“You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
“How can I believe anything you say?” Sam swiped at the angry tear sliding down her cheek.
“Sammie?” Edward’s disembodied voice echoed down the hallway.
“Edward!” Sam called out, refusing to lower her weapon. “We are in the study.”
The knob rattled. A moment later Edward burst through the locked study door, followed by Mr. Walton and Mr. Reid. Their eyes quickly scanned the scene. Edward whistled under his breath as he drank in the room’s destruction. His gaze stopped on Sam whose trembling arms pointed the pistol at Benjamin’s chest.
“Sammie, hand me the gun.” Edward moved to Sam’s side, wrapping his arm around her waist, extricating the weapon from her shaky fingers.
“Perhaps you should confiscate the knife too,” said Lord Westwood, his arms still raised.
Edward nodded and held his hand out again. Sam relinquished the weapon with a scowl at Lord Westwood who shrugged apologetically and lowered his hands.
“What did Benjamin do?” Edward swallowed his gasp as Sam turned toward him.
She must look worse than she felt.
“I told Franklin I was ruined and only wanted to marry your sister for her fortune,” said Lord Westwood, taking one step forward. Edward froze him with a glare.
“Are you?” asked Edward, his voice hard.
“Yes, are we?” asked Mr. Reid, darting around Edward.
“Of course not.” Lord Westwood snorted and shot his brother a glare.
“Prove it to me,” whispered Sam. Prove to me you love me.
“I will.” Lord Westwood stared into her eyes.
“Prove it to me also,” Mr. Reid said.
“I keep the business ledgers at my lodgings. Will that be sufficient evidence to verify my holdings?” Lord Westwood refused to break his gaze, speaking only to Sam.
“Yes.” Sam’s teeth sunk into her lower lip. Beside her, Edward nodded his consent.
“I would like to see them as well,” replied Mr. Reid.
Lord Westwood pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thomas, who will stay with Morris until the constable arrives?”
“I will.” Mr. Walton stepped forward from the doorway. He accepted the pistol from Edward and pointed it directly at Franklin.
Glaring at her cousin, Sam walked over and stared down at his heaving form, kicking his boot. “If he moves, shoot him through the heart.”
“Without hesitation,” replied Mr. Walton, upending one of the chairs and sinking into it, the pistol cocked.
Edward joined Sam, hatred burning in his blue eyes. “It will be my pleasure to watch you hang, Franklin.”
Spinning, Edward wrapped his arm around Sam and helped her hobble out of the study. They walked at a snail’s pace, taking measured steps through the foyer and down the stairs, every movement dragging an anguished moan from Sam’s lips.
Sam felt Lord Westwood trailing behind. He passed them on the sidewalk, leaning heavily on Mr. Reid’s shoulders. Both men maintained a silent stride apart from barely audible grunts which escaped Lord Westwood when he placed too much weight on his left leg.
He was injured…
With Edward’s arm wrapped securely around her waist, Sam stumbled down the footpath. Dark spots swam in front of her eyes. She stopped, waiting for the darkness to recede from her mind, Edward anxiously hovering in her peripheral. Sam attempted to wave him off and slumped against the rough bark of a nearby birch tree, one of many which dotted the street. Her stomach rolled.
“It would be easier if you allowed me to carry you,” Edward said half-heartedly. It was the third time he made that particular suggestion.
“No,” Sam replied, although her voice held none of the conviction she felt. “I would prefer to walk.”
Edward glanced up. Lord Westwood paused several meters in front of them, his face conflicted. He took a step toward Sam, but Edward shot him an angry glare. Lord Westwood recoiled. He allowed Mr. Reid to turn him and continue their slow progress toward his lodgings. Mr. Reid whispered earnestly in his brother’s ear as they walked.
Dizzy, Sam rested her head against the tree, hugging it closely. The world spun, colors flying past her eyes. She squeezed her eyelids shut and vomited. An acidic taste filled her mouth, remnants of the medication Franklin administered while she was unconscious. Her hands slipped from the tree trunk, and she collapsed, falling sideways into the road. Automatically, she tensed, bracing for the hardness of the street, but the pain never appeared.
She flew through the air, lifted by strong hands. Sam twisted angrily to admonish Edward, but it was not his arms which held her. Lord Westwood cradled her to his chest, his face contorted with agony. Mr. Reid lay supine on the pavement—wearing a similar grimace—knocked aside when Lord Westwood leapt to catch Sam.
