The pistol in his hand still smoked, and he tossed it aside. It landed with a clatter on the wooden floor. Anna pulled and twisted, trying to free herself from his iron grip. Her breathing came fast and sounded loud in her ears.
“Struggling will do ya no good. But if it makes ya feel better, by all means, have at it.”
Anna kicked at his legs. She pulled at his fingers with her other hand but couldn’t loosen them. Where is Malachi?
Horace picked at his teeth, watching with an indifferent expression as Anna became more desperate to escape. He seemed to be waiting for her to tire.
Anna was determined to flee. She lunged forward, digging her fingernails into his face and scratching at his eyes.
He howled and released his grip, pressing his hands against his face.
Anna bolted for the stairs. She scrambled upward, resisting the impulse to turn around. Her vision was spotted, and her mind felt sluggish. She grasped onto the only thought she could manage. Escape.
Horace grasped her ankles, and Anna fell forward, banging her arms and knees on the stairs. She didn’t even register the pain and continued to climb.
He seized her around the waist and carried her up the stairs, struggling and kicking and screaming, into a bedchamber. He threw her on the floor and locked the door behind them.
Anna tried to run to the veranda door, but Horace took hold of her arms and pulled her away.
He turned her toward him, pressing his face so close she could smell his foul breath. One arm was wrapped around her waist, and the other held her wrists together. The scratches around his eye were bright red and inflamed. “I told ya it would do no good.” His gaze dropped to her pendant, and he pulled it, snapping the chain. He held it up, tipped it, then grinned at her. “Hello, Anna.”
She did not think she had ever truly seen evil in a person’s eyes as she did now. Anna strained in his grip but could not budge. Her gaze darted to the door, wishing that someone would enter, but at the same time her heart tightened as she imagined Ezekiel or Betty coming in. She knew Horace wouldn’t hesitate to harm them.
“And now, where to begin . . .” He bared his yellowing teeth in a malevolent grin.
“Where is Philip?” Anna’s voice was a sob.
Horace’s eyes narrowed, and his lip curled in a sneer. “Do not fear. His lordship is at this very moment escorting my band of fools to the gallows.”
Anna felt a small bloom of relief. At least Philip was alive.
“That blasted nobleman has taken everything from me, and I have decided to repay the favor.” He thrust Anna into a chair and stood, towering over her.
Anna clutched the armrests, shaking her head. “Please, do not hurt him.”
Horace slid a thin blade from his belt. The hiss it made caused Anna to tremble.
He studied the blade, turning it back and forth. “There are better ways to destroy a man than killing him. I intend to take away everything he cares about. Starting with you.”
“Please, no.”
“Do not worry. I’ll not kill you right away. I want his lordship to know I took my time with ya.”
Anna couldn’t take her eyes from the blade in his hand. Her heart beat so forcefully that it hurt her chest.
“And don’t be holding out hope for rescue. With the big Negro bleeding out on the front steps and the pathetic band of buccaneers in Port Royal, all of your protectors are gone. No one will disturb us for hours.”
He lowered the blade.
Anna jerked, pulling away from him. He held her shoulder against the back of the chair and pressed the cold metal to her collarbone. He applied pressure, and she felt it pierce her skin. A warmth trickled beneath her neck.
She closed her eyes, determined not to scream. She should be coming up with a plan to escape, but terror stole her ability to think.
Another cut stole her breath, and against her will, she whimpered.
“I was hoping for a bit more screaming,” Horace leaned his face close until she could feel his hot breath on her face. “Do you know how long it takes a person to bleed to death? We have hours to—”
A banging sounded on the door, and Anna’s heart dropped when she heard Ezekiel’s voice on the other side calling her name.
Horace’s face twisted into a grin. He left her and strode toward the door.
“Run, Ezekiel!” Anna yelled. She pressed her hand to her bleeding neck. Sobs clogged her throat. “Run away!”
Horace pulled the door open, but it was not Ezekiel outside.
