this evening.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Dray, but you didn’t answer my question. Do. You. Have. What. I. Asked. For?” Graham pinched his chin between finger and thumb.
Emmett looked at Amelia and she narrowed her eyes a little. Please say yes…
He turned away from her to Graham. “Yes.”
“Liar!” Graham yelled, whipping his hand from his face and thumping a pew back with the side of his fist. “Do not lie to me, Dray. That is one thing I dislike more than anything else. I know you do not have the jewels. They were taken from you by one of Bates’ men. So tell me, how did you expect to give them to me this evening?” When Emmett didn’t answer, the lord went on, “Ah, you’re wondering how I came by this information, yes?”
Amelia’s mind whirled and she moved to sidestep the pew and rush down the aisle at Graham, but Emmett’s grip on her wrist prevented it. “At a guess I would say you have friends in many places,” she said, her words clipped and precise.
Graham gave her a sickening smile. “And you would have guessed correctly, dear woman.”
He glared at her, his eyes bluer even than she remembered, and she pulled at her arm, wanting to lunge at Graham and gouge out his eyes. Emmett tightened his grip and slivers of pain pinpricked her skin. The lord moved his gaze in Emmett’s direction, his sneer almost too much for Amelia to witness. She flared her nostrils and inhaled a deep breath to still a tongue that longed to verbalize her hatred.
“So you will be visiting Bates’ ship then, to regain ownership of the sculpture,” he said. “Now.”
“Now?” Emmett looked from Graham to Amelia, his face pale, his hand tightening on her wrist. “I need to wait until nightfall, at least!”
“Nightfall? Whatever for?” Graham asked. “No, no, no, dear fellow. You must go now. Time is of the essence.”
Amelia stepped into the aisle and tugged Emmett with her. “Yes, a good idea. We will go now and collect it, won’t we, Emmett?” She stopped in front of Graham and Emmett bumped into her rear.
“We?” asked the lord. “We? Oh no. He will go and fetch the sculpture containing my trinkets. You will be coming with me.”
“No!” Emmett shouted.
“Oh, do be quiet, Dray,” Graham said, bringing out a pistol from the folds of his coat. “She will be fine in my home. Now go. And don’t return until you have what I want.”
* * * * *
The carriage wheel trundled over a lump in the road and jostled Amelia against Graham. Her shoulder bumped his and the warmth of his thigh burned hers. Repulsed, she shifted back into the corner, her bodice chafing her skin, and stared out the window. The town had given way and countryside spread as far as she could see. Tree lines bordered fields
and the sky had darkened while they’d been in church. Fat gray clouds heralded rain, their pregnant bellies round and full. Amelia rested a hand over her abdomen. Did a child grow in there? If she was honest, she hoped not. With the upset she now endured, she could do without the extra burden. Her monthlies were due in a fortnight and she silently prayed she would see them.
“Why do you wish to marry Dray when I made it clear some time ago that you were to marry me?” Graham said, snapping her out of her reverie.
Of all the damn cheek! She drew in a sharp breath and kept her gaze focused outside. “Do you think that because you have voiced something then it must be so?”
“Is that not the case?” he asked. “Please, enlighten me as to why not.”
A wry laugh escaped her at his audacity. Had he been brought up spoiled, getting everything he desired? Did he honestly think for one moment that she would do as he asked because he had asked? “Really, sir, you are so pompous. I am in no way beholden to you. Therefore, I do not need your permission to marry Emmett. I am an orphan and as such I do not need anyone’s permission to do anything. That you wish to marry me is your concern and something you will have to accept will never happen. I will only ever marry for love, and I don’t love you.”
He inhaled deeply, as though Amelia was a small child he tolerated. “But you could grow to love me, and if you did not, well,” he chuckled, “I do not care. As my wife I would take your body when I wanted, as would be my right. Love doesn’t come into it.”
Amelia suppressed a shudder and linked her fingers in her lap to stop herself digging her nails into his face. Never had a person inspired such hatred in her. Never had she wanted to harm another as she longed to harm him. “That is something that will never be, so it is pointless discussing it.”
“You believe Dray will return with my trinkets?”