Winter 1871
Bastian Tanner stood from the bed in the small room he’d rented in the molly house and reached for his trousers. He’d been there too long already.
“You don’t have to leave you know,” the young man on the bed said, reaching for a cigarette. “I’m not needed back at my father’s for another hour.”
Bastian buttoned his pants before turning to look at the youthful image of David Netley. “And what will your old man say when he finds out you’ve been in bed with me for the last few hours instead of taking care of his cattle station?”
David shrugged. “What do I care what the old bastard says? He’ll be dead soon enough, and everything he owns will finally be mine. Then we can live wherever we want.” He left the bed and went to Bastian, his lips caressing the still naked skin of his chest. “We won’t have to hide anymore.”
Bastian’s fingers entwined in David’s hair, pulling him away. “But for now we must pretend we are little more than business partners,” he reminded him. Stepping back, Bastian pulled on his shirt and began to button it.
“Are you going back to her?” David asked, reaching for his clothes and dressing.
“I need Amalie for a little while longer,” Bastian replied. “There is business I still need to take care of that only she can help me with.”
David buttoned his shirt. “You are already a man of great wealth. Why must you continue to play these games?”
Bastian smiled, marveling at how easily David believed the lies he was told. “I am only wealthy because of the reputation I keep in this town. A reputation that will vanish if it should be discovered I’d rather fuck you than my fiancée.”
Going to the door, he opened it and left before David could argue with him anymore. The young man was getting a little too clingy for his liking. Usually he was able to keep such affairs short and sweet, certainly not dragging them on long enough that any feelings should be ignited. Unfortunately, his liaison with David hadn’t quite gone as planned.
When he lured David into one of the bedrooms here at the molly house, his wealthy father was on his deathbed with weeks to live. He needed their relationship to last just long enough that he could use their affair as leverage to blackmail the young man out of all his inheritance. Never could he have banked on the old man making a miraculous recovery practically overnight because of some native medicine given to him by an Aboriginal medicine man.
Leaving the molly house, Bastian turned the corner and walked in the direction of the main road and the Anabranch Hotel in which Amalie was boarding. That too was an association he didn’t think to still have. Never could he have imagined he would be saddled with Amalie for nearly an entire year. It had to be that way though. The money from the sale of the treasures he stole faded fast, and soon he was back to luring lovers to his bed in order to blackmail them only a few weeks later.
Amalie still knew nothing of the young men he had been regularly bedding, each of them the son of a rich property owner on their deathbed. If she ever questioned his whereabouts, he told her he was trying to negotiate a successful business deal to see them both returned to the comfortable lives they’d once lived. There was some truth to what he told her though. He was doing business—the kind that pleasured him and may yet return his family’s wealth to him. As for Amalie...she was little more than a means to an end.
Reaching the hotel, he walked inside and up the stairs to the room she was staying in. As he retrieved the key from his trouser pocket, he stalled for a moment, preparing himself for any amount of backlash from Amalie, before placing it in the keyhole and turning it in unison with the handle. As he entered, his gaze went to Amalie standing against the window. She was dressed in a simple, black, flared skirt and white blouse, her hair flowing around her shoulders.
He had no doubt she was thinking of times gone by and the life she once lived, something he had been certain to keep constant in her mind these last few months. He spent so much time conditioning Amalie to believe what he wanted her to about Tristen and the man he had become. Bastian needed her to think only of the monster Tristen now was so when he took her back to the Brone station, she wouldn’t think twice about taking any and all property papers she was told to.
She hadn’t been an easy woman to manipulate though, even after the death of both her brother and father. His only saving grace was managing to keep Tristen as far away from her as humanly possible. The distance between them, combined with his constant reminder that it was Tristen who lit the fire that killed Jacob and Amanda, was all that enabled him to convince her Tristen had abandoned her. It had not been enough to break her into submitting completely to his will though. Even after so many tragedies—losing Tristen, Jacob, and her father—the strength in this woman never wavered.
When she was forced to take up the life of a housemaid for rich gents of the area, Bastian was sure to push her toward the richest and most lecherous of men. Never did he think she would beat off every one of them, choosing unemployment and poverty instead. Through it all, Amalie continued to show him she still had the strength to keep living. He cursed her vigor for life, thinking he would have to find some other way to break Amalie’s spirit. However, he now found himself being grateful she indeed had so much strength. She would need it for the next gauntlet he put her through.
“I have a job for you,” he said upon entering the room, shutting the door behind him.
Turning around, she looked at him. “Where have you been?” she asked, her tone harsh. “I have been stuck in this room for nearly two whole days.”