Malachi stepped into the room and yanked the blade away, dropping it to the floor. He grabbed Horace’s head in his large hands and jerked it to the side so fast and sharp that it took a moment for Anna to realize what he’d done.
Anna covered her eyes as a sickening thump vibrated through the room.
Malachi pulled her hands from her face and crouched down in front of her. She saw that blood seeped from a wound on his side, near his waist. He tipped her head and looked at her bleeding neck. Ezekiel and Betty stood behind him.
Betty held her hands pressed against her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked back and forth between Horace and Anna. She blinked and shook her head. “Ezekiel, fetch de doctor,” she said.
Ezekiel’s face was ashen, and he stared as if shocked. Her words roused him, and he hurried from the room.
Anna couldn’t contain her sobs. She collapsed forward into Malachi’s arms, clinging to his shirt and weeping.
“It is all done now, Miss Anna. De man will no’ hurt you anymo’.” He patted her back.
Anna sat on the floor with her cheek resting against his chest. The emotions of the past hour were more than she could bear. The pain and horror of Horace Braithwaite, the rage she’d felt at Clarissa Stapleton, and the return of her memories all combined to a flood of tears that she couldn’t have held back if she’d wanted to.
Betty knelt next to them. She used a wet cloth to wipe the blood from Anna’s neck and collarbone, then she pressed it to the cuts. “Hol’ still, miss,” she said, placing a hand on Anna’s cheek and smiling gently.
Anna tried, but she couldn’t stop shaking.
Betty guided Anna’s hand to press against the cloth while she turned to inspect Malachi’s wound. The large man kept his arm around Anna. Betty pressed a cloth to the bloody hole in his side and spoke to him in the pidgin language.
Anna thought she must be imagining it when she heard Philip’s voice calling her name, but a moment later, he rushed into the bedchamber followed by the doctor.
His eyes took in the scene. He looked from Horace’s body to the trio on the floor. “Anna!” He rushed forward. “What happened? There is blood all over the house. I thought . . .” Malachi lifted her gently away from his chest.
“Thank you,” Philip said to the man. Anna thought she heard his voice hitch.
Anna’s tears returned in full. She pulled her knees to her chest, rubbed her hand over her cheeks, and sniffled. “I am sorry,” she managed to say with her catching voice. “I don’t mean to cry. I was just so scared.”
Philip moved closer, putting his arms around her shoulders. “Do not apologize.” He studied her face and lifted her chin, pulling down her hand and the bloody cloth. His jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. He moved his hand to cup the back of her neck and brushed his thumb over her jawbone. “How could he hurt you like this?” he said in a low voice. He turned his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “Dr. Bevan.”
“No,” Anna said. Exhaustion was quickly stealing her energy. “Tend to Malachi first. He has been shot.”
Philip looked at Malachi, perhaps for the first time noticing the blood as Dr. Bevan and Betty helped him toward the bed and cared for his wound.
Anna stood, but her head felt dizzy. Philip tried to assist her, but she drew away and sat in the chair behind her. She could not even manage to sit up straight and fold her hands properly in her lap. Black spots burst in front of her eyes, and she pitched forward, hearing the f
araway sounds of people saying her name as she sank into darkness.
Chapter 23
Anna woke and opened her eyes slowly, looking through the gauzy mosquito netting that hung around the bed in the guestchamber. The bright sun shone through the shuttered windows, making yellow lines on the wooden floor.
She pushed herself into a sitting position. Her neck stung and . . .
The events of the day crashed down on her. She trembled as she remembered Horace Braithwaite’s attack and—Philip. He was alive, he was safe . . . and he was lost to her. She gasped at the pain in her chest. An ache squeezed her heart.
She had so badly wanted her memories to return, wanted to remember who she was, but if she’d known it would mean losing everything she cared for—losing him—she would have gladly remained in ignorant bliss forever.
A knock sounded at the door, and Anna slid off the bed as Betty entered. “Miss Anna, you should no’ be up.”
