Heiress On The Run. Laura MartinЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Four

      Amelia sank back into the comfortable, worn armchair and closed her eyes for a few seconds. She felt exhausted, even though it wasn’t yet midday. For the duration of the trip out to the village she had been petrified, in a state of high alert, seeing danger where there was none and ready to flee at the slightest provocation.

      When she’d leaped into the bushes at the side of the road, taking Edward with her, she really had thought someone was looking for her. A tall, serious man with an official-looking uniform had started walking down the lane towards them and Amelia had been convinced this man had tracked her across the South Downs and was here to take her away to face justice. When she’d pointed him out to Edward on their return dash through the village he’d actually laughed before telling her he was the local postman.

      After her confession Edward had gone quiet, studied her for some time, then started to lead her back through the village.

      ‘We’ll talk back at the house,’ he’d said and hardly uttered a word after that.

      Amelia wondered if she should be scared. He might be summoning the local magistrate right now, eager to hand over the murderer sitting in his cosy armchair and be done with the drama she had brought into his life. Although she hardly knew the man, Amelia couldn’t find it in herself to be overly worried. He seemed fair and honourable, and she thought he would at least give her the chance to explain the circumstances before deciding what to do with her.

      ‘Whisky,’ Edward said as he entered the room, ‘and biscuits, it’s been quite a morning.’

      Amelia watched as he poured out two glasses of whisky and handed her one. Cautiously she sniffed the rich, caramel-coloured liquid before taking a gulp.

      ‘Careful,’ he cautioned.

      She felt the wonderful burn in her throat followed by a warm sensation in her stomach and felt herself relax a little.

      ‘Not the first time you’ve had whisky?’

      She shook her head. ‘Back home in India the soldiers were always happy to share.’

      ‘So you actually did grow up in India?’

      ‘I’ve lived there my whole life. Until I disembarked the ship a week ago I’d never been to England before.’

      ‘I think you should start at the beginning,’ Edward said quietly. ‘Tell me everything and then we will decide what is to be done.’

      Amelia felt herself complying with his order and bristled. She didn’t like being told what to do and especially not by a man who she barely knew, but there was something authoritative about his tone, something that promised to sort things out, that made her relax back into the chair and do as he suggested.

      She wasn’t quite sure where the beginning was. In all honesty she probably would have to start far back in her childhood to make complete sense, but she felt Edward might lose patience if she began recalling the details of her mother’s death and the emptiness that followed. He wasn’t a man to hide his irritation.

      ‘Two years ago I met a man out in India. My father is a retired colonel and he still has much to do with the army and the officers stationed in India. He hosted a ball and it was there I met Captain McNair.’

      Amelia didn’t confess how she’d been swept off her feet immediately by his easygoing manner and charming façade. She had been bored, tired of the same routine day in and day out, and she’d been ripe for a seduction.

      ‘We met in secret, in the months following the ball, and after a few meetings McNair professed his love for me.’

      ‘Why the secrecy?’ Edward asked, getting to the point in that calm, shrewd, way of his.

      Amelia felt her cheeks start to colour with the shame of her naivety. At the time she’d believed McNair’s wishy-washy excuses to keep their relationship a secret; his desire to gain a promotion before approaching her father, not wanting to conduct their courtship under his commanding officer’s watchful eye. Amelia had believed him because she’d wanted to believe him. At first she’d even kept the relationship secret from her cousin Lizzie, her closest confidant.

      ‘I was young and naive and I thought he wanted to marry me,’ Amelia said simply.

      He had wanted to marry her, of course—most men in India did when they discovered she was the wealthiest heiress in the subcontinent.

      ‘We courted in secret for almost eight months, snatching precious moments whenever we could, and then suddenly he disappeared. I waited for him, searched for him and eventually found out he had been sent back to England. I even wrote to his commanding officer for information, but his reply was a curt note telling me to forget about Captain McNair.’

      Amelia glanced at Edward sitting across from her. It felt strange to be admitting all this to a virtual stranger, especially when she hadn’t even told her nearest and dearest the truth.

      ‘Can I surmise you didn’t take the commanding officer’s advice?’

      Amelia shook her head. ‘I couldn’t forget about him. I thought we were meant to be together.’

      It was galling, really, when she thought of how much time and energy she had wasted trying to track McNair down.

      ‘My behaviour became a little...erratic, and after some time my father decided to send me to England to stay with my aunt and have a London Season.’

      And find a respectable husband. The words had never been explicitly said by her father, but he’d made it quite clear he wanted her happy and settled, and that he expected a good match from her. Edward leaned back in his chair and watched her intently as she told her story. There was something searching and assessing in his gaze, and she had the impression he was committing her to memory, maybe for one of his sketches he seemed so fond of.

      ‘When I got to England I persuaded my cousin Lizzie to assume my identity for a few weeks whilst I slipped away. I’d found McNair’s address and was determined for us to be reunited.’

      Amelia didn’t recount the dizzy anticipation she’d felt on her journey to Brighton. Her thoughts had been full of breathless reunions, impassioned kisses and romantic vows never to be apart. The reality had been so much different.

      ‘When I got to his address McNair was more than a little shocked to see me, but he recovered quickly.’

      She closed her eyes as she remembered the honeyed words he’d used to placate her after his first expression had not been of complete pleasure. He’d led her into his rooms, entwining his fingers with hers and had whispered all manner of scandalous endearments in her ear. Amelia had fallen for him all over again, her infatuation deepening every minute she was in his company.

      Amelia glanced at Edward, unsure how much to say. He seemed to pick up on her hesitation and wordlessly stood, crossed the short distance between them and refilled her glass with whisky. Amelia took a fortifying sip as she remembered McNair’s kiss, the way his lips had trailed over her skin, the light dance of his fingertips over her back and the warmth of his body pressed close to hers.

      She would have given herself to him, completely and utterly. It was only pure luck that she had not fallen into bed with the man she’d thought she loved.

      ‘We were disturbed and McNair left the room for some moments. Whilst he was gone I wandered around, looking at this and that. Then I saw the will on his desk.’

      She’d stared at it for a whole minute, uncomprehending. Reading the letters, but their meaning not fully sinking in.

      ‘It was his wife’s will. It transpires that she had become unwell just over a year ago, coinciding with McNair’s return to England. She had passed away at the end of last month.’

      ‘You