Had he not needed her so bad, he would have happily slapped her for her insolence. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the drinks tray.
“I’ve been trying to find out who took possession of your father’s assets,” he lied to her, setting his plan in motion. “I finally have some answers too.”
“You’ve been claiming to look for such information these last few months, and always you come up with nothing. I’m beginning to think this is some wild-goose chase.”
Bastian sipped his drink, eying the woman in front of him. He had managed to play on Amalie’s desperation and fear after he’d found her running from the Heather estate house. Now though, she didn’t seem to be as scared of him as she had once been. He would have to activate his plan now before it was too late.
“Someone at the bank told me that Tristen Brone did a lot of business with your father before Jacob was killed.”
She nodded. “That is no secret, but I think you will find it was Tristen’s father who did most of the business, at least until he died.”
He shook his head. “You really are naïve. Tristen controlled all the deals his father made. After the old man’s death, and your brother’s, he figured he could expand his wealth by buying your father out. With no one left to control him, Tristen could do whatever he pleased, including taking away everything you were to inherit.”
“It makes no sense though,” she remarked. “I remember Jacob telling me years ago that Tristen already had quite a substantial business and properties to inherit. Why would he need what little my father had?”
“After the fire, Tristen was so badly scarred that he wanted to destroy everyone around him as he felt he had been. You were just his first target,” he lied. “But from my own experience, I know for certain you were but one of many who fell victim to him.”
“How can you be so certain?”
Bastian pursed his lips. “Because he stole everything my father owned too.”
She appeared to think on what he said. “Say you are right about Tristen, how do you suppose we get back my father’s properties?” she finally asked. “We can’t very well just walk up to him and offer to buy them back. Even if he were willing to part with them, we don’t have the money to do so.”
“You sound as if you’re giving up.”
“I’m just starting to think all of this is far more trouble than it is worth,” she explained.
He raised his brow. “More trouble than it’s worth?” he repeated, irritated that she would think such a thing after everything he tried to brainwash her with. “Are you saying you would rather play at being a housemaid again instead of being returned to the life of comfort you were born into?”
“What life of comfort? My father wasn’t some rich duke. He was a cattle farmer,” she rebutted. “Anyway, at least being a housemaid is honest work.”
“And what happens the next time your employer tries to crawl under your skirt?” he asked, needing to remind her of what landed them together in the first place.
She turned away from him and looked back out the window. “Then I will find work as a seamstress somewhere instead. I’m sure the women who work here would be willing to pay me something if I made them new gowns.”
He closed the distance between them. Stopping behind her, his hands came up and rested on her shoulders. “Or you could just hold out a few more months and I can get you your properties back and you won’t have to lower yourself to a life of drudgery.”
She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “How do you suppose to convince Tristen to sign the properties over to me? From what you’ve told me, he has very few sympathies left to plead to.”
“You won’t have to play to anything,” he explained. “You’re going to go to his station and beg for work as a maid.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m deadly serious,” he replied. “It’s the perfect plan. The only servants still at the Brone station are there to look after the animals and a few skeleton house staff. Tristen has scared most of the rest away, either by his erratic behavior or his hideous appearance. He’ll be sure to employ you in an instant, especially if you put on some of that female charm you hypnotized him with once before. Once you’re inside the house, it won’t take long for you to gain access to his private papers, including his property papers.”
She turned around to face him. “You can’t honestly believe it would be that simple. You’re a fool if you think I could just turn up at Tristen’s station and he would welcome me with open arms.”
Bastian clenched his fist, itching to slap the insolence from her. Sighing deeply, he forced himself to control his anger, knowing that at least for a while longer, he needed this wench to do his bidding.
“Tristen won’t suspect anything if you play your part right,” he assured her. “He already knows that you’ve lost your entire family and have been cast into the life of a working woman. In which case, it is perfectly believable that you would turn to your childhood friend to help you. Should he try to turn you away, you could always claim that he owes you because of what happened to your brother.”
“He’s never going to believe any of that. Tristen is many things, but he is no fool. He’s certainly not going to believe that after almost a year of absence, I have sought him out to help me financially.”
He raised his brow. “You could always tell Tristen the truth—that you need somewhere to hide until suspicions surrounding Albert Heather’s death dies down.”
She stepped away from him. “I doubt he would care,” she uttered, starting to walk toward the door.
“If you don’t go to Tristen’s to look for our property papers, I will let it be known that it was you who killed Albert Heather,” he threatened her.
She stopped, turning to face him, her stare narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare!”
