Heiress On The Run. Laura Martin
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was just too exhausted to take the few steps to the bed. Cursing under his breath, Edward strode back to her side and without asking permission he swept her up in his arms, carried her over to the bed and deposited her underneath the covers. The encounter must have only lasted ten seconds and throughout Edward gritted his teeth and concentrated on not becoming aware of the contours of Amelia’s body in his arms.
Efficiently he pulled the sheet and blanket up to Amelia’s chin, stood back and nodded in satisfaction. For a man who had barely spoken to anyone for three years he was rather pleased with his hospitality.
Amelia’s teeth began chattering and he could see her body spasming under the covers. Gently he leant over and touched her cheek. Her skin was still icy cold and had that worrying clammy feel to it. Edward hesitated. He wanted to leave, to retreat to another part of the house and sit out the night, waiting for the moment he could send Amelia on her way. He glanced down at Amelia again. Her lips had an unhealthy blue tinge and there were deep black rings surrounding her eyes.
Edward didn’t want Amelia here in his bed or in his house, but now she was he wasn’t going to let her die. He couldn’t have another death on his conscience. He knew the best way to warm a freezing body, but it felt wrong. Amelia let out a pained moan, her whole body convulsing, and Edward heard her begin to sob.
‘You’re going to be all right,’ he said as he slipped into the bed behind Amelia and looped his arm around her.
Through the covers he felt her stiffen as he made contact with her body. He wondered if she would throw him out, demand he leave her alone despite her desperate need for warmth. After a few seconds of indecision Edward felt her relax a little and bury her body closer to his, luxuriating in his warmth.
It was an unfamiliar sensation, having a young woman’s body pressed up against his own, and Edward found he kept having to remind himself exactly why he was doing this. He would take no enjoyment out of this situation, but despite his determination he found himself gripping Amelia just a little tighter. For years he had denied himself any human contact. Only now he was lying with a strange woman curled up against him in bed did he realise quite how much he’d missed another’s touch.
Amelia awoke slowly, revelling in the warmth of her bed and the comforting presence beside her. For just a few moments she was back in India, lying beside her cousin Lizzie, and her life was easy and pampered. Her eyes fluttered open and as she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling the events of the past few days came crashing back.
Warily Amelia turned her head and almost jumped from the bed with shock. Lying beside her, an arm flung casually across her waist, was the man who had rescued her from the cold, wet night and given her shelter. Forcing herself to remain calm, Amelia tried to piece together what had happened the previous night. She remembered seeking refuge from the storm and nearly dying from fright when Edward had surprised her as she’d undressed in front of the fire. After that her recollection of events was patchy at best. She had a vague feeling he had carried her through the house, but she couldn’t remember how she had got out of the rest of her wet clothes or just what had happened to mean they ended up sharing the same bed.
Risking another glance at the man beside her, Amelia studied his face. He looked youthful and innocent whilst he slept, the frown she remembered from the previous night smoothed over as he relaxed in his sleep. He had a shock of dark hair, too long to be fashionable, and strong, manly features. Edward was the complete opposite of McNair, who was lithe and slender and beautiful.
Choking back a sob, Amelia remembered the events of three days ago and had to close her eyes as a wave of nausea overcame her. She’d killed someone. Never again would she wake up and not be a murderer. She might be a fugitive, running from the law, but McNair, beautiful, vibrant McNair, was dead and it was all her fault. Amelia could feel her hands shaking as she remembered McNair’s gasp of surprise as the letter opener slid into his flesh and how after that one movement she had frozen, unable to let go, unable to pull away.
Beside her Edward stirred and Amelia rallied, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin.
It wasn’t my fault. She repeated it to herself, forcing the disturbing images and memories from her mind.
She watched as the man beside her slowly emerged from his sleep. Amelia had never woken to a man in her bed before and it was fascinating to see how he stretched and wriggled before finally opening his eyes.
Edward’s body froze and his eyes shot wide open the moment he saw her.
‘Good,’ he said gruffly. ‘You’re still alive.’
Amelia bristled. She wasn’t sure what the etiquette was in this situation, but she rather thought he should greet her with something more poetic, more reassuring.
Without any further communication Edward swung his legs out of the bed and stood, gathering the dressing gown he’d slept in around himself. Amelia caught a glimpse of muscular legs and strong forearms before he was halfway across the room.
‘What happened last night?’
Edward turned to face her.
‘I remember you finding me in the drawing room, but not much else.’
He shrugged. ‘You were cold. I put you to bed.’
A man of few words it would seem.
‘And how did you end up in bed with me?’ Amelia asked frostily. Two could play at that game.
Edward had the decency to colour a little, but otherwise he seemed unperturbed.
‘You were shivering despite the fire and the blankets. I didn’t want you to die so I added my body heat.’
He made it sound so detached, so clinical. Without another word he crossed to the door and opened it.
‘Thank you,’ Amelia said softly.
Edward turned around, gave a short nod, then left. Amelia stared open mouthed after him. Despite all her flirtations she was an innocent, but even so she knew a man of good breeding did not just run out on a woman he’d spent the night in the same bed with. She felt the irritation at being so easily dismissed build inside her and it was a welcome distraction from the guilt and despair she’d subjected herself to over the last few days.
With a huff she got out of bed, gathering the loose material of the nightshirt around her body and letting her bare feet sink into the plush woven rug. Slowly she started to explore the room, running her fingers over the well-made if slight tatty furniture and examining the paintings on the wall. As she came to the large desk set at one end of the room she paused, her eyes settling on the numerous pieces of paper scattered across it. Eyes stared up at her from beautifully rendered sketches, drawing after drawing depicting people as they really were, not the stylised creations 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