Chapter 3
Amelia was afraid.
Very afraid.
Every fiber in her bones told her to run. But she couldn't. How could she? The stranger had risked his own life to save them. How could she leave him to fend for himself? With a quick glance at him from where she stood, she met his gaze. Those dark, steely eyes were intelligent and purposeful. She sensed an urgency in him to get away and flee, yet there was also an undeniable undercurrent of strength in him.
“We need to go,” he said to her without taking his eyes off their would-be attackers. In unison, she and the stranger slowly backed away. The rookery boys followed ever so slowly, matching their steps as if to surround their prey.
She noticed that the four men were mismatched. One man looked awfully young—no more than maybe sixteen. The one next to him looked to be missing a tooth when he grinned widely at her. One thing was certain; they all had a look that made her shiver with fright.
“Run,” the stranger whispered, not taking his eyes off them.
“What about you?”
“I will be right behind you,” he hissed. “Now go before you get us killed.”
She hesitated for a second before she hitched up her skirt and ran toward the carriage that was parked nearby. Looking back, she saw the stranger right behind her. In that instant, she stepped on the hem of her skirt and fell forward onto the cold, hard cobble.
The slap of her cheek against the cold stone felt like a thousand knives. Just then, two strong arms swooped her up and she stood. Hand in hand, she and the stranger backed away, and once they escaped the alley, they ran as fast as they could to the carriage.
Catcalls punctuated the silence.
P-taff.
“Keep your head down,” he ordered. They both ducked as they ran. Before she knew what was happening, she and the stranger were in the carriage. As soon as the carriage door slammed shut, it hitched forward and quickly picked up speed.
She slumped down on the seat and took a moment to catch her breath. She touched her raw cheek. Tonight had been one dreadful event after another. Instead of accomplishing her goal, she found herself in a precarious predicament, running for her life. And she could not help the poor pregnant girl. She feared what might happen to her in the hands of that horrid man in the alley.
Kate, who had been waiting for them in the stranger’s carriage, shifted in her seat and Amelia started. She embraced her friend. “I am so glad you are all right, Kate.”
“This, I fear, will have to be the last of my adventures for a quite a while,” Kate noted, closing her eyes as she sank into the seat.
“You two have a strange way of defining adventure,” the stranger remarked. “Reckless fits the situation, I’d say.”
Amelia glared at him. There was some truth to what he said, but he didn’t need to say it with such disdain. There was a sense of arrogance about him. He was heroic, yes, but still arrogant. She despised the word ‘heroic.’ Not because she didn’t believe there were men of such traits, but because the idea often gave one a false perception of reality.
Reality was far too cruel.
Then there was her chaperone who had thus far managed to ruin every fiber of hope she had managed to gather in her spirit. If Mrs. Pots discovered her secret plans to annul the marriage and live out the rest of her life in peace of her own free will, she would no doubt inform Amelia’s grandmother at once and hence deprive her of her inheritance. After all, Mrs. Pots had been loyal to her grandmother for nearly two decades. She had been given precise orders to make certain Amelia didn't stray from her grandmother's wishes, and Mrs. Pots was only too happy to oblige.
Amelia’s eyes met the stranger’s and, in that instant, there was an immediate attraction she could not deny. His gaze felt like someone had reached into her chest and gripped her heart, and she felt her blood pumping wildly through her veins. His chiseled features, those dark tousled curls that framed his handsome face. No, he wasn’t just handsome, but rather striking. He was . . . well, a cut above the rest to say the least. And now, the way he looked at her made her want to jump out of her skin. But there was something else about him that was somber, too. Reserved, stubborn, and somber, she thought curiously, and for a single moment she wondered what had happened to him.
Stop this nonsense, she chided herself. Her inquisitive mind was never a good thing, and she didn’t like this feeling. This attraction was unreliable and fleeting, and it would get her into more trouble than it was worth. And she had learned that lesson well. One that she did not plan to repeat.
Amelia shifted in the confined space. “Where are you taking us?”
His brow lifted, and his mouth twisted. “You are not a prisoner.”
She felt foolish. That was not what she meant. “I am aware of that.” She sighed in frustration. “Mayfair number ten.” It was not number ten, but rather twelve, but he didn’t need to know that either.
His mouth pulled in displeasure. “Do your employers know you skulk about in East End without regard to your safety?”
