of the tears she’d dashed away when he’d knocked. He set down her trunk and turned toward where she stood in the doorway.
“Is that all, my lady?”
Amber blinked. The title weighed on her. And now she was stuck with it. “I’ll have a coin for you once I unearth my funds from somewhere amongst my things. Thank you for all your help while the earl was ill. Have a lovely day.”
She nearly sobbed as she hastily closed the door behind him. She should not have mentioned his lordship. Anger toward him had quickly given way to heartbreak and she didn’t want to chance creating more gossip about their relationship. Though she knew it was probably impossible on this voyage, she didn’t want her name linked further with his.
She wanted no link to him at all.
Liar, whispered her secret heart.
Amber sank to the boudoir chair in the corner of her stateroom, trying to hold back her tears. She was afraid if she gave in to the need to cry out her pain and disappointment she’d never be able to stop.
It was hard for her to believe that not long ago she’d looked around this room and been so excited about all the possibilities and adventures ahead of her. That marriage was the last thing she’d wanted for herself.
Now she just wanted to hide in there and forget the rest of the world even existed. Especially a certain English lord across the saloon who thought he was so utterly desirable that she would stoop to trapping him.
Humph! More like the other way around. She opened her trunk and looked for something to wear. Something to make her feel confident. “Of all the nerve,” she muttered and pulled out a no-nonsense traveling skirt and blouse. “He begged!”
Begged her to wed him.
The last thing she’d wanted was marriage to a dying man. A man to grieve for. “The very last thing.”
Then, after fighting for his life for days on end, after learning what a good man he was, after finding love in her heart for a man once again, she’d awakened to his fiery kisses and bold caresses. She’d thought he felt as she did. That he must. That they were fated for each other.
Then he’d called her Helena.
She slammed the trunk shut and plunked herself down into the chair. The whole mess was so ironic. It was Amber who’d come up with the idea for this travel charade. She’d felt sorry for Helena Conwell and had felt a kinship for her, as well. They’d both lost their parents and had both been passed into the care of another. Rather than finding a person like Amber’s sweet and caring Uncle Charles, Helena had been saddled with Franklin Gowery, one of the most feared and hated men in the entire Pennsylvania coal patch.
It angered her beyond bearing that this was her fault. She felt stupid and foolish for trusting Jamie Reynolds, Earl of Adair. Father of Meara. Meara, the stepchild she’d thought she would raise alone.
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