Chapter 15
The coach jerked to a stop as Emma glanced out the carriage’s window to see a dilapidated cottage in the middle of the woods. The two-level cottage had a thatched roof, and the windows on the first level were boarded up.
“Welcome home, my dear,” Peter said in a teasing tone.
“This is home?”
Lockhart chuckled. “It’s a temporary home, just until the law stops looking for us.”
“You killed the Marquess of Downshire,” Emma declared, tears filling her eyes. “I cannot wait to see you hang.”
An annoyed look flickered across Peter’s face. “I killed Lord Downshire for us.”
“For us?” she repeated with a look of exasperation.
“Lord Downshire had designs on you, and he would never have let you go,” he explained.
Emma pressed her lips together, attempting to hold back her disdain. “Lord Downshire welcomed me into his family. He loved me and cared for me as my guardian. He had no secret agenda for me.”
“You are na?ve to the ways of men,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Eventually, he would have made you his mistress.”
“No, he was happily married to Rachel.”
“Love fades,” he declared dismissively.
She tilted her chin defiantly. “No, real love grows and deepens over time.”
“Oh, my dear,” he scoffed. “It’s a good thing I came along when I did. Your head is filled with utter nonsense.”
The door to the carriage opened, and Peter exited. He turned back and offered his hand. Emma glanced down at it, but she didn’t accept it. She didn’t want to accept any kind of help from him.
In one swift motion, Peter reached in, grabbed her arm, and yanked her out of the carriage. He waited until her feet were steady before he let go.
“I tire of your disobedience,” he hissed. “You will respect me.”
“Respect needs to be earned,” she contended.
“As your husband…”
She swiped her hand in front of her. “I will never marry you.”
Pulling his hand back, Peter slapped her hard across the face. “We will be wed as soon as possible.”
“No,” she countered, bringing her hand up to her reddening cheek. “I won’t marry you.”
Peter brought his hand back up to strike her again, but then it froze as his eyes scanned the thugs waiting outside of the cottage. Slowly, he brought his hand back down.
“I don’t want to fight with you now, my dear,” he said calmly. “Behave, and I won’t have to teach you a lesson later.” Grabbing her arm, he forced her towards the door. “I think it would be best if we continued this conversation in our bedchamber, don’t you?”
“Our bedchamber?” she asked, her steps faltering.
“Of course. We are betrothed, after all.” He gripped her arm tighter and dragged her towards the door. “Why wouldn’t we share a bedchamber?”
“Please, Peter,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this.”
“You were promised to me,” Peter replied as they stepped inside the darkened cottage.
Emma wanted to cry at the pain of Peter’s fingers digging into her skin, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her.
“My father never promised me to you,” she attempted. “At least, he never told me that.”
“After you left boarding school to come take care of your father,” Peter answered as he led her towards the narrow stairs, “he was in no condition to carry on a conversation with you. He was already too far gone.”
“I wish I’d arrived sooner to care for him,” she remarked. “On my last holiday, my father was in perfect health, but his health declined so rapidly.”
“It was a crying shame, but it was for the best,” Peter said.
“For the best?” she contended. “How can you say something so horrible?”
“It’s merely a fact.” Peter continued to lead her down the hall towards a back room. “Your father was against change.”
“What kind of change are you referring to?”
He opened the door, causing the hinges to squeak in protest.
“Your land is rich with resources,” he replied, pushing her through the door, “but your father refused to sell it to me. He said that it had been in your family for generations.”
“Why would my father ever sell you our land?” Emma asked in disbelief as she glanced around the bedchamber with a dilapidated four-poster bed and a well-worn dressing table in the corner.
“Because, my dear, I had bought up the surrounding areas for a cheap price and sold them for a sizable profit to Rowe Chalk,” he explained, releasing her arm. “They promptly created an extensive channel of chalk quarries.”
Emma took a few steps backwards, creating more distance between them. “Chalk quarries?”
“Yes, but Rowe Chalk wanted your property, because it contains a hard chalk known as Totternhoe stone.”
“I will never sell my land to you,” she declared, swiping her hand in front of her again.
He took a step closer to her, causing her to take two steps back. “I assumed as much, but it won’t make a difference once we’re married. The land will become mine.” He gave her a smug smile. “But you are worth so much more than the land, Emma.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Your mother was the daughter of a powerful man, but she was disowned when she ran off to marry your father.”
