Or perhaps that would prompt the escapee to kill Sterling.
Tilly stopped at the corner of the verandah. She needed to peer around to see exactly what position they were in. Deep breaths. Then she darted her head out and back. In that split second, the scene on the adjoining verandah burned itself into her mind. Sterling, lying facedown as a fair-haired, grubby man crouched over his body, sitting on Sterling’s skull, pummeling him with fists and elbows.
How dare he? How dare this low, low creature brutalize a man of such vision and compassion? How dare he hurt Sterling.
Her
Sterling. Fury wound up inside her. The escapee’s back was to her.
Tilly gulped another deep breath and dashed round the corner. The escapee turned his face around in time to express surprise at the crazed red-haired woman, right before she smacked into his head with the heavy end of the brass poker. With a sickening intake of breath, he fell off Sterling. She slammed the poker across his face, hearing his nose break under it. Then once more around the head and he lay still, bloody and smashed, his chest heaving, breathing wetly. Still alive.
Tilly panted. Sterling lifted himself up on all fours, spitting blood onto the wooden boards. He reached down off the verandah and retrieved his rifle from the bushes, pointed it at the prisoner. The night held its breath. But then he raised the rifle to the
sky instead and squeezed the trigger. It was deafening, a flat smack in the quiet dark.
He leaned on Tilly, dropping the rifle with a clatter. “Thank you,” he said.
Lanterns started bobbing from all directions, called by the gunshot.
“He knocked the rifle out of my hands,” he said, heaving, hands going to his ribs. “I should have protected you and Nell. I should have stayed awake. The warders on duty probably all thought I was.”
“Nobody expected him to come to the house.”
“I’m too merciful, Tilly. I had a clear shot. I could have killed him, but I tried to negotiate instead.” He indicated the unconscious figure on the ground. “I could have killed him now too. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m weak.”
“No. You are strong. So strong. I admire you so greatly, Sterling.”
Footsteps ran towards them. Voices shouting and overlapping. Tilly’s ears still rang from the gunshot, from the fear. Men in blue uniforms apprehended the prisoner. Their lanterns showed the extent of injuries to his face and head, and Tilly felt sick that she had caused them. Sterling, holding his ribs, barked commands at the warders. One of them—Tilly recognized him as the chief warder, Mr. Donaghy—reached for Sterling’s shoulder.
“Go inside, Superintendent,” he said. “You’re injured. You must rest. Dr. Groom will be here tomorrow. Let us take care of this.”
Sterling hesitated, confusion and exhaustion in his face.
Tilly found her voice. “I’ll take you in,” she said. She became suddenly aware that she stood in front of a group of men while wearing only her dressing gown. What might they think of her? What gossip would it arouse?
But then Mr. Donaghy stepped forward and said, “Yes. Go with Miss Lejeune, Sterling. Miss Lejeune, there is a first-aid kit in the superintendent’s office. Do what you can. If you are concerned that his injuries may be life-threatening, come to find me down at the eastern end of the stockade and we will send a boat across to the mainland tonight.”
Tilly put her hand under Sterling’s elbow and led him inside. Nell sprang on them in an instant. “Papa! Papa!”
“You were supposed to be waiting in your bedroom,” Tilly said, all her focus on keeping Nell away from Sterling.
“Please, Nell, leave me be,” Sterling said. “I am bruised and shaken up.”
“But I want to help, I want to—”
“Nell!” Tilly admonished, hating herself for raising her voice when she saw how the girl cowered. She smoothed out her tone. “Nell, my dear. If you want to help your father, you’ll go to bed. I will call you if I need you.”
“But it’s not fair. You won’t call.”
“I will.”
“The night my mother died, they never called.”
Tilly released her grip on Sterling’s arm for a moment and bent so she was Nell’s height. “I promise you.”
Nell nodded wordlessly, eyes brimming, and slipped slowly away down the dark corridor.
Tilly led Sterling into the parlor, where he lowered himself into the sofa and she lit all the lanterns.
“Wait here,” she said.
“I can hardly move,” he replied with a wry smile.
