Chapter 3
Running footsteps approached, drawing closer no matter how fast Amelia ran.
At least he went after me, not Marjory, she thought frantically, gasping for breath.
That was all she had time for before a hand clamped around her wrist, hauling her backward. She staggered, flailing, and bumped back against a broad chest.
He was just so large, certainly the tallest man she’d ever seen. Not tall and rake-thin like some other gentlemen. No, no. This fellow was broad, and she was willing to bet he was thick with muscle beneath his suit.
Not that she had imagined what was beneath his suit, which was a dull, dark-green thing that did not look particularly expensive.
No, her mother had raised her and her sisters well. They did not hanker after gentlemen or indulge in improper thoughts. That sort of behavior was better saved for ladies with dubious reputations.
“A lady may lose many things,” Mama had said several times. “But her reputation should always be shiny and pristine.”
Well, Amelia’s reputation had certainly been in better shape. She shrieked, not in the hope that anybody would come to her aid, but more in the hope of frightening him off.
It did not work, and when she tried to pull her wrist out of his grip, she could not tug herself free. So she stopped struggling. It seemed wiser not to tire herself out. His grip on her wrist was not painfully tight.
“You are cleverer than I gave you credit for,” the man breathed.
It occurred to her that she still had not learned his name.
Perhaps I’ll hear it read out in court, when Marjory and I are on trial, she thought bitterly.
“I do not know what you mean,” she shot back. “Please let go of me.”
“Save your excuses. My dear girl, I saw you and your sister whispering and conspiring just now. I wonder why you told her to flee the opposite way? You should have run as soon as you left the storeroom, by the way. I believe I told you that.”
“I am not your dear girl,” Amelia snarled, tugging weakly again. “Please let go of me.”
“You have already asked that, and I think my answer was fairly plain. Well, I assume you know how much trouble you are in. I assume you know what happens when Orion catches you.”
Amelia stilled, ceasing her struggling, and stared up at him with a frown. He stared back, his clear green eyes boring into hers, as if he could see everything that she was thinking. He had done that in the storeroom, staring at her so intently that it almost made her stop breathing.
There was a strange feeling in her chest too, a tightness that seemed to tickle. That was the only way she could describe it. It wasn’t an ordinary rush of fear, more like a tension. Like a band being drawn tighter and tighter until it was likely to snap.
It was unusual, to say the least, but then, hadn’t their entire interaction been unusual? Even if he hadn’t come plunging after her, eyes glinting the way they were now, she was fairly sure she would have spent a lot of time thinking over their meeting in the days and weeks to come.
“So Marjory was right, then,” she mumbled. “You’re him. Orion. The fellow she’s looking for.”
Fool! She inwardly cursed herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
Why had she said that? Why imply that Marjory was looking for him? The man wanted his identity kept secret, so it was reasonable that he would not want to be exposed.
“I thought you were going to let us go,” she continued, trying to keep her voice as cool and even as possible. “Why chase after us? Is this some kind of cat-and-mouse game you like to play?”
He growled. “Don’t play the fool with me. Which of you took it?”
“Took what?”
“My father’s pocket watch!” His voice rose almost to a shout, ringing out across the alleyway.
Amelia flinched back, eyes widening. “I… What?” she stammered.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “In the topmost drawer of the chest of drawers, alongside a pair of old boxing gloves, was a silver pocket watch. It is neither fine nor expensive, but it is silver and engraved. It belonged to my father and holds great sentimental value for me. I would like it back. I would like it back now.”
Amelia swallowed, remembering how Marjory had remarked on a pair of boxing gloves in the drawer. She must have picked up the watch at the same time.
Marjory, if we make it out of this situation in one piece, I am going to scold you so hard your ears will ring for years.
The man paused, his gaze narrowing. Those sharp green eyes raked over her face, and she saw understanding dawn in them. The grip on her wrist loosened.
“Oh, of course,” he breathed. “You don’t know. Or at the very least, you weren’t the one who took the watch. I should have guessed that. You don’t seem like the thieving type, if you don’t mind my saying so. It’s the little Miss Spectacles, isn’t it? She took the watch.”
“No,” Amelia managed weakly.
His heavy eyebrows arched. “No? You have it? Produce it, then.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. She suspected that he already knew.
“There, you see,” the man snorted. “You are of no further use to me.”