“I have already informed Edward of my capability,” she said indignantly, glaring at him.
“I am quite aware of your abilities,” Lord Westwood replied, a cheeky grin pulling his lips. He squeezed her tightly and limped down the street again.
“We still have business to resolve,” he said to Edward without breaking stride.
Sam wiggled unhappily, frowning at Edward and Mr. Reid over Lord Westwood’s shoulder. Mr. Reid shrugged, smiled, and climbed to his feet. He clapped Edward on the back, who muttered objections under his breath. Mr. Reid shrugged again and offered Edward the same cheeky grin.
A gasp drew Sam’s attention, her gaze sliding to Lord Westwood’s profile. His jaw, set firmly, twitched with each step. A couple of words came to mind as she watched him struggle—stubborn, inflexible, and obstinate—definitely obstinate.
“This is ridiculous.” She pushed her hands against his muscular shoulder, trying to slip out of his grasp.
“I am not setting you back down,” Lord Westwood replied, clutching her closer. He glanced down.
Sam glowered at him, folding her arms in aggravation. He returned her hard stare, his nose millimeters from hers—eyes blazing as they melted into liquid emerald pools of varying layers of annoyance and frustration. Sam exhaled loudly in acquiescence. Breaking the mutual glare, she twisted her head to check Edward’s location. He maintained a respectable distance, grumbling at the modified traveling arrangements.
Mr. Reid whispered indistinguishable words of reassurance. His soothing tone and strong grasp—for Mr. Reid gripped Edward’s shoulder with iron fingers—prevented Edward from physically ripping Sam out of Lord Westwood’s arms.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she mumbled begrudgingly, returning her gaze to Lord Westwood.
“That was much better than your first apology to me.” He smirked. “Did Edward request that heartfelt sentiment of you?”
“No. Although I suspect he will make that particular suggestion once he inspects your ledgers. He is very keen on proper behavior, and I would like to have the advantage over him, just once.” Sam sighed.
Lord Westwood raised his eyebrow. “Does that mean you believe me?”
“I believe you lied to me,” replied Sam. She shifted again, causing Lord Westwood to readjust his hold. A moan escaped his lips.
“Not one word,” he called over his shoulder to Mr. Reid who grinned and resumed placating Edward’s irritation. Lord Westwood touched his forehead to Sam’s. “I lied to save your life.”
“I believed you.” Sam hissed through clenched teeth. Her eyes moistened, threatening to spill angry tears. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, willing the tears away. Opening her eyes, she returned her blazing glare to Lord Westwood. “I am not pleased with you.”
“Nor I with you,” replied Lord Westwood. “Did I not ask you to remain on the estate?”
“You did.” She dropped her eyes the street, watching the footpath shuffle slowly beneath her. Her fury deflated.
This whole ordeal could have been avoided if she had just listened to Lord Westwood… not that she would ever admit that to him.
He pulled her chin back toward his face. “Do you not think I had reason to make that request of you?”
Of course, he had reason.
“Why do you want to marry me?” She bit her lip. Lord Westwood’s cruel words slashed scars through her heart.
Halting the crawling convoy, he tipped Sam’s chin until they were nose to nose again. His burning green eyes captured hers with unparalleled intensity. “I love you, foolish woman. If you cannot remember anything else, remember that.”
His mouth descended with the same passion in which he spoke, demanding immediate satisfaction. Sam melted, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, pulling him nearer. Her fingers intertwined in his hair, a satisfied growl rumbled in Lord Westwood’s throat. His lips nibbling the lightest of kisses on the corner of her mouth, a tremor vibrated through her body.
“I hope this is not an indication of how you will respond to my future requests,” he said as he pulled away.
“You seem extremely confident about your forthcoming role in my life,” Sam replied breathlessly, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“I am,” Lord Westwood said, resuming his slow pace. He took a misstep off the pavement and pain flashed across his features, the playfulness replaced by agony.
“Lord Westwood, I must insist you put me down before you injure yourself further.” Sam struggled again, kicking her legs.
“I am quite satisfied with your current location, Miss Hastings.” Grinning wickedly, Lord Westwood responded by tightening his grip. “It allows me to keep a close watch on you, which apparently is a full-time occupation.”
“Now I am an occupation?” She planted her free arm on her hip.
“More like a delightful diversion.” He nuzzled her neck, sending a cascade of shivers down her back.
