you often saw in professional portraits.
‘I’ve brought you some clothes,’ Edward’s voice came from near the door. For a tall, powerful man he moved surprisingly quietly.
Amelia jumped back guiltily. She hadn’t done anything wrong, the sketches had been lying on the desk, not locked away in a drawer, but still she sensed she’d trespassed on something very private and personal.
‘Thank you,’ she said, crossing the room and taking the clothes from Edward’s arms.
‘I will be downstairs in the kitchen. Once you’re dressed join me. It’s at the back of the house.’
‘I’m sorry...’ Amelia started to say, but Edward had already gone, closing the door behind him with a resounding thud.
Laying the clothes out on the bed Amelia was surprised to find the styles modern and the garments in good condition. She wondered why this strange, solitary man had women’s clothes stored in the house. She couldn’t picture him with a mistress squirrelled away somewhere—maybe a wife, someone mousy and quiet, but evidently not around any more.
Everything was too big on Amelia’s petite form, but the clothes were clean and dry, and vitally not covered in blood. She badly wanted a bath, a long soak in a deep tub to clean all the grime from her body and soothe her aching muscles, but she sensed she was as likely to get that as the possibility of a man walking on the moon. So instead she scrutinised herself in the small mirror hung on one wall and tidied herself up the best she could.
Grimacing as she noticed the slight swelling to one side of her face, Amelia touched her cheek gently. She could still feel McNair’s fist crunching against her delicate bones and quickly she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the memory of what happened next flashing before her eyes.
With great effort Amelia opened her eyes and tried out a breezy smile. She needed Edward to let her stay here in this strange, half-derelict house, at least for a few days. McNair’s death would have been discovered by now and someone would be hot on her trail. Even though Amelia knew she had committed an awful crime, she didn’t want to hang for it. She felt remorse and regret, but truly it had been in self-defence. Nevertheless she had fled the scene and, as a young woman with no husband and her father many thousands of miles away in India, Amelia wasn’t so naive to think she would get off lightly. No, the best course of action would be to hide away somewhere until her trail had gone cold and then find a way to fund her passage back to India. Her father would be irate, but he loved her and would make sure she was safe.
No one would think to look for her here in this house inhabited only by a reclusive bachelor. She just had to persuade Edward to let her stay for a few days, maybe a week. She wished she had something to offer, some practical skill that would make her indispensable, but her upbringing had consisted of painting watercolours, playing the piano and dreaming of a more exciting life.
Straightening her back, Amelia raised her chin and took a deep breath. She was Amelia Eastway. She’d never struggled to get men to do her bidding. Although she rather suspected she had never come across a man quite like Edward before.
* * *
Edward clattered around in the kitchen, his mood blackening with every second he couldn’t find the bread Mrs Henshaw had left him the day before. For three years he had lived undisturbed in his private refuge. Only Mrs Henshaw, his old housekeeper who had retired to a cottage in the village, came to visit him nowadays, bringing fresh food every few days and keeping the house from falling into complete disrepair.
Now his refuge had been invaded by an impish and vivacious young woman who had already started going through his private possessions. Granted the sketches had just been left lying on his desk, but when he’d first got into bed the night before he hadn’t expected to start the morning with a stranger in his bedroom.
He needed her gone, Edward decided as he located the loaf of bread and cut two thick slices. His reaction to her was uncomfortable and he knew it was more than a desire for a return of his privacy that drove that reaction. This morning as he’d woken to a warm, soft body in his bed he’d felt a primal stirring deep inside him. It was absurd and now Edward was even more determined to hasten Amelia’s departure from his house.
‘Do you live completely on your own?’ Amelia asked as she swept into the room. For such a petite little thing she had a way of commanding your attention. A breezy smile was affixed to her lips and Edward wondered again what pain she was trying to hide.
‘Completely. My old housekeeper visits twice a week to deliver some food and other essentials.’
‘You don’t go down to the village?’
Edward shook his head, trying to ignore her incredulous expression. He had ventured out in the painful months after the fire, but the looks filled with pity and the expressions of concern had soon put a stop to his trips to the village.
‘I have everything I need here,’ he said brusquely, trying to discourage her from asking any more questions.
Amelia wrinkled her nose and looked around.
‘Don’t you get lonely?’ she asked. ‘Or bored?’
‘No. Not everyone likes chattering away incessantly.’
Amelia looked at him as if she expected him to elaborate further.
He had his sketches and his books, he still kept an eye on the running of the estate, although he had a reliable steward who did most of the work for him. As for loneliness, it was a welcome penance for the guilt he felt for surviving the fire.
‘Maybe you would like a little company?’ Amelia asked, with a quick glance at his expression.
Edward’s first instinct was to march Amelia straight out the front door that instant, but then he paused. She’d survived the night and was back on her feet, there was nothing to hinder her departure today so he could afford to be a little more courteous.
‘I can be very good company,’ Amelia said.
She might think herself a woman of the world, this little minx, but he could tell straight away that she was innocent in many of her ways.
‘Company?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Immediately he saw the colour start to rise in her cheeks and her bottom lip drop slightly.
‘Not like...that is to say...’
‘I know we shared a bed last night, but I am not that sort of gentleman,’ Edward said.
‘I wasn’t suggesting...’
‘I’m teasing you,’ he said, knowing his serious expression didn’t quite tally with his words. Maybe he should stick to his more sombre demeanour.
‘Oh. Of course.’
Amelia drummed her fingers on the table as she struggled to regain her composure and Edward took the opportunity to study her properly. She was pretty, there was no denying it. Petite and slender with large brown eyes and soft blonde hair. The sort of young woman who would cause a stir when making her debut in society. His keen artist’s eye also caught details others might not notice: the nervous energy that stopped her from standing still for more than two seconds, the little pucker in the skin between her eyebrows that appeared when she was thinking and the way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as she decided what to say next.
She was nervous, Edward realised, more nervous than the circumstances should warrant. True, she was in a strange house with a reclusive man, but she’d survived the night unmolested—most young women would solely be concerned with how to leave with their reputations intact. Edward didn’t think it was her reputation she was worried about, there was something much bigger going on in Amelia’s life.
He thought back to the blood-covered clothes and the panicked state she had been in when he’d first found her almost collapsed in his sitting room. Last night she’d said she had been attacked and had fought back, but Edward sensed there was more to the story than that. For a few seconds he deliberated,