The Heiress of Winterwood (23 page)

Captain Sterling.

They would marry in just two days. How strange to realize they hadn’t even known each other three weeks. At first, she’d regarded the captain as merely a means to an end. But in those few weeks, how many times had he defended her? Protected her? His qualities were noble. She could do worse than to combine her destiny with such a man. Perhaps after—

Lost in boundless thought, she didn’t notice the person waiting at the foot of the stairs until it was too late. Unable to slow her momentum, she ran right into him. She gasped. Steadying hands grabbed her upper arms.

Edward.

She tried to shrug out of his grasp. “Why are you here?”

“Are those tears I see?”

“Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me why you’ve been crying.”

A knock sounded on the heavy front door, and James walked to open it. Edward looked over his shoulder, his hot hand remaining on her arm. She stared at the door and wriggled again to free herself.

“Expecting someone?” Edward’s words strained through his teeth. “Oh yes, now I recall. I did hear something about a dinner at the Hammonds’ tonight. I never did receive my invitation, though.”

She put her hand on his chest and pushed. “Why are you here?”

“Your uncle invited me.” He chuckled. “Oh, I see. You think the only reason I would visit here is you. I am here to dine with my business partner and his family.”

She attempted to wrench herself from his grasp just as the captain entered with Mr. Carrington, who had recently returned from Sheffield. Graham’s cool gray eyes immediately locked on Edward’s. His nostrils flared in irritation.

Edward released Amelia. Breathless, she clutched her cape at
the neck and stepped backward. A gust of wind whipped through the open door. No one spoke.

“Please, let’s go.” Amelia walked over and clutched Graham’s sleeve with her hand, noting the twitch of hard muscle beneath the fabric.

It was as if he didn’t even hear her. Her hands slipped from his sleeve as Graham took two steps into the hall. “I thought I told you that you were no longer welcome here.”

Edward chuckled. “You can relax, Sterling. I am not here for Amelia. Barrett, as you well know, is my business partner. We have matters to discuss.”

“Then discuss your matters with George Barrett and keep your distance from Miss Barrett.”

“The master of Winterwood Manor has spoken. Or should I say the master-to-be?” A shrug lifted Edward’s shoulder, and he shifted his gaze. “I see you brought Carrington along. Nicely played, sir. It is always wise to engage those who know the most about the object you are trying to secure.”

Amelia had her eyes on Edward, so she jumped a little when Graham took her elbow. “If you have business with Barrett,” he said, “I suggest you be on about it.”

“Oh, I’ll not keep you from the festivities, Sterling. I know all too well the desire of a man to be alone with the woman he loves.”

He nodded toward Amelia, his false smile making her blood run cold. “Give the Hammonds my best.”

C
andlelight illuminated every corner of the Hammonds’ drawing room. Tiny flickers of light danced on every surface, from the oil paintings to the polished silver. And everywhere Graham looked, he encountered another stranger.

He knew Amelia, of course, as well as the Hammonds, Carrington, and his own brother. Beyond that, he was at a definite disadvantage. The cream of Darbury society—minus the Barretts—surrounded him, and he could not remember a single name. Yet they knew all about him. His occupation. His late parents and wife. His daughter. His betrothed. And all seemed to feel that the details of his life were their personal business.

With artful tact and quick words, Graham had escaped the clutches of two women, Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Trewell. Now, as he moved toward the door, their pointed questions rang in his memory. He would readily discuss the war or life at sea or whether he was enjoying his stay at Darbury. But he was not prepared—nor
willing—to answer questions about Katherine or Lucy. And fifteen minutes of fending off such questions had left him wearier than a long watch in wartime.

If memory served him correctly, there was a nook with a window seat just down the hall, on the way to Mr. Hammond’s study. He would slip away there for a moment’s peace.

After inching along the wall and squeezing behind an oval-backed upholstered chair, Graham rounded the doorpost into the darkened corridor and quickly found the niche he remembered from when he and Amelia visited the vicarage a few days past. Cold air seeped in around the window’s cracked casing and cooled his agitation. He sank down on the window seat and stared out over the lawn, intent upon clearing his mind.

“Captain Sterling.” Graham started, then relaxed when he realized it was Amelia who’d found him—not Mrs. Bell or Mrs. Trewell. The faint moonlight falling through the window highlighted her features and glistened upon her hair.

“Whatever are you doing here?” she asked.

He stood slowly. “Hiding.”

“From what?”

He nodded in the parlor’s direction. “Don’t you mean from
whom
? You were right. These people are insatiable. I’ve never seen the like of it.”

A smile curved her lips. “Did I not warn you that it might be difficult?”

He straightened his waistcoat and nodded. “I have faced battle, cannon fire, and the sword, and believe me when I say that nothing has frightened me quite so much as Mrs. Bell.”

Even in the shadowed corridor, he could see amusement in her wide eyes. Her soft laugh was a soothing balm to his ruffled spirit. He stood a little taller when she was around him.

Blond curls danced about her face as she looked this way and
that, then stepped into the nook where he stood. “I have a question I must ask you.”

The nearer she drew, the warmer his place of refuge seemed to grow. His pulse quickened. A darkened corridor. Hushed tones. The setting was almost . . . romantic.