Kate quickly nudged her not to respond to his comment. Amelia looked up and saw the stranger looking at her again. He had a perplexed expression on his face, maybe even amusement.
No, she was not a servant. In fact, she was an heiress who would inherit tens of thousands upon a marriage to the man her grandmother approved of. But then this stranger had no business in her private affairs either.
“I would be much obliged if you didn’t question my affairs, Mr...?”
He frowned. “Waters.”
Interesting. He didn’t look like a Mr. Waters—not that she knew what a Mr. Waters should look like. “Thank you,” she said. “And . . . thank you for your assistance.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said, closing his eyes.
How rude. Again, Kate nudged her to not get involved, so she kept her mouth shut. No matter. Soon, she would never see this rude man again.
Everything went silent inside the dark carriage for several minutes and she was thankful for it. Still, even in the dimness of the carriage, she felt his eyes on her. She shifted, and their knees touched. This confined space was starting to annoy her a great deal, and she kept looking out the grimy window to see if they were close to her destination.
“It was foolish of you to come to a place like this alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. I had a friend and my pistol.”
“Neither of which were helpful.”
“I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Waters, but I would like it if you kept your opinion to yourself.”
“It’s clear someone has to talk some sense into you,” he blurted out. “These men won’t think twice before taking liberties with women.”
She’d been lectured to for the last decade. She’d disliked it then, and she certainly didn’t like it now. “You needn’t preach to me. I am quite aware of the dangers.”
He muttered something to himself, then the stranger eased back into his seat. She felt the tension drip away slowly. Thank goodness. If she were lucky, he’d leave her be the rest of the ride home to Mayfair. She wasn’t a fool and was quite aware how dangerous it was going to be for her, but she had no other choice in the matter. She had promised Millie she’d return.
In the last decade, two letters from Millie had slipped through her grandmother’s fingers. One had arrived nine years ago, and the second letter a year ago. Millie had made no mention of her mother, just the crumbling situation she was living in. Amelia had sent some provisions and money through Kate, but since then, she hadn’t heard from Millie again. It was then she had known she must do something to help her. After all, Millie was a childhood friend; Amelia had even considered her a little sister.
The light from the street lamp splashed into the carriage and she caught a glimpse of the man’s face again. He was looking at her rather strangely, as if she were a thing to be studied under his scrutiny. There was intelligence in those eyes and his face . . . well, it was a sin to look the way he did. Positively sinful. Not mention rude.
Her gaze lowered to his finely formed cravat and his clothing donned in refined gentry. She knew she should look away, but she felt intoxicated by the lure she felt for this man. She’d never known herself to be this entranced by a man purely from his appearance, but there was something about him deep beneath those eyes of his.
Another flash of light spilled into the carriage, this time for a few seconds longer. Her gaze lowered to his broad shoulders, then to his well-muscled legs that filled his breeches well. Her gaze swooped up and met his again, and her heart leaped.
Amelia averted her gaze, not wanting to give away anything she wasn’t willing to. When she thought he wasn’t watching her, she peeked over and saw him look out the grimy window as if contemplating something.
Familiar streets of Mayfair alerted Amelia. Everyone remained silent and she was thankful for it. Tonight had been so filled with one disaster after another that she hadn’t even considered how she was going to find Millie now, given tonight’s unsuccessful venture. She had planned for every detail, but what had transpired tonight was not part of the equation. She needed to think.
When the carriage slowed, she saw a row of townhouses on Upper Brook Street. The carriage jerked and stopped. From where she was, she could imagine that dreadful Mrs. Pots pacing her carpet. She was like a hawk that never slept, reporting her every move to Amelia’s grandmother, that dreadful woman.
She must have looked worried, because the next thing she noticed was the man in front of her, watching her. He said, “I doubt she'll notice if you sneak in from the mews.”
She bit her lower lip, thinking about what she should say. Kate had already stepped off through the other door, gesturing for Amelia to join her.
“I suggest you take off your shoes first.”
Why didn’t she think of that? “Thank you,” she said, stepping off the carriage when he made no attempt to help her down. Why should he, when he thought she and Kate were only servants? Before she could say another word, he shut the carriage door and ordered the driver on.
Clearly, he didn’t care to be in their presence.
When the carriage was nearly out of sight, Kate said, “Delicious and heroic, isn’t he?”
“And rude,” Amelia retorted.
“Well, we did inconvenience him, didn’t we?”
“If you say so. Let’s get inside before someone notices we are missing.”
