Knowing she couldn’t allow her son to die, she fought the weakness pulling at her. Taking deep breaths, she locked her knees and opened her eyes. Slowly, she looked up into the duke’s concerned expression. “Alex didn’t shoot Julian.” Her words came out raspy. She swallowed back her tears. “I did.”
CHAPTER 19
Amelia pressed herself into the corner of the uncomfortable coach, eyes focused on the brown splatters covering the front of her lilac dress. They hadn’t allowed her to change her clothes. Simply tied her wrists together with a leather strap and stuffed her into this old, smelly vehicle.
She would go to London, though the details swirled around somewhere in the gray fog covering her brain. She sat there, numb. The world around her flew past surreal, as though she sat outside of her body looking in.
At least she’d made certain Alex wouldn’t be held responsible for the shooting. She rested her head against the side of the coach. His life would be spared. He could still go to Eton, then on to university, and study astronomy. Signing the confession had guaranteed her son’s future.
And Julian would live. When she saw him last, his breathing had been deeper and stronger, his color returning. All good signs of recovery. Yes, Julian would survive.
Amelia closed her eyes as the evening shadows swallowed her up, bringing a damp chill to the air. She shivered and tried not to think of what would happen to her. Instead, she thought of Alex growing up happy beside his father. How the two of them would take care of each other in the years to come. She allowed herself to think of nothing else as the carriage rattled farther away from Sagemeadow.
Oh, God, how she would miss her son and husband!
A sob stuck in her throat. She squeezed her eyes tighter, trying to keep those cursed tears from spilling out. For once they started, they would never stop.
The carriage rattled to a halt in the dark two hours later. The large, round man with a scar down the side of his face opened the door and held up a lantern. Soft, yellow light spilled into the interior and Amelia blinked.
She unfolded from the corner of the interior, but not quickly enough for the man. “’Ere, milady, ‘urry up, now,” he said, reaching in and yanking her out.
With her hands tied together, Amelia could not hold on to anything and cried out as she stumbled to the ground, landing hard on her left shoulder.
“Now look wot ye did,” the scar-faced man said, clamping a beefy hand around her arm and pulling her to her feet.
With a slight wobble, she steadied her trembling legs and glanced up. A misty fog haloed the lantern, not allowing the light to penetrate very far. She had no idea where in London she’d been taken. The damp air smelling of coal smoke and raw sewage were her only clues.
“Come, now, milady,” the man said and gave her a rough shove on her sore shoulder to get her moving.
She stumbled along in the dark until a door opened up ahead and a weak stream of light spilled out before her. With one step carefully in front of the other, she managed to keep her slippers on the worn cobblestones. Knowing that she was walking this path instead of her son was the only thing that kept her going.
****
With a tender kiss, Megan inhaled the fresh, warm scent of her son before placing his sleeping little form in the cradle. She had just covered him up when a light tap sounded at the door.
“I’ll get it, Your Grace,” the wet nurse whispered as she strode across the room, her lips pulled down and eyes narrowed at the intrusion. A moment later, she returned, even more agitated. “Carson insists on speaking to you, Your Grace.”
Megan nodded and moved away from the cradle. It must be important, she thought, her steps quickening. Carson never interrupted her with Jordan. She entered the sitting room beyond the nursery. “What is it, Carson?”
The butler bowed. “Pardon, Your Grace, you are needed in the drawing room.”
She drew her brows. “Why?”
“It’s Master Alexander. And he is…” he paused, as if searching for the right word, “quite distraught.”
Without another word, Megan rushed from the third floor. Something had to be terribly wrong. She could sense it. By the time she reached the drawing room, she was out of breath. A footman bowed and opened the door as she approached. She marched past, her attention on the terrified young boy pacing beside the sofa. “Alex?”
His head snapped up. “Oh, Megan.” He rushed forward, his eyes wild with panic. “They’ve taken her. She’s going to die!” He threw his arms around her.
“What are you talking about?” She patted his back, trying to understand.