Anna pressed a hand to the bedpost, worried she would have another dizzy spell. But her mind was clear. “Malachi, is he . . . ?”
Betty hurried to her, taking her arm. “He is sleepin’. He’ll be well.” Her eyes moved to Anna’s neck and then rose to her face. “I’m glad you well also, miss.” She laid a hand on Anna’s cheek.
Anna leaned against her palm. Her throat constricted, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about leaving Oakely Park and the people she had come to love. “And where is—”
“Lord Philip left. Wit’ Miss Stapleton.”
Anna pressed her hand to her mouth. Of course he had gone with Clarissa. She had no right to expect anything different. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to stay where they belonged. He had told her that was his plan all along, to marry Clarissa Stapleton for her dowry.
The ache in her chest grew until she thought her heart would surely crack open. Anna loved Philip, she loved Oakely Park, and she would not want its owner to settle for less just because he had mistakenly allowed himself to care for a poor servant girl.
Anna insisted she was well and that she was perfectly capable of preparing herself something to eat, so the housekeeper left to care for Malachi without argument.
As she walked down the staircase, Anna ran her hand over the polished wooden railing, wanting to remember every last bit of Oakely Park when she was gone.
She was nearly at the bottom of the steps when Philip stepped through the main door. Her heart tripped at the sight of him, and it made what she had to do all the more difficult.
“Anna, are you all right?” He rushed across the entry hall and clasped her elbow, putting his arm around her and leading her into the parlour. “You need to rest.” He helped her to a seat. “Do you need a drink?”
She shook her head. “Is Miss Stapleton well?”
“As well as you might imagine.” Philip pulled the stopper from a decanter and poured her a drink anyway. “The way she carried on, you’d have thought she lost a limb instead of simply receiving a blackened eye.” He sat next to her and held out the glass.
Anna folded her arms in front of her, pulling away from Philip, although she wanted nothing more than to be held in his arms.
His gaze rested on her neck. “Oh, Anna. I . . . I am so sorry.” He reached his hand toward her, but she shook her head, putting out a hand to stop him.
“I remember, Philip.”
His brows pulled together. “You do not need to be afraid now. Do not think of him anymore.”
Her throat was tight. “No, not Horace. I remember everything. All my memories have returned.”
Philip’s face blanched. He opened his mouth and took a jerky breath. “And are they . . . Are you . . . Are you married, Anna?” He raised his shoulders, and the skin around his eyes tightened as if bracing himself for her answer.
She had never seen his expression so exposed—so vulnerable and unguarded. Yet she knew she would have to tell him the truth, and it would hurt them both. “I am not married, nor am I engaged.”
Philip closed his eyes and let out a breath. His face relaxed into a smile, and his shoulders dropped. He leaned toward her.
She put out her hand again. Her stomach ached, and she could not raise her eyes to his. “But I am not a lady. I am only a maid.”
“Anna, I don’t—”
“I am a maid, Philip—my lord. A servant. And I am sorry.” Anna stood and pushed past him, feeling as though her body was collapsing in on itself. Her cheeks and eyes were hot with humiliation, and she wanted nothing more than to escape before she saw the disdain in Philip’s face when he looked at her as a person so decidedly below his class.
He called her name, but she didn’t look back.
Anna stumbled out of the dining room door toward the kitchen building. She didn’t know where to go, but she knew she couldn’t remain as a guest in Philip’s—Lord Philip’s—home. Her chest ached so badly that she wrapped her arms around herself, hoping to ease the pain.
She needed to leave. Her mind traveled over the past weeks, and her stomach burned with humiliation when she remembered speaking boldly to his lordship, telling him to invest in a coffee farm, recommending that he hire pirates. Philip must at this very moment be remembering the same things with contempt as he realized he’d allowed a servant to direct him. He must be disgusted that he had even brought her to his guestchamber, that he had invited her to dine in a silk gown . . . She gasped at the memory and what he must think of it now.
