Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3)

by Tiffany Green

  He faced the housekeeper. “It was I who detained—” he cast a quick sideways glance “—Mrs. Wesson.”

  Mrs. Briggs lifted her brows. “I see. Well, then,” she turned to Amelia, “your dinner is ready, Mrs. Wesson.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Briggs, she’ll be there in a moment,” Jack stated before Amelia could respond.

  With frown for each of them, Mrs. Briggs left.

  Jack turned to her, a smile edging onto his lips. “Go have your dinner, we’ll talk later.”

  She shook her head. “But I—”

  “Meet me here at eleven o’clock tomorrow night.” He turned toward the door he had come through earlier. “We’ll talk more then,” he said over his shoulder before disappearing through the threshold.

  Even though Jack had already left, Amelia nodded anyway. And suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so scared and alone.

  CHAPTER 9

  Just as Amelia descended the stairs, the middle door opened. Jack appeared in the doorway, a lamp in his hand, then signaled for her to follow him. She nodded and, with quiet steps, entered a cozy room at the rear of the house.

  Hundreds of books lined the wall to her left, a cheery fire crackled in the stone fireplace to her right and before her, ceiling-to-floor curtains had been drawn over windows that must face the sea. She turned when she heard Jack close the door.

  “Come, have a seat,” he offered, placing the lamp on the table between the two leather chairs before the fireplace.

  The warmth felt wonderful, Amelia admitted as she perched on the nearest chair.

  “Would you care for a drink?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.” Seeing Jack in full light, out of the shadows, she noticed how much he had filled out. When she saw him last, he’d been tall but lacking much of the muscles she could see straining his shirt and pants. Just like Julian. The wayward thought made her angry. She did not want to think about that man. Besides, Jack was nothing at all like Julian. Jack was a good, honest man, upright and decent. Julian, well, lacked many of those good qualities.

  Lifting her eyes, Amelia forced her thoughts away from Julian. She watched Jack pour a glass of wine, and as he turned, noticed the fatigue in his expression. And something else. Sadness. A terrible sadness. And of a sudden, she recalled his use of another name. “What has happened, Jack?”

  He took the chair beside her and gulped back a rather large swallow of port before making a reply. “That was to be my question, Amy.”

  Amelia lifted a brow. “I asked you first.”

  He gave her a look, part annoyed, part amused before expelling a sigh. “You truly have no idea what happened?”

  Her heart jolted. Oh, God, it must have been utterly horrible. She knew it. Slowly, she shook her head.

  Lowering his eyes down to the glass in his hands, he began with low, anguished words. “My father’s dead, Amy. And they think I’ve done it.”

  “They think you…” She shook her head. “That’s impossible, Jack. You would never harm your father.”

  He raised his head, his onyx eyes glistening with suppressed fury. “Not even for his wealth, his titles, his lands?”

  “But your brother is older. He inherits—”

  “Jonathan died several months before father.”

  That must have been why they blamed Jack. As next in line, he’d be the logical person to accuse. That, of course, was ridiculous. With her eyes stuck to his, she asked, “Do you have any idea who murdered your father?”

  Surprise diminished the fury in his eyes. “You don’t believe I did it?”

  “Of course you didn’t do it.”

  “Even if I was caught holding the bloody knife?” he asked softly, watching her intently.

  She kept her gaze fused with his. “Not even then.”

  All the tension seemed to drain from him, his rigid shoulders relaxed, and he smiled—a hint of the old Jackson Townsend surfacing. “Ah, Amy, I knew if anyone were to believe me, it would be you.”

  “What happened, Jack?”

  He drained his glass and set it aside before answering. “Almost four years ago, I returned home for a short leave.” He closed his eyes, his words turning ragged. “And found my father lying in a pool of blood in his study. He was still alive, though barely. Blood was seeping up around the blade protruding from his chest. I ripped my cravat from my neck and pulled the knife away, then placed the cloth over the gaping hole.” Jack opened his tormented eyes. “And that’s when my father’s solicitor walked into the room.” He shook his head. “He held a note in my father’s own hand, Amy. My father had summoned the solicitor to come at once…and change his will.”

