The Wild Wellingham Brothers. Sophia James
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‘Witchcraft.’
She laughed at the absurdity of it, thinking of Wing-Jin and his patient teachings aboard the Mariposa.
‘A society without rules is more dangerous then a society with too many. Have you ever heard of the pirate Beau Sandford?’
The colour drained right out of her face. ‘He was an acquaintance of my father’s.’
‘The devout and honourable Reverend?”
‘The very religious treat each man as redeemable.’
She could barely utter the words said next. ‘It is said that you killed this man?’
She expected him to brag about doing just that. But he didn’t, and the pain in his eyes held her rooted to the spot, neither moving nor speaking.
My God, what had she done to him? His words from the night in the gardens at Falder came back to her. ‘I was not at home for Melanie’s funeral. I should have been home.’
She had given his statement little notice before, imagining that perhaps he was on one of his ships plying the coast of foreign lands for cargo. Could there have been a more sinister reason for his absence and for his injuries and for the sleepless midnights when he wandered his library drink in hand and waited for the dawn? She turned to leave.
‘No.’ Asher’s voice was tired, but he fought for consciousness with the same one-tracked determination as he seemed to fight everything else. ‘You will stay, Emma. The deal. Promise me that you will.’
‘I need to talk to Miriam.’
‘No. It is not safe to leave.’
‘My aunt will not understand what is happening.’
‘Taris will speak with her.’
The lines between his nose and mouth were pronounced. He was exhausted, yet he still fought to have her stay. With him.
‘This cannot be proper—’ she began, but he broke across her words and smiled.
‘Proper? When was anything proper between us?’
When she did not answer he rang the bell on his bedside table. Sweat beaded his upper lip.
‘If you are in pain, I could help you.’
‘No. Just…want your promise to stay.’ His voice shook with exhaustion and his hair was dark and damp against the white of the sheets as he instructed his servant to see her to a room.
Emerald slipped through the kitchens into the garden. She had been at Carisbrook House for almost five days now, though she had not seen Asher since the day of her arrival. Her questions as to his state of health had all been answered perfunctorily by the servants, but had included no mention of an invite to see him and so she had stayed away.
Miriam had been installed in the room next to her and the cold her aunt was suffering seemed remarkably better with the ministrations of the Wellingham physician. This morning Emerald had sat reading to her, but now Emerald needed some space, some air and some exercise to temper the quiet edge of waiting.
The gardens, while not as large as those at Falder, were complex and the small sound of a boot scuffed against the shell path had her walking on further and turning a corner. Taris Wellingham sat on a wide marble garden seat, his hat in his lap and his face turned towards the sun.
‘Lady Emma,’ he said as he registered her presence.
‘You knew it was me?’ she said before realising the rudeness of such a question.
He smiled. ‘Lack of sight heightens the hearing and you walk with a particular gait.’ Tilting his head, he continued. ‘You walk your world like one who is not at home in England.’
Emerald was still as she considered a response, though he did not seem to require one as he continued talking.
‘If you sit with me for a moment, I would like to tell you a little about my brother.’
He waited as she rearranged her skirts and took a place beside him and when he started to talk she heard a reticence. ‘Asher thinks that you need…protecting.’
‘Does he?’ She could barely answer.
‘He thinks that you may be in trouble and he is a man who knows his responsibilities and sticks by them. Stability. Trust. Loyalty. All fine qualities, would you not agree?’
‘I would.’
‘And he is different since he met you, happier, for he has let few others close since his return from the Caribbean.’
Emerald frowned, uncertain now as to where this conversation was leading. Was it a warning?
‘He was held captive for a year after the pirate Sandford ambushed his ship off Turks Island. And when a ransom note came to Falder and we finally found out where Asher was, he was full of only one thing—revenge. He came home only to get better to go back again a year later.’
Oh, God. Emerald tried to stop the aching lump of guilt that congealed in her throat from spilling over into her eyes.
This was all her fault.
When she had thrown Asher into the ocean as a means of saving him from the wrath of her father, no one could have foreseen the consequences. And this very minute was one of them.
She had ruined his life. Irrevocably. Undeniably.
‘Emma?’ His hand covered hers. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She stood and forced a smile on her face.
Judas. Traitor. Liar.
If she saw Asher now, he would know.
Pleading a headache, she fled to her room and lay down on her blanket near the window, stuffing the fabric in her mouth to stop the sobs that gathered in the back of her throat.
All my fault…all my fault. The litany of guilt was like a mantra. His wife, his scars, Taris’s lack of sight and his lost years. Lord, she had done all this to him. Unknowingly. The serpent in the Garden of Eden.
Her.
She crept down the corridor and across the stairs to the landing on the first floor.
Asher’s rooms.
A spike of panic nearly had her turning away from the heavy door, but she made herself stand still until the fear had passed and then pressed on silently. Opening the door, she turned the key in the lock as she shut it behind her. It was dark inside and the glow from a fire in the grate of an adjoining room threw shadows over everything. A quick glance at the moon through the windows gave her a rough timing. Around three o’clock. She stood still until she had her bearings and listened until the scrape of a quill upon parchment drew her attention. He was writing at his desk? Her heart began to thud and the thin cotton shift she wore stuck to the moisture building across her skin. But she would not waver.
‘Who’s there?’ His voice was close, husky, and she could not quite find it in herself to answer.
Emerald.
Beau’s daughter.
Judas.
A chair scraped across parquet and then he was in the room, shirt-tails pulled from his trousers and wearing no cravat. Even in the lack of light she could make out the thick wedge of bandage beneath his shirt.
Was it too soon? Six days since the attack.
She placed her arms by her side and made herself relax.
‘Emma?’ A whisper of disbelief was underscored by soft puzzlement as his eyes came to rest