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  Fifteen

  Amelia woke with a pounding in her head like she’d never felt in her life. The sun warmed her face, but she didn’t dare open her eyes. The pain was too great as it was—sunlight wasn’t going to help.

  She tried to turn to her side, hoping to escape its brilliance, but the motion only made her stomach churn. Good Lord, what had happened to her? And where was she?

  Her thoughts ran back to the last things she remembered. Tom. He’d taken her in, hadn’t he? Yes, that much she remembered. But then what?

  Fanny, Drury Lane…

  Father.

  If she had been able, Amelia most certainly would have bolted upright with a start, but all she could do was groan and try to prevent the tears from coming. Tears would only exacerbate her pain.

  The realization was so overwhelming that she—just for a moment—contemplated giving in and allowing the pain and whatever drug she’d been administered to overcome her. But she wouldn’t let him get the better of her. She couldn’t.

  She heard his footsteps below, the creaky, wooden floors pinpointing his exact location. She knew the sounds of the floorboards so well that she could tell what end of the sitting room Father was at, or if he headed for the dining room or up the stairs.

  Right now, he was coming up the stairs, presumably to check on her. Amelia thought it best that she pretend to sleep. She wasn’t ready to face him. Not yet. Not without a plan.

  As she’d expected, the door creaked open and her father ambled across the room. Amelia remained completely still—not that it was difficult, seeing how painful it was to move—until he apparently decided she was still drugged and left the room again.

  The door clicked shut, but she didn’t move. The best thing to do would be to lie here and imagine a way out of this situation. Or dream of a handsome gentleman coming to rescue her.

  Not just any gentleman, of course. Tom. Would he even notice she was missing? Surely Fanny would eventually tell him that she’d gone off to work early that morning. And surely they’d notice if she didn’t come home that evening. But what time was it now? What day? Amelia had no frame of reference, other than the sunlight streaming through the room. It had been morning when her father had found her, hadn’t it? Yes, it had been. She’d not even made it to Drury Lane. Home was at least a day’s drive, so it stood to reason it was the next day already. Yes, of course. The morning light always filled her bedroom, so it had to be the next morning.

  Amelia groaned and squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. All this thinking had her head pounding even harder against her skull. It almost felt as if horses were stamping on her brain.

  The thumping grew louder and louder, until Amelia realized that the pounding was coming from the outside of her head, not the inside. Someone was coming down the lane. Was it possible Tom had come for her? Her heart fluttered with hope for the first time.

  And then she chastised herself for allowing such fanciful thoughts. Her days of being fanciful were over. Her adventures were over. Her hopes of a life on the stage most definitely over. Father had found her, and if he didn’t kill her, Lord only knew what he’d do with her. She’d been in this position more times than she cared to count over the years, and she’d prayed every night at Ms. Denby’s that she’d never have to know this fear again. But she couldn’t control it. Terror welled in her belly, just as it had done when she’d been a child of six. Tears welled behind her eyelids, but her survival depended on not giving any signs that she’d been awake, so she bit them back and waited.

  ~*~

  Though Tom complained about his meddling sister more often than not, today he was exceedingly grateful for her propensity toward it. As soon as he’d discovered Amelia missing, he went to Victoria’s home and informed her of the situation. Within an hour, she’d gathered a bevy of influential women in her parlor, including their cousin, the Duchess of Weston, cousins-by-marriage, Lady Eastleigh and Mrs. Wetherby, and family friend, Lady Hastings. Along with them were the people who were most likely to be able to help him, Ms. Denby of Ms. Denby’s School for Girls, and Amelia’s best friend, Miss Pickering.

  It wasn’t surprising they all eyed him askance. Obviously someone in this room knew he’d harbored Amelia in his home, otherwise, how would Victoria have been aware of the issue? It made Tom slightly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t something he could focus on at the moment. His only thoughts were of Amelia—of getting her back as soon as possible. Whether or not they’d be able to pick up where they’d left off was another question. But he wanted her in every sense of the word. He wanted her safe. He wanted her happy. He wanted her with him.

  Victoria quickly explained the situation to the women, which elicited a chorus of gasps and “Oh!”s. When she opened the floor, everyone tried to speak at once.

  “We’ll form a search party!”

  “I’ll alert my contact at the paper!”

  “My runner will surely track them down.”

  “Stop!”

  At this, silence fell over the room and everyone turned to face Ms. Denby, who stood so tall and spoke so clearly, no one had a choice but to pay attention to her.

  “While it is not in my authority to share confidential information—such as addresses—about my students, I do believe I can make an exception in this case.” She turned to Tom and leveled him with her most intimidating headmistress glare. “But before I give the information to you, my lord, I must ask one thing.”

  Tom nodded, curious what the devil this woman needed to know before she sent him off on his quest, like a knight in bloody armor, to rescue her student. He had no choice but to humor her. “Please,” he said.

  “What are your intentions with my student?”

  Every jaw in the room unhinged, and every woman moved infinitesimally closer to him, desperate to hear his answer.

  Bloody hell. He didn’t know what his intentions were. All he knew was that he wanted to be with her. He also knew that as much as he wanted to be with her, he didn’t want to ask for her hand in marriage. He’d been burnt by love before—he’d not fall again.

