The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,111

business is with this man, but he is guilty of kidnapping. I’m taking him to the magistrate.”

Kingston sneered. “Magistrate, you say? I got my own brand of authorities. Get outta my way.” The man lurched forward and shoved against Graham with his forearm.

Graham couldn’t care less what happened to Littleton. He wanted to nurse his own wound, return to the comfort of Amelia’s arms, and hold his daughter. But whatever had transpired between Littleton and Kingston, Littleton was not fit for a fight. Graham had come to Liverpool with the intent to save his daughter and bring about justice. Justice was not handing the pitiful Littleton over to the likes of Kingston.

With every muscle still tense and alert from the previous skirmish, fresh fire surged through his veins. Within moments, fists were once again flying. But as corrupted as Littleton was, Kingston’s fight was more savage. More vicious.

And then Graham saw his opportunity. He took a punch that pushed him back several feet, which gave him just enough room. He lifted himself from the ground, kept him body low, and thrust all of his momentum into the middle of Kingston’s body. Kingston flailed back, tripped on the coils of rope behind him, and fell off the dock into the frigid sea.

With near expert timing, William threw his pistol to his brother, who peered off the dock to the man treading water.

“Get out!” Graham shouted as Sulter secured a rope to the dock so Kingston could climb up. Graham stared down at Kingston with steely reserve. It was over. There was no way he could fight. Nowhere he could go. When the man floundered, Graham fired a shot into the water. “Get out!”

Kingston, wet and shivering, climbed the rope. Once he was on the dock, Graham whirled around, half expecting another attack. But aside from the gathering crowd watching the incident, all was quiet. His arm throbbed. His head pounded. But he would continue to fight, if need be—for justice. And, more importantly, for his family.

Littleton lay on the dock, pale and unconscious as Sulter made quick work of tying up Kingston. Graham leaned over their new enemy.

“Wait. Before you do that—” He reached in the man’s coat and felt the lumpy contents of his pockets until he found what he sought. The act of retreiving the waterlogged money, for what it was worth, brought little satisfaction. “Hmm. I do not believe you held up your end of the bargain, did you, mate?”

Sutler tsked. “And after all the trouble I went through recommeding you.”

Kingston’s chest heaved, his scraggly hair plastered to his face.

Graham straightened. “Sulter, see that the women are taken care of. William and I can take it from here.”

But before the words were even out of his mouth, Amelia was at his side. Brave, impulsive Amelia. The very sight of her both weakened him and infused him with a strength—and dedication—he’d never imagined before now.

By the dawn’s light he saw the dark shadows gathered beneath her eyes. The straw in her tangled hair. He reached out to smooth a smudge of dirt on her cheek, relishing the sensation of the petal-soft skin beneath his rough hand.

Motion caught his eye, and he glanced up to see a constable walking in their direction. No doubt the gathering crowd piquing his interest. He felt a tremor of relief at the sight. It was almost done. The end was in sight. He’d deliver Littleton and Kingston and then be free of them both. He looked back down at Amelia. Her eyes held questions, but the strength he saw in them renewed him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, noting how she trembled beneath his touch. “This is the end. I promise. I will take care of this, but I need to know you and Lucy are safe.” He leaned close, his lips touching her ear, and whispered, “I love you, Amelia Barrett. You are a part of me. No one will keep you from my side. No one.”

In the stillness of her room at the Sulters’ house, Amelia lay propped on her side, watching her cousin sleep. With Helena’s hysteria finally coming to an end, exhaustion had set in.

Amelia lay her head on the pillow and tucked her hands underneath it. The sheets felt cool against her cheek.

The events of the last few days haunted her, and she did not doubt they would do so in the days—nay, years—to come.

Next to her, Helena stirred. She did not even want to think how close