She went to his study for the first-aid kit, then to the kitchen for water and a cloth. When she returned, she saw that Sterling had stripped off his shirt. There was a bloody laceration near
his collarbone and blood on his face. Tilly had a brief, alarming flashback to that night Jasper had come home from the fight with the Spaniard. She stifled a gasp. “I’ll have to clean those wounds.”
Sterling was turning his ribs towards the lamplight. “I think it’s mostly bruising.” He took a deep, full breath in. “I can still breathe fine. I don’t think any ribs are broken.”
“Dr. Groom will be the judge of that, Sterling. Hold still.” She cleaned away the blood from his neck to reveal a ragged bite wound. In the first-aid kit was a small white pot labeled in the doctor’s handwriting. She gingerly rubbed some of the ointment on the bite wound, then turned to cleaning Sterling’s face. The blood had come from his nose and hid no great injury.
Sterling sat still and patient as she tended to him.
“You hit him hard, Tilly,” Sterling said.
“I had to,” she replied, realizing she sounded defensive.
“And you, such a soft thing.” He touched her hand briefly.
She smiled into his eyes. “I was angry.”
“You are fearsome when you’re angry.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer.
“There,” she said, closing up the first-aid kit and putting it aside. “He bit you?”
“He was like a wild animal. Some of them . . . incarceration plays with their minds. He was in his fourth year of a five-year sentence for theft. This time next year he would have been free. But he got the idea in his head that he was going to punish me as I had punished him.”
Tilly shuddered. “And you deal with men like that every day?”
“They’re not usually trying to kill me, Tilly.” He paused, thoughtfully. Then said, “You do know he would have killed me? It’s not a way you want to die, being beaten to death.”
She sank onto the sofa next to him. “Don’t talk of it, Sterling. It didn’t happen. You will be fine.”
“Only because you saved my life.” He reached out again, brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. She shivered. “I could never have imagined, that day I met you in the church hall, that you would become so important to me.”
And as hard and hot as her anger had come before, now came her desire. It roared over her skin, surged up through her core. She was rendered speechless, motionless by it, certain it would kill her.
Sterling took her face in his hands, leaned in, and pressed his lips against hers softly.
But softly was not enough. She pushed herself against him, on top of him. His arms encircled her waist. His hard body was under her fingers, his warm mouth under her lips, her tongue.
“Tilly,” he said softly, urgently, pulling away. “Tilly, no.”
And here it was, the rebuff she feared. The familiar feeling of having exposed her heart, her desire, too readily. Flames on her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said, moving off him.
“No.” He grasped her hand, smiling in the lamplight. “Not here. Come.” He stood, winced, and pulled her to her feet. “Nell might still be snooping about. I rarely lock my bedroom door in case she has nightmares. But tonight I will.”
His bedroom. He was inviting her to his bedroom. The thought of it made her knees weak.
In the dark, they softly stepped across the hallway together. All was quiet from Nell’s end of the corridor. Sterling ushered Tilly ahead of him, closed the door with a low clunk, and dropped the latch into place. He turned to her, grazing her throat and face with his warm hands, then gently taking the edges of her dressing gown and pushing it off her shoulders, so that only her gauzy nightdress came between his body and hers. His hands gathered
her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples and making her ache hungrily. His eyes met hers, held her gaze a moment, then he pressed his lips against hers.
“Sterling,” she murmured against his mouth. “Oh, God.”
His hands were on the hem of her nightdress now, pushing it up. She lifted her arms and tore it off, threw it to the floor. He fumbled with the band of his trousers, wriggled half out of them, nearly fell over.
They laughed, stumbled to the bed.
“Be gentle with me,” he said in the dim room, indicating the bruising on his ribs.
“I think I’m the one who is supposed to say that,” she said with a smile.
“We will be gentle with each other,” he said, rolling onto his back and pulling her down astride him. Her breasts fell over his face, his hands reached for her hips, massaging the soft flesh that gathered there. Warm skin on warm skin. She ran gentle fingertips over his ribs, then firm hands over the dense muscles of his arms and shoulders. She closed her mouth over his. As he entered her, she gasped with a brief sharp pain, but his mouth over her breast soon turned pain to pleasure. He cupped her buttocks and they moved together, wild with both desire and heady relief, their bodies molded together as though they had been designed for one another.
