The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,21
of how he disguises it.”
With a sudden jerk, he dropped her arm, straightened, and smoothed his cravat, which the wind had disrupted. His hard glare bore down on her, the wildness in his expression frightening her. “Consider your motivations, Amelia. You are acting on emotion, not reason. But I will not allow him to exploit you. Exploit us. My mind is made up. I will not subvert my children’s inheritance to raise another man’s child, especially when that man is fully capable of doing so on his own. I will not be taken advantage of like, like—”
His words stopped short. He cut his eyes away from her, lifted the glass to his lips, and tossed the liquid down his throat. His body swayed.
Amelia shrank back into the corner, hunching under the protection of her shawl, as if it could protect her from the bluntness of his words.
Even in cover of darkness, she could see the anger in his dark eyes. “I care not how it is done, but that child will leave my house.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded toward the door, a silent indication he was done with their discussion. “Do not stay out in this air. You will catch a chill.”
Edward staggered back inside. Watching him go, Amelia could not help but recall the day she had met him. Handsome, self-assured, attentive, he had drawn her to him effortlessly. His every word had held tenderness and a promise.
How had he become . . . this?
How could she possibly marry a man who would treat her so?
But what choice did she possibly have?
Tears threatened. Amelia stared into the black, starless night, pulling her shawl ever tighter around her, as if such a simple action could shield her from the uncertainty of her future.
Graham stepped into the broad hallway, determined to go unnoticed by the handful of guests who had gathered there. A quick sweep of the space confirmed Miss Helena Barrett’s absence. He exhaled. The woman had babbled all evening. Her incessant prattling had kept him from seeking out Miss Amelia Barrett, his true reason for attending in the first place.
He made his way down the hall to the library in time to see Edward Littleton stumble in through an outside door. The inebriated man shuffled past without seeing him. Graham released a breath. He wasn’t fond of Littleton. But if the person coming in had been Helena Barrett and he’d been forced to endure one more tale about purchasing Indian muslin or German lace, he would have thrown himself from one of Winterwood’s towers.
He watched Littleton stagger past a side table and nearly knock a candle to the planked floor below. So far, what he had seen of Amelia Barrett’s intended had been unimpressive at best. Graham had every intention of watching him more closely as the evening progressed, but first he needed a minute alone. He stole behind the couches, careful not to draw the attention of a small group of men who had gathered in front of the fireplace. Twisting the door’s ornate brass handle, he stepped out onto a wide stone terrace. The breeze carried a hint of rain, and the frost’s spicy scent invigorated his senses. He stretched and inhaled deeply. He still missed sea air, but this was preferable to the suffocating rooms within.
“Are you looking for something, Captain Sterling?” The voice was soft. Feminine.
He turned to find Miss Amelia Barrett standing behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder. She had been alone with Littleton. He bowed. “Miss Barrett. I wasn’t aware you were out here.”
“If I did not know better, I would think you were following me.” Her words were an obvious attempt at lighthearted conversation, but her face told a different story.
“I deserve that. I apologize for my behavior in the cemetery yesterday. I had no intention to intrude or offend.”
Miss Barrett stepped from the shadows. The yellow light filtering through the tall drawing room windows slanted over the gentle slope of her nose and highlighted the curve of her cheek. “It is I who should apologize, sir. It was impolite of me to leave so abruptly.” She lowered her voice, as if taking him into her confidence. “You see, as a general rule, I prefer not to cry in front of other people. Especially people I do not have the pleasure of knowing well.”
You will not cry in front of a stranger, yet you would propose to one? The words bubbled near the