A deep shudder went through him. “It’s Mama. They’ve taken her and are going to kill her.”
Pulling back in disbelief, Megan studied Alex’s anguished, flushed face. “What are you saying?”
Tears coursed down his cheeks. “They think Mama shot Lord Julian. I saw them take her away. They’re going to hang her.”
As she tried making sense of Alex’s words, the doors opened. Megan turned to see her grim-faced husband enter. He halted when he saw them, and in that instant, she knew Alex spoke the truth. Swallowing her panic, she asked, “Is Julian going to be all right?”
Nicholas’s eyes dipped down to Alex and back. “Yes. I’ve been informed that he’ll survive.” He stepped closer to them. “Everyone has been looking for you, Alex,” he stated gently.
Alex’s hold tightened on her. “Don’t let them kill Mama, Megan. Please, don’t let them kill her.” His raw voice broke her heart.
“Of course they won’t.”
He looked at her, his dull eyes growing hopeful. “Will you help her?”
Unable to resist Alex anything at the moment, Megan smiled. “Of course I will help her. But first, you look like you need a bite to eat and some rest.”
After assuring Alex a third time that she would help Amelia, Megan watched him leave the room with Carson. Then she turned to Nicholas. “What happened?”
The lines around his mouth deepened. He looked haggard, increasing her fear. “What?”
Taking her hands in his, Nicholas led her to the sofa. “You’re not going to be able to keep your promise to Alex, love.”
“What? Why?”
He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before speaking. “Amelia admitted to shooting Julian.”
When Nicholas set out to take Alex’s mind off what was happening to his mother, Megan took her two lady’s footmen with her and left the house through the back door. She hated sneaking behind her husband’s back, but something had to be done. She’d made a promise to Alex and she meant to keep that promise. Besides, Amelia had saved her and little Jordan. The very least she could do was to see what could be done to help her poor sister-in-law. Megan was certain Amelia loved Julian and could not have shot him. But she needed to hear what had happened before going to see the investigator, Thomas Porter.
Three quarters of an hour later, Megan removed the scented handkerchief from her wrist bag and held it firmly over her nose. She tried to ignore the wailing and pitiful screams echoing through the shadowy corridor, but could not. Each shriek made her cringe. A rat scurried along the filthy stone floor before her and she jumped back against one of her footmen, swallowing down the screech of fright. The guard glanced over his shoulder and grinned, exposing four crooked, black teeth. “Almost there, Duchess.”
They halted. The guard removed the iron ring from his belt and shuffled through the keys. Locating the one that unlocked the wooden door before them, he slid it into the lock. The rusty hinges made a terrible moan, making Megan grind her teeth together, then the guard stepped away.
After removing one of the few lit lanterns hanging on a hook in the hallway, he held it up to the doorway to provide just enough light to find her way in. “’Ere ye are, Duchess.”
With a deep breath into the scented linen, Megan entered the tiny room. Her eyes darted back and forth until she found Amelia curled up in a ball in the far right corner. She r
ushed forward. “Oh, no.” She squatted before the motionless form. With a trembling hand, she reached out. “Amelia.” Her hand clamped onto a thin shoulder. “Please, wake up.”
Slowly, Amelia’s eyes opened, lifeless with dark crescents beneath them. A streak of dirt slanted down one pale cheek. Megan sucked in a breath. “Oh, look at you.”
“Go away.” Amelia rolled onto her other side, the moldy straw crunching with her movements and several large brown cockroaches scurried back into the darkness.
Megan’s hand fell away. Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought you should know Alex is safe.” She watched Amelia stiffen. “I have him.”
Her sister-in-law turned back. “What has he said?” Her eyes widened in alarm.
“I don’t understand—”
Amelia’s filthy hand shot out and grasped her by the arm. “I did it. I shot Julian.” She lifted into a sitting position, her grip tightening. “Whatever Alex tells you is a lie. I shot Julian.”
The confession alarmed Megan. And it frightened her. She pulled away and scrambled out of the door. She cringed when the hinges creaked and the door crashed closed behind her. Tears glazed her eyes as the guard’s keys jingled and the sound of the lock echoed down the corridor.
