The Heiress of Winterwood (40 page)

“Nice shot, Will.” Graham grunted as he lifted the man from the floor. “Remind me to thank you.”

William huffed under Littleton’s limp weight. “Do not thank
me yet.” William cast a nervous glance at the man between them. “You do not think he will die, do you?”

Graham shook his head as he carefully angled himself to fit through the narrow door frame and passageway. He waited for the ladies to ascend the ladder. He winced at the cut on his arm and flexed his hand. He’d lived through worse pain. Much worse. With William’s help, he managed to get Littleton up the ladder and onto the upper deck.

At first Littleton squirmed, but within moments Graham and his brother had their hands on him. “It’s over, Littleton,” grunted Graham. “This time, for good.”

G
raham stepped from the steamy confines of the ship. He could not recall a time when the brisk air of early dawn was so refreshing. Littleton’s body grew limper with each step. The man was not in danger of dying. The shot had but grazed him. But he was losing blood, and no doubt the pain was significant.

Graham scanned the gathering crowd for Amelia. His heart ached with renewed hope when he spotted her, waiting from a safe distance. How could he miss her? Her hair, made brilliant by the rising sun, spilled over her shoulders. Her eyes were locked onto him. Boldy. Expectantly. Now that her hands were untied, she held Lucy in her arms protectively. At the very sight of them, an overwhelming sense of protectiveness wove through the fibers of his being.

His task here was almost complete. And then he would take his daughter and his beloved home. Back to Darbury. Away from the fear and uncertainty that had met them in Liverpool.

All around him, everything seemed suddenly vibrant. The sounds of the sea. The call of the seabirds. It was all alive.

Littleton stumbled, his injured leg limp, unable to sustain his own weight. Graham left Littleton in the care of William and Sulter and jogged over to Amelia. He forgot the pain of his arm. The fury of the fight. That was behind him. And his future in front.

He could almost feel Amelia’s warmth. Feel the weight of his daughter in his arms. But as he drew closer, Amelia’s expression darkened. Her eyebrow raised, and she sucked in her breath. The sudden change in her demeanor slowed Graham’s steps. He pivoted to follow her gaze. Across the dock, the outline of a tall, burly man approached William and Sulter. Without warning, the stranger rushed up to Littleton, who was now sitting on the ground, and rammed his booted toe into Littleton’s ribs.

Graham stared in disbelief. More than anything he wanted to return to the Sulters’. To take Amelia and Lucy away from the nightmare of the past few days. But what he had seen stilled his legs. Sulter attempted to stop the man from repeating the assault, but was shoved out of the way.

That was all Graham needed to see. He took off like a shot toward the perpetrator, siezing the much larger man by the arm and whirling him around.

“What is the meaning of—” His words fell flat when the man turned.

Kingston.

A flash of recognition sparked on Kingston’s scraggly face. “Cap’n Sterling.”

Graham squared his shoulders, narrowing his eyes on Kingston, forgetting for the moment about Littleton. “Did you forget something?” Graham’s words were every bit as hard as he intended. “By my calculations you are several hours late for a task for which your services were engaged.”

A rough smile cracked the man’s leathery features. He shrugged. “Well now, that’s an unfortunate oversight. But see here, my
business right now’s not w’ you. It’s w’ ’im.” He kicked at Littleton again.

Graham put his arms out to push the man back. He did not begrudge the man anger toward Littleton, nor was he surprised to learn Littleton had more enemies. But he was not about to watch Kingston beat a man who was too weak to stand.

Before Graham could speak, Kingston leaned forward and hissed in Littleton’s direction. “I think you owe me something, Littleton. I don’t want to tear your limbs off in front of your friends here—”

“Be on your way, Kingston,” demanded Graham, pushing his own body between the two men.

Kingston ignored Graham. “This man’s comin’ w’ me. He’s got some blokes what wants to see ’im.”

Kingston reached down as if to grab Littleton, and both Graham and William blocked his path.

“I do not know what your business is with this man, but he is guilty of kidnapping. I’m taking him to the magistrate.”

Kingston sneered. “Magistrate, you say? I got my own brand of authorities. Get outta my way.” The man lurched forward and shoved against Graham with his forearm.

Graham couldn’t care less what happened to Littleton. He wanted to nurse his own wound, return to the comfort of Amelia’s arms, and hold his daughter. But whatever had transpired between Littleton and Kingston, Littleton was not fit for a fight. Graham had come to Liverpool with the intent to save his daughter and bring about justice. Justice was not handing the pitiful Littleton over to the likes of Kingston.

With every muscle still tense and alert from the previous skirmish, fresh fire surged through his veins. Within moments, fists were once again flying. But as corrupted as Littleton was, Kingston’s fight was more savage. More vicious.

And then Graham saw his opportunity. He took a punch that pushed him back several feet, which gave him just enough room. He lifted himself from the ground, kept him body low, and thrust all of his momentum into the middle of Kingston’s body. Kingston flailed back, tripped on the coils of rope behind him, and fell off the dock into the frigid sea.

With near expert timing, William threw his pistol to his brother, who peered off the dock to the man treading water.

“Get out!” Graham shouted as Sulter secured a rope to the dock so Kingston could climb up. Graham stared down at Kingston with steely reserve. It was over. There was no way he could fight. Nowhere he could go. When the man floundered, Graham fired a shot into the water. “Get out!”