Philip was undoubtedly embarrassed as well. Mortified that he had been taken in by a servant girl. Anna thought she would be ill when she imagined encountering him again. Especially after all that had transpired between them.
She must escape. She would find Lady Lockwood at her plantation near Spanish Town and return to her position in that household, provided the countess had not found a new lady’s maid.
A sob escaped as she realized she would never see Oakely Park again. Never stand on the veranda and listen to the low sound of the workers singing in the cane fields. Never meet Ezekiel and his large grin in the hallway. Never ride Smokey over the yellow dirt roads. These weeks had been nothing but playacting in a life that didn’t belong to her.
She hurried toward the stable, thinking maybe she could borrow a horse. Lord Lockwood would certainly make sure the animal was returned to Oakely Park. She could remember the map in her head and realized it would take days to reach Spanish Town. Perhaps if she found a boat leaving Port Antonio, she could travel by sea. If Captain Courtney was still there, he would help her, she was certain.
Anna entered the gloom of the stables and considered her options. With the two riding horses still missing, only the carriage horses remained, and she couldn’t ride one of them. Frustrated and discouraged, she sat on a barrel of grain.
She could not make the journey on foot alone. By the time she arrived in the town, it would certainly be dark, and she had no money to pay for a room at an inn. The idea of encountering a crocodile or a bandit on the road made her shiver. She could, perhaps, ask Betty for help. She would know what to do. And perhaps Betty could recommend someone to accompany her . . .
“Are you leaving me, Anna?” Philip stepped into the doorway.
She stood and curtsied but kept her gaze upon the ground. “I’m afraid I must, my lord,” she said in a quiet voice.
“And where will you go?”
“To Port Antonio. I must get to Spanish Town. My employer has a plantation there.”
Philip was silent, and she stole a glance at him. Finally he spoke. “It is a long journey.”
“I understand, my lord. If you will direct me to the servant’s quarters, I will start in the morning—”
“And do you miss your former life so much that you must leave immediately?”
Anna didn’t know what to say. She didn’t dare look into his face and see what she feared was there. “I must, sir. I thank you for caring for me, and I am certain that Lord Lockwood will compensate you for the cost of my accommodations.
”
“Blast Lord Lockwood! Blast the compensation! Blast all of it!” Philip’s raised voice shocked her, and Anna gasped. He stepped closer. “Anna, why will you not stay? Has the return of your memories changed you? Do you not feel the same as you did?”
She looked up at him. His face was pale, and his brows pulled tightly together. “My lord, nothing has changed, and yet everything has. I am not who you thought I was—who I thought I was. I am not a lady; I am a servant. I have nothing. I am nobody. It has all been a mistake, my lord. If I had known . . .” She couldn’t continue. She put her hand over her mouth, holding back her weeping.
Philip rested his hands on her shoulders. “If you had known, would you have trekked through the jungle and bargained with pirates? Would you have protected Ezekiel? Would you have bumped my leg at dinner while I attempted to keep a straight face?” He paused, but she did not look up at him. “Would you have allowed me to fall in love with you?” He spoke in a low voice.
“I did not mean to—I am so sorry I deceived you.” Anna’s shoulders shook beneath his hands, and her voice was little more than a whisper broken by gasps.
Philip crooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. His eyes were warm, and the sight made her pulse jump. “If you had known, you would have done none of this. You would have acted like a servant, treated me as an aristocrat.” He ran his thumb over her lips.
A shiver skittered across Anna’s skin.
“I would have missed the most wonderful thing to happen to my life. The day you washed ashore on my beach, I changed. And each day since, I have become a better man—because of you. I am not the person I was before either.” He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Anna, I feared each moment since I saw you on my veranda that it would be the last, that you would find your memories and leave me. And now it has happened, and I cannot bear it.” He leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. “Please stay.”
“How can I? I have nothing to offer. I am simply . . . Anna.”
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