Laura Martin - Heiress On The Run

Amelia shook her head. ‘I couldn’t forget about him. I thought we were meant to be together.’

It was galling, really, when she thought of how much time and energy she had wasted trying to track McNair down.

‘My behaviour became a little...erratic, and after some time my father decided to send me to England to stay with my aunt and have a London Season.’

And find a respectable husband. The words had never been explicitly said by her father, but he’d made it quite clear he wanted her happy and settled, and that he expected a good match from her. Edward leaned back in his chair and watched her intently as she told her story. There was something searching and assessing in his gaze, and she had the impression he was committing her to memory, maybe for one of his sketches he seemed so fond of.

‘When I got to England I persuaded my cousin Lizzie to assume my identity for a few weeks whilst I slipped away. I’d found McNair’s address and was determined for us to be reunited.’

Amelia didn’t recount the dizzy anticipation she’d felt on her journey to Brighton. Her thoughts had been full of breathless reunions, impassioned kisses and romantic vows never to be apart. The reality had been so much different.

‘When I got to his address McNair was more than a little shocked to see me, but he recovered quickly.’

She closed her eyes as she remembered the honeyed words he’d used to placate her after his first expression had not been of complete pleasure. He’d led her into his rooms, entwining his fingers with hers and had whispered all manner of scandalous endearments in her ear. Amelia had fallen for him all over again, her infatuation deepening every minute she was in his company.

Amelia glanced at Edward, unsure how much to say. He seemed to pick up on her hesitation and wordlessly stood, crossed the short distance between them and refilled her glass with whisky. Amelia took a fortifying sip as she remembered McNair’s kiss, the way his lips had trailed over her skin, the light dance of his fingertips over her back and the warmth of his body pressed close to hers.

She would have given herself to him, completely and utterly. It was only pure luck that she had not fallen into bed with the man she’d thought she loved.

‘We were disturbed and McNair left the room for some moments. Whilst he was gone I wandered around, looking at this and that. Then I saw the will on his desk.’

She’d stared at it for a whole minute, uncomprehending. Reading the letters, but their meaning not fully sinking in.

‘It was his wife’s will. It transpires that she had become unwell just over a year ago, coinciding with McNair’s return to England. She had passed away at the end of last month.’

‘You didn’t know he was married?’

Amelia shook her head. She’d stared at the piece of paper detailing McNair’s wife’s bequests to certain charitable organisations and she’d felt as though her heart was actually ripping in two. Years of flirtation and infatuation had immediately soured and as McNair had walked back into the room she’d finally seen him for what he was: a trickster, an adulterer. She’d hated him in an instant, but more than that, she had felt all of her self-confidence and trust in her own judgement destroyed in one fell swoop. She’d allowed herself to be taken in by this villain and that hurt almost as much as the scoundrel’s betrayal.

‘I confronted him when he returned and at first he tried to deny it. I became a little hysterical and suddenly he turned nasty.’

He’d shown his true colours then. Gone was the man who had whispered his desire to spend eternity in her arms and the real McNair replaced him. This McNair snapped and snarled like a wounded animal and let her know it was just her father’s substantial fortune he was interested in.

‘He admitted his plan had been to seduce me, entice me to run away with him, then extort money from my father for my safe and scandal-free return.’

It had been the ultimate humiliation. Just one more man who wanted her for her money.

‘What a bastard,’ Edward said, not apologising for his language. Amelia felt her spirits buoy a little as she continued. It was the most animated she’d seen him.

‘I threatened to expose him as a scoundrel and a liar, empty words, but I think he had a new scheme afoot, some new girl he was trying to con, for he became enraged.’

Amelia raised a hand to her cheek where McNair had left his mark.

‘He hit you?’

She nodded. ‘He punched me, right on the cheek. He was livid, like a wild beast.’

It was no excuse, not for what she’d done, but Amelia truly had been afraid for her life.

‘There was a fancy letter opener on his desk and I grabbed it, thinking to brandish it and warn him away, but he just laughed at my efforts and came at me again.’

She closed her eyes as she relived the moment the blade had sunk into McNair’s flesh, the soft resistance, the warm trickle of blood that had flowed over her hand, McNair’s surprised exhalation before he collapsed on to the ground.

‘I stabbed him,’ she said so quietly she wasn’t sure Edward would hear her words.

She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t bear to see what another person thought of her taking a man’s life and all because of a seduction gone wrong.

‘I stabbed him and I killed him.’

Some men would come and take her hand, try to comfort her despite there being nothing that could change the fact she was a killer. Some men would chastise and condemn her, even restrain her until they could summon a magistrate. Edward did neither. He sat in the chair across from her in silence, giving her time to collect herself, to steady her nerves and to continue.

‘I fled, I ran as far as I could as fast as I could, then when I couldn’t run any more I kept walking.’

‘And that’s how you came to be here, on the night of the storm.’

Amelia looked up at him, trying to read his expression, to garner exactly what he thought of her.

‘How long was this letter opener?’ he asked, taking her by surprise.

She measured out a few inches with her fingers, trying to recall the look of the blade before it had been covered in blood.

‘And where did you stab him?’

‘What does it matter?’ she asked, feeling sick.

‘The blade was small. Unless you hit a vital organ I think it unlikely you killed the man.’

She shook her head. She’d killed him. No one could bleed that much and not be dead.

‘He collapsed to the floor...there was blood everywhere.’

‘Did you check to see if he was breathing? If he had a pulse?’

She hadn’t. In fact, she hadn’t been able to look at his body at all once the blood had started seeping from the wound around her fingers.

‘There was too much blood,’ she repeated.

Edward fell silent, seeming to realise if he pushed her much further Amelia wouldn’t be able to keep her tenuous grip on her composure.

‘What do you want to happen now, Amelia?’ Edward asked.

‘I don’t want to hang.’

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Amelia watched as Edward fought it and returned his expression to the more familiar frown.

‘An admirable ambition. I don’t think any judge would hang you.’

Amelia wasn’t sure. And even if she wasn’t sentenced to death, a long spell in one of the country’s notorious prisons was just about as bad as the noose.

‘It was self-defence. You’re a young woman of a good family and by all accounts McNair seems to be a known scoundrel.’

It sounded as though Edward was justifying handing her over to the magistrate to face the penalty for what she’d done.

‘It’s up to you, of course, but if you run then you will spend your entire life looking over your shoulder, wondering whether this crime will catch up with you.’