Kingston, wet and shivering, climbed the rope. Once he was on the dock, Graham whirled around, half expecting another attack. But aside from the gathering crowd watching the incident, all was quiet. His arm throbbed. His head pounded. But he would continue to fight, if need be—for justice. And, more importantly, for his family.

Littleton lay on the dock, pale and unconscious as Sulter made quick work of tying up Kingston. Graham leaned over their new enemy.

“Wait. Before you do that—” He reached in the man’s coat and felt the lumpy contents of his pockets until he found what he sought. The act of retreiving the waterlogged money, for what it was worth, brought little satisfaction. “Hmm. I do not believe you held up your end of the bargain, did you, mate?”

Sutler tsked. “And after all the trouble I went through recommeding you.”

Kingston’s chest heaved, his scraggly hair plastered to his face.

Graham straightened. “Sulter, see that the women are taken care of. William and I can take it from here.”

But before the words were even out of his mouth, Amelia was at his side. Brave, impulsive Amelia. The very sight of her both weakened him and infused him with a strength—and dedication—he’d never imagined before now.

By the dawn’s light he saw the dark shadows gathered beneath her eyes. The straw in her tangled hair. He reached out to smooth a smudge of dirt on her cheek, relishing the sensation of the petal-soft skin beneath his rough hand.

Motion caught his eye, and he glanced up to see a constable walking in their direction. No doubt the gathering crowd piquing his interest. He felt a tremor of relief at the sight. It was almost done. The end was in sight. He’d deliver Littleton and Kingston and then be free of them both. He looked back down at Amelia. Her eyes held questions, but the strength he saw in them renewed him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, noting how she trembled beneath his touch. “This is the end. I promise. I will take care of this, but I need to know you and Lucy are safe.” He leaned close, his lips touching her ear, and whispered, “I love you, Amelia Barrett. You are a part of me. No one will keep you from my side.
No one
.”

In the stillness of her room at the Sulters’ house, Amelia lay propped on her side, watching her cousin sleep. With Helena’s hysteria finally coming to an end, exhaustion had set in.

Amelia lay her head on the pillow and tucked her hands underneath it. The sheets felt cool against her cheek.

The events of the last few days haunted her, and she did not doubt they would do so in the days—nay, years—to come.

Next to her, Helena stirred. She did not even want to think how close she had come to losing her. When Edward held the blade to her cousin’s throat, the depth of her affection became clear. How
it must hurt Helena to know the father of her child could treat her in such a way. The thought of Helena as a mother seemed surreal. But perhaps knowing what it was like to love another more than herself—just as Amelia loved Lucy—would help Helena, in time, understand why Amelia made the choices she did.

She smoothed Helena’s nut-brown hair against the pillow. It no longer mattered what had caused the rift between them. All that mattered now was repairing what had been broken.

Helena’s eyelashes fluttered open, and Amelia sat up, waiting for her to speak. Helena’s words were barely more than a mumble. “Lucy and Mrs. Dunne. They’re all right?”

Amelia grabbed Helena’s hand. “Yes, dearest, they are well. Mrs. Hammond is preparing a bath for Lucy now.”

“I’m sorry . . . so sorry.” Helena’s eyelids almost drooped closed and her words slurred. “This is all my fault.”

Amelia shook her head. “This is all on Edward’s shoulders. He took advantage of you, me, Aunt and Uncle—and to put a child through this . . .” She shivered. “But it’s all over now, and the captain will see that Edward pays for what he has done.”

“Captain Sterling is a good man.”

The words echoed in Amelia’s heart. A flush rushed to her cheeks at the memory of his hand caressing her cheek. “He is a good man. He is indeed.”

Helena’s head rolled to the side and slumber replaced consciousness. When Amelia was certain Helena was asleep, she sat up from the bed, her muscles protesting the movements. She rubbed her raw wrists as she walked down the hall and headed toward the modest kitchen where Jane was bathing Lucy.

Tears pooled in Amelia’s eyes at the sight of the baby. Fewer than two hours had passed since Graham freed them and Sulter returned them to the safety of his home. Even though they were now out of danger, her heart still seemed to rattle in her chest. How close she
had come to losing her darling Lucy! The child appeared happy and content, as if the kidnapping had never happened. But the recollection of her in that warehouse, dirty and scared, still lingered in Amelia’s memory. She suspected it would haunt her dreams for years to come.

Lucy dunked a chubby fist into the water and giggled with delight at the resulting splash. Pleased, she turned her round face to Amelia and smiled, revealing three tiny teeth. The baby’s laugh was sweeter than any sound, her smile more beautiful than any painting.

Amelia picked up the linen cloth, dipped it in the warm, sudsy water, and brushed it against Lucy’s soft cheek. Jane stepped aside so Amelia could care for Lucy. Three days’ worth of filth rolled off with the water. Amelia drew a slow breath to combat the tightening in her chest. Tenderly, she rubbed soap in the child’s hair and poured water to rinse it clean. Desperate to be free from the memory, she washed the child’s hair again. It could not be clean enough.

Jane’s voice was soft. “I’ll tell Mrs. Sulter we’ll need more warm water.”

Amelia swiveled to face her. “No need, Lucy is almost clean.”

A smile eased across the older woman’s face. “Not for Lucy. For you, dear. You need a bath just as badly, if not worse.”

Amelia lifted her hand to wipe the hair from her face, and for the first time noticed the layer of dirt covering her forearms.

Jane’s face scrunched as she picked something out of Amelia’s hair. “What is that? Straw?”

“Most likely.”