Her heart didn’t quit hammering until she reached the sanctuary of her home. For some reason, she had to embrace Jordan. Holding her son would make her feel better, she decided. But first, she had to change her clothes. They reeked of mold, vomit, and excrement that saturated the prison air.
As Lucy assisted her out of her gown, Megan realized what bothered her so much. Her head shot up and she gasped.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” Lucy asked worriedly.
Shaking her head, Megan turned to her maid. “Hurry, Lucy. Help me into this gown.”
As soon as she dressed, she peeked in on Jordan as he slept soundly in his cradle, then ran downstairs. Halting Carson, she asked, “Where is the duke?”
“He is teaching Master Alexander how to play billiards.”
With a breathless thank you, Megan scampered down the hall and into the billiard room. The sound of heavy glass balls crashing together greeted her as she threw open the doors. Nicholas looked up and straightened from the table when he noticed her. She glanced to Alex, who stood to her husband’s left. His dull eyes lifted from the billiard table.
Closing the doors, she forced her legs to move forward. Oh, Lord, how to handle this? Praying for the right words, she approached Alex. “I saw your mother.”
“What?” he whispered, his interest piqued.
Ignoring her husband’s scowl of displeasure, she kept her attention on her nephew. He looked anxious for news of his mother. “She isn’t doing very well, Alex.”
Tears sprang to his eyes. His shoulders slumped and he glanced away.
Megan shook her head when Nicholas looked to interfere. She continued speaking to Alex. “I don’t know if she is going to survive much longer in that place.”
His shoulders started to shake.
“The truth is the only thing that will help her now,” she said solemnly.
Nicholas parted his lips and cut his gaze to Alex as understanding dawned.
“Tell us, Alex. Tell us what happened.”
“I heard them,” he said, his voice rough with tears. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and continued. “They were arguing about what had happened years ago. About some wager Lord Fielding had placed.”
“Oh, my God,” Nicholas whispered, draping a hand over his eyes.
Megan turned to her husband. “What?”
He looked sick when he dropped his hand. “I’ll tell you later,” he mouthed, sliding his gaze to Alex and back.
Knowing it must be awful, Megan nodded. She glanced back to Alex. “Then what happened?”
“When I learned that Lord Julian is really my f-father and that he had sent my mother away instead of helping her I…”
Megan pressed a hand to her mouth. Oh, no!
“I wanted to kill him,” Alex said on a sob.
Megan closed her eyes and bowed her head. Poor Amelia. She’d been protecting her son. Whatever Alex tells you is a lie. I shot Julian. No wonder Amelia had worked so hard to save Julian’s life. She hadn’t been the one to shoot him. And when she learned Alex had…
“Instead, I was a coward and ran away.” Alex wagged his head from side to side. “Then I learned that he’d been shot. It was…” he hesitated, his voice lowering to a soft whisper, “it was as if my thoughts had made it happen.”
Megan’s head shot up. She dashed the tears from her eyes, unable to believe what she heard. “What did you say?”
Lifting his tear-stained face, Alex looked steadily at her. “To save Mama, I will tell everyone I shot Lord Julian.”
She could only stare at the boy. His earnestness left little doubt of his sincerity. Alex didn’t shoot Julian. And if Amelia didn’t either, then who did?
****
Julian jerked awake with a start, the sound of an explosion ringing in his ears, the acrid smell of black powder, blood, and seared flesh remained heavy in his nostrils. Pain made his head spin, and he fought to open his eyes. The brightness hurt.
“Can you hear me, darling?”
He recognized that voice. His mother. Slowly, he cracked open his eyelids. A blurry form hovered over him, but it was her. He knew her sweet smell. Parting his chapped lips, he tried to form a word.
“Shhh, Julian, don’t try to speak now.” She had tears in her voice. “You’re going to recover, darling. That is all that matters.”