He nodded. “Oh, I would, my dear. Now, you get yourself ready to be dropped off at the Brone station this afternoon, or I will tell the authorities that your late employer and you had more than just a working relationship. I’m sure they’ll be very interested to know that you in fact stabbed Albert Heather with that letter opener with the intention of stealing his jewels to sell at the pawn shops.”
“You know that’s not what happened,” she cried desperately. “That bastard tried to rape me!”
“I only know what you told me,” he reminded her. “And you can’t prove if you’re innocent, remember. That’s why you begged me to help you. I gave you a roof over your head and safety when no one else would. You promised you would pay me back for all my help. That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do now.”
Amalie stared at him, and he knew she was trying to find a way out of this situation. Knowing there was none, he smiled. He had her trapped.
“What it is you want me to do?” she asked, a submissive tone in her voice as she stepped toward him.
“It’s simple,” he told her. “You tell Tristen you are without a home and money to live by. Beg him to provide both of those things until you can get back on your feet. Tell him you will work hard to pay your way. Then once you are settled in there, you start searching the house for whatever property papers belonged to both of our fathers and bring them back to me.”
She appeared to think on his orders for a few seconds before her brow furrowed. “And what if I can’t find any papers?” she asked. “From what I’ve heard, no one has seen Tristen since the fire. Not even his business partners. His lawyer handles everything for him, so chances are he doesn’t even have any papers kept at the house.”
“Then you seduce him until he gives them to you!” Bastian ordered, irritated by her reasoning.
“You can’t expect me to do that,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, after so long, I doubt it would do any good. He won’t be fool enough to believe I have only now returned to him to initiate some affair with him.”
He stepped toward her. “Then you make it do some good. You need to do whatever it takes to get those papers from that bastard, or the pair of us will be stuck living this shitful existence we have been burdened with!”
* * * *
Amalie turned to walk away. She couldn’t stand there and let this bastard order her about. Maybe there was once when she would have been happy to go along with this plan of revenge to regain her father’s properties, but not anymore. She was tired and she craved to move on with her life, not be constantly reminded of the tragedy of the past year.
Her frustration mounting with Bastian, and his constant need to want to punish Tristen, she needed to escape him and this room, even if only for a moment. She was almost at the door when she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he asked, spinning her around to face him.
She looked at his hand, then back to him, instantly noticing the growing anger filling his eyes. “I’m going for a walk.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re thinking of trying to escape from me, you just remember all I have to do is visit the police station and tell them I saw you leaving the Heather’s estate the night Albert died.”
She was no fool. She had no doubt Bastian would do such a thing too. As much as she ached to damn him to hell, if she didn’t want to hang, she would have to do as he was asking of her.
“I just need to stretch my legs,” she explained. “I’ve been cooped up in this room for too long, and if you want me to enter another prison this evening, then I would like one last look at freedom.”
Pulling her arm free of his hold, Amalie left the room and walked down the stairs and out of the hotel. She desperately needed some fresh air. Bastian was relentless in his search to get back his father’s properties. He would stop at nothing until he once again had possession of them. She wanted so much to tell him she wanted no part of this evil anymore, but she couldn’t. If she dared do such a thing, there was no telling how violent Bastian may become toward her.
As she walked across the street, with no direction in mind, she wished for the life she once had with friendship and family, love and passion. Sadness filled her with these thoughts and memories of her past. Though she ached for it, the reality was that even if she were able to get back her father’s properties and return herself to some life of comfort, she knew she would never be at peace. How could she? Her family was dead, and the man she loved…
She shook her head. She needed to stop thinking about such things. Whatever relationship she once had with Tristen was so very long ago. They were both different people now, for better and worse. There was no way they could ever go back to the people they used to be, nor look at each other with the innocence they once believed of each other.
She had been told so many stories about Tristen and the tyrant he had become over the last year. Stories of cold-hearted business deals and numerous, meaningless affairs drifted from the lips of the regulars that frequented the Anabranch Hotel. Bastian constantly reminded her that the fire which killed Jacob and Amanda had been lit by Tristen, his motive to rob each of their families of everything they owned. None of these stories sounded anything like the man she had once known and loved. The Tristen she was being told of sounded little more than a stranger, caring for nothing and no one; and now Bastian expected her to walk back into that man’s life and seduce him into handing over some papers.
Truthfully, she was doubtful she would even get past the front door, especially if the stories she heard had any truth to them. And if she were right, and she were turned away instantly, then how was she going to get these papers Bastian was so desperate to obtain? It was all beginning to seem very hopeless.