  “Oh, Jack,” Amelia leaned over to grasp his hand, “how horrible that must have been for you. Did they finally find the real murderer?”

  Jack shook his head, and for the first time, she noticed his dark hair pulled back into a queue. How odd, she thought, knowing he always preferred it short. Then the thought fled with his next words. “My darling Amy,” he cackled humorously, “they think I am the real murderer.”

  Amelia gasped. “Are you saying that they are still looking for you? That they want to…?” she halted, unable to finish.

  “Yes.”

  The reason for the false name, the secluded house near the sea, and especially the deep sadness she sensed in Jack became clear. Her heart bled with sorrow for her dear friend. “This is so unfair,” she whispered as tears blurred her vision.

  He leaned over and touched her cheek with the tips of his cool fingers. “Don’t cry, Amy.” Then he withdrew his hand and rose from the chair. “Now it’s your turn.” He lifted the empty wineglass from the table.

  Amelia wiped the tears away, thinking how trivial her ordeal seemed compared to Jack’s. When he returned to his chair with his wine and waited for her to begin, she cleared her throat and looked into the fire. She didn’t want to see the disappointment or disgust on his face. “My father traveled to America to open his new bank,” she said, her voice deadpan. “Since my stepmother didn’t want me along, they decided to move me to my cousin, Diana’s. She being ten years my elder and married to a respectable viscount, they thought it perfectly appropriate.”

  She ignored Jack’s snort and kept talking lest she lose the nerve. “I didn’t know that Diana liked to give those hideous parties when her husband was away until it was too late.” She could still hear the hypnotic drum beats, smell the sickly-sweet flowers in the darkness, see the silvery outlines of naked bodies when the moon slid from the clouds. She had been so shaken, so mortified that she’d ran from the garden to her room and didn’t come out for days.

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was ever so glad when summer was at an end,” she continued, “because we traveled to London for the little season. And since the viscount was in residence, Diana had to behave.” She looked down at the clasped hands in her lap and added, “It was then that I met Alexander’s father.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Jack’s hand make a fist. She rushed on before he could ask the one question she wasn’t ready to answer yet: the man’s name. “We moved back to the estate in November. Fortunately, the viscount came along. And for the entire blessed winter, there were none of those repulsive parties.”

  Closing her eyes, Amelia allowed her chin to rest against her chest, knowing she had to finish it. Jack had told her everything, and she could do no less. “Just as we were about to journey to London that spring, Diana became ill and we were forced to remain at the estate. The viscount, however, had some pressing business to attend to in London and departed without us. But a few weeks later, Diana recovered. And to celebrate her recovery, she had a party at the estate.

  “This one lasted several days,” she continued, every word leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. “I stayed in my room and refused to come out, until I grew so hungry and thirsty I couldn’t stand it. About an hour after the drums quit, I finally ventured from my room. No one stirred as I sneak
ed downstairs to the kitchen. And there I found a large bowl filled with the most delicious-tasting punch.

  “After drinking my fill, I started to feel funny. Kind of tingly and fuzzy. And very, very happy. I left the kitchen and made my way up the stairs. Since I forgot the candlestick in the kitchen, I stumbled around in the dark until I finally found my room.” Her fingernails bit into her palms. “I remember feeling so hot, like my clothes were melting into my skin, that I tore them away. Then I stumbled into bed. Only it wasn’t my bed,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

  After a full minute of silence, Jack asked, “Was he a kind husband?”

  Amelia snapped her head up in surprise. “What?”

  “The man you married, Mr. Wesson. Your son’s father?”

  All she had to do was utter her agreement and that would have been the end of it, but Amelia couldn’t do it. She sat there and faced Jack—her friend, who just poured out his heart to her—and knew she couldn’t lie to him. Slowly, she shook her head. “There never was a Mr. Wesson,” she whispered. “I made him up just before Alex was born.” A single tear skidded down her cheek. “I didn’t want someone calling him a bastard.”

