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Heiress On The Run
Laura Martin
A lady in need of shelterHeiress Amelia Eastway is running for her life. Convinced she has committed a terrible crime, she seeks shelter in an overgrown country estate, only to discover the owner—a reclusive baron—does not take kindly to trespassers…After losing his wife and son, Sir Edward Gray has shut himself away from the world. His honour demands he give Amelia a safe haven, but he’s determined to keep his distance. Until, that is, Amelia brings life into Edward’s home, and gives him hope for a new future!
A lady in need of shelter
Heiress Amelia Eastway is running for her life. Convinced she has committed a terrible crime, she seeks shelter in an overgrown country estate, only to discover the owner—a reclusive baron—does not take kindly to trespassers...
After losing his wife and son, Sir Edward Gray has shut himself away from the world. His honor demands he give Amelia a safe haven, but he’s determined to keep his distance. Until, that is, Amelia brings life into Edward’s home, and gives him hope for a new future!
Edward moved quietly, hoping to surprise the intruder.
The sight that met his eyes as he pushed open the door was not what he’d expected at all. Standing in front of the fire was a young woman in the process of undressing. Edward swallowed. She had already shed her dress and petticoat, and was now clad in just her chemise and stockings. Both items of clothing were soaked with rainwater, and the chemise clung to her body in a scandalous fashion, revealing much more than it had been designed to.
As he watched her chemise slipped from one shoulder, revealing the creamy white skin beneath. The young woman then bent down and started to unroll her stockings, sighing with pleasure as she peeled the wet material from her legs.
Edward knew he had already been watching for far too long to be considered a gentleman. Long-forgotten emotions were beginning to stir in his body, and as he watched the mystery woman arch her back and let her head drop backwards Edward felt a surge of desire.
Author Note (#u981fc757-1101-5e08-b40e-e95f7a2f510a)
In my job as a doctor I am lucky enough to be a part of many people’s lives. Sometimes it is my role to comfort them when they receive bad news, sometimes to celebrate when the news is good. Often people just want to talk—to discuss the highs and lows of their lives and figure out ways to make it through the tough times. Over the past few years I have seen many suffer sad bereavements, lose the very people they got up for each and every morning, and I have marvelled at their resilience and fortitude. Despite these devastating losses these people struggle on, and after a period of time things do start to get easier.
Nevertheless, I think the old adage ‘time heals’ is only partially true. I believe that it is what you do with that time that helps the healing process, and this was a theme I wanted to explore in Heiress on the Run. Edward’s bereavement is still fresh and raw, and he’s locked himself away brooding; it is only as he begins to accept that there must be a future for him that he can truly begin to heal. In writing Edward’s character I sometimes wondered if I had given him too much to bear, but I kept reminding myself of all the real-life examples that show people can endure and can flourish again no matter what.
Heiress on the Run
Laura Martin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LAURA MARTIN writes historical romances with an adventurous undercurrent. When not writing, she spends her time working as a doctor in Cambridgeshire, where she lives with her husband. In her spare moments Laura loves to lose herself in a book, and has been known to read from cover to cover in a single day when the story is particularly gripping. She also loves to travel—especially visiting historical sites and far-flung shores.
Books by Laura Martin
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
The Governess Tales
Governess to the Sheikh
Stand-Alone Novels
The Pirate Hunter
Secrets Behind Locked Doors
Under a Desert Moon
An Earl in Want of a Wife
Heiress on the Run
Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
For Nic,
for all those marathon make-believe sessions.
One day I’ll forgive you for Jasmine’s head.
And for Luke and Jack.
you make all my dreams come true.
Contents
Cover (#u47872146-7928-5cae-a04e-102f2a59c4cc)
Back Cover Text (#u0bfe0170-a7d3-5733-835c-f9bfa702cfc8)
Introduction (#u88ca993a-5f0e-5b3c-86b9-a6729fb45edc)
Author Note (#ua46d6815-3b09-5a5c-8985-e7bb3b0d2f50)
Title Page (#ubbf1c731-1c1f-5fe2-97a4-14cdc8f4c5fd)
About the Author (#uff588a4c-35a4-5129-9f65-5ca62c411e66)
Dedication (#u914fbb56-d8fa-5954-be1e-ab4d2e05756e)
Chapter One (#ue3d9a164-cca4-5b72-b027-94551c0e0ee4)
Chapter Two (#u4b49080a-7c0e-5ec0-8cd5-accf3f319d98)
Chapter Three (#u6fadc8af-d442-535f-a9a2-2e983a97f807)
Chapter Four (#u4a7cbe89-6220-516c-86f9-4a3c32e3291d)
Chapter Five (#ue9cab3d3-7fa3-56ee-8187-6ae901b0146e)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u981fc757-1101-5e08-b40e-e95f7a2f510a)
Amelia ran through the trees, ignoring the branches that whipped at her face and the brambles that caught at her skirts. She was exhausted, her lungs felt as though they were on fire and the muscles in her legs protested with every stride, but still she kept running. Risking a glance over her shoulder, Amelia stumbled, her ankle twisting dangerously to one side, but she caught herself and managed to stay on her feet.
