Lord Sinister (Secrets & Scandals Book 3)

by Tiffany Green

  Amelia drew in a deep breath and leaned back onto her legs. She wiped her hands together, spent emotionally and physically, and glanced around, wondering where she was.

  A flash caught her attention and she looked up in time to see wicked gray-black clouds rolling inland overhead. Darkness fell over her, as though a blanket had been thrown over the sky. With a gasp, she staggered up to her feet. The wind picked up, plastering her black skirt to her legs as it howled in her ears. Thunder cracked then sent out a terrible boom to echo throughout the heavens, and the earth shook beneath her feet. She swallowed hard. Why hadn’t she noticed the approaching storm sooner?

  Glancing around, she looked for shelter of some sort. The endless expanse of sea lay to her right and a steep, jagged cliff rose up to her left. She had nowhere to go. Cold, fat raindrops darted one after another down around her, one landing on her cheek, another pelting the top of her head. The dark, churning clouds would open up at any second. Amelia forced her feet to move, to search for somewhere to keep her out of the storm. She found no cave, not even an indention in the rocks.

  As lightning sent jagged streaks across the charcoal sky above, she glanced to the very top of the cliff and caught sight of a small square of light. A house. Amelia lowered her head and pushed herself against the raging wind, praying it wouldn’t pick her up and catapult her out into the ocean. Thunder roared and she cupped her hands against her ears as the terrible sound raged around her. She stumbled in the marshy sand as more raindrops fell across her head and shoulders.

  The heavens opened just as Amelia found the crumbly steps leading up to the house. She slipped on the wet stones as the frigid rain pelted down on her, soaking through every layer of clothing, turning her bones to ice. The wind tried plucking her away at every opportunity, but she gritted her teeth and continued to climb, refusing to let it have its way with her.

  Her entire body quaked violently from both the cold and fatigue as Amelia neared the top, feeling as though she had been climbing for hours. As the storm moved farther inland, the rain came down around her in sheets, roaring in her ears. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her. Slipping on a wet stone, already slick from green algae growing over it, the urge to collapse and simply give up grew strong. Then she heard a voice call out to her.

  Amelia raised her head and squinted through the solid gray wall of rain. She could just make out a light. The house had to be close. She finally reached the top and took a step forward, stumbled, and fell to her knees with a startled cry on her lips. Warm tears mingled with the cold wetness on her face. Amelia shook her head. She couldn’t go on.

  The voice called to her again.

  “I can’t make it.” The wind pitched her forward. Her palms sunk down into the thick mud and she hung her head.

  “Yes you can,” came the reply through the roar of sheeting rain. “Now get up and come here, girl.”

  She was so very cold, and her body grew weaker by the second. Shivering, she leaned back and fought to get to her feet. Her wet skirts weighed her down and she shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “You must! Get up and come here. Now, girl!”

  Her hands and feet were numb and she knew the signs of being out in the cold too long. She could die, she thought, gritting her teeth as she placed a foot on the ground and lifted up with all her might. Standing took great effort.

  “That’s it, now come here.”

  Taking a step, Amelia slipped on a rock in her path, and fell back into the mud with a startled cry on her lips. Icy water ran down her neck and made her teeth chatter. “I-I c-cannot!”

  “Think of the package you’re carrying. It will give you strength.” The aged voice grew impatient. “So rise up and come here.”

  Thoughts of the baby she carried came to mind. Amelia opened her eyes and watched the icy rain splash down around her, making muddy little pools. Yes, damn it, she would get up and get out of this horrible weather. She couldn’t just give up. The baby deserved to live. She struggled to pull her hands out of the spongy ground and rise up on her haunches.

  “That’s it, girl.”

  With a grunt, she came to her feet and shuffled forward. Steps appeared. Her skirts had to weigh a thousand pounds. She lifted a foot.

  “The rail.”

