Authors: Tiffany Clare
Seeing blood in Devlin’s mouth sent Nick over the edge. Whoever had done this would
pay dearly. Nick held out his handkerchief for Devlin. When the boy took it, Nick
saw a crumpled letter in the boy’s hand. “What’s this, Dev?” he asked, reaching for
it.
Devlin gave him the letter, but Nick noticed that it was not addressed.
Tearing open the envelope, he quickly read the contents. He wasn’t angry anymore;
he was enraged.
There was no salutation, but the contents made it clear to whom it was addressed.
Nick crumpled the letter in his fist. “Who gave you this letter?”
“Didn’t know him. He was a gent.”
“What did he say?”
“To get it straight to Amelia Somerset.”
This was not how Nick expected to discover Amelia’s real name. Damn it, he wished
Huxley was around to do a little investigating while he dealt with the ass who thought
he could raise his hand against a child. And then to threaten Amelia . . . He needed
to find her. Make sure she was safe.
“Why did he approach you and not Amelia?”
“Saw us together, is all I can think. We walked some ways. I pointed her in the direction
of Miss Victoria’s shop,” the boy explained.
“Then where did you go?” He didn’t want to push too hard for information, but they
needed to sort this out fast.
“Did my errands for me ma and got cornered when I left the market. Ma’s gonna be angry
about her carrots. I don’t know where I dropped ’em.”
Nick clasped Devlin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about the carrots. Let’s get you home
safely so your mother can fret over you.”
“Just a split lip. Had one before, and Ma didn’t much mind—just told me to stay out
of trouble.”
If the situation wasn’t as dire as it was, Nick might have laughed. But Devlin, he
was sure, had been lucky not to suffer more serious harm.
Leading the boy out of the private room, he gave his excuses to Landon, promising
to catch up with him another time. Devlin didn’t say a word on their carriage ride
home; he just watched the scenery pass by outside, which gave Nick time to think about
the letter’s contents.
When they arrived home, Mrs. Coleman was not at all happy to see her boy sporting
bruises like he had been in a fight. “What have you gotten yourself into, Dev?”
Devlin’s cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head, evidently embarrassed that his mother
was admonishing him at all. “I was too slow and didn’t realize there was the two of
’em, Ma.”
“If you want to blame anyone, Marney, you should blame me,” Nick said, giving her
arm a friendly squeeze. “It’s not your son’s fault. The man who did this will be sorry
he thought he could cross me.”
“What did he think he would get from Devlin?” she asked, worry thick in her question.
“He was a fool and should have come to me, not your son. He will pay for what he has
done,” he promised.
She squeezed Nick’s hand in thanks and turned her focus back to her son, dabbing away
at the dried blood on his mouth. Mrs. Coleman gathered Devlin in her arms and looked
at Nick over her son’s dark mop of hair, tears awash in her eyes.
His housekeeper put Devlin at arm’s length and focused on the cuts on his face. “You
shouldn’t have to worry about escaping any bad situation, love.”
Nick was ready to slaughter the person who had done this. The slow burn of rage he
normally kept at an even temperature was boiling over. All he needed was a direction
to focus that fury. And the answers he needed could be found with his new secretary.
Nick ruffled Devlin’s hair and headed up to the study, taking the stairs two at a
time in his haste. There was always the possibility that Amelia was back from Vic’s
shop. When he opened the library door, he wasn’t surprised to see her desk chair empty.
Opening up her date book, he tore a page from the back and left a note for her, should
their paths not cross.
Before he left, he went over to his books and pulled down his copy of Debrett’s. Her
name wasn’t familiar, which said precisely nothing, other than he’d never had business
dealings with her family. But he’d figure out just who she was on his way to Vic’s
store. If she was in any sort of danger . . . so help the person who laid one bloody
finger on her. He’d break each of the man’s fingers himself, and then bloody his face
worse than he’d done to Dev.