“I wasn’t aware of that,” she said, confused. “My family never spoke of my mother’s past.”
“Your mother turned her back on her family, leaving a fortune behind.”
“A fortune?” Emma frowned. “How do you know all of this?”
Peter uncrossed his arms, then shook his head as if she was a simpleton. “When your mother was sick, she asked to speak to me as her solicitor. She had a small inheritance she wanted to be willed to you.”
“But I know nothing of an inheritance.”
“Sadly, that money is spent,” Peter revealed.
“Pardon?”
Lockhart gave her a baffled look. “After you left me, I was forced to drain the coffers while I watched over you.”
“You used my inheritance to watch over me?”
He closed the distance between them and placed his hand on her forearm. “It doesn’t matter. The money was meant for us.”
“No, it was meant for me,” she pressed, stepping away from him.
“You’re wrong. Once we marry, that money would have belonged to me, anyway.” He took a step closer to her. “Regardless, did you not ever consider who paid for your fancy boarding school?”
“My father paid for it,” she replied, walking over to the broken window, still trying to create distance between them.
He shook his head. “Your father couldn’t afford the high tuition cost.”
“If my father didn’t pay for my boarding school, then who did?” she asked, her voice rising.
Walking over to the bed, Peter sat down. “Your grandfather did.”
“My grandparents are dead.”
“Your mother’s father is alive,” he declared.
“My grandfather is still alive?” Emma’s mouth gaped. “That’s impossible.”
“No, your grandfather is Sir Alymer Blackmore, and he is one of the most powerful landowners in Bath,” Peter informed her. “He was devastated to hear that your mother passed away and sent money every month for your care.”
“Why didn’t my father say anything?” she asked, leaning back on the sill for support.
“Your father never knew,” Peter said. “Your father was under the impression that his investments paid for your boarding school.”
Furrowing her brows, she questioned, “I don’t understand. Why the secrecy?”
“Your father hated your grandfather and refused to initiate any contact between you and him,” Peter explained. “However, David met with your grandfather on a few occasions.”
“David did?” How could David keep that secret from her? Her family should have told her that her grandfather was still alive.
“He did,” Peter confirmed.
“I should have been told,” she stated firmly.
Peter bobbed his head. “I agree. I argued that point with your father, but he refused to see reason.”
“You argued with my father?”
“Indeed. Your father was a vexing man, and I found his faulty logic to be quite idiotic,” Peter said, his voice rising in indignation. “He accused me of some horrible things, but he got what was coming to him in the end.”
“What did he get?” she asked, suddenly more afraid than before.
He sneered. “A painful death.”
Emma shook her head, trying to sort out what Peter had said, and what he didn’t say.
Did Peter have a hand in her father’s death?
But that was impossible. Her father had died from dysentery.
Feeling bold, she knew there was only one way to find out.
Meeting his gaze, she asked him directly, “Did you kill my father?”
Peter considered her for a moment, then revealed, “I did, but it was for us, my dear.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You killed my father!” she exclaimed, her voice becoming shrill. “How could you?”
“It was easy, actually. I placed arsenic into his sugar bowl,” Peter informed her, all-too-casually.
“You are a monster!” she cried as tears filled her eyes.
“Now you’re just being irrational,” Peter chided. “In time, you’ll see I did what I had to do to keep us together.”
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Emma responded, “No, I will not. You’re mad.”
Peter frowned. “You and I were always meant to be together, but your father told me to stay away from you…”
“I thought he gave you his blessing?” she interjected.
“He did,” Peter pressed, “but we had a difference of opinion towards the end.”
Finished with this horrible conversation, Emma turned her head towards the window, hoping that Simeon would find her in time. She had no doubt that he would search for her, but would it be too late?
“No one is coming to rescue you,” Peter said, as if reading her thoughts, “and if they do, they will be killed by the highly-trained men that are guarding this cottage.”
“I won’t marry you, Peter,” she insisted, her gaze meeting his. “I care for another.”
Peter rose from the bed and adjusted his blue jacket. “That’s a lie. I’ve been watching you closely, and I know you do not have a suitor.”
“He’s not my suitor,” she contested.