A loud clap of thunder sounded overhead and seconds later the sky lit up with a fork of brilliant white lightning. Amelia felt exposed in the bright light, despite the camouflage of the trees, and was glad when the world returned to darkness again. Now the rain started in earnest, big droplets of water that pounded against Amelia’s skin and soaked her within minutes. Her dress hung heavily against her, rubbing like sandpaper with every movement, and for once she wished she was wearing something more practical, less pretty, something that might keep her a little warm in this awful climate.
Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, Amelia listened carefully. She’d been walking over these Godforsaken Downs for the past two days, unsure where to go, where would be safe and offer her sanctuary. It had been bad enough when it was just cold and windy, but now, with the storm raging overhead, Amelia wondered whether she might die out here on these hills.
At least the village was far behind her now, the village that she had hoped might give her shelter for the cold night. That had been a bad idea. The first person that had caught a glimpse of her bloodstained dress and windswept hair had backed away, calling for her to keep her distance, and alerting the entire population to her arrival. She’d fled quickly, sparing a glance for the warm glow coming from the roadside inn, and continued her dash over the sodden hills.
Amelia was convinced the villagers would have sent people to follow her. Her face was probably on posters by now, her crime known far beyond the seaside resort of Brighton where it had been committed. She let out a small sob, wondering where everything had gone so wrong, and allowed herself a moment of self-pity. This was not how her life was supposed to be. Four days ago she’d had everything to look forward to: a new life in England, a reunion with the man she loved and a Season in London, whirling through ballrooms and sparkling in pretty new dresses. She had imagined being complimented and courted, not condemned and chased.
Straightening up, Amelia noticed a low wall on her left and a little further on a set of wrought-iron gates, easy to miss as they were so overgrown with curls of ivy and creepers. It only took her a second to decide what to do. Her feet were hurting, her entire body shivering and she hadn’t slept for two days. The gates looked as though they belonged to an abandoned estate. If she was lucky there might be a barn or outbuilding still standing, somewhere to provide her shelter from the elements and to rest.
Cautiously she pushed open the gates and slipped through. As Amelia walked up the driveway a sense of unease began to uncurl inside her. The place had a ghostly feel to it and, if she wasn’t so desperate to stop for the night, she might have turned back to look for alternative shelter.
The house was magnificent, in a dark and Gothic sort of way. Gargoyles loomed from precipices and the windows all tapered to elegant arched points. Statues and carvings decorated the spaces around the windows and doors, and towards the back of the house Amelia could see two imposing towers climbing up into the sky.
The estate was abandoned, Amelia could see that straight away. The house had an empty, disused feel about it even from this distance and the east side was blackened by fire damage. She wondered how long ago it had been abandoned and whether there might still be a soft bed to rest on inside.
Cautiously Amelia approached the front door and pushed it open, surprised to find it swung inwards without a creak or protest, revealing an empty hallway.
‘Hello?’ she called out before stepping over the threshold. ‘Is anyone here?’
She waited for a second and then, hearing only the howling of the wind outside, she chided herself for the unease that prevented her from pushing the door closed behind her.
After another minute of silence she shut the door and stepped further into the hall. She had to wait for a moment until her vision had adjusted to the darkness before she could see anything properly. Summoning her courage, she walked down the hall, selected a door and pushed it open.
Amelia could see the room beyond must have once been a drawing room, or maybe a sitting room. A comfortable-looking armchair tempted her to take a step inside and once she was in the room she could make out the other contents. Most of the furniture had been covered over with white sheets, designed to keep the thick dust at bay, and on the floor was a heavy, luxurious rug covering the floorboards.
Her eyes skimmed over the details of the room and came to rest on the large fireplace set into one of the walls. A spark of hope flared inside her as she saw the basket of wood sitting beside it and visions of a roaring fire, warming her frozen limbs and drying her sopping toes, sprang into her mind. She almost cried with relief when she saw the tinderbox sitting on top of the mantelpiece. Finally her luck was beginning to change.
