The damp smell of wood provided the air with a thick mustiness that was hard to inhale. Coughing, Amelia watched tiny drops of water cling to a stain on the ceiling. One by one, they spilled into the puddle that sat on the floor.
“The recent rain we’ve been having has not been very helpful,” Mr. Gorrell said, following her gaze. “Perhaps you are starting to reconsider?”
Amelia shook her head. “Not at all.”
“You ought to know that that is not the only leak.” Scraping the heels of his shoes across the unvarnished wood planking, he walked past a staircase that looked too fragile to carry anyone up it.
Amelia followed him into the adjoining room that would once have been used as a parlor. The paint on the walls was now chipped and peeling. Cracks stretched like veins across the plaster while the parts of the molding that had not gone missing sagged with exhaustion. To think this place—this house—had once been as grand as her own, that the wealthy had come here for tea and dinner and perhaps even the occasional ball, was both sad and wonderful all at once.
Turning toward a grimy window, she glanced out at the London scenery beyond. It was unusually bright and inviting now that it stood in contrast to this pitiable interior, which seemed to have been drained of all color. With a sigh, she went to the table where Mr. Gorrell waited and took a seat on the closest chair.
“I am not easily put off,” she told the solicitor, “at least not once I’ve set my mind to something.”
“Perhaps this list of necessary work will change your mind.” He handed her a piece of paper. “Since our previous meeting, I thought it prudent to ask a few laborers to give an assessment of the damage and what might be required in order to make the house habitable.”
“Thank you.” Amelia scanned the bold letters and the long column of words they formed. “The entire roof must be replaced?”
“You cannot be surprised by that, surely?”
Biting her lip, she returned her attention to the necessary repairs, which included broken marble in the ballroom, a hole in the dining-room wall, missing floor planks throughout and three blocked chimneys. “Do you know how much of the wood has rotted?”
“Enough for it to be a bother.”
Lifting her gaze, Amelia gave Mr. Gorrell the same assessing gaze she’d used on street vendors in St. Giles whenever she’d felt they were trying to get the best of her. “That isn’t a very useful answer.”
Mr. Gorrell shrugged. “What do you want me to say? You can see for yourself how run-down it looks. Frankly I can’t comprehend your interest in the place. If it were up to me, I’d probably have it torn down.”
“That would be a pity.”
Leaning forward, Mr. Gorrell crossed his arms on the table and gave Amelia the sort of hard look that might have unnerved a more timid woman. Influenced by a harsh past, she remained unaffected and stared straight back into his narrowed eyes.
“What can you possibly want with it?” he asked.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to keep my intentions pertaining to the property private.” She slid the piece of paper back to him. “These repairs are not enough to deter me. On the contrary, I am prepared to pay the full price for it today as long as you have the necessary papers for me to sign.”
“I did bring them with me,” he said, “but I’m afraid the three thousand pounds we discussed will no longer be sufficient.”
A cold chill swept over Amelia’s shoulders while her stomach pinched itself together with the feeling that he was taking advantage of her. Well, he was about to discover that where this matter was concerned, he would not be dealing with a duke’s mild-mannered sister, but with a woman accustomed to bargaining with thieves.
“When last we spoke, you told me that was the price for the building, and you assured me you would sell it to me if I was able to gather the funds. Well, I have done so, and I am ready to pay.”
“Unfortunately, there has been some development since then.”
“What development?”
He shrugged as though her interest in the property no longer mattered, which was quite a change from the eagerness with which he’d greeted her the first time she’d come to inquire about the building. As she understood it, the owner had been an old heiress who’d been driven into poverty by a series of lovers on whom she’d squandered her fortune. Forgotten and impoverished, she’d died alone in a part of town that none of the people she’d known in her youth had cared to visit. With no heirs, the house had been handed over to her solicitor, who was now trying to sell it for profit.
“As it turns out,” Mr. Gorrell said, “you are not the only interested party.”
She caught that thought and held it for a moment while considering its significance. “Who am I competing against?”
“Well. I cannot possibly tell you that without getting myself into a fair bit of trouble.”
“Very well.” She sat back and crossed her arms. “What is this other person’s counteroffer?”
Mr. Gorrell smiled at that point with the sort of glee that made the fine hair at the back of Amelia’s neck stand on end. “Five thousand.”
Maintaining a blank expression proved difficult. She stared back at the greedy solicitor with dumbfounded shock and blinked. “I beg your pardon, but did you just say five thousand?”
“I am as stunned as you, I assure you. I even thought three thousand might have been a stretch but this is proving to be quite a sought-after address.” He followed that comment with a chuckle.
“Right.” Amelia balled her hands into fists and straightened her spine. “Have you accepted the offer yet?”
Mr. Gorrell shook his head. “No, my lady. You were the first potential buyer to show an interest, so I thought it only fair to inform you of the development before moving ahead with someone else—give you a chance to counter, even though I’m sure you’d rather not.”
“Well, Mr. Gorrell, that is where you are wrong.” She had no idea where she would find the extra money, but acquiring this building was so essential to her plan she would have to figure it out somehow. “I will give you five thousand five hundred for it, but only if we sign the papers today.”
Mr. Gorrell’s eyes widened. “You cannot possibly have brought that much blunt with you.”
“Of course not. But I can give you the three thousand pounds we initially agreed upon as security. You’ll have to give me a week in which to come up with the rest.”
The way he pinched his lips together proved he wasn’t in favor of the idea, but eventually the promise of making an additional five hundred pounds must have convinced him, because he stuck his hand out across the table and waited for her to shake it. She did so with the awful feeling she’d just been hoodwinked, but at least the house would finally be hers, even if she didn’t have a clue as to how she was going to pay for it.