A
melia curled her fingers tighter around the heavy drapes that enclosed the changing
room where she’d been set up with a number of dresses to try. A shop girl stood behind
her, yanking tight on the strings of a new corset. This corset was quite snug compared
to the one she normally wore—that one had been well worn and had probably loosened
over the past year. This one felt . . . impossible.
The girl tugged again, causing the air to whoosh from Amelia’s lungs. Though she wanted
to ask the girl to leave it loose, she refused to show any weakness when Victoria
Newgate sat delicately in a chair, sipping tea as she watched Amelia with feigned
interest. There was a look of disappointment in the woman’s cat-like green eyes, only
Amelia couldn’t figure out what had put the other woman off her. Victoria could not
possibly know what Nick and Amelia had done, so maybe she was reading that disappointment
incorrectly.
“It simply will not do, Louisa,” Victoria said as she stood, shooing the shop girl
away as she approached Amelia. “Retrieve the twenty-one inch,” Victoria told the girl,
leaving Amelia alone with the woman who, by all appearances, immensely disliked her.
It had taken every bit of courage Amelia had to come to the shop today.
Amelia let go of the curtain and reached behind her to release the ties on the corset.
She took in a full, relieved breath when it sat loose around her torso. To her surprise,
Victoria turned her around and pulled open the front of the corset, taking it off
Amelia. Victoria laid the delicate material flat on a table to straighten the strings.
“It’s all the rage to cinch down below a twenty,” Victoria said. “If we cannot do
that, I’m afraid the selection for your wardrobe shrinks drastically. Perhaps we can
let out a few dresses if they are truly needed, but as it is, I will have to place
an order.”
It didn’t surprise Amelia in the least that this woman would insult her. Though her
words stung, Amelia didn’t show how uncomfortable she was in Victoria’s presence.
“Why are you helping me at all when it’s apparent that is the last thing you want
to do?” Amelia asked.
“Because Nick asked me to,” Victoria said, as if that was answer enough.
“And do you always do as he asks? Even when it is clear that you would rather be anywhere
else but here with me?” Amelia snapped her mouth shut. It wasn’t like her to be so
candid or unkind. She knew why this woman didn’t like her, and while Victoria might
not know that Amelia and Nick’s relationship had developed into something Amelia couldn’t
even put into words, this woman had only one reason to dislike her: Amelia could spend
time with Nick as often as she liked and would attend functions that Victoria had
once attended. But was that really reason for Victoria to dislike her? It seemed petty.
“I’m a businesswoman, Miss Grant. I do what I need to do to keep my shop brimming
over with
business
. If that means catering to a few people I have no inclination to like, then that
is what I will do.”
“Well, I am glad for that clarification. I would not want to think there was a chance
you and I could become fast friends,” Amelia said, not caring to guard her tongue
now. She had never met anyone so . . . so obstinate and rude and spiteful.
“I know your type,” Victoria said. “You have wormed your way into the house of one
of the richest men in England, and I know you plan to seduce your way into his pocketbook.
I’m looking out for Nick’s best interests, as a friend would do.”
Amelia’s mouth flapped, at a loss for words. That was the last thing she’d ever expected
or wanted from Nick, though Victoria would have no reason to believe anything Amelia
said that contradicted that. Thankfully, the shop girl returned carrying a small stack
of corsets before Amelia had to come up with a retort.
The silence in the changing room was almost more than Amelia could bear, but she refused
to say another word to Victoria.
The bigger size helped, though it still was a great deal more snug than her old corset.
Victoria went back to sipping her tea, watching, and commenting periodically about
how to bring in or let out the dresses that Amelia tried on. Not one was perfect,
as apparently Amelia was not an ideal model for the clothes stocked in Victoria’s
shop. Amelia bit her tongue through it all, just wanting the ordeal to end.
At her wit’s end from Victoria’s insulting gibes, Amelia was glad when the last dress
was removed and set aside by the shop girl.
“Victoria!” A man’s voice shouted just beyond the curtain—a voice Amelia knew but
had never heard raised before now.
