“For what?”
“For listening. Not judging me.”
Amelia quickly left the room, dashing up the two sets of stairs, the need to be with Emmett so fierce it brought a lump to her throat. At the top of the attic steps, she looked down at him sitting next to a wet patch of floor, the bucket and a scrubbing brush before him. He stared ahead, seeing things she could only imagine, and her heart wrenched. She rushed to him, kneeled beside him and held his face in her hands.
“Emmett, please… Stop tormenting yourself. What’s done is done.”
“I…I have killed two men today. I know I had no alternative, but it still doesn’t make it right. When I… When I pushed Crowe off that cliff… I thought about what
could
have happened. What if he had killed you?” His eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t live without you, wench.”
“Nor I you. Come.” She rose and took his hands in hers, ignoring the dried blood. “Let me bathe you downstairs.”
She picked up the bucket and brush then led him to the kitchen and urged him to sit at the table. He appeared lost, bewildered, and her love for him bloomed further. Yes, he had killed two men, but it didn’t make her feel any differently toward him.
Should it? Should I fear him now I know what he’s capable of?
She tousled his hair and leaned down to kiss him tenderly.
No, I don’t fear him
.
Amelia turned to prepare his bath and smiled. Madam had gone to bed and left the stove burning so the water in the pans remained hot. She had also placed the tin tub in front, a quarter filled with cold water. Emmett rose to help her and together they added the hot water. A large, folded linen cloth sat on the chair nearest the stove, along with a bar of soap. Amelia tested the water then stood before Emmett. He was like a broken man, his shoulders drooped, his head bent and she yearned to take all the hurt away. If she could transfer his guilt to herself she would gladly bear it for him.
“Emmett?” She cocked her head and lifted his chin with her finger. “You’ll feel better after a bath. It’s the blood. It’s…”
He looked up into her eyes then down at his hands. As though seeing them for the first time, he jolted, eyes wide. “Oh God. I…” He took an empty pan and scooped bath water into it, placing it on the table. Grabbing the soap, he dipped it in the pan and immersed his hands, scrubbing at the blood.
Amelia wrung her hands, unsure whether to comfort him or let him deal with his burden by himself. She settled for resting her hand on his shoulder, remaining silent until he had cleaned the blood away. He took his hands from the water and held them up, examining them.
“It feels like it’s still there,” he said.
“It won’t always be that way, my love.”
“Won’t it?”
She turned him to face her and undid his shirt, taking it off and pushing it into the soapy water he’d just used. He stared down at his chest. Dried blood flecked the skin and he dove forward, wrung out the shirt and rubbed it over himself until the proof of his crime had disappeared. He toed off his boots and pulled down his breeches, loosing a wobbly sigh as he stepped out of them. Amelia took his hand and kissed it, wanting him to know the blood had gone, really gone, then helped him into the large tub. With his knees bent, he was able to lean back a little and submerge his chest. Eyes closed, he faced the ceiling.
I feel so helpless
…
Amelia took the soap out of the pan and kneeled beside the tub. She lathered it, inhaling the sweet lavender scent, and dropped it into the water. With tender strokes, she cleaned him, wishing her hands had the ability to heal, to take the past away. As she washed his belly, he opened his eyes, smiling sheepishly as his cock hardened. She soaped it to full erection, her hands gliding up and down easily with the lather. He felt good in her hands, solid and reassuring, more like the man she knew rather than the sad person he had been this night. Brushing her thumb over his tip, she drew circles then dragged her hand down his shaft. She watched his reaction. He stared down, his eyes half-lidded, a soft smile curving his mouth. She slid her other hand between his legs and he raised his hips a little. Amelia found his ass pucker and pushed past the tight barrier, burying her finger inside. The sheath gripped her finger and she slowly rubbed the raised protuberance there.
His eyes widened and a quiet gasp left him. “If you continue with that…”
She smiled, knowing he knew she would. With light strokes, she circled the nodule inside him and with stronger, faster strokes she worked his cock. His pelvis jerked out of the water, sending a spray of it slapping onto the floor beside her. While his cock throbbed against her palm, Amelia squeezed him inside her fist, pumping him with increased speed. The water washed away the lather and his tip darkened, a thick pearl of creamy pre-cum dribbling. She leaned over and licked it off, taking her hand from around him and plunging his cock into her mouth. His hand settled on the top of her head and she allowed him to direct how fast she bobbed. He wanted it slow, so she took him inside deeply, laving his length with a flat tongue every time she drew up.