“Benjamin, I have no idea what quality you possess that gives you the ability to influence the fairer sex. Kindly stop endeavoring to seduce my sister until you can prove your intentions are honorable. I have not approved your continued engagement.” Edward increased his pace, but Mr. Reid reacted quicker, situating himself strategically between Edward and his brother, giving Sam a jovial wink.
Sam smiled at Mr. Reid. “My brother has other ideas regarding the safety of my present position.”
“Indeed,” Edward bit off. “Benjamin, may we proceed with the current task at hand?”
“Certainly,” replied Lord Westwood with an obliging tone. He turned up the stairs to his townhouse, balancing Sam carefully in his arms. Unable to prevent herself, Sam pressed her face against the open collar of his shirt, inhaling his intoxicating scent, her eyes closing as her head spun.
“Have I ever told you that you are extremely distracting?” She whispered against his throat.
“On occasion,” he replied, brushing his lips across her hair.
She moaned, nestling closer. “This is not an indication of my forgiveness.”
“I would never make that presumption.” Lord Westwood grinned, pushing open the door.
Whatever Mr. Davis thought regarding his employer’s unexpected, ghastly appearance that afternoon, he kept to himself. Instead, the butler spent his time fussing over Sam after Lord Westwood deposited her gently in one of the chairs nearest the fireplace. He lingered near her for a moment, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek, circling the bruise carefully.
After muttering quick instructions to Mr. Davis, Lord Westwood led both Edward and Mr. Reid to his desk. He gestured to the vacant chair, which Edward claimed after a silent battle with Mr. Reid who took residence at Edward’s shoulder. The three men perused the ledgers for proof of solvency, which must have been impressive since Edward murmured his assent after a few moments of research.
Glancing up at Sam, Mr. Reid grinned and winked. “It is a relief to learn I may continue my lecherous behavior.”
Sam giggled.
“Thomas!” Edward scolded. “Samantha does not need to hear of your exploits.”
“But they are so intriguing…”
“Drink this,” said Mr. Davis, startling Sam as he handed her a cup of steaming liquid. “I am not quite sure what Mr. Morris gave you, but this should help alleviate some of the less pleasant symptoms.”
Sam accepted the cup gratefully and took a tentative sip. The warm broth tasted like licorice. It slid down her throat, easing her churning stomach. “Thank you,” she said, taking a second, larger sip.
Lord Westwood appeared in place of Mr. Davis, sitting in a nearby armchair. He dragged it closer, so the arm touched Sam’s chair. Wearily, he rubbed his forehead, leaving a streak of soot across his skin. His gaze lifted to the desk, watching Edward and Mr. Reid argue, sidetracked into a debate about female appropriate topics of conversation. With a heavy sigh, he turned his eyes to Sam.
“I would like to know the reason you decided to disregard my wishes for your safety.” This one sentence quieted the entire room. Edward and Mr. Reid paused mid-conversation, turning toward Sam.
Sam took a deep breath and set the teacup down. “I found the threatening note from Franklin.”
“I am aware of that,” Lord Westwood replied, holding up his hand to prevent Edward from interrupting. Edward pressed his lips together firmly, his narrowed gaze indicating his displeasure.
“How did you know?” asked Sam, ignoring her brother’s mounting anger.
“I discovered your hiding place.”
Sam glanced at her hands. “I was in a hurry.”
“Did you already know you were going to the townhouse when I spoke with you this morning?”
“No.” Sam shook her head adamantly. “I did not.”
“How did you come to find the note?” asked Edward, unable to remain silent. He rose and crossed the room, kneeling next to Sam’s chair.
Lie.
“I discovered it on the floor outside my chamber this morning.”
“My chamber.” Lord Westwood corrected her with an amused grin.
Edward scowled.
“Yes,” Sam answered with a small smile. “I found it right after Edward stormed off.”
“I did not storm.” Edward bristled.
“Yes, you did,” replied Sam, “directly after calling me a child.”
Mr. Reid choked on his laughter.
“Please continue Miss Hastings.” Lord Westwood silenced Mr. Reid with a wave of his hand.
“I opened the door to apologize for my inexcusable manners,” Sam said, fluttering her eyelashes; Edward rolled his eyes, “and the note was on the carpet. I picked it up but could not find Edward to return it.”
“Why did you not relinquish the note to me?” asked Lord Westwood, his face expressionless.
