She knew if she told him the truth about herself, he would go to her father and demand her hand in marriage, blithely ignoring her protests right up to their marriage bed. She had to know if he loved her before she accepted his hand in marriage. She couldn’t bear the thought of spending her life married to Sebastian knowing he cared for her, but didn’t love her.
She knew from her conversation in the carriage with Isobel, that the family were worried about her hurting Sebastian. Amelia couldn’t really blame them for wanting to protect one of their own. It would be wonderful if they considered her one of them, and cared for her in such a protective way. But in reality, Amelia knew it was looking less and less likely.
With an air of defeated worry, having ordered a tray of breakfast, she moved to sit at the writing table to pen a letter to Sir Hubert. She was just blotting the ink dry when there was a soft knock on the connecting door.
“Good morning.” Sebastian eyed Amelia’s pale complexion when she turned to look at him. Although the colour had partly returned to her alabaster cheeks, she was still dreadfully pale. The large dark bruise on her temple stood out in stark contrast to her complexion, reminding him of how close she had really been.
“How do you feel this morning?” He tried hard to remain casual. In reality the need to know the truth was gnawing at his innards until he wasn’t sure he could stand any more. Isobel’s suggestion of identity in the carriage yesterday had plagued him, robbing him of the sleep he so desperately needed.
As dawn had edged over the horizon, Sebastian had felt his frustration grow, along with his determination to get the truth from Amelia once and for all.
“I feel much restored, thank you,” Amelia murmured softly, eyeing Sebastian’s dark eyes with concern. “Did you not sleep well?” She frowned, as he hauled a chair from beside the window and set it down in front of her with a thud. As he sat, he leant forward to brace his elbows on his knees, studying her intently.
“We need to talk. Honestly.” Sebastian’s was cool as his gaze met and held hers.
Amelia felt her stomach drop and knew what he was asking.
“The night before last you nearly died, Amelia.” Sebastian paused and waited for her to absorb the words. “Tell me what I was supposed to put on your gravestone.”
“What do you mean?” Amelia whispered, clenching her hands into tiny balls to stop them shaking.
“Do we put: ‘Amelia – the saviour of Sebastian, and mystery of all?” Sebastian’s voice dripped sarcasm and fought the urge to shake her for her stubborn refusal to trust him.
Amelia blanched at the disgust clearly written on his face. “I am no threat to you, Sebastian. I promise I have never met Ballantyne or any of his associates. I never even met Hawksworth.”
“But you did see him at Eastleigh’s house?” Sebastian interrupted her. His tone said he would accept nothing less than the honest truth.
“Yes,” Amelia replied, her eyes meeting his defiantly.
“Were you a servant at Eastleigh’s house?” Sebastian was unsurprised when Amelia shook her head.
“No.” Amelia knew where this was headed and felt a sense of finality sweep through her. “What is with all of the questions, Sebastian? Why do you need to know everything about me anyway?” She raised a hand when he took a breath to reply, and took the opportunity to stand and move across the room, away from his distractingly masculine presence.
“You are living under my roof. I have a right to know exactly who you are,” Sebastian bit out, feeling his temper boil.
“But I am not here through choice, Sebastian. You were the one who brought me here regardless of what I wanted.” Amelia’s voice rose as her own frustration built.
“I was trying to protect you!” Sebastian shouted, pushing out of his chair.
“Protect me? Riding roughshod over what I want, and blithely ignoring my arguments until you get what you want, is protecting me?” Amelia’s chest heaved with anger
“Yes! When ignoring you keeps you safe then yes, it bloody well is,” Sebastian shouted. “What was I supposed to do, say oh, thanks for saving my life? Feeding me, nursing me, giving me the use of your body, but it’s time to go now?”
“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I managed perfectly well for three years before you came along. Why can you not understand that?”
“Oh yes, you were doing splendidly weren’t you?” Sebastian’s voice dripped scorn. “You were living on a rickety straw bed, in a cottage no bigger than my bath. With a roof that leaked. You were so comfortable; you were barely able to feed yourself. That’s a wonderful life, Amelia. I can understand why you are so desperate to return to it.”
Amelia froze and turned to him, her eyes full of hurt. “It was the best I could manage,” she whispered, with her chin tilted in proud defiance. “I know it is not up to your luxurious standards, but it was earned by me. By my hard work, and I was glad to be there. At least the decisions I made were my own. They may not seem much to you, my lord, but they mean a lot to me.” Amelia turned towards the window, not wanting him to see how deeply his words hurt her.
Sebastian was determined not to be distracted by her tears. If they had any hope of future happiness they had to get everything out in the open. He moved to stand behind her and turned
her towards him.
“Tell me who you are,” he bit out. His hard fingers captured and held the delicate point of her chin, tilting her head upwards when she tried to keep her gaze lowered. “I command you tell me.”
The temptation to tell all was so strong, Amelia shuddered. It was the last command that gave her the resolve to hold firm against him. Tugging her chin out of his fingers, she tipped her head back. Despite the shimmering of tears in her eyes, her gaze hardened imperceptibly as she glared defiantly at him.
“You know who I am. I am Amelia, housekeeper to Sir Hubert from Glendowie. A humble servant at your service, my lord.”