Chapter Three

      Amelia fidgeted as Edward placed a thick coat over her shoulders. She didn’t want to leave. Somehow this strange half-derelict house felt safe, and once she was out in the real world again she knew it was only a matter of time before the consequences of her deeds caught up with her.

      ‘Maybe I could stay for lunch?’ Amelia suggested.

      ‘I don’t have any food in the house.’

      The man was infuriating. Every suggestion she came up with he shot down with that calm tone of voice and unshakeable demeanour.

      ‘I think I left something upstairs.’ Amelia was beginning to panic now. The outside world was looming closer and she didn’t know if she could cope with another indeterminate period on the run.

      ‘You didn’t bring anything with you.’

      Amelia scrabbled for something, anything she might have left behind, just to buy herself a few more minutes. She needed to think of a reason to stay, something that would convince Edward it would be in everyone’s best interests.

      ‘Please,’ she said quietly, ‘I can’t go out there.’

      This quiet plea made Edward pause and for a moment Amelia thought he might relent.

      ‘Why not?’ he asked.

      Amelia swallowed and bit her lip. She couldn’t exactly tell him the truth. Admitting she was a murderer would only speed her departure from the house, not prolong her stay.

      With wide eyes Amelia felt the desperation and despair all come crashing together and knew she had everything to lose. If Edward insisted she leave, she had no doubt whoever it was that was chasing her would catch up with her within a day or two. She couldn’t sustain her progress any longer, she was exhausted and her feet covered in blisters. Here she had a chance at avoiding the hangman’s noose and she realised she would do anything for it.

      Straightening her back and lifting her chin, Amelia looked Edward directly in the eye and smiled shyly at him.

      ‘If I stay we could get to know one another better,’ she said, trailing a finger up his arm.

      Edward stood completely still, his eyes following the progress of her finger. The heat began to rise in Amelia’s cheeks, but she knew she had to give this her best shot. Humiliation and ruin was nothing compared to being found guilty of murder.

      ‘I promise I’m very good company.’ She didn’t even really know what that meant, but she’d overheard some of the less virtuous women use the phrase at a regimental party a few years ago.

      Edward took her hand, removed it from his arm and let go, allowing it to drop back to her side. His face was stony and devoid of expression and his movements almost stiff. Amelia felt the flood of shame wash over her. In a way it would have been better if he’d laughed, at least then she would have known he wasn’t disgusted by her proposition.

      ‘It must get lonely, living here all by yourself,’ Amelia said, giving it one last try. She was desperate and she knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. Self-preservation was at the top of her list of priorities, she would have time for embarrassment and regret when she was safe.

      ‘Come on, otherwise we will miss the stagecoach.’ Edward said, ignoring her last few comments. He didn’t sound angry or disgusted, just tired and worn down, and for a moment Amelia wondered why he was so keen to get rid of her.

      Amelia dawdled a little longer, wasting as much time as possible fiddling with the laces on the boots he’d found her and adjusting the bodice of her dress.

      Eventually Edward sighed, gripped her arm and led her firmly out of the front door.

      It was a cool day, clear and crisp after the storm of the night before. Amelia huddled into the cloak draped around her shoulders and reluctantly allowed Edward to lead her down the sweeping driveway.

      ‘I could tidy up your garden,’ Amelia said without much hope as they passed another overgrown flowerbed.

      ‘I like it this way.’

      ‘No, you don’t.’ No one could. The garden had potential, great potential, and Amelia could see a few years ago it would have looked much different. Someone had lovingly planned and planted, landscaped and tended, but it had fallen into ruin along with the rest of the house.

      Edward shrugged again, that infuriating movement he seemed to favour when she challenged him about anything, and continued his steady pace down the driveway. Amelia glanced back at the house and found her heart sinking. Every step they took resulted in her being further away from the place that she’d hoped would be her sanctuary for a few days. She felt like turning and running back inside, slamming the door and locking it shut.

      ‘The village is only twenty minutes away,’ Edward said as they reached the wrought-iron gates Amelia had squeezed through the night before. ‘If you don’t walk at the pace of a lethargic snail,’ he added under his breath as she lagged behind, dragging her feet.

      She watched as he tore some of the overgrown vegetation from the bars of the gates, frowning thoughtfully as he did so. Amelia wondered if he saw the house and gardens as she did, with all the cracks and faults, or if when he looked around he saw the place as it used to be.

      As Edward pushed open the gates Amelia felt an icy stab of panic jolt through her body. Inside the estate grounds she felt peculiarly safe and now she was being asked to step over the threshold. Out here, in the wider world, who knew what awaited her.

      As if sensing her reticence to step through the gates, Edward paused for a moment and looked at her with his searching brown eyes.

      ‘The road is clear,’ he said, ‘So unless there’s any further reasons you can’t possibly leave shall we be on our way?’

      For a second she almost blurted it all out. It would be a relief to share what had happened with someone, to tell the whole sordid tale. She wondered how Edward would react, if he would respond kindly and calmly, or push her away. Maybe he would let her stay, take pity on her and agree to shelter her from the world. Or maybe he would turn her over to whoever was hunting her down.

      Unconsciously she raised a hand to her throat, rubbing the skin of her neck at the thought of a noose tightening around her throat.

      ‘Nothing,’