The practicalities of starting a fire were much more difficult than Amelia had first envisioned. She’d seen fires laid before—even in India they had needed fires in the kitchen and sometimes in monsoon season a fire would be lit to help dry out the clothes—but she’d never actually taken much notice of what the servants were doing. Hesitantly she piled some wood in the grate, ensuring there were some small pieces at the top, and then she set to work on the tinder box.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later and she was just about ready to throw the infuriating little box across the room. Her fingers were aching from trying to strike up a spark into the tinder and she had begun to shiver almost uncontrollably, which didn’t help with the delicate manoeuvres needed. With a growl of frustration she struck the steel against the flint one last time and almost cried with relief as a few sparks flew out and ignited the tinder. Carefully she fanned the flames, blowing softly, then touched the sulphur match to ignite it, before lighting the taper. With delicate movements Amelia knelt down in front of the fireplace and set about coaxing the wood to begin burning, feeling an unparalleled sense of satisfaction as slowly the wood began to blacken and the flames danced brightly in the grate.
Amelia almost flopped to the floor in exhaustion. The last few days had taken their toll on her not only physically but emotionally, and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep, but she knew she would be at risk of a fever if she didn’t get herself out of her wet clothes. With tired fingers she fumbled at the fastenings of her dress, wriggling and stretching to undo the buttons at the back. Finally she felt the heavy material drop to the floor and she was left standing in her long chemise and petticoat, with her mud-covered stockings on her legs.
She let out a gasp of horror as she looked down. The blood that had stained her dress had soaked all the way through to her undergarments and there were hideous pink patches covering her chemise and petticoats. Amelia felt momentarily sick and had to reach out to the mantelpiece to steady herself. For a few seconds she was back in Captain McNair’s study, brandishing the letter opener that had slipped so easily into his soft flesh. Amelia heard a sob escape her lips at the thought of what she’d done, at the image of his bright red blood seeping through his shirt and the knowledge that she had committed the ultimate sin. For two days she had been running, desperate to get away from that cursed room, and she hadn’t stopped long enough to allow herself to think. Until now. Here, with the heat of the fire finally warming her skin, Amelia knew her life would never be the same again.
* * *
Edward woke with a start. He had always been a light sleeper and any noise, even an animal call from half a mile away, was enough to rouse him from his dreams. For a moment he lay still, not moving a single muscle, but it only took a few seconds for him to be sure: there was someone in the house. He could hear them moving around downstairs, soft footsteps and the swish of material. Within seconds he was on his feet and felt a low growl issuing from his throat at the thought of an interloper in his domain. The cool night air hit his body, making him shiver, and a surge of irritation welled up inside him.
Swiftly he strode across the room, threw on a dressing gown and grabbed the poker from the fireplace in the place of a more conventional weapon. Despite his years of living alone Edward was confident of his ability to defeat any intruder even if they were armed. He wasn’t a violent person and much preferred his books and his sketches, but at just over six foot tall he had a commanding presence.
Edward moved quietly, hoping to surprise the intruder before they had a chance to find a weapon of their own, making his way down the main staircase and pausing outside the sitting room.
The sight that met his eyes as he pushed open the door was not what he expected at all. Standing in front of the fire was a young woman in the process of undressing. Edward swallowed. She had already shed her dress and petticoat and was now clad in just her chemise and stockings. Both items of clothing were soaked with rainwater and the chemise clung to her body in a scandalous fashion, revealing much more than it was designed to.
As he watched her chemise slipped from one shoulder, revealing the creamy white skin beneath. The young woman then bent down and started to unroll her stockings, sighing with pleasure as she peeled the wet material from her legs.
Edward knew he had already been watching for far too long to be considered a gentleman, but later he would tell himself it was the shock of finding a half-naked woman in his sitting room. Long-forgotten emotions were beginning to stir in his body and as he watched the mystery woman arch her back and let her head drop backwards Edward felt a surge of desire. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, peel the remainder of her wet clothes from her body and lay her down in front of the fire.
Immediately Edward felt guilty for the thoughts. He loved his wife, missed her every day, but it was a long time since he’d had any human contact.
Just as he made to clear his throat he paused and frowned. He hadn’t taken much notice of the state of the woman’s clothes before, more surprised at her degree of undress than what she was actually wearing, but he now noticed the pink stains on her chemise and on the discarded dress that was draped over a chair. If he wasn’t very much mistaken she was covered in blood and it didn’t look as though it was her own.
