“Emmeline.”
When she tried to move past him, Oliver captured her wrist in a gentle yet firm grip and forced her to stop and turn to face him.
Emmeline felt sick. She wanted to stop but knew that if she did then she was going to start crying. The sheer brutality of what she had just experienced made her want to tear her hair out. But that wasn’t what disturbed her most. It was the thought that her time with Oliver was nearly over; that she was going to have to let him go – somehow. It brought forth a fierce ache in the centre of her chest that she didn’t know what to do with, how to stop.
When Oliver tipped her chin up until she had no choice but to look into his eyes, he saw a panic hidden within the depths of her reluctant gaze that made him realise that she might physically be going through ordinary circumstance, but she was mentally still fighting the men who had terrified her so badly out in the stable yard.
“It will fade,” he promised.
“I have never been through anything like that before,” she whispered. “It was the most terrifying thing I could ever experience.”
“There is worse, believe me,” Oliver murmured wryly. “I am sorry you had to get involved like that.”
“I know you told me to stay out of sight, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t just stand by while they beat you to death,” she hissed. “It is wrong of you to ask me to do it.”
“But it was you they were after. By coming out of the barn the way you did you put yourself in danger. It might not have happened had you remained hidden where you were supposed to be,” he chided.
Emmeline glared at him. “If there had been any other option, I would have stayed hidden, but I couldn’t have it on my conscience had you been killed.”
“But I know what I am doing,” Oliver persisted.
Emmeline pushed out of his hold. “It looked like it,” she snapped sarcastically. “But how did you, one man, intend to fight off so many thugs? Look at you. However good at your job you are, you were still beaten because those men were not only mean, but they were huge and ruthless. There is nothing you can do against such odds. You are lucky they didn’t kill you.”
“I am good at what I do, Emmeline,” Oliver repeated.
“I am not saying you aren’t. You wouldn’t be alive today if you weren’t. It is just that when such odds are against you, there is only so much you can do.”
“The Star Elite – this work - is my life. I have already told you I wouldn’t consider leaving the Star Elite for anybody.”
Emmeline turned to look steadily at him. She knew they were arguing about something considerably deeper, and far more important to them both. Once again, Oliver had eerily managed to read her thoughts.
“I never asked you to. After today, I think I have a better idea of what you do and why. Those women have been through worse than I did just how bec
ause they didn’t escape and are most likely still being held captive. Some of them. Others, well-”
Oliver nodded. They both took a moment to consider the body of the young woman who had been left on the safe house doorstep.
“Which one of the Smidgleys do you think is the murderer?” she asked quietly, very conscious of the awkwardness she felt at changing the subject.
“Until we have managed to get one of them to talk, we aren’t likely to know,” Oliver sighed, reluctant to allow her to change the subject. “If another body turns up, the killer has to be the uncle. Personally, I think it is either one of the brothers. Hopefully, now that the twins are behind bars there will be no more murders. No more bodies have been found since Ernest was taken to gaol, have they?”
Emmeline shook her head. “No, but it might be because Rupert has been busy trying to find his brother.”
“I am sorry for being so sharp with you,” Oliver said suddenly.
Emmeline smiled gently at him and waved him into a seat at the table. A wary silence settled over them that was interspersed with fleeting glances and an awkward physical tension neither of them expected. It only fuelled their deeper thoughts, until eventually, Oliver couldn’t stand it any longer.
“We have to talk about us. Preferably before the men return,” he said quietly.
Emmeline dipped a cloth into the bowl of water on the table and began to dab at the deepest cut on the edge of Oliver’s brow. He winced but sat still while she cleaned the wound.
“I understand now why you do what you do. You have a very good reason to put your life in danger like that,” Emmeline began. “I fully support the Star Elite doing the work they do.”
“Good,” he breathed. “But it is a different matter when you are married to someone who lives this kind of lifestyle. Knowing what the Star Elite does, and appreciating the men’s efforts is one thing, but when it merges with your life it is a different matter. My work requires me to be away for long periods of time. Often, I cannot be reached, especially if I am undercover. Look at what Sir Hugo is doing now. He just walked out of the War Office and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. God only knows where he is. If his boss and the men don’t know, his wife won’t know either because anybody who wanted to get to Sir Hugo would go to his wife, first. That would lure Sir Hugo out of the woodwork; his need to protect her. She is in danger while he is away, but she doesn’t moan and just raises the children on her own while he is gone. It can often be for weeks or months at a time.”
“How many men are married?” Emmeline moved on to a cut on the side of his chin. “I thought you said there were local groups of the Star Elite.”
“There are,” Oliver sighed. “But I work in London. I am used to the city’s streets now. I originate from Norfolk but moved to London when I joined the army. Norfolk is a part of my old life. It isn’t who I am now.”