  Jack leaned forward and swiped the tear away with his finger. “That is completely understandable.” Then he halted and drew his brows, confusion gathering in his eyes. “It was about a year after I joined the Royal Navy that I learned you were gone, but everyone told me you had traveled to America to be with your father. I always wondered why you never answered my letters. What really happened, Amy?” His gaze flickered over her worn clothes. “Why are you working as a maid?”

  When Amelia hesitated, Jack’s eyes widened with understanding, then grew as hard as stone. “Your father threw you out, didn’t he?” Coming to his feet, Jack began to pace. “I bloody well don’t believe it.” He halted and spun around. “What about the boy’s father?”

  Those cursed tears gathered again. They filled her eyes and spilled down her face. She tried halting them, but they just came harder.

  In an instant, Jack kneeled before her and gathered her in his arms. She rested against him. God, it felt so good to be held. To be comforted. His hand cradled the back of her head and she snuggled closer, her cheek nestled against his chest. He was warm, where she was terribly cold inside. Telling someone what had happened was like a heavy burden lifted from her shoulders. Not even Dr. Rutland had known the whole truth. She had kept it all to herself, allowing it to grow and fester within her.

  Until now.

  Her tears ceased and she felt cleansed. With a shaky sigh, she lifted away from the comfort of Jack’s chest, knowing she couldn’t stay there forever.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his face pinched in concern.

  She nodded. “Much better.”

  He flashed a smile. “We are quite a pair.” Then he tweaked her nose just like he used to do when they were children.

  Amelia laughed.

  “Mama?”

  Hearing Alex, Amelia froze. She watched Jack slowly rise, his eyes fixed on the door behind her. Then she came to her feet and turned to her son, who stood uncertainly in the doorway, his gaze traveling from her to Jack and back. Her mouth went dry, and she stumbled forward. Something was wrong. “What is it, Alex?”

  “It’s Mr. Gunney. One of the horses stepped on his foot.”

  Years of training under Dr. Rutland took over. “I’ll go retrieve my bag and meet you at the stables.”

  After sliding a bewildered gaze to Jack, Alex nodded and left the room.

  Amelia started to follow her son, but Jack halted her. He placed his hand on her arm and gently turned her around, his eyes glinting with anger. “Tell me Alex’s father isn’t Julian Westland.”

  “Please, Jack,” she said softly, “Alex mustn’t know.” Then she turned and hurried through the door, trying to focus her thoughts on the injured man.

  CHAPTER 10

  Julian rushed from the house then out to the stable, surprising the two grooms outside having a smoke. “My lord,” they said in unison, snapping to attention.

  Without bothering with a reply, Julian hurried into the well-kept stables and began saddling his horse. Titan nickered a greeting and danced around excitedly when he led the horse from his stall.

  When the grooms saw what he was doing, they scrambled to assist him. And soon, Julian sped down the cobbled streets, the note from the investigator, Thomas Porter, etched into his mind. Amelia had been found.

  Less than two hours later, Julian halted his horse before a gold-brown stone house, no more than twenty rooms, near a cliff overlooking the sea. Seeing the expanse of green water beyond caused a pang of longing deep within his middle. He pushed the feeling aside and slid carefully to the ground. God’s truth, he wasn’t very used to the saddle, and gritted his teeth against the soreness in his muscles. Hearing someone approach, he turned.

  “Lord Julian,” Alex said, his eyes lit with surprised happiness. “What are you doing here?”

  Julian had missed his son. He just hadn’t realized how much until that moment. “Looking for you and your mother,” he answered, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  Alex’s smile widened, then melted away. “I wish we could have stayed.” He looked down, digging the tip of his boot into the ground. “How is your sister?”

  “Megan is doing very well, although she misses you a lot.”

  Alex looked up. “I miss her, too.” Then the sadness altered into excitement. “Look.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small silver coin. “This is what I’ve earned since we arrived.” His chest puffed out with pride. “I’ve been working in the stables.”