The sound of a carriage pulling up across the road drew her attention. Glancing up, she noted immediately that it belonged to Tristen. Maybe she should just go and talk to him, ask if all the rumors she had heard about him were true...ask if he really did kill Jacob. Deciding that she had nothing left to lose, Amalie stepped off the curb and was about to walk across the road when a hand reached out, grabbing her.
“Are you mad?” Bastian scolded her, his grip tightening painfully around her elbow. “Have you any idea what will happen to you should you be seen? The children of Albert Heather are still looking for you, remember?”
She pulled her arm free. “I’m sick and tired of hiding, Bastian!” she exclaimed. “I can’t live forever on scraps of information and sheer rumor. If Tristen killed my brother like you claim, then I want him to admit it to my face.”
He studied her. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
She turned away from him and started walking back toward the hotel. “Don’t be a fool,” she said, but even she knew she sounded half-hearted. If she were truthful, she didn’t know what she felt for Tristen anymore. Part of her heart was still so very fond of him. Another part of her hated him for his desertion of her immediately after Jacob’s death.
Bastian reached for her, his fingers painfully gripping her wrist and pulling her back to him. When she was again facing him, his other hand came up to her face; his fingers were firm and painful as he held her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.
“Need I remind you that it was Tristen who threw you into a life of servitude?” he hissed. “That it was him who left you to struggle to pay for every mouthful, not to mention be the target of every lecherous man in the area while he warmed his bed with as many women as he could pay for.”
She tried to pull her face free from his hold. “You have made it quite clear who is responsible for taking my family away from me and forcing me into this life. What no one, including you, has been able to tell me though, is why?”
He finally let her go. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve already told you why.”
“But none of it makes sense,” she persisted. “Tristen and Jacob were friends most of their lives, so why would he suddenly mean my brother harm?”
“Greed drives men to betray those they once loved,” he explained. “Men like Tristen will go to any lengths to achieve what they want.”
“But what could he have wanted from my brother that was so important he had to take his life?”
He eyed her, a single brow raised. “Perhaps Jacob threatened to tell your father you had been sleeping with Tristen. Such an admission would have trapped you both in marriage. Maybe Tristen could see no other way to be free of such an obligation.”
She knew he was fishing for information, trying to make her admit the true extent of her relationship with Tristen back then. She wouldn’t give him what he wanted though.
“I’ve told you before, I never shared a bed with Tristen,” she said firmly. “If Jacob was killed over anyone, it certainly wasn’t me.”
His stare never left her. “As you say.”
She knew he didn’t believe her, but nor did he know the truth. Should he discover just how intimate she had once been with Tristen, and about the baby she miscarried, there was no telling the amount of horror Bastian would inflict upon them both. She couldn’t give him that power.
Turning away from him, Amalie began the short walk back to her room at the Anabranch Hotel. There was no point in her staying there. Bastian wouldn’t give her the peace she needed right now to get her head around what he was ordering her to do. Even if he had, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to understand it. In truth, she didn’t understand anything about her recent association with Bastian these last few months.
Seeing the hotel up ahead, her steps slowed. This wasn’t where she thought she would end up after the death of her brother and father. She certainly didn’t think to be living with Bastian. Her father assured her before his death that he had called off her engagement. She had been sure she would never see Bastian again.
Had she run the other direction from Albert Heather’s estate house, she might never have ended up in this position. But she hadn’t run the other way. Instead, she ran straight into the arms of Bastian, and now he was the only one who knew about the man she killed that night.
She was trapped.
Stepping into the hotel, and through to the stairs that led to her room, Amalie walked up them steadily, her steps feeling heavy. This hotel had come to be her new prison. Now it seemed she would be leaving it for another. Opening the door to her room, she stepped inside and walked straight over to the window that looked down on the street. Her gaze focused on Tristen’s carriage across the road, trying to see if he were in fact inside. She had not heard one word from him since the night her brother died. No admission of guilt or condolences. After their intense relationship, she hoped to receive something—anything—from him. She received nothing.
“You need to pack. The carriage will be here soon to collect you,” Bastian said from behind her as he entered the room. “I want to hear back from you in a few days to tell me what you’ve found.”
She just nodded, her stare still focused out the window. She would go through with this plan of Bastian’s. She had no choice. But if she were to do this, then she would be certain she would get not only her father’s properties back, but also Tristen’s admission of guilt. If he were really the one who killed Jacob, then she would go to any lengths to know for sure. And if he were guilty, she would make him pay dearly for his betrayal.
As his carriage drove off, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about what would happen should she find Tristen had not been involved in her brother’s death.