“For me?” She wanted to laugh hysterically. “You want me dead. How could I have been a fool, such a fool?”
He shrugged. “You wanted a brother. You wanted absolution for the part your family played in my mother’s ruin. She died of shame, you know. Shame and heartbreak. I think yours did, too. We have that in common as well. I imagine you wanted to hope I wasn’t really so bad. Perhaps you simply wanted to imagine there was another option for you than marrying Stephen.”
“What do you want from me? Speak plainly, Harry.”
He pushed out his lips and lifted the knife. He ran one fingertip along the side of the shining metal, tapping the very tip. Wincing, he pulled back his finger, revealing a bead of crimson blood.
“Your death would turn you into a saint,” he said. “People adore martyrs. And they love excessive morality in women. Think of how mad the world went over that heroine, Pamela, or whatever her name was. She was willing to die for virtue, wasn’t she? I read that book and could not contain my laughter. Of course, her reward was to marry a vile, pampered little lordling, and they put her face on teacups. But think ofyourstory. An illegitimatedaughter—a beauty, of course, nobody would care if you weren’t a beauty—wracked with guilt over her birth, ashamed of her treacherous mother. She kills herself, unable to live with her shame, and in doing so turns herself into a martyr. Think of that! Your death would be a lot less scandalous than your birth, I can assure you.”
He paused, as if considering.
“A lot less scandalous than if you had married Stephen. Which you won’t do, of course.”
Amelia swallowed. Her throat was suddenly as dry as sandpaper. “You have to let me go, Harry.”
“No, I don’t,” he said gently, setting the knife aside. “Do you know what the saddest thing about all of this is, Amelia? It didn’t have to be this way. If you’d married anybody else in the ton, I would have accepted it. If you’d promised not to do anything foolish, like claiming a relation to me, we could have been friends. But you had to go and marryhim. I can’t let you marry Stephen, Amelia. I simply can’t. It’s going too far.You’regoing too far. For heaven’s sake, it’s all so ridiculous! Everybody is getting what they want except me. And I certainly won’t let Stephen have more than I do. Not this. Notyou.”
Amelia licked her lips nervously. She considered diving for the knife, which was resting on the table beside Harry’s elbow. But then what? Even if she did manage to snatch it up before he shoved her away, what then? Would they grapple for it? Wouldshe stab him?Couldshe? And even if she did, wasn’t it likely that she’d hang for murdering a viscount?
No, diving for the knife was not the answer. She stood still, hands at her sides, thinking.
“What does Stephen have that you don’t?” she asked.
He gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, don’t be a little dolt. He’s a duke; I’m a viscount. His wealth is triple mine, even if Father hadn’t been foolish enough to fritter it away on nonsense. He was about to go on a wonderful Grand Tour, while I scrimped and saved at home because my father had squandered all his money onyou.”
He jabbed a finger in her direction, and she flinched as if he’d slapped her.
“That wasn’t my fault,” she whispered.
He didn’t seem to be listening. Eyes half-glazed, Harry took a step forward, and she shuffled nervously backward.
“One bastard is bad enough,” he whispered. “But it’s understandable. Men make mistakes. Butthree? Three bastards, all girls, and he goes and sets them up in a fine house, spends money on them? It was too far. I couldn’t go on a Grand Tour, but he paid for etiquette lessons for you and your sisters. New gowns for your mother. Why couldn’t Father tire of her after thefirst brat, like all sensible men? He certainly tired of my mother quickly enough.”
“I believe Father was wrong to do what he did,” Amelia tried, hoping to find common ground. “He wronged your mother and you. But my sisters and I are innocent. You must see that, Harry.”
Harry shook his head. “No, you aren’t. You never were. I warned you, Amelia. I told you to stay away from me. Now you’ll pay the price. Or, if you don’t, your sisters will.”
A chill ran down her spine.
“What do you mean by that, Harry?”
He only gave a brittle smile. “I’ll leave you with the tea. And the knife.”
He slipped out the door, closing it behind him. This time, he made no attempt to hide the click of the lock.
Amelia stood still, listening to his retreat. She shuffled over to the tea tray, eyeing the knife. His footsteps grew quieter.
Gingerly, she picked up the knife. It was a solid, heavy thing, with a wickedly sharp blade and a handle worn smooth by use. Swallowing, she set it down again.
The tea was already beginning to cool in the cold room, with no steam rising from the cups. She set them aside, too. Perhaps there was only tea in the cups, but she had no intention of finding out.
Pausing, she lifted her head and listened. There was no sound of footsteps now.
Letting out a long, ragged sigh, Amelia picked up the heavy tea tray and hurled it with all her strength at the nearest window.
Smash.
At once, footsteps returned, hurrying closer and closer.