He dropped her wrist at once and spun on his heel. As he turned, Amelia looked down the alley—and her heart plummeted. There, of course, stood Marjory.
It was clear what had happened. Having seen the man come pounding after her sister, Marjory had not repeated her mistake but waited behind to see if Amelia needed help.
It was very sweet and kind, but at that moment, Amelia wanted nothing more than for Marjory to finally listen to her cowardly side, turn tail, and run.
“Amelia?” Marjory called, her voice wobbling. “What’s going on?”
“You,” the man snarled, jabbing a finger in her direction. “You stay right there.”
He began to stride toward her, and panic bubbled up in Amelia’s chest.
“No!” she screamed, launching herself forward.
Leaping up, she flung herself onto his back, winding her arms around his neck. He choked in surprise, staggering back under the unexpected weight of her, and she tightened her thighs around his sides, as if she were preparing to ride a horse.
Well, don’t think of that.
Then there was a long, awkward pause.
Amelia had expected him to cry out in rage, perhaps spin around to dislodge her. Perhaps he would even claw backward, trying to grab her and pull her over his shoulder.
Instead, the wretched man simply stood where he was, as relaxed as if she were a light knapsack on his shoulder. He had his hands on his hips, for heaven’s sake.
“That was not well thought out, was it?” he remarked at last, with a faintly amused sigh. “If I wished to dislodge you, I could simply fling myself backward onto the ground. I imagine that you would find it rather difficult to hang on under those circumstances.”
“Uh…” Amelia trailed off.
“And if you are planning to choke me properly,” he continued, heaving a sigh, “you will need to tighten your grip.”
“Choke you? Why on earth would I wish to do that?” Amelia gasped, shocked. “I might hurt you.”
There was a brief moment of silence. She wished she could get a look at his face. Was he smiling or frowning? Or was it that irritatingly neutral-yet-amused expression he’d worn in the storeroom?
“I see,” he murmured.
Amused. I knew it. Wretched man.
“Well, if you do not intend to harm me, I suggest you release me,” he drawled. “You will not hurt me, but I am increasingly afraid that you’ll hurt yourself.”
She reddened. Thank goodness he could not see her face.
She shifted, suddenly painfully aware that her legs were wound around his middle. Good God.
He was rather warm, too. She could feel his muscles shift against her when he breathed, firm and warm and not hard exactly, but without any cushioning of fat.
That tickle-ache returned to her chest, spreading to her gut. She might have imagined she’d eaten bad stew, except the sensation did not quite fit. And she had not, of course, eaten any stew at all that day.
“A constable might appear at any moment and assume that you are robbing me,” the man added. “He will be confused, to say the least. We should spare this hypothetical man’s feelings.”
“This… this is a little ridiculous,” she mumbled shamefacedly.
Releasing him, she slid down the firm curve of his long back, landing with a thump on her feet. She felt oddly cold without his body pressed against hers. Her face heated.
Beyond him, Marjory seemed to have finally understood how much danger she was in. When the man’s gaze left her, she began to back away. Amelia longed to smile reassuringly at her, to urge her to run, but if she drew any attention to her, that man would chase her.
He turned slowly, his lips pushed out thoughtfully.
“You are making this matter more difficult than it should be,” he stated.
Marjory reached the alley entrance and slipped away. Amelia gave a ragged sigh of relief.
“Please, my good—”
“If you call me good sir one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.”
She scraped her teeth across her lower lip. “Very well. My good Orion—”
He barked a laugh. “Oh, that’s much worse. Well, let us not get distracted. Your sister has stolen from me, and one of you must pay for it. I do not mete out punishment easily, but really, enough is enough. Your sister…” He spun around and fell quiet.
The alley was empty, except for the two of them. There was no sign of Marjory.
Please let her be safe, Amelia prayed.
It was more of a plea than anything else, really. She imagined Marjory racing home to their dilapidated little cottage, where Nancy was being watched by Mrs. Abbott, their neighbor. The Holts had few friends. And as for family, well, it was best not to think about it.
The man turned very stiffly back to face her.
“She’s gone,” he said lightly. “She took the watch.”
“I… I did not know that she’d taken the watch.”
“She stole from me. You looked me in the eye and swore that you were not thieves.”
Amelia closed her eyes briefly. Shame stole over her face, hot and cloying.