“What in hell does he think he’s doing?” Victoria said with a shake of her head. She
strode from the room with purpose, whipping around the curtains that blocked Amelia
before disappearing into the next room. Squeals and comments rose at the presence
of a man in Victoria’s shop.
“Where is she?” he said, loud enough that Amelia and—she was sure—the rest of the
patrons in the store heard.
Before Victoria could turn Nick around, he ushered Victoria back into the changing
room. His eyes searched the small room and found Amelia almost immediately. Was that
relief Amelia saw in the steely depths?
“You know we don’t allow men back here, Nick. You need to leave.” Victoria’s voice
was firm and determined.
Nick’s focus was momentarily pulled away from Amelia as he addressed his friend. “Leave
us.”
The shop girl had been edging toward the curtains before Nick had even commanded they
leave, and she was gone from sight before Victoria crossed her arms over her chest
to glare at Nick. It crossed Amelia’s mind that gossip would start if Victoria left
them alone too. The other shoppers present would speculate what was happening behind
the closed curtains and leave Amelia’s reputation in shambles.
She stopped that thought . . . she was not Lady Amelia Somerset, the Earl of Berwick’s
daughter. She was Amelia Grant, secretary to industrialist Nick Riley. She didn’t
matter to anyone, and that brought a small smile to her lips that she wished she could
have hidden better or at least saved for when Victoria wasn’t around, because Victoria
had noticed. No one would care about Amelia’s reputation, though by the look on Victoria’s
face, she didn’t like what might be said about her store.
“I have to insist you leave, Nick. You know my reputation is only as good as the service
I provide to young ladies. You are making a scene I can ill afford.”
Nick didn’t seem to be listening to his friend. He approached Amelia but thought twice
about reaching for her and stopped a good three feet away. Amelia stood stock still,
shocked to see him here and unsure what to do when she was barely dressed.
Victoria threw up her arms and expelled her breath in pure frustration before picking
up Amelia’s serviceable gray dress and shoving Nick away before helping her get dressed.
Nick didn’t say a word; he just stared at her, as though he had a lot to say but not
in front of Victoria.
When Amelia’s dress was in place, Victoria said, “You both need to leave. I will not
have you causing a scene in my store.” She ushered them out beyond the curtain. It
appeared the shop girl had cleared most of the patrons from the back area where the
dressing rooms were, and Amelia was thankful she wouldn’t have to face the women in
the shop.
Nick placed his hand at the base of Amelia’s back, following Victoria.
“Since you cannot be seen leaving here, Nick, you will have to use the service entrance,”
Victoria said unapologetically as she opened a door that revealed a narrow staircase
lit with a few electric lamps. “It’s three flights, but once you reach the bottom,
there is another door that leads to the shipment yard.”
“If this wasn’t important, I would have waited,” Nick said to Victoria but didn’t
take his eyes off Amelia.
Victoria snorted in pure disgust. “For some reason, I find that hard to believe.”
Victoria crossed her arms and looked pointedly at them both. “I will have two dresses
delivered tomorrow. The rest will have to wait until next week. Now leave my store.”
“Thank you,” Nick said, motioning for Amelia to go ahead of him.
“Do not thank me. I will add a hazard charge to your bill,” Victoria said, shutting
the door behind them and leaving them alone in the dimly lit stairwell.
“I’m sorry I was here so long,” Amelia explained. “I intended for this to be a quick
trip—”
Nick’s arms wrapped around her, and he slammed his mouth against hers. His teeth were
harsh, his mouth unforgiving as he stole her breath away and left her panting for
air. When he released her, she was left slightly dizzy and confused. Surely he hadn’t
come all this way and made such a scene just so he could kiss her.
His hands cupped either side of her face, and he looked into her eyes as though looking
for something. What her tired brain should have asked was, why was he here at all?
He’d told her he wouldn’t be home until rather late, yet here it was in the middle
of the afternoon, and he’d seemed frantic to find her.