  Amelia grasped the splintery old wood that was surprisingly solid, realizing the craggy voice had to be that of a very old woman. Somehow, she managed to climb the few steps and maneuver herself into the warm interior of the little stone cottage. Her feet and hands burned as the sudden change in temperature sank into her skin. The woman led her to the settee across from the blazing fireplace. Amelia dripped rain and mud everywhere. But she was too exhausted to care as she sank down onto the musty cushions. The woman draped a heavy wool blanket around her shoulders and placed a hot cup of tea into her throbbing hands. A sigh escaped her lips.

  “Drink all of it.”

  Too tired to argue, Amelia nodded and began sipping the strong brew. The woman shuffled around behind her.

  When she swallowed the last drop, Amelia could no longer keep her eyes open.

  “Sleep, Lady Amersleigh,” the old woman whispered, lifting the empty cup from her hands. “We’ll talk when you wake.”

  Amelia rested her weary body across the smelly cushions. She fell asleep just as thunder shook the tiny house, as something nagged her fading consciousness.

  CHAPTER 24

  Amelia stirred, coming slowly awake. She wondered how long she’d been asleep. Opening her eyes, she found the room dark, the only light coming from the yellow-orange flames burning low in the fireplace. Rain still fell in torrents, beating against the roof and windows, drowning out the crackle of the fire. Her stomach rumbled when she noticed the black pot hung at the corner of the grate, a mouth-watering aroma wafting up from its bubbling contents. She licked her lips, famished.

  “It’s nearly ready.”

  With a gasp, she glanced to the old woman sitting in the chair not two feet away. Long silver hair framed a wrinkled, oval face pitted with scars. But Amelia was transfixed by those milky white eyes.

  “Do not be frightened, girl.”

  “F-Frightened? I’m not frightened,” she lied, pulling the wool blanket up to her chin.

  The woman cocked her head to the side, assessing in careful contemplation. Although blind, it was as though she could see clearly.

  Amelia grew nervous. She made a move to rise.

  “Stay.”

  Amelia froze. Those white eyes continued to delve deeply into her. “P-Perhaps it w-would be best—”

  “You’ll stay where you are, girl.” The woman’s voice rang with finality. She would have her way.

  “Are y-you holding m-me hostage?”

  “Hostage?” A grin spread across those thin lips. “You’re not my hostage. I’ve got things to tell you.”

  “W-What sort of things?” Amelia primed herself to bolt at any second. That is, if her legs would support her. Exhaustion still had a good grip on her and the rain raged outside. She honestly didn’t know how far she would make it before collapsing.

  “Well, to start,” the woman settled back in her chair, “you’re too weak to stand yet so trying to escape will do you no good.”

  Amelia opened her mouth and closed it with a click. How’d she know that?

  “And another thing, you go back and you’ll be killed.”

  “Killed?” she said faintly. Then she closed her eyes and shook her head. She’d be killed, all right, if anyone learned of her escape from the ship. She saw herself swinging from the gallows, her bucking feet subsiding to twitching while her life ebbed away. “Why are you saying this?”

  “It’s true. I dreamed it.”

  Hearing the old one rise from her chair, Amelia snapped her eyes open.

  “My name’s Hilda,” the woman said, scuffling to the fireplace as though her bones pained her to move about. After scooping some stew into a wooden bowl, she turned. “Eat now, I’ll explain after.”<
br />
  Taking the warm bowl, Amelia thought that Hilda didn’t act blind at all. The old woman hadn’t spilled a drop of stew, had handed it directly to her, then turned to scoop out some for herself before returning to her chair.

  “It’s better warm than cold,” Hilda said around a mouthful of food.

  Amelia looked down at the potatoes, carrots, and chunks of meat swimming in a brown broth. Her stomach rumbled, yet she hesitated. What if it had been poisoned? Then she shook her head. Hilda ate it. Without further thought, she spooned some into her mouth, thinking it the most delicious stew she had ever eaten.

  As she swallowed her last bite, Hilda amazed her again when she rose to take the empty bowl. “How did you know…?”

  Hilda chuckled. “I heard your spoon scrape the bottom of the bowl.” She cocked her head to the side. “Can hear better than a barn owl.”

