“You’re right,” he said, rising to his feet. “It is too late. Think about what I said, Harry. I’m a dangerous man. I’m a killer. Don’t get in my way again.”
Harry said nothing, but stark fear remained in his eyes.
At last, Stephen let himself look behind him. Sure enough, the alleyway was empty. Amelia had run off, then. He sighed.
Footsteps approached, and then Tristan rounded the corner at a jog, squinting into the dark. Stephen waved him down, and his friend hurried over. He took in the scene, his gaze lingering on Harry, who was still sprawled on the ground. His expression hardened.
“A beggar on the street directed me here,” he murmured. “Do you care to explain what’s going on, Stephen?”
“Later. For now, take him to the constables,” Stephen requested tiredly. His chest was tight, and his head hurt. “He has a confession to make.”
“And what about you? Where are you going?”
“I have to find my bride-to-be. She’s run off. I’m not sure I can blame her for fleeing, not after what she’s been through. I imagine she feels she can trust no one. I only hope I can change her mind.”
Amusement flickered across Tristan’s features.
“Well, if you are going to find her, you should hurry,” he said pointedly. “The wedding, I’ll remind you, is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Stephen snorted, glancing up at the moon high in the sky. “I believe it’s already past midnight. The wedding, in fact, istoday.”
CHAPTER 27
Amelia decided that it was her fault that she was lost. At the time, with Stephen and Harry grappling in that dark alleyway, the knife flashing, it had seemed the obvious solution to turn tail and flee.
And now here she was, plowing through the trees, the ground sticky and muddy under her feet. A faint mist rolled amongst the greenery, damp and clinging. She could see tiny beads of moisture clinging to the ends of her hair, and could feel the dampness of her clothing against her skin.
The ground was sloping up, slowly and surely. She would have changed direction and allowed her exhausted body to follow an easier path, only she was afraid of getting even more lost if she turned around. Or worse yet, running into Harry.
I should have stayed. What was I thinking, running away like that? Why didn’t I make sure that Stephen was safe? Why didn’t I ask him what he thought about it all, if he’d forgive me…
Amelia staggered to a halt.
I want him to forgive me. I want to forgive him.I… care for him.
Oh, heaven help me.
That terrifying and thrilling word echoed in her head. Stephen would be safe, she was sure of it. Knife or not, it didn’t seem reasonable that a man like Harry could harm a man like Stephen.
He’s done it before, though, hasn’t he?
She closed her eyes briefly, stumbling forward, and was rewarded by a tree root catching her hem, making her stumble. She nearly went down, saving herself at the last moment and staggering forward. Forward, and out of the trees.
It seemed she had arrived.
Amelia blinked, squinting in the moonlight. With a rush, she realized that this was Stephen’s estate. Hadn’t Letitia told her about a folly up on a hill near the house?
And there it was. There was a small clearing on top of the hill, which made her think of an old man’s bald spot. At the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the bushes, was a faux ancient tower. It was a pretty enough spot, made a little creepy by the greenishmist crawling over the ground around it. More importantly, it was probably dry inside.
Hitching up her damp hem, Amelia hurried toward it, slipping into the darkness.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. There were no stairs, no way to climb the tower. Of course not; it was a folly. The clue was in the name. Instead, she found herself in a circular room. It was dry, as she’d hoped, with a few padded benches here and there.
To her surprise, she found a deep alcove in the wall that contained a candle, matches, and even a folded blanket. With a sigh of relief, she took off her damp shawl and pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The candle flared to life, and she allowed herself a second sigh of relief as the light crept through the place, filling it with a dancing, buttery glow and a sense of warmth.
Now what?
Almost as soon as she thought that, she heard a rustle outside. Stiffening, Amelia held her breath, straining her ears. The rustle turned into a regular crunching sound that could be nothing but footsteps.
