The Heiress of Winterwood (18 page)

Like a shot from a cannon, fire surged through his veins. Without hesitation he rammed his full weight into Littleton, hurling him against the wall. He thrust one forearm against the man’s throat and the other across his chest, pinning his foe against the cold plaster.

Littleton flailed, throwing angry blows and spewing curses. Behind him, George Barrett clawed at Graham’s shoulder. With a sharp jab of his arm, he freed himself from the older man’s grasp, relieved when William finally stepped in and pulled Barrett from his back. He pressed harder, consumed by rage. All he could think
about was dominating Littleton and keeping him away from Miss Barrett. Away from Lucy. Away from Winterwood.

Someone screamed, but Graham paid no attention. All his force and concentration was required to keep Littleton against the wall. He braced his feet and tightened every muscle and waited until the other man expended his energy and began to slow.

Littleton finally slumped in surrender. Both men huffed. Sweat dripped from Graham’s forehead and rolled to his chin. He leaned in close to his opponent, his face just inches away. “I’ll not repeat myself. Leave now.” Then he stepped back.

Littleton’s dark eyes raged with fire, but the man’s physical strength did not match his passion. His chest heaved, and his stare moved from Graham to Amelia. He pointed at her. “Is this what you want? Then you shall have it.”

Graham didn’t dare break his stare. “Are you quite finished?”

Littleton snatched his hat from a nearby table, jammed it on his head, and hissed a warning through clenched teeth. “If you think for a moment I will give up easily, you, sir, are sadly mistaken.”

The man stormed from the library, clipping William with his shoulder as he passed.

The room stood silent. Graham wiped the blood from his chin, noting idly that crimson stained his sleeve. He looked up to see Amelia by his arm, tears welling in her eyes.

George Barrett rushed toward him, his jowls trembling with rage. “Are you pleased?”

Graham pressed his lips together. One altercation was enough for tonight.

Barrett’s face had gone purple. “What kind of a man preys on a young girl the way you have? Look at what you have done. And why? Because of her money? Because you needed her to care for your daughter so you can return to your ship?”

Amelia hurried over to them. “But it’s not like that at all. I—”

“Quiet, girl!” Barrett pushed her away and addressed Graham. “You’ll receive the punishment you deserve for bringing such scandal to our family.” He spun around and took his wife’s arm. “Helena, Augusta, return to your beds. We are finished here.”

Helena jumped forward. “But what about Amelia?”

Barrett turned to stare at Amelia as if he had forgotten she was in the room. “You. You agree with this? You agree to marry this man and go against the solid guidance your aunt and I have given you all these years?”

All eyes were now on Amelia. She met Graham’s eyes, then jutted her chin in the air. “I do.”

Barrett slammed his palm on a round side table, sending the urn atop it crashing to the ground. “So be it. Then you are no longer a niece of mine.”

She flinched as if struck. “I hope in time, Uncle, you will understand why I have made this choice.”

Barrett made no answer, just grabbed his wife and daughter by their arms and yanked them from the library, glaring at Graham all the while. Graham let them go. Now was not the time to talk with the man. Maybe he could explain himself sometime in the future, but not tonight.

Graham rubbed his jaw and wiped his face, vaguely aware of his brother and betrothed walking toward him.

“You’re bleeding.” Amelia’s voice trembled. She reached out to touch his wound but hesitated, letting her hand land briefly on his shoulder before falling to her side.

Graham didn’t want her to withdraw her hand. He wanted to feel her touch. His chest still heaved with the effects of exertion and his jaw ached, but he refused to look away from her. She was beautiful, like an angel, with her untamed tresses and her gentle voice. Her very presence soothed him like a balm. His breathing slowed, and he wiped his chin again. “I’m fine.”

Amelia pushed her hair out of her eyes, the firelight dancing on each long strand. It looked like gold. “Thank you for coming,” she said softly. “If you hadn’t arrived when you did, I . . .”

Graham nodded but said nothing. He prided himself on being a wise enough sailor to know when he’d entered uncharted waters. This woman touched something deep in him. Be it from the blow he received or the adrenaline from the fight, he didn’t trust his words. Not just yet.

He had almost forgotten William was in the room. His brother hurried to the window, pressed himself against the wall, and lifted the curtain just enough to see outside. “Littleton’s gone. Good riddance.” He dropped the curtain and walked over to study Graham’s bloody lip. “You should have ducked.”

Graham nodded, grateful for the attempt at humor. “Thank you for your advice. I’ll keep that in mind next time.” He met Amelia’s eyes and a look of triumph passed between them. Littleton was gone—for now. But how long would he stay away?

William slapped Graham’s shoulder, sending sharp pains up his neck and through his injured jaw. “My little brother, master of Winterwood Manor. Impressive.” He stared dramatically at the ceiling. “Does this mean you will be keeping your feet firmly planted on land now that you have a beautiful bride to cherish and love?”

The words
cherish
and
love
hung awkwardly between them. Amelia looked down at the floor. Graham straightened his jacket. “I’ll return to the war as soon as the ship repairs are done, as planned.”

“Seems a shame.” William moved toward the door and then turned back to Amelia. “It’s late. Miss Barrett, it was a pleasure to see you, even under these peculiar circumstances.” He bowed. “Graham, are you coming?”

“I’ll be there straightaway.”

“Then I’ll get the horses. That is, if your beast of an animal hasn’t managed to wander off.”

Graham shifted his weight as the heavy front door closed behind William. “Will you be all right?”

The trembling in Amelia’s lips belied the confidence in her voice. “I should think so. Winterwood is my home, after all.”

“I doubt you shall see any more of Littleton tonight, but perhaps it would be more prudent for you to stay at Eastmore Hall for the time being.”

