Desire Me More (4 page)

As Nick strode toward her, she noted the undertaker's stance: firm, his posture reading irritated by the circumstance.

Well, that made the two of them, didn't it?

Nick held out his hand as he opened the door for her. “Ready then?”

She loved the fact that he didn't question her need to do this, or attempt to change her mind.

She took his hand without hesitation. When she stood before him, he added, “We can leave at any time; just say the words and we'll go. You don't have to prove yourself to anyone, Amelia. I mean that.”

“I have to do this.”

Threading her arm though Nick's, she walked toward the undertaker with determined steps. She was saved from having to introduce herself, for he turned on his heel and headed back inside. Surely women had visited this place before. Nick had to catch the door so it didn't shut behind the undertaker. The sick scent of death assaulted her senses and had her skin crawling the moment she crossed through the door. She wanted to scratch her arms to rid herself of the feeling, but she soldiered on, refusing to show any weakness.

There would be no peace, no real belief that any of this had happened if she didn't continue on her current path. She had to see her brother one last time.

Amelia stepped into the dark chapel, her steps stalling long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Covering her mouth with her hand, she swallowed back the bile that had climbed up her throat and took in small breaths to acclimate to the strong odor, though she didn't think she'd ever get used to the smell.

Nick leaned in close to her ear. “Just say the words and we can leave.”

She shook her head, refusing to give in as she continued deeper into a place fouled right down to the shale foundation with the stench of death. Now that her eyes were adjusted to the dim room, she lowered her hand from her mouth and held her head high as she followed the undertaker.

They walked down a narrow hallway, closer to the stench fouling the air. Nick produced a handkerchief, which she took and pressed over her nose and mouth.

“Watch where you step,” the undertaker said as he disappeared into a room just ahead.

Not knowing what to expect, she braved her fears and followed immediately upon his heels, eyes focused on the floor to see her footing. Nick had her elbow and she knew he wouldn't let her walk in the wrong direction.

In a room that's sole purpose appeared to be housing the dead, it was hard not to notice the stone floor covered in filth and other things she never wanted to identify. Lifting her skirts, she took in the rest of her surroundings. Wall sconces kept the room well lit, so she could see altogether too much of what was amassed in the small room.

Half a dozen large slate tables were lined up in two neat rows and spaced evenly in the central part of the room. Half were in use, with unmoving forms atop them but covered with dark sheets of burlap and cloth. Her eyes didn't linger on any one form as she headed toward the table next to which the undertaker hovered.

He gave her a measuring yet solemn look. “You understand he won't be as you remember?” he asked.

In fear that she'd lose the last of her nerves—and her breakfast that now sat heavily in the pit of her stomach—she nodded in answer. Nick was at her back, a solid and reassuring presence. Amelia took a small step back so she was pressed fully along the length of him, taking in the strength he offered by merely being here for her.

Without any further warning, the undertaker pulled back the thin material that covered the lifeless body, revealing her brother's beaten face and bare shoulders.

The undertaker hadn't exaggerated; Jeremy's motionless form didn't resemble the man she'd grown up fearing. The man before her was broken. Lifeless. Not the monster from whom she had constantly cowered. She didn't want to shrink into the background now as she stared at his heavily bruised face. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off him as she studied every cleaned-out cut, every broken part of his body.

When her vision clouded, she turned into Nick's arms, resting her forehead against his chest and closing her eyes to gather any stitch of bravery she had left in her. She needed to collect her own strength, give herself a moment to bring it together in her head and adjust to the reality of her brother's death.

Because this moment was what made it all real.

And the image of her brother would be with her for the rest of her life.

“What happened to him?” she whispered. She didn't need an answer, though, and Nick didn't respond. Her real question was, who could do such a thing to another person, regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the vile man Jeremy was?

Nick's hand pressed against her lower back, holding her close, letting her breathe deeply of his clean scent in a desperate bid to wipe away the foul scent of the room.

Braving her fears, she stepped out of Nick's arms and looked him in the eye. “I would like a minute alone with my brother.”

Nick merely nodded and jerked his head toward the exit, indicating to the undertaker that he should give her exactly what she needed. Nick turned at the door. “I'll be one step outside. Call out if you need me, Amelia.”

“I will.”

She turned away from Nick as tears filled her eyes again and trailed down her cheeks unbidden. She didn't try to stop them or wipe them away. They just were.

She took a step closer to her brother's body. The usual sinister smirk he wore whenever he faced her was absent. Now, he was nothing more than a harmless man, unable to dish out the cruelties he'd delivered over the years. He was a shell. A lifeless shell, and it made her wonder how he had ever wielded any power over her.

Braving herself, she pulled the covering right off him, revealing his full, weak form. The material caught at his booted feet, hanging in a macabre fashion, like he was a fallen flag-bearer who hadn't made it through the battle.

He was unclothed from the waist up, his breeches hanging low on his too-narrow hips. His skin had taken on a yellow-gray waxen tone wherever the miasma of deep red and purple bruises hadn't discolored him. Bruises spidered out over his form, covering his lower ribs and various spots around his slightly distended stomach. His shoulders were red and raw, as though he'd been dragged without a shirt through the streets.

“You've brought this fate upon yourself, brother.” She brushed a dirty strand of hair back from his forehead, revealing a deep gash at the edge of his hairline. It had been cleaned out and appeared almost white around the cut, as though it had bled a great deal not so long ago.

Was that the blow that had killed him?

“Who did you cross this time, Jeremy?” No answer came, not that she expected one.

There was only silence.