•
Sterling led her to her own bedroom afterwards, after she helped him pull his clothes back on. He chuckled about how he had felt no pain during their embrace, but how it was all rushing back now.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Never apologize for what happened. But, Tilly, we cannot risk Nell finding us sharing a bed . . .”
“I understand. We will talk tomorrow about . . . this.”
He leaned down to kiss her. She parted her lips and his mouth lingered, firm and loving. But then he drew back. “Good night.”
She smiled. “Good night.”
Then she was stripping off again, on her own this time, and sliding into her bed.
She lay there a long time, going over the details of their lovemaking in her mind. What beautiful, fluttering, diving, soaring feelings he had aroused in her. She groaned softly remembering it, ran her hands over her body wondering how she had felt to Sterling. Soft and curvy. She wanted to do it all over again.
But in time the happy thoughts began to dissipate, and gave way to much darker ones. What business did she have falling in love with Sterling? She couldn’t love him, and she certainly couldn’t allow him to love her. She was living a lie and such a lie could only continue to function if she never grew close to anyone.
The thought kept her awake as surely as pebbles in her bed might. This side, that side, covers on, covers off. Dawn glimmered outside her curtains. Then it occurred to her: she had saved Sterling’s life. Surely that went a little way towards canceling out her other, darker deeds.
And suddenly it was clear: the guilt was permeable. It didn’t need to crush her forever.
She could erase her actions of the past with her actions of the present, she could make herself free to love Sterling.
Her tired brain was shutting down now; she balanced on the edge of sleep. For some reason, Hettie Maythorpe came to mind, so far from her children. She fell asleep as the sun crept over the horizon.
•
The day after was a day of bedlam in the house. A constant stream of people—warders, administrators, doctors, investigators from the mainland—came and went. Somehow Tilly and Nell were supposed to concentrate on schoolwork.
At one point, Nell threw her French grammar book down and proclaimed theatrically, “Too many footsteps!” It was true, the sound of feet going up and down the stairs and around the verandah was a constant distraction, but for Tilly, the much greater distraction was wondering when she’d be alone with Sterling again.
“Come along. Four more exercises and then we’ll find something else to do.”
Nell put her head down, but then the door opened and Sterling stood there. Tilly hadn’t seen him since last night. He had been holed up in his office since before breakfast, dealing with the aftermath of the escape. He looked tired, but his cheeks had good color under his thick sideburns, and his eyes shone.
“Hello, ladies,” he said with an easy smile.
He glanced at Tilly, met her eyes, and she blushed furiously.
Nell didn’t notice. She ran to him, threw her arms around him. “Papa! I’ve been dying to see you.”
“Not so tight, Nell. Here, look at this.” He lifted up the corner of his shirt.
Tilly caught a delicious glimpse of his hard flank and memories of last night flooded through her. But then he lifted it further, and she could see what he was showing Nell. His ribs were practically black with bruising.
“Oh, Papa, you poor thing!” exclaimed Nell. “What a beast he was to do this to you. I hope you gave him what for.”
Sterling tucked his shirt in again. “Ah, well, that’s an interesting story.
In fact, it was your governess that gave him what for.” He smiled up at Tilly. “The turnkeys are all terrified of you now. It’s a shame Burton isn’t still around to hear what they’re saying about you.”
Tilly laughed and Nell looked up at her with round eyes. “Tilly, you didn’t.”
“I did.” She remembered last night’s vow, to make amends in the present. “And it was unpleasant and that man, no matter what a beast he was being, was badly injured. Has the doctor seen him, Sterling?”
He answered her in the detached tone of an administrator. “The prisoner regained consciousness shortly after he was apprehended. He has a broken nose and multiple bruises and lacerations. He’s being returned to the mainland for treatment and then a new trial for assault. He won’t be returning to Ember Island as he’s considered a danger to me, particularly now. So that’s the end of it.”
The end of it. And the beginning of something else.
Sterling pulled out his pocket watch and huffed. “I must go. I have more meetings.”
“I’m glad you’re well, Papa,” Nell said, squeezing his hand. Then she reached for Tilly’s hand. “And I’m glad you were the one who rescued him.”