“Has something happened?” she asked, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Yes.” At the look of worry on her face, he added, “I feared something had happened
to you.”
“Me?” she parroted and hated that she sounded like an idiot, but she hadn’t the faintest
idea of what he was talking about.
He took her hand, and turned toward the stairs. “We need to leave.”
She didn’t say another word; she just blindly followed him down the rickety wooden
stairs. When they reached the door at the bottom, he didn’t pause, but he did let
go of her hand the moment they found themselves in the courtyard Victoria had mentioned.
No one paid them much mind as they let themselves out through a back gate and into
the street. Nick didn’t say a word as he called over a carriage and gave instructions
on where to bring them.
“Why are we not headed back to the house?” she asked, once they were in the carriage.
“We have matters to discuss.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
Nick opened his jacket and reached inside a pocket. He pulled out an ivory linen envelope
and handed it to her. She looked up at him briefly before flattening the wrinkles
and unfolding the parchment inside.
Without even reading it, she knew who had written it. Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t
help it. Her time of freedom had been far too short. She looked at the ceiling, trying
to hold her tears at bay, hating that her first inclination was to cry instead of
fighting back against her brother. When she had better control over her emotions,
she looked down at the words, reading them carefully.
“Do you know who wrote it?” Nick asked.
And she wanted to cry even more when she heard the gentle kindness in his tone. She
could hear his desire to help her, and she couldn’t appreciate that more than she
did in this moment.
She nodded at his question, unable to speak, afraid her voice wouldn’t hold together
as she tried to fight the fear that was choking her from the inside out.
Nick reached for her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“Why must you be so perfect and so kind to me?” She looked away from him, shaking
her head as the words spilled from her mouth. “If you want me to leave, I can. I don’t
want to cause you any trouble. Or anyone in the house. I just wanted to disappear,
but it seems my attempt at even that was unsuccessful.”
“You’re not leaving, Amelia. I have already told you—you’re mine, and I will not let
you go. Not even for this.”
She looked at him then, her tears barely holding. She needed to be strong. She needed
to stand up for herself.
“Who wrote the letter, Amelia?”
She supposed she would have to tell him everything now, relive the horror she had
wanted to bury with her escape. Relive parts of her past if she was going to explain
just what type of man her brother was.
“The letter is from my brother.”
“The same man who promised you to another?”
“More like he sold me, as if I were a cart horse.” She snorted. “Though I think he
might put more value on a horse than his own sister.”
Amelia watched Nick’s expression change from anger to barely concealed rage with that
revelation. The tick at the side of his jaw seemed more pronounced now than ever before.
“You should know who I am,” she said.
“I know already.”
She looked at him, perplexed. “Did my brother give you the letter directly?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. Something wasn’t right here. “What are you not telling me?”
“Devlin walked with you this morning.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and she sucked in a gulp of air. “Is he all right? Tell
me my brother did not hurt him.” Tears fell from her eyes this time, and she didn’t
bother to hide them or wipe them away. She knew just how vile her brother was, and
he didn’t discriminate against whom he hurt. The weaker they were, the easier it was
to hurt them—this was something her brother lived by. “If Devlin is hurt . . . ” She
couldn’t even bear to finish that thought. Bile climbed up her throat, and she gulped
in air to keep her nerves settled.
“He got away. Came straight to me with that letter you’re holding.”
She wiped away her tears and looked down at the paper. “I was so careful.” Her voice
broke at that admission. “I don’t understand how he found me.”
“Shhh.” Nick slid onto the seat next to her and wrapped his big arms around her shoulders.
She cried a little into his shoulder, taking great heaps of air into her lungs to
try to suffocate her fear.
“I can keep you safe.” His words were a promise she wanted so badly to believe.
But she knew her brother better than anyone. Knew what he was capable of doing. Most
of all, she knew he wouldn’t stop until he had her where he wanted her. “I will not
risk putting anyone else in danger. I cannot. It would be best for everyone that I
leave.”