Sam bit her lip, trying to communicate the truth behind the actual location of the letter. “I am sorry. I did not think to seek you out. Franklin arrived unexpectedly to repair Father’s watch. I hastily shoved the missive under the inkwell, so no one else would discover it, and raced downstairs. When Franklin opened the back of Father’s watch a scrap of paper fell out.” Sam looked directly into Edward’s eyes. “It was in Father’s handwriting.”
Edward placed his hand over Sam’s arm, careful not to disturb its current position. “Do you remember what he wrote?”
“Fortune lays forgotten in a house that is not a home. Treasure waits for discovery in a place Sammie has outgrown.” She closed her eyes as recited the words.
“I have no idea what that means,” said Edward. He and Lord Westwood exchanged a glance.
“I do,” Sam replied, staring earnestly at Edward. “Franklin explained the treasure referred to in the poem is the Hastings family heirlooms like Mother’s diamond and sapphire necklace.”
“Did you figure out the rest of the clue?” Lord Westwood leaned forward in his chair, a muffled groan accompanying the movement.
Sam nodded. “Lucy helped me.”
Lord Westwood’s face cleared suddenly. “The dollhouse… Lucy told me you went to the townhouse to fetch her dollhouse.”
“The dollhouse which used to belong to me when I was a little girl,” said Sam.
“Why did you not wait for me to return?” asked Edward. “We could have searched together.”
“He was going to kill you,” Sam replied, twisting her fingers into knots. “I did not know how much time was left.”
A tear rolled down Edward’s cheek. He quickly turned away, pressing his palm into his cheek as he focused his attention on the crackling fire.
“Yes, I am well aware of what kind of woman I agreed to marry,” Lord Westwood murmured, his eyes flicked to Edward.
“Where is the dollhouse right now?” Mr. Reid asked. He snapped the ledgers closed, setting them carefully on the desk.
Sam thought for a moment. “I left it under Mother’s desk at the townhouse. I am not sure what happened to it during the struggle.”
“It should still be somewhere in the study. Miss Hastings, perhaps it would be best if you and Benjamin rest while Edward and I fetch the dollhouse,” Mr. Reid suggested as he rounded the desk.
“I would prefer Sammie stays with me.” Edward corrected Mr. Reid’s plan with a glare at Lord Westwood. “Not all your intentions are honorable.”
“I am not waiting here. I figured out the clue, I am going with you,” Sam said, rising from the chair. She wobbled and collapsed backward onto the plush cushion.
“You are too weak to walk,” Edward said, a smug grin on his face. Sam stuck her tongue out.
“Mr. Davis can drive all of us in my carriage,” Lord Westwood replied. He stood, holding his hand out to Sam.
Edward shot him a dark look, holding his arm out as well. It was Lord Westwood she favored, leaning against his muscular frame as she recovered her equilibrium. He snaked one arm around her waist, holding her closer than necessary. When she laid her forehead on his chest, Edward nearly bit his tongue in half.
“You are not carrying me either,” Sam stated firmly, her voice muffled against Lord Westwood’s shirt.
He laughed, lightly stroking her hair. “I had no intention of asking.”
Sam looked up at him with a smile and extricated herself from his grasp. “I am pleased to hear that.”
She gingerly inched across the study, unsteady on her legs, her eyes focused on the open door. As she reached out her hand to grasp the door frame, a wave of dizziness overtook her. She froze, breathing deeply.
“Stubborn, is she not?” Edward muttered.
“Indeed, she is,” Sam replied over her shoulder, stepping into the hallway, her hand outstretched for the nearest table.
Lord Westwood appeared behind her, sweeping her into his arms without comment and continuing his labored pace toward the front door, Sam tucked against his upper body.
“Put me down.” She commanded him with as much dignity as she could muster in her current position. “Did I not just state you would not be carrying me?”
“You did,” replied Lord Westwood, dropping a feathery kiss on her forehead. “However, I told you I had no intent of asking permission.”
Edward snarled, his displeasure echoing in the hallway.
“Would you please stop antagonizing my brother?” Sam jerked her head toward Edward.
Lord Westwood leaned closer, his warm breath tickling her lips. “I enjoy it.”
He positioned her carefully in the carriage before climbing in himself, taking residence on the bench across from Sam. Edward followed in a huff and plopped next to Sam, all the while scowling at Lord Westwood. Mr. Reid, taking the last empty seat, pulled the carriage door closed with a flourish. He winked at Sam.
She giggled, and Edward and Lord Westwood rolled their eyes, a simultaneous display of annoyance. Within a few minutes, the coach arrived at the Hastings townhouse. It was eerily quiet. An involuntary shudder traveled the length of Sam’s spine.