  Amelia sighed and settled back against the tattered old settee that had a faint moldy smell. It occurred to her she should be wet and miserable. Lowering the blanket, she saw just her chemise. Her soaked dress had been removed.

  “Your dress is drying,” Hilda said, nodding to where the black garment hung over a string near the fireplace.

  Obscured in the shadows, Amelia could barely make out its outline. She glanced back to Hilda. “All right, you may begin your explanation.”

  Inclining her head, Hilda settled her pox-marked hands over the chair’s wooden arms. Long fingernails tapered out from the ends of bony fingers. Her straight silver hair glistened around her head and streamed down over her shoulders.

  She needed a hairy wart at the end of her nose, Amelia thought, unable to suppress a tiny grin. But when Hilda’s expression turned cross, she sobered quickly. Good heavens, the old woman could read her thoughts!

  With a satisfied nod, Hilda began to speak. “I do not pretend to understand why, but I sometimes dream things before they come to pass. Some call it a gift, others a curse.”

  When Amelia opened her mouth, the woman lifted a bony hand, palm up. “Allow me to finish, girl, then you may ask your questions.”

  She snapped her jaws shut.

  “I know you are hiding from something severe. Many are searching for you because of it.” Hilda closed her eyes. “I see your death if you leave, Lady Amersleigh.”

  “Ho-How do you know my name?” Amelia asked in a choked whisper, ready to stand and bolt from the cottage.

  “I told you. Dreams come to me, dreams of the future.” Hilda opened her milky eyes. “And they’re never wrong, girl.”

  “S-So you know everything, then?”

  Rising from her chair, Hilda shook her head. “No, much is hidden from me.” She moved to the fireplace. “I know you were accused of something you didn’t do. It was,” she gave a sideways glance, “murder, perhaps? That’s unclear to me.”

  Amelia’s mouth went dry. “Someone—” she would never admit it was Alex “—tried to murder him, but he lived.” She refused to think otherwise. Yes, Julian was still alive. He had to be.

  Hilda nodded and used a rusty old poker to stir the coals back to life. “Your husband.”

  “Yes.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Hilda replaced the poker and wiped her hands on the gray apron tied around her waist. “You love him.” That wasn’t a question. “Have loved him a long time.” She turned. The fire blazed behind the old woman, silhouetting her in an ethereal orange glow. “But to protect your son, you took the blame for trying to kill your husband.”

  With her throat too clogged with tears to reply, Amelia nodded.

  Hilda lumbered back to her chair. “I’ve seen many men looking for you. They have learned you were taken off the ship. I also see you die if you are lured away.” Her face crinkled in concentration. “There are many things obscured in the mist of uncertainty. But I do know a note is your downfall. It will draw you away from safety. You must not be lured away, no matter what the cost.”

  Amelia slid her eyes shut, too amazed by the woman’s accuracy to speak. The captain of the prison ship must have sent word back to London with news of her escape. She should have known. Now they were out searching for her. Terror shot through her and she thought again of swinging from the gallows. She would no doubt be sentenced to death if captured.

  “Remember the note.” Hilda’s voice turned hard. “Don’t go, girl. It will mean your life. And your husband will die trying to save you.”

  With those words ringing in her ears, Amelia was on edge all night. Although Hilda insisted she use the bed in the little room off to the side of the cabin, sleep eluded her. The storm had abated in the early morning hours, the rain ceased and the wind died down. Somewhere near dawn fatigue finally claimed her.

  Strong knuckles against the door brought Amelia to groggy awareness. She opened her eyes and sat up, taking note of Hilda’s dim little bedroom. The door came open. She pressed the thin blanket up to her chin and held her breath, envisioning an army of men with chains and rusty iron manacles coming through the door to take her away.

  But there was no army. Only Jack.

  Her breath came out in a whoosh and she felt faint with relief as he stormed to her.

  “Oh, Amy, I’ve been out of my mind with worry.” He pulled her against his chest.

  Amelia rested against him, soothed by his warmth and the thump-thump of his heartbeat against her ear.