She was in a room full of the dead; all she could hear was the beat of her own heart and the shallow breaths she took in and out so as not to take in the full odor of the place. She rubbed her hands along her arms, which did nothing to dispel the cold that chilled her to the bone.

“You could have amounted to so much more, but your evil infiltrated you so thoroughly that you're not even a fraction of the man Father was as he lay on his deathbed. Even after all you have done to me, all you've done to others . . . I pity you. I don't want to, but there you have it. I know that sentiment would anger you, so let me say it again, brother.” She leaned in close to his face and whispered, “I pity you in your sad death.”

Whoever had done this to her brother had but one intention: to see him gone from this world. There was no one to claim him from this place. Not even she would be stupid enough to tempt fate that way. His past might have caught up with him, but she wanted to remain free of the burdens her brother had placed on her.

Even though he deserved no kind words from her, she rested her hand over his cold chest, and the lack of a heartbeat raised goose bumps through her entire body. “Godspeed, Jeremy. Perhaps forgiveness will find you in your next life.”

She reached for the sheet and covered him once again.

There was no love lost between them, and while she was sad, a smidgen of relief filled her at knowing he could never hurt her again. She turned away, her heart heavier than it had been since she'd found out about his death. He had been her last living relative. Her own flesh and blood.

Oddly, his death was at once a yoke about her shoulders and a snapping of the reins that had always kept her in line with her brother's ideals. The freedom that washed through her was sickening, and nothing had ever felt so wrong as this. Maybe that was because her freedom had come at the expense of his life.

True to his word, Nick was waiting just outside the door for her. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly to his chest. Her tears had dried, but she felt . . . empty.

“We have to leave him here, Nick. I can't risk being exposed in my new life by claiming his body for burial.”

“I can make any arrangements you want. No one has to know.”

She was shaking her head. “I ran away with good reason. And I will not risk being found by anyone. My brother might be the last of my family, but that doesn't make me feel free from his obligations. I still don't know what Lord Ashley has planned, if anything. My brother
should
have a proper burial and mourning period, but I just can't . . . ”

Nick's arm was like a vise around her, holding her tight, making her feel safe. “He deserves less than you think.”

“That might be true, but he is still my brother. And he was the last Earl of Berwick. Our family line is no longer extant.”

“Then to whom does the estate go?”

“I know of no living relatives who could make a claim for it. Lord Ashley won the cottage in a silly gamble. The rest will revert back to the crown.”

“Let's get you home,” Nick said against the top of her head, his hand cupping her nape possessively as he turned them toward the exit.

Amelia didn't take a deep breath until they were next to their carriage. The clean air helped clear her senses and shake the icy cloak of death that had wrapped around her while she'd been in that building.

Nick thanked the undertaker and then assisted Amelia inside the carriage.

She took the blue velvet seat opposite him. “Is it wrong that I don't feel any guilt, walking away from my brother's cold, broken corpse?”

“It shows nothing but fortitude.”

She looked directly at him as the horses jolted forward. His expression was open, kind. Inviting her to come closer. She switched sides and rested her head against his shoulder. “I feel so odd. Empty of emotion but at the same time, better that I saw him one final time.”

Nick kissed the top of her head. “That's normal. Mourn for your brother, Amelia. You needn't think of anything but letting him go.”

Amelia slipped her hand over his firm stomach. She was thankful to have him right now. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be lost without him.

“I think the constant threat of my brother precipitated our relationship. And now I wonder if everything between us happened too suddenly.”

Nick covered her hand with his, not saying anything to indicate his thoughts on the matter.

“With the danger of my brother eliminated, I'm afraid of what will happen between us,” she admitted. She'd been turning that thought over and over since Nick had revealed her brother's fate.

“Nothing will change, so put it out of your mind.”

“I can't help that I feel this way. When I ran away from home, I assumed I'd be an aging spinster before any man would catch my attention. We were thrown together by circumstance.”

Nick turned up her chin with his fingers so that their gazes were locked. “Do you want to know how I remember the change in our relationship?”

She sucked in her bottom lip and nodded for him to continue.

“I hired you on because I couldn't let you go. That was long before I knew any details about your brother or your past. When we met, I told you that you reminded me of someone.”

“I recall but you never said whom.”

“Her name was Lillie. She was important to me for the short time she was in my life. And before you believe it to be some grand love affair, you should know she was fifteen when she died. I couldn't have been much older than eleven.”

“Why do I remind you of someone so young?”

“Young in age, not in life experience.” He rubbed his thumb across her lips.

“Are you saying that you put me on a pedestal before you knew me?” Amelia wasn't sure how she felt about this revelation.

“
After
I met you,” he corrected her. “You had the same look in your eyes she often had.”

“Which was?”

“Fortitude. You looked ready to take on the world, even though you were at a tether's end with your luck.”

Amelia would never forget the day they met, not for as long as she lived. While humiliation should have superseded any other feelings when recalling how she literally fell into his life, had her circumstances not been what they were that fateful day, their paths might never have crossed. She hated to think where that would have left her. Hated to think of a life without Nick in it.

“Do I still remind you of her?”

Nick shook his head. “Life has ways of surprising us. Whether we met because of your brother doesn't change how we feel about each other now. I cannot deny that you make me crazy with need. And while what's between us doesn't scare me, I sometimes worry how far I'll make you go. How far I'll push you before you want to run.”

Amelia curled her fingers around his and inched close enough that their mouths were scant inches from touching and their breaths mingled.

“The only thing I fear right now is myself and what I feel for you, Nick.”

A dark look came over him, and he was as unreadable as the first time they had met.