  Seeing the sixpence glistening in the center of Alex’s dirty palm brought anger so swift and sharp, it almost took Julian’s breath away. By God, his son shouldn’t be working in the stables. His son should be at Eton, making friends and mischief. Alex should be carefree, having the time of his life—not mucking out stalls.

  “Is something wrong, Lord Julian?”

  Hearing Alex’s worried voice, Julian took a deep breath and forced his face not to reveal the turbulent emotions swirling around within him. “No, nothing is wrong, Alex. I’m just a bit tired.”

  With a nod, his son reached for the reins. “I had better get your horse to the stables.” He started to turn, then halted. “I’m glad you’ve come for a visit.”

  Julian watched the boy lead Titan away, a lump of hot coals sticking in his throat. As soon as Alex disappeared into the building, he turned to the house. Straightening his spine and running a hand through his hair, he walked up to the door and rapped three sharp knocks on the weathered wood.

  The door creaked open to reveal a frowning housekeeper. “Yes? What is it you want?”

  “I am Julian Westland, Marquess of Amersleigh.” He removed one of his cards. “I am here to have a word with Amelia Wesson.”

  The housekeeper’s frown deepened as she took the card from his gloved hand. “Mrs. Wesson, my lord?” Her eyes squinted up to him as if she had a hard time understanding his words. “The new maid?”

  Julian gritted his teeth and nodded. “The same.”

  Shaking her head, the housekeeper held the door open. “This way, my lord.”

  He followed the woman until she halted beside a set of doors. “Mrs. Wesson ain’t in trouble, is she? Steal something valuable?”

  His hand tightened on the knob momentarily before he turned his head. “No, nothing like that,” he answered. Before the woman could ask another question, he pulled open the door and entered the room.

  The sight of Amelia on her hands and knees scrubbing the marble floor caught Julian off guard. He could only stand there and gape like an idiot. It took him several seconds to recover his wits, then he marched to her and pulled her up from the floor.

  “Have you gone mad, my lord? What are you doing here?” She tried jerking her arm free.

  The blood heated within his veins as he stared into her angry eyes. It startled him
to realize how much he wanted to pull her against him, thread his fingers through her silky brown hair and devour her lips. Instead, he released her and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are not going to work here any longer.”

  The sparks in her eyes burst into full flame. “Yes, I am.” She spun around and headed for the door at the other end of the room.

  Julian caught her in three strides, once again latching on to her arm. He couldn’t remember ever being so exasperated. “You are not going to work here or anywhere else because you and I are getting married.” He ignored the muffled gasp from behind the closed doors, keeping his intent gaze locked on the beautiful little pixie before him.

  Her cheeks bloomed an enticing shade of red. “Let me go, Julian.” She tried to pull her arm free.

  “Didn’t you hear me? We are going to marry.” He took both her arms in his hands. God’s truth, he wanted to rattle some sense into the woman’s stubborn head.

  Her eyes, round with fear, held so much damn vulnerability as she stared up at him. It made him feel like such an ass. But all he wanted was to protect her. From everything that caused her harm. And he wanted to make her life easier. She shouldn’t be scrubbing floors and dusting furniture. Amelia should be at Sagemeadow. With him.

  They would marry, Julian decided, even more determined to convince her. He had to protect her and Alex.

  She shook her head slowly. “I will not marry you.”

  The urge to kiss her grew so strong, Julian had already started to lean forward when he realized his intent. Instead, he halted a hair’s breadth from her lips and gave her a stern look. “We will marry.”

  She began to tremble. “No, Julian, we will not,” she whispered so softly, he had to strain to understand her words.

  He gnashed his teeth together, furious. Didn’t the woman realize how much better off she’d be married to him? God’s blood, she’d never have to scrub another floor again. “Have it your way.” He released her.

  The stubborn wench spun on her heel, sending the faint scent of vanilla to tease his senses, and headed for the door once again. Just as she reached her destination, however, he folded his arms and announced, “You may stay, but my son will come with me.”