  However, he wasn’t going to get out of this house with her address by telling Ms. Denby he wanted to take Amelia as his mistress. The only way he was getting what he needed was by telling her what she wanted to hear.

  “My intentions,” he paused to clear his throat, “are honorable, I assure you.”

  “They haven’t been terribly honorable thus far, Lord Grantham,” she said, calling him out.

  Didn’t they care that she didn’t care? Amelia wanted to be an actress. She eschewed the ton in order to join the demimonde. He wasn’t forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

  Still, seven pair of eyes regarded him, eagerly awaiting that word. Damn it all! Fine.

  “I plan to marry her.” The air went whooshing out of his lungs. Gasps reverberated against the walls as several of the ladies brought their hands to their mouths in shock.

  He dared a glance at his sister. She stood there, eyes wide, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her brow furrowed. “Tom, are you sure?”

  No, of course he wasn’t. And why wasn’t she bloody thrilled about this? Tom was more certain every day that he would never come to understand women.

  “Yes, I am,” he lied. “The address, please, Ms. Denby.”

  She directed him to the small town of Aylesbury in Kent. It wasn’t too far, thank God, but far enough that he wouldn’t be there until tomorrow. What kind of damage could her father do before then?

  Not wanting to delay another moment, Tom set off on horseback to rescue his damsel in distress. He didn’t care to think about the future with her. It might only lead to heartbreak. What if she wasn’t even alive?

  The thought made his stomach churn, so he pushed it from his mind, along with all other thoughts of her. He focused on the steady tattoo of the horse’s hooves. It was the only way to keep himself from going mad.

  Sixteen

  Amelia tried to hear what her f
ather and his guest were talking about, but her head was still so foggy, it was hard to concentrate. And straining her ears only made her head hurt worse. One thing was certain: Tom had not come to rescue her. It was likely he never would. Why endanger himself for a runaway who’d only made his life more difficult for the last week?

  Goodness, had it only been a week since they’d met? She felt as if she’d known him far longer than that. Did he feel the same? Or was he glad to be rid of her? Perhaps it had been the longest week of his life, carting her around, trying to keep her safe or in a proper bed.

  Despite their newfound arrangement, she couldn’t help but feel like a nuisance to him. He’d be much better off just letting her go, though that wasn’t at all what Amelia wanted. At the very least, she wanted to be rescued and returned to London to continue her work with Mr. Price. If it included Tom, she wouldn’t mind, but that might be wishful thinking.

  After the drone of her father and the strange man’s voices died, they headed for the stairs. Was her father truly bringing a man up to her room? The staircase creaked under their weight and their footsteps neared her bedroom door. She heard it swing open, and then waited, as still and as quiet as she could be.

  They didn’t come into the room, but she felt their eyes on her, watching her from the doorway. Her heart raced, and she struggled to keep her breathing even as she lay there. After what felt like an hour but what was probably only a few seconds, the strange man spoke.

  “Oh, yes, Harding, she’ll do just fine.” The man’s voice was gruff, belying advanced years.

  A cold chill went down Amelia’s spine. In what way would she “do just fine?” It was the most difficult task in the world to simply lie there and try to appear calm on the outside, when she was in a sheer panic on the inside.

  “Good,” her father said. “I’ll draw up a contract and you can pick her up in the morning.”

  “Yes, fine,” the man agreed. “I’ll have the money for you then.”

  Money? Was it possible her father was selling her to this man? Amelia fought the urge to be sick.

  “Shall I keep her drugged or would you prefer her to be lucid?”

  Keep me drugged? Oh, God. How long has he been drugging me?

  The man laughed. “Probably better to keep her drugged, don’t you think? Wouldn’t want her to try to run or anything before I got her home.”

  Her father gave a harsh, cold laugh in return. “Good plan. I’ll see you out.”

  The door clicked shut and their footsteps retreated. Amelia had to get out of there; she had to find a way out of this horrific situation. But how? If Father continued to keep her drugged, she would continue to lie in this bed, until that man came to retrieve her.

  Her mind reeled with possibilities. Could she work up the strength to escape? Her heart constricted. Probably not. She could barely open her eyes as it was. How in the world would she stand and walk out of here?

  Still, she wouldn’t give up. She would hold out hope. Tom’s face flashed in her mind, making her heart swell. He would come for her. He just had to.

  ~*~

  Tom arrived in Aylesbury just after nine o’clock the next morning, after having ridden as if the flames of Hell licked at his feet for nearly a day. He would have been there even sooner had he been able to ride on horseback, but he couldn’t take Amelia back to London that way. He needed her safely ensconced in a carriage where no one could see her. Besides, he had no idea what kind of damage had been done—perhaps she wasn’t in any shape to travel at all.

  His carriage pulled up to the gate of the small manor house, and he alighted immediately, not bothering to wait for his driver to open the door. Not wasting a single moment, he marched to the front door and pounded.

  No response.

  He pounded again, even harder this time.

  Nothing. Damn it.

  Tom took a step back and looked around. It was starting to rain, but he only cared about finding her.