“Here we are then.” Mr. Gorrell pulled a collection of papers from his portmanteau. An inkwell and a quill were placed on the table beside them. Amelia watched as he dipped the quill in the ink and proceeded to add what appeared to be the date and his signature. “Sign here please,” he said. He handed her the quill and pushed the papers toward her, pointing to a spot right beneath his own handwriting.
“Perhaps we should note that the sum will not be paid in full today?” she asked, adding her own signature to the proof of sale. She handed the quill back to Gorrell.
Once this was done, she retrieved the staggering amount of money she’d brought along with her and placed it on the table between them.
Gorrell’s fingers snatched up the notes, his lips twitching slightly while he proceeded to count them. “I shall give you a receipt,” Gorrell said. He reached for another piece of paper, scribbled a few sentences and then handed it over to Amelia before saying, “I’m also going to write up a promise note and have it delivered to your house.” All signs of pleasure vanishing from his features, he gave her a stern look. “You understand the consequence of not making good on the money you now owe me, I hope?”
Swallowing, Amelia tried not to be unnerved by the situation she was now in. “A debt collector will come to call on me.”
When he nodded, she felt her skin tighten around her shoulders. Raphe would have to be informed of her predicament, which wasn’t as awful as it might have been if he hadn’t known about her interest in the building. But he had already forwarded her an entire year’s allowance so she would be able to pay for the project and all of the renovations it would entail. The idea of asking him for more did not sit well with her at all. Besides, doing so would be impossible, since he would not be back from Paris in time to help her. Not to mention the fact that he thought she was looking to invest in a Mayfair home. This particular building would likely shock him.
“Interest will be added,” Mr. Gorrell said. He returned his things to his bag, rose, and gave her a solemn look. “So I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Thank you, sir. You needn’t worry about getting paid.” With that promise, she walked him out into the drafty foyer. “If you don’t mind, I would like to remain here a little and take a closer look at the various issues.”
Without arguing, he handed her the keys. “Just be sure to lock the door when you leave, or you’ll have squatters living here by the end of the day. I’ve a spare set at my office, which I’ll hand over to you when you make the last payment.”
Thanking him for his advice, she bid him a good day and waited for him to leave. The house was almost hers, and nothing in the world had ever felt more satisfying than that. Not even the missing wall paneling in the library could put a damper on the good mood she was now in. Unfortunately, not a single book remained on the shelves. They’d probably been sold along with the furniture and other items; an entire life’s worth of thoughtful purchases broken up into parts.
Moving on to the dining room, she noticed damp spots on the walls. The floor warped beneath her feet, and beyond the three tall windows she could see a tangle of untamed shrubs and weeds.
When she started up the main stairs and felt the railing give way against rot, she wondered if she’d been a fool not to walk away. “Five thousand five hundred pounds.” The sum ghosted through the dank space, preceding her onto the landing. “I must be mad.” At three thousand, she might have been able to sell the place and turn a profit if her project failed and she was forced to do so.
Expelling a breath, she stepped over a puddle and went to look out one of the bedroom windows. The rain was picking up, and people on the street below were moving faster. She would have to join them soon if she was to get home before Juliette and Lady Everly returned. And since there was no point in lingering here, she decided to head back out now before it really started to pour.
With that in mind, she turned to leave the room but was halted when a loud thud shook the walls. It almost sounded like the front door slamming, which could only mean that someone else was now in the house with her. Stopping to listen, she held her breath for so long she almost managed to convince herself she must have imagined the whole thing. Until footsteps began tapping a slow and torturous beat.
Amelia felt her heart thump with discomfort, then chastised herself for being so silly. It was probably just Mr. Gorrell, who’d forgotten to tell her something. But wouldn’t he call out to her then? Looking around, she spotted a piece of dislodged planking. It wasn’t exactly her weapon of choice, but it would have to do.
So she grabbed it with both hands, then tiptoed back out onto the landing. There, she squared her shoulders and forced herself to stay calm. She was not some helpless woman. Her brother had showed her how to defend herself against men who might threaten her.
With this in mind, she started down the stairs, pausing every now and again in order to listen. Nothing. She continued forward, stepping onto the floor below without making a sound. Again she listened, this time hearing the scraping of heels against wood. Her stomach tightened, as did her hold on the board she carried. Glancing across at the front door, she considered making a run for it. But then what? She’d lock up the house with a stranger inside?
Another noise came from the hallway, and Amelia swung toward it. She was now determined to get rid of whoever it was who had chosen to enter without permission. Rounding a corner, she watched as a shadow slid across the floor and disappeared into the study. Her mouth went dry, but she didn’t let that put an end to her hunt. She was chasing him, not the other way around, which meant she had the element of—
A tall broad-shouldered figure stepped out, and Amelia screamed as she swung the plank straight at the intruder. Except the hallway’s width did not allow for her to make a full rotation. Instead, she struck the wall with a bang that sent tremors shooting through her hands. She dropped the plank and, finding herself unarmed, curled her fingers into a fist and proceeded to strike.
A large hand grabbed hold of her wrist before she delivered the blow. So she tried with the other until this too was trapped by her attacker, which left her with only one choice. Swinging her leg back, she prepared to kick as hard as she could.
“Stop!”
The voice that spoke froze her in place more effectively than anything else would have. It prompted her heart to thump out a much faster rhythm. Beneath her woolen dress she could feel her skin prick with a flush of mortified heat. Pulling breaths into her lungs, she forced herself to look up and acknowledge the fact that the man who held her was worse than a stranger. And as her eyes met Coventry’s from beneath her dark lashes, she knew what it meant to be truly afraid, because she had never in all of her life seen a man look back at her with such intense fury.