They quickly walked down the stairs that led to the kitchen and servants’ quarters, and Amelia slowly opened the door. She pulled her shoes off, and Kate followed suit without any comment.
In the dark, they speedily made their way through the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs to the second floor where Amelia’s room was located. Kate bid her goodnight and slipped into her room. Amelia’s room was near Mrs. Pots’, so she tiptoed to the room, avoiding the spots where the floor squeaked. When she was safely ensconced in her room, she exhaled.
In the dark, she hastily undressed and slipped under her blanket. Her mind ran wild, replaying the events of the night, including the stranger who had saved them. That insistent, insufferable, gallant man who’d had the courage to face danger and come to their rescue. She wondered who the man was for the umpteenth time.
No more than five minutes later, her door creaked open and a shadow appeared: Mrs. Pots. The woman lingered there for several seconds before she closed the door again. Amelia frowned. That woman. She had known Mrs. Pots long enough to predict her actions. The blasted woman didn't allow for any privacy, walking in and out of Amelia’s room as if she owned the place.
As annoyed as she was, it was late, and she needed to get some sleep. She doubted she would be able to, but she tried nonetheless. But even before a full minute had passed, thoughts of Millie came to her. She hoped to God she would find Millie soon. It would take a miracle. Did she even believe in such a thing? Knowing she didn’t, she felt her heart sink as she closed her eyes.
Earl Blackthorn closed his eyes and smiled as the rented carriage drove off after delivering the women to the Mayfair townhouse.
They had the audacity to present themselves as scullery maids. Hmm, he didn’t know where they had acquired the clothes, but he knew for certain they were no servants. Call it a hunch, and the very fact that these women had on very expensive pairs of silk shoes. Then there was their speech. The stolen carriage might have belonged to them, too. He’d been trained to notice even the most minute details as a spy for the Crown. Now retired, he’d thought he was done with such dubious activities.
Light from a street lamp streamed into the carriage and he saw something twinkle in the light before going dark again. Leaning forward, he grabbed it. The small ornate pouch felt like silk between his fingers. One of the women must have left it in the carriage in her haste to get back inside their townhouse unnoticed.
They were bloody hell reckless. Not even he would choose to go to East End in the middle of the night. Who were these bloody women? And why the hell were they skulking about in a place like Whitechapel?
“The damn bloody whore,” Sir Andres Kendall said, pulling off his black wig and tossing it on the desk in his study. That was a close one. He had had enough of Millie causing trouble in his life and now the chit, Amelia Knight, was vexing him. Tonight, he made a decision. He could no longer afford to have the whore running about causing trouble.
A knock on the door alerted him. Who the hell is it now?
Philip, his only child, peeked into his father’s study. Quickly shoving his wig into the bottom drawer, he waved his son into the study.
“Father, is everything all right?” Philip walked into the study and stopped in front of his father’s desk, worry etched on his face.
“Of course I am all right,” Kendall said to his idiot son. His curly red hair and constitution resembled his late mother. The only thing he seemed to have inherited from his father was his height of six feet and one inch.
“When you didn’t attend the dinner this evening, Lady Lucinda and I became worried.”
Damn, Kendall had forgotten about the dinner. His presence at East End had been a last-minute decision, one that he could not put off any longer. “I had matters to attend to, son, but rest assured, everything is all right.”
“Good,” Philip said, smiling.
Philip’s soon-to-be fiancée, Lucinda, was a budding beauty of the ton, and the third and youngest daughter of the Earl Hallwickton. At age seventeen, the brown-eyed beauty had taken a liking to Philip when they were introduced at a dinner party earlier that month. Kendall knew it would be a perfect opportunity to be connected to a title and long heritage, something he had often dreamt of since his son’s birth.
“I must make my apologies to the earl.”
“You are in luck, Father. I told the earl you had taken ill and retired for the evening,” Philip said, smiling wide. “If all goes well, I shall be asking for her hand in marriage, and I didn’t want any misunderstanding between the families.”
Kendall smiled in approval. For once, his son had learned something. This was a good sign. A good sign indeed.
When he’d seen Millie resting against the wall in the alley, sobbing and caressing her swollen belly, he’d known he was in luck. He’d been contemplating what to do with the whore when the two bitches showed up, causing him to hide in the dark.
Now that Millie was locked away in the attic of his townhouse, she wouldn’t be causing any more problems. He’d figure out what to do with the chit soon.