As unconsciousness tried to claimed him once again, an uneasy memory tugged at him. But he couldn’t recall…
Some low sound hummed in his ears, followed by sharp, agonizing jabs in his upper chest. Julian drew in a slow, careful breath and focused on controlling the pain. The humming subsided. He opened his eyes and blinked until his vision sharpened.
“Hello, darling,” his mother said with a tender smile.
“Mother.” He used every ounce of strength he had to remain conscious. The room tilted, then straightened. He recognized the blue silk walls and painted dome-shaped ceiling of his bedchamber in Sagemeadow. “What happened?” he asked, moving his head weakly back his mother.
Her smile wavered. “Don’t you remember?”
Closing his eyes, he saw sparks flying from the barrel of a pistol and being pitched to the ground of the stables. Then nothing. An urgent thought, some unexplainable desire to see his wife and son filled him. Where were they? “Amelia,” he whispered, fighting to stay awake.
His mother nodded. “Yes, dearest, we know. Everything is fine now.”
Amelia had saved him. He recalled her soothing words and cool touch as he slipped in and out of consciousness. No doubt she was resting from the ordeal. He took a deep breath and winced from the shooting pain it caused. “Alex?”
“Alex is staying with Megan for a while.” His mother moved a lock of hair from his brow. “You mustn’t worry about anything.” After a moment of silence, she reached for the glass beside the bed. “Are you thirsty?”
He nodded. She brought the water to his lips and tipped it up. The cool drink was heaven against his arid tongue and soothed his rusty throat. A nagging and insistent thought tried to form in his mind as his mother returned the glass. But before he could hold onto it, his father entered the room and distracted him.
“Ah, Julian, you’re awake.”
“How long…have…I been…here?” His strength evaporated with each word.
His father frowned. “Three days.”
Some elusive urgency continued to plague him. Julian closed his eyes, trying to recall what he needed to remember. He didn’t know…couldn’t think. Pain tore through his middle, keeping his thoughts scattered. Fatigued pulled at him. He could escape the searing torture for a while. All he needed to do was give in and sleep. He started to drift, then the need to see his wife and son rose up sharply. “Amelia,” he whispered, figh
ting to stay awake. “Where—”
“Rest, Son, lest you cause yourself harm,” his mother warned and rubbed cool fingers across his stubbly cheek.
His eyes would not open, no matter how hard he tried. “Shooter. Where Amelia?” he whispered.
“Shhhh. Rest, Julian. No one will harm you, I promise.”
Julian wasn’t concerned with himself, he thought, losing consciousness. The shooter. He just remembered something important.
CHAPTER 20
Amelia pressed a clammy palm to her mouth. Sweat dotted her forehead as the stagnant heat grew unbearably suffocating. Her stomach twisted in nausea, but she refused to give in as some of the others had. Sounds of retching mingled with moaning echoed off the ship’s wooden hull. Since being kept in the hold with the prisoners, the mostly nauseous prisoners, she had gotten used to the noise by the third day. The sight of the sick women didn’t bother her as much as the acrid vomit and feces hanging heavy in the thick, hot air. That turned her stomach. And for the thousandth time, she wondered if pleading guilty of shooting Julian hadn’t been a bit too hasty. Instead of going to trial where she’d be found guilty and sentenced to death, she would instead spend the rest of her days in a prison compound in Australia. That had been the deal she made before signing the confession.
She was surprised to find the authorities actually abiding by the deal, until someone hinted that some titled person had interfered, ensuring she would not die.
Amelia suspected either the Duke of Kenbrook for saving Megan’s life at childbirth or Megan herself. She recalled her sister-in-law’s visit and smiled to herself. At least she knew Alex was safe and would be taken care of.
She couldn’t say the same for herself. Eight days aboard this ship of horrors had death sounding more appealing.
Turning away from a tall, thin woman squatting in a corner to relieve herself, Amelia thought back to how she had learned to keep track of time. Once a day, a guard came in with moldy chunks of bread and thin, sour broth, another came in a little later to empty the overflowing chamber pots. Eight moldy chunks of bread meant eight days.
Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3) Page 17