Amelia raised a blond eyebrow. “Me? At Eastmore Hall? Thank you, no. What would people say?”

“I would think it is a little late to consider the opinions of others.”

She flinched at his comment but said nothing. She gathered her hair and absently wrapped her hand around the thick locks.

“Your cousin would be welcome to accompany you, of course.”

She shook her head no, so Graham headed for the doorway, where James had appeared with his hat. He didn’t want to leave her, not just yet, but he could hear William with the horses on the front drive and weary shadows smudged Amelia’s smooth cheeks. “It’s been a long night. You need rest. I will be by first thing in the morning and attempt to settle things with your uncle.”

“Thank you, Captain Sterling.”

He tucked his hat under his arm, bowed slightly, then lingered in the doorway for a moment, memorizing the look of her—the long, lustrous hair, the gentle mouth, the sapphire eyes. He suspected those eyes would haunt him from that moment forth.

Graham didn’t know if his throbbing jaw or the awkwardness of his position awakened him. With slow, deliberate movements, he
pushed himself off the brocade cushion. Every muscle ached, and salty dried blood lingered on his lip.

When had he finally slept? Last he remembered, he’d returned from Winterwood in the black of night, opened Eastmore Hall’s library window for some air, and sat on the plush settee to nurse his wounds. Now the sun’s long morning rays reached into the room, bathing the space in a yellow glow.

Graham shook sleep from his limbs. He distinctly recalled explaining his and Amelia’s engagement to William, careful to withhold any indication that she had proposed to him. He must have dozed off after that, and apparently his brother had done the same, for William’s lanky frame slumped in an overstuffed wingback chair across the room.

Graham was like that too—able to sleep anywhere. Hammock or wooden deck, inside his cabin or under the stars, it didn’t matter. His old captain, Stephen Sulter, always said that easy sleep was a sign of a clear conscience. Graham wasn’t so sure.

He yanked off his boot and flung it in William’s direction. It bounced off his brother’s knee and thudded to the oriental rug. William didn’t budge.

Graham removed his other boot and stood, grimacing as he stretched the kinks in his back and shoulders. He walked over to the open window, where heavy emerald drapes billowed in the wind, and closed it. Then he stepped over one of William’s sleeping hunting dogs to stoke the pitiful fire. His muscles protested the movements, and he rubbed a protective hand over his ribs. Judging by the sensitivity, he must have taken more blows than he remembered.

It had been awhile since he’d engaged in a fight like that—many years, in fact. In his youth, however, a fiery temper and love of drink had plopped him right in the middle of brawl after brawl. Then Stephen Sulter led him to the Lord and helped Graham put an end to his dissolute ways. But now, after years of loss and
disappointment, he found himself wondering about the God who rescued him from a life of rebellion. He did not actually doubt the Father’s presence, but he hadn’t felt it in a long time.

He rubbed his hands together and blew warm air against his cold palms. He needed a hot drink to dull the effects of the chill in the room. Graham turned from the fireplace and looked for the bell to call the servants.

He shuffled through the strewn papers and letters on his brother’s desk in search of the elusive bell. How could William ever find a thing with this mess? He had begun to pile the papers when words scrawled across the top of a parchment caught his eye.
Receipt of sale.
He picked up the paper and read further. He glanced over at William, who still snored in the corner chair, then returned his attention to the document. At the bottom were two signatures: William Sterling and Edward Littleton.

The sight of Littleton’s name hit with the power of another fist to the jaw. Hungry for the meaning, he skimmed the document, unable to read it fast enough. He forced himself to read it again. Could this be true? Had William sold part of Eastmore to that scoundrel?

The room’s chill vanished. His arms and chest burned with exasperating intensity, and a million thoughts bombarded him. Did Miss Barrett know about this purchase? When had it happened? Was there a way to revoke it?

He stepped over to William and nudged his foot. “Wake up.”

At the gesture, William drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, squinting in the sun’s light. He covered his eyes with his hand and frowned. “Go away.”

“What’s this?”

William’s face scrunched. “What’s what?”

Graham held the document in the air. “It says ‘receipt of sale.’ It’s signed by Edward Littleton.”

William groaned and scratched his scalp as he pulled himself up to a seated position. “I sold the west fields to Littleton about a week ago. Leave my personal affairs alone.” He lay his head back and closed his eyes. “Now go away and let me sleep.”

Graham kicked his brother’s foot again. “Were you going to mention this? Or just let me wake one day to find Edward Littleton practically in my lap?”

William opened his eyes again. With a sudden burst of energy he jumped up from his chair and grabbed the document from Graham’s grip. “Yes, I was going to tell you,” he spat. “Call me inconsiderate, but I didn’t think last night would be the most opportune time to enlighten you, what with all of the yelling and punching.”

“You told me you had no intention of dividing Eastmore.”

“Of course I didn’t want to. What fool would? But I did what I had to do. I needed the money, and Littleton wanted to buy the land. So I sold it to him.”

The snippet of conversation from a few days ago about William selling his horse flickered in his mind. “Why do you need money, anyway? What happened to all of it?”

“Do you mean Father’s money,” William huffed, “or mine?” He stuffed the document in a desk drawer. “Either way, it is none of your business. I did what I needed to do.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“What, go crawling to my baby brother? I can handle the affairs here on my own.”

“That’s preposterous.”

William slammed the drawer shut. “You think it’s easy, managing an estate this size?”

“I think it’s easy to make foolish decisions.”

“Ah, I see. Any financial trouble that has befallen the great Eastmore Hall must be of my own doing. Perhaps you forget that I inherited this monstrosity and all the worries that accompany it.
You, on the other hand, have been conveniently absent from any family issue, small or great.”

William’s sharp retort sounded suspiciously like an accusation. Graham squared his stance. “It was not my choice to leave. Or have you forgotten?”