His cravat seemed to tighten about his neck as he leaned in closer to listen. She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear. “Are you angry with me?”

“With you?” His voice was much louder than he intended. “Why would I be angry with you?”

“Shh!” She looked around to make sure no one was about. “It’s just that because of . . . that is to say, with Edward at Winterwood, and . . .”

He lowered his voice to match hers. “Of course I am not angry with you. Littleton’s desperate. I’ll not allow him to take advantage of this situation. Or you.”

Was she leaning in toward him? Her golden head came dangerously close to grazing the bottom of his chin. The slightest tremble shook her words. “I shudder to know what you think of me.”

Graham indulged himself and studied the long, black lashes that fanned her cheeks as she stared at the ground. What did he think of her? He thought a great many things . . . some of which would not be appropriate to verbalize.

She continued. “Please do not misunderstand me. I am grateful—thrilled—to have my Lucy. But everything else I find . . . I mean, I do not wish to—”

“There is no need for explanations. And as for what I think of you, I think you are brave. Loyal. Determined. Those are admirable qualities, Amelia. This will all pass. And you will be an excellent mother to Lucy. However, I am concerned for you.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Me?”

Graham nodded. “When all this is passed, when your family
departs and I return to sea, you will be alone at Winterwood. What then?”

Her voice sounded confident, but the expression in her eyes suggested otherwise. “I will not be alone. I will have Lucy. I will have the Hammonds . . . and my family. They may be angry, but they will come around, to be sure. And Carrington will be a help, of course.”

But you won’t have me.

Amelia stood so close that all he would have to do is take a half step closer and she would be in his arms. If he did that, would she pull away? His gaze drifted from the top of her golden head to her creamy shoulders.

She seemed so delicate, like a feather. And she was so close. How wrong would it be to touch her cheek or press her hand against his palm? Almost without thinking, he extended his arm to her. She stared at it, then flicked her eyes up to meet his gaze. His blood pounded in his ears as he waited to see if she would take it. She lifted her hand, hesitated, and then rested it on the sleeve of his jacket. At the touch, fire surged up his arm and through his body. Her lip quivered.

A nervous smile played on his lips. He could not control it. Like a puppet master, his emotions seemed in control of his every thought and action.

Amelia looked down at her hand and then away to the ground. With her other hand she brushed the curls from her face, something he’d noticed she did when uncomfortable.

He needed to say something. His words were far from brilliant. “Please, do not worry.”

She nodded and smiled, but he could not guess at what thoughts swirled in her pretty head.

She looked at his lips and then his eyes. “We’d best rejoin the party. We already know the danger that has befallen my reputation as of late. No need to give them any more fuel for that fire.”

“Must we go?”

Each smile she offered renewed his energy. “No doubt we’ve been given a certain leeway as we are soon to be wed, but still it would not do for us to be missing for dinner. I heard Mrs. Hammond and Mrs. Bell discussing our situation. It appears the masses are on our side, for now. No need to tempt fate.”

“Very well. But I give you notice, Amelia Barrett. You have the temptation part right, but my fate has nothing to do with it.”

Across the dinner table, plump Mrs. Mill whispered something to Mrs. Bell, who tittered in response. Jane sat next to Amelia at the end of the table. Mr. Hammond sat at the other, eating his venison soup. Even though nearly fifteen guests separated the long-married vicar and his wife, their expressions connected them. They seemed to communicate with a secret language.

Captain Sterling sat to Amelia’s right, patiently answering Mr. Mill’s questions about how long the war with America might last and whether Napoleon was really secure in his exile on Elba. His head had been turned from her for practically the whole dinner.

It was hard even to imagine that she and the captain would be married in two days’ time. Would she ever enjoy the kind of connection with him that the Hammonds shared? She shifted her eyes from the plate to her intended’s sleeve, not daring to look at his face when such a thought spun itself in her mind.

Her plan to persuade the captain to marry her so she could fulfill her promise to Katherine was successful, or at least it would be in mere days. What right did she have to expect—or even think about—anything more? Captain Sterling had married Katherine for love. He was marrying her out of obligation. But then again, there had been a certain attentiveness to their interchange in the
hall that made her believe he could, at some point, develop feelings for her. Her heart gave a little lurch. She was prepared to live a life free of romance if it meant she could care for Lucy. Dare she even hope for more?

She knew she was not well schooled in the intricacies of a relationship between man and woman. Without a mother to guide her, her sole education in matters of love came from romantic novels and poetry. And from Aunt Augusta, who had told her, “Love comes later, sometimes not at all. But you are a wealthy woman, so with love or without it, you at least will always be secure
. . .”

Still, it seemed to her that something had sparked between the captain and herself. And what she felt now was like nothing she’d experienced before. She felt comfortable yet nervous. Safe but vulnerable. Protected but exposed.

But even as the memory of her hand resting on his sleeve brought a flush to her cheeks, she couldn’t help remembering more of Aunt Augusta’s love advice. “Men will be after you for your money, so you should trust no one.”

Can I trust Captain Sterling?

Someone’s hand brushed her shoulder. “That’s Jonathan Riley, is it not?”

Amelia nearly jumped from her seat.

Captain Sterling leaned closer. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He put his spoon down and continued. “The man on the other side of William? Jonathan Riley, correct?”