  He turned back to the door, and stared at the door handle. After a moment, he decided to take his chances. Much to his surprise, it opened for him without any trouble, swinging inward to reveal a modest foyer.

  “Hello?” he called, his heart hammering against his chest. “Amelia?”

  After scanning the downstairs rooms, he boldly climbed the staircase. At the landing, he glanced down the corridor. Four rooms, two on each side. All doors closed. Did he dare open them?

  He had no choice. He started with the first on his left. Nothing but a bed and side table. The room across from it was similar, but had a chest of drawers.

  As he backed into the corridor once again, he heard a faint moan. So faint, he thought he might have imagined it, but his heart raced nonetheless. Was she here?

  He flung open the next door on the right and there, in the bed, laid Amelia. Only it barely looked like her. She appeared pale and sickly, so unlike her usual rosy self. What the hell had her father done to her?

  Tom rushed to her side and gently shook her by the shoulders, repeating her name over and over, praying she would open her eyes. Or say something. Anything to let him know she was going to be all right.

  But there was nothing. She lay lifeless, her dark lashes resting against her ghostly cheeks. Her hair formed a tangled halo around her face, and her lips were practically nonexistent, they were so white. Thankfully, her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. At least she was still alive.

  He was about to lift her into his arms and take her to his carriage, when a loud and familiar click sounded behind him. He didn’t need to look to know someone held a gun behind him.

  “Leave now and I’ll spare your life,” came a gruff voice. Tom could only assume it was Amelia’s father.

  Tom pivoted slowly, rising to his full height as he did so. Amelia’s father was not what he’d expected. He was a large and imposing man, but clearly worn by years of overindulgence. For a moment, Tom saw himself in the future. Was this what he would look like if he continued on his path of debauchery?

  “What have you done to her?” he asked, trying to keep calm despite the fact he stared down the barrel of a gun.

  “Never mind that,” Harding said, waving the gun about. “She’s not your concern.”

  “I beg to differ,” Tom replied, deciding he’d rather go to the devil lying than let this man get the better of him.

  “Oh?”

  “And the law will, too…since she’s my wife.” Tom was amazed at how easily the lie slipped off his tongue, and that it didn’t make him want to down an entire bottle of whisky.

  Harding’s face fell and his eyes widened so far that they nearly popped out of his head. “Your what?” And then his eyes narrowed again and his expression turned murderous. “Impossible. She’s only been gone a week from Ms. Denby’s care. There’s been no time to get her to Gretna Green and back, and certainly not enough time for the banns to have been read.”

  Tom scoffed. “I’m a powerful man, Mr. Harding. A special license was easy to obtain.” He glanced back to the bed and began to reach for Amelia’s lifeless body.

  “Stop right there!” Harding called, now aiming the gun directly at Tom’s head. If Tom wasn’t careful, he’d have a bullet through his skull in no time. “I want proof.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t think to bring the license, Mr. Harding.”

  “Then you’ll go and fetch it.”

  “And leave her here with the likes of you? She’ll be dead before I ever make it back.” Speaking those words made his chest clench. It was a miracle she was still alive as it was.

  “You’re not taking her until I have proof. Besides, I’ve already got plans for my little girl. You think I’m going to just hand her over to you at your word?”

  Little girl? How dare he have the audacity to speak such endearing terms about Amelia after all he’d put her through? His own parents might have been indifferent, but at least they’d not drugged and abused their children. Perhaps Tom had judged them too harshly. Held up ag
ainst this man, they were practically saints.

  What was Harding after anyhow? Clearly, he didn’t care about his daughter. So what? What were these plans he had for her? Either way, Tom had no choice but to fight him. He was bigger than Tom, but hopefully his advanced years would slow him down.

  Before the old man had a chance to act, Tom leapt across the small space between them, knocking the gun to the floor as they both tumbled into the hallway. It was hard to tell if it was the floorboards creaking or bones breaking in the scuffle. Harding put up a good fight though, blocking Tom’s blows or keeping him at arm’s length as they rolled back and forth in the tiny hallway.

  When finally Tom had an opportunity to come to his feet, he took it. Perhaps it would somehow give him an advantage, though he wasn’t sure how. The man was stronger and far more agile than he’d expected.

  Tom waited, though, to see if Harding was just mad enough to charge at him. Moments later, having regained his wits, he did just as Tom expected. Like an angry bull, he came at Tom, who feinted and then ducked out of his way. Harding must have thought to send Tom careening down the stairs, but he tumbled down himself instead. He went feet over heels at least three times before he landed in a slump at the bottom.

  Everything went quiet, and Tom’s ears rushed with the silence as he stared down at the man’s unmoving body. Dear God. Is he dead?

  A moan from Amelia’s room reminded him he didn’t have time to worry about Harding. He had to get Amelia out of there.

  He picked her up from the bed, noting how light she felt in his arms, and carried her as swiftly as he could down the stairs. Harding still lay at the bottom of the staircase and Tom was forced to step over him. Moments later, he and Amelia were ensconced in his carriage, headed back for London. And while Tom wanted Harding dead for what he’d done to Amelia, he feared the consequences should anyone ever find out he was in the man’s home that morning.

  Seventeen