  “The entire village is out looking for you.” He leaned back and gazed down at her, excitement glimmering in his dark eyes. “And I have wonderful news.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here, read this.”

  Eying the note in his hands, Hilda’s warning rang out in her head. Disquiet raced down her spine, making her shiver. She turned to the empty doorway. “Where’s Hilda?”

  “Who?”

  She glanced back at Jack, watching the frown build on his lips. “The old woman who owns this cabin.”

  “I’m here, girl,” Hilda’s voice rasped from the doorway. “Was out gathering herbs.”

  Jack rose and turned. “Thank you, madam, for taking care of Amy.”

  Hilda swung her unseeing eyes to Jack and cocked her head to the side. Then she grinned wide, revealing three missing teeth, two at the top and one on the bottom. “Ah, yes, the pirate.”

  Swiveling back around, Jack gave her such a look of astonishment and hurt, Amelia gasped. “No, no, Jack,” she shook her head earnestly, “I didn’t tell her anything. I swear.”

  “Then how did she—”

  “I dreamed it, young man.”

  Turning back to the old one, Jack studied her with narrowed eyes. “Excuse us, please, madam. I must speak to Amy privately.”

  Hilda shuffled out of the room with a shrug. “Of course, young man. Do what you must.”

  When the door closed Jack shook his head. “Was that a witch?”

  Amelia sucked in a breath. “Careful, Jack,” she cut her gaze to the door, “she might hear you.”

  His brows rose. “And put a hex on me?” His eyes twinkled with a hint of humor.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Come on, Amy, you don’t believe in that rubbish, do you?”

  Placing her palms against her cheeks, she wagged her head from side to side. “I don’t know. Hilda told me things she couldn’t have known.” She stopped and lowered her hands. “It was frightening.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry any longer, sweet.” He sat on the bed beside her and held up the note. “They know you didn’t try to shoot Julian.”

  Amelia stared at the ivory paper, the old woman’s words coming back to her. The note had to be a farce, written with the intention of luring her back to prison. Luring her to her death.

  She shivered.

  Jack unfolded the parchment and handed it to her. “Julian has been looking for you. He wants you to come back to him,” he said quietly after she read the neatly scripted words.

  Numbness set in, like her entire body had fallen asleep. She couldn’t move,
just stare at the rickety old chair across the room.

  “Didn’t you hear me, Amy?” Jack settled his hands on her shoulders. “You are free to go home.”

  In a heartbeat, she began sobbing uncontrollably. “I can’t go back. I can’t go back.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Shhh, Amy, it’s all right.” He rocked her back and forth, murmuring nonsensically into her ear.

  It seemed she cried for hours. Then she became so utterly exhausted, she could cry no more. She laid her head on Jack’s shoulder and slept.

  ****

  “A ship, Master, and she’s gaining on us.”

  Julian swung around and frowned at the vessel. The sloop had to be faster than his if it could catch up to him. And there was only one that could do it. “My glass.” It appeared in his hand in a matter of seconds. He raised the brass cylinder up to his eye, focused, and sucked in a breath. “Heave to, Lucas.”

  When the Enigma halted at his side, Julian waited impatiently for Jack to appear. He didn’t. Instead, Connor walked up to the rail. “I hear ye been lookin’ for us.”

  “Yes. Where’s Jack?”

  “No’ here,” Connor answered.

  Julian gripped the rail. “Well, where in the hell is he? What have you done with my wife?”

  Connor folded muscular arms over his chest and gave a cool gaze. “We’ve been keepin’ your wife safe.”

  Digging his fingers into the wood, Julian leaned forward. “I’ll see to her safety now. If you will just bring her to me, we can be on our way.”

  “Cannae bring her—”

  “Why bloody not?” Fury had gobbled up the last bit of his patience.

  The damnable Scot actually grinned. “She’s no’ here.”

  “Not here?” Julian could only gape at the man in utter astonishment. Then he wanted to leap over the rail and pull his head off. “What do you mean she’s not here?”