“Just suck the tip,” he said.
She obeyed, pulling her mouth up and curling her lips around his corona. Holding his cock upright, she massaged him with her mouth, loving the way her lips and tongue glided over the ridge. Increasing suction, she teased him, dipping her head faster.
“Stop!” he said, voice strained, hands gripping the side of the tub.
Amelia pulled her finger from him and stilled her mouth. She looked up at him, saw the flush of his cheeks and the way his chest rose and fell. With one last lick up his shaft, she shuffled along the tub and kissed his lips then licked them with a pointed tongue. He groaned, lifting his hands to bury them in her hair. Cupping her cheeks, he eased her face away and looked into her eyes.
“I love you,” he said, brushing her nose with his.
She smiled, trailing the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “And I love you.” Standing, she opened the linen square and held it up. Emmett took a moment to even out his breathing and she gazed down at him. His cock jutted from the water, bobbing as he closed his legs a little. He rose, water sluicing off him, then stepped out of the tub. She wrapped the fabric around him, drying his chest and stomach with two corners, taking her time so his anticipation of what was to come grew stronger. His cock bumped her hand and she looked into his eyes, taking the cloth from around him and bringing it to his chest.
“Kneel?” he asked, head tilted. “Please?”
She smiled and nodded, dropping the cloth and kneeling again to take the still-damp rigidity between her lips. The tip grazed the roof of her mouth as she pulled up, the skin silky smooth. His groan prompted her to plunge down again, setting a slow rhythm. Hands in her hair, Emmett raised his hips.
Needing to take his mind from recent events, Amelia sucked harder, his cock gliding over her tongue. His vein pulsed and with one hand she fondled his sac, swirling his inner thigh with the fingertips of the other. The grip on her hair tightened and she worked faster, readying herself for his semen. It shot into her mouth in three rapid bursts and she swallowed as he murmured indecipherably. Slowing her pace, she sucked long and deep, finishing with a kiss to his tip. She took her mouth from him and she looked up. He gazed down at her, eyes half-lidded, hands massaging her scalp.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
Amelia scooped up the linen and stood, holding it out so he could wrap his lower half. She touched his face, their gazes meeting, pressed her lips to his, then said, “Do you need to talk?”
He nodded.
“Sit down then. You can talk while I make some tea.” She stared at the tub. “That can wait until morning. I’ll get up early and empty it, save Madam the job.”
Emmet didn’t sit. He slipped on his breeches, unlocked the back door and filled a bucket with bath water, then hauled it outside, repeating the task with an unreadable expression. Amelia set the filled teapot on the work surface to steep and, as Emmett didn’t offer conversation, she washed his shirt. The water turned pink, but the blood came out. Satisfied, she wrung the shirt and stepped outside to hang it on the line beside the rug. Emmett pulled the tub toward the back door and she waited while he tipped it over to empty it. Water pooled around her shoes and she stared at it for a moment, watching the liquid seep between the stone cracks. Thoughts of their journey to the cliff edge threatened to intrude and she glanced at Emmett while he hung the tub on the inside wall hook beside the back door. He avoided her gaze and a kernel of worry expanded inside her. Would what he had done ruin their relationship? Oh God, she hoped not. She couldn’t bear to let him go as Madam had done with Harry.
“Emmett?”
He turned to her, eyes wide, mouth slack and she rushed indoors, crushing him to her chest. His hairs tickled her cheek and she swept her hands over the planes of his back, his tense muscles.
She pulled away and gazed up at him. “Please don’t do this. Don’t shut yourself away from me. We’ll share this secret—I’ll never tell a soul. What’s done is done. We can’t change it, can’t undo what happened, so we must move on.”
He shook his head, mouth working to speak but no sound emerging.