Something did not feel right.
“Sammie, I want you to remain in the coach while we fetch the dollhouse,” Edward said.
He must feel it too…
“Mr. Davis will wait with you,” Lord Westwood added as he climbed from the coach. He nodded to the aforementioned man who scrambled down from the driver’s seat and stood guard outside the carriage.
The three men entered the house cautiously, calling out Mr. Walton’s name. There was no response. Shouts echoed from inside the house. Edward’s ashen face appeared first. He sprinted to the carriage, his chest heaving, eyes wide.
“Sammie, I want you to leave right now.”
“What happened?” she asked, anxiously peering around Edward.
“Now,” he replied, shoving Mr. Davis toward the front of the coach.
“Miss Hastings should not travel alone. Someone must go to with her.” Mr. Reid yelled from the front door of the townhouse.
“I will.” Lord Westwood slid past him and stumbled down the steps, flashes of agony dancing across his brow.
“Edward.” Sam tried to climb from the coach, but Edward pushed her back into the cabin with more force than he intended. She bounced once on the cushion and propelled herself forward toward Edward.
“Sammie, for once, please listen to me,” he pleaded, swinging the carriage door.
“What happened?” She repeated her fearful question, her foot blocking Edward’s attempt close the door.
“Mr. Walton has been killed.” Lord Westwood huffed as he rounded the rear of the coach. He leaned against the rear wheel, bent at the waist in anguish.
“Benjamin!” Admonishing him angrily, Edward jerked his head in the direction of Sam’s pale face, peeping out the open door.
“She is bound to discover the news when Mr. Walton does not return with us, Edward,” Lord Westwood said curtly.
Sam scrambled out of the coach. “Where is Franklin?”
“He has vanished.”
“Benjamin!” Edward’s visage purpled.
“Edward.” Sam pulled his face toward hers, interrupting the impending argument. “Franklin told me someone else helped him set the townhouse fire. I heard another voice at Franklin’s lodgings.”
All color drained from Edward’s face. “Can you remember anything about the second man?”
Sam shook her head despondently, fuzzy memories obscured by Franklin’s drug.
“We need to move quickly.”
Mr. Reid appeared, the dollhouse tucked under his arm. “Edward, they cannot be more than ten minutes ahead of us. With Morris injured, they should not be too difficult to locate.”
“Sammie, do you remember where Franklin’s lodgings were?”
Sam shook her head.
“No matter,” Mr. Reid said. “We will find them.”
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose, his internal struggle violent. Sighing, he turned to his left. “Benjamin, as the most injured of the three of us, I must ask you journey alone with Samantha to your mother’s estate. Your presence will only hinder our search.”
Lord Westwood bristled at Edward’s statement.
“It is against my better judgment to allow this unchaperoned activity; however, the situation calls for a lax in decorum.” Edward stepped to Lord Westwood’s shoulder, narrowed his eyes, and growled. “Whatever you do to her, I will do to you, understand?”
Lord Westwood clamped his jaw tightly in annoyance but did not respond. Sam wondered what waspish comment he chose to swallow. Considering Edward’s current emotional state, Lord Westwood’s silence was wise.
“Samantha, please climb back into the carriage and close the door completely.”
Sam complied with Edward’s request without protest. The door swung closed with a tiny click, and all sound was cut off. Through the carriage window, she could see the three men talking animatedly and wondered what other pieces of information Edward was keeping from her. She very much doubted she would be able to pry the information from Lord Westwood during their unsupervised drive to the country.
Alone with Benjamin. The words danced happily through the empty carriage, despite Edward’s creative threat and Franklin’s disappearance.
No, she firmly told herself. This was not the time for passion, but she could not deny the montage of memories which filtered through her consciousness. Sam bit her lip in anticipation, twitching anxiously. She tried to distract her mind by focusing on the ash-covered tips of her shoes, but her mind replayed the previous evening’s pleasurable activities with Benjamin.
“You are in extreme danger,” Sam declared aloud. “Franklin tried to kill you this morning,” she continued, adamantly trying to realign her brain with the peril of their current situation. It refused. Her eyes unconsciously rose to seek Lord Westwood.
She caught him watching her over Edward’s shoulder, his head tilted with an amused expression. Could he read the carnal thoughts which preoccupied her mind? He winked; he knew. A blush exploding across Sam’s face, she jumped away from the window, anticipation crawling down her spine.
Unchaperoned…