“We
must
, Emmett.” She thought of the ship, of the people milling on the dockside. “Those people, back at the ship, they ignored my cries for help. They didn’t want any involvement, so do you think they will tell anyone in authority what they saw should they be asked?” She paused, moved her hands to his front and gripped his shoulders. “No, they won’t. Forget it. Forget it all. And if someone should ask questions,” she bit her lower lip, “then we deny all knowledge.” When Emmett didn’t respond, she plowed on. “Any number of people could resemble us. Our descriptions match so many others. Please, please just…
Talk
to me! What are you thinking?”
He swallowed and stroked her cheek. “You’re right, my beautiful wench. Perhaps a night’s sleep will cure what ails me. Perhaps tomorrow we will wake and everything will be as it was.” A wry burst of laughter left him. “Or as it was before I…” He bowed his head and inhaled a deep breath before lifting it again. “Before I took lives. But I took them out of desperation, at the thought of losing you.”
Amelia kissed him softly. “I know. And I would have done the same for you. Come, let us douse the fire and go to bed.” With an attempt at lightness, she added, “My legs ache.”
Emmett’s low chuckle gladdened her heart and he drew her to him, one hand on her lower back, the other in her hair. “We’ll be fine, won’t we? Everything will work out.”
“It will,” she said, his skin hot on her cheek. “We’ll sleep, and tomorrow… Maybe we could take a walk.”
Amelia stepped back and locked the door. Moonlight shone onto the stone slabs, the water there almost dried and gone. The rug and shirt swung in the breeze and she shuddered as the thought of a body being wrapped inside that carpet entered her mind. Where was it now? Had the waves sucked it under, taking the corpse to its depths, or did it float, ready to be spotted by those who sailed the ocean? With the gunshot wound, murder would be obvious. She shoved the images away, turning to Emmett with a smile she hoped hid her turmoil.
I told him to forget it all, but can we really put it behind us?
She disguised a sigh and took Emmett’s hand, leading him upstairs.
The alternative is too horrible to contemplate. Yes, we must move on. May God forgive us for what we have done
.
The climb proved hard work. Heavy legs made each step seem insurmountable and she likened it to their future if they allowed the past to rule them. What would she do if Bates’ men harmed, or worse, killed Emmett when Crowe didn’t return? How could she go on?
I’ll kill them.
A steely resolve entered her then, and she vowed that no matter what, she would obey Emmett’s call, his silent pull—wherever he might be—and keep their secret safe.
Silently, they undressed for bed. Beneath the covers, they snuggled up to one another. Amelia lost herself in swirls of worry, thinking on what tomorrow might bring. Madam would undoubtedly have the women back to work. The men would come calling, the whorehouse once again filled with activity, and on the surface, life would go on as usual—provided none of the women told of what had happened. Would Madam tell them Crowe had left, stormed off into the night, never to return? Doubts and scenarios whispered through her mind and she hugged Emmett closer, taking comfort from his warmth. His breathing slowed and she prayed he had fallen asleep, that his dreams would be pleasant, his slumber unmarred by nightmares.
The fingers of sleep beckoned her and she relaxed, knowing that whatever happened, they would face it together with Madam’s support. Calm stole over her and thoughts of the awful occurrences of the day began to fade.
A loud hammering on the front door jarred her from semi-sleep and she gasped, jerking to a sitting position, clutching the quilt to her breasts. Her heart thundered fast and hard and her mouth dried. Emmett jolted upright, staring at her with wide eyes, the moonlight through the window highlighting his fearful expression. Several heartbeats passed, then the banging sounded again.
* * * * *
Dear God, who could that be?
The hammering continued. Amelia opened her eyes and stared around the empty attic. Sunlight streamed through the dirty windowpanes and she squinted. Her dry mouth ached for water. Had she been drinking last night? And why the hell was she on the attic floor again? The previous night’s dream and the happenings of the evening before crashed into her mind. She’d come up here to hide from a man. Did he wait downstairs now? Had he let her sleep, bided his time until she woke? But… Nothing made sense. Was he real? He couldn’t be, surely. And why was the Madam in her dream a woman she knew in this life as Matilda? Was Amelia subconsciously bringing the woman into her dreams because she was the only friendly face she’d encountered since moving to Turner’s Point?