Читать книгу The Unexpected Heiress - Kaitlin O'Riley - Страница 14

6

On the Same Page

It was too late to escape. She was trapped.

But that didn’t prevent her from struggling against the strong arms that held her like bands of steel. She kicked. She squirmed. She would have screamed, but his gloved hand completely covered her mouth, making it difficult to even breathe. Complete and utter terror flooded every fiber of her being. She was going to die here in the darkened woods.

No one would be able to rescue her in time. No one would know where to find her. She never should have come out here in the first place. She should have at least told Peter where she was going. What on earth had she been thinking? She was such a great fool.

And now she would die at the hands of a madman for her foolish mistake.

“Shh . . . shh,” he whispered over and over in her ear. “I won’t hurt you, Olivia.”

Stunned, she paused her frantic attempts to free herself for a moment. Had she heard him correctly? Oh dear God, was he going to torture her first? Was that to be her fate?

“There, there . . . that’s it. Calm yourself. There’s no need to struggle against me. I’ll let you go if you promise not to scream. And don’t run away. I can explain everything.” His voice was calm, even soothing.

What was this? How was she not already strangled? How was she still alive? Was it some sort of trick? Or just a momentary reprieve before he killed her? Relief filled her anyway. Maybe there would be a chance for her to make an escape. Hesitantly, she let her body grow limp, and she nodded in agreement not to scream.

He removed his hand from her mouth, and she breathed in great gulps of the cold, fog-drenched air. It had never felt so good to breathe!

He still held her firmly in his grasp as he stood behind her. She could not move her arms. Oddly enough, there was a sense of security being in his arms, resting her weary body against his broad, masculine chest. She could not see his face, yet his voice was oddly familiar.

“Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely.

“I’m not who you think I am, but you’re in great danger. Let me help you.”

Her mind reeled at his words. Who was it that held her this way? If it had been Huntley who’d found her, she would be dead by now. Olivia was certain of it. So, who was this man? And more importantly, what did he want with her?

Let me help you, he had said.

* * *

“May I help you?”

Startled by the interruption, Meredith glanced up from her manuscript.

An elegant-looking woman stood in front of her. Her coffee-colored hair, barely dusted with some gray at the forehead, was arranged stylishly around her pretty face. She was petite and dressed beautifully, with kind blue eyes that looked at Meredith with interest. For the briefest instant, Meredith thought her mother was standing before her.

Meredith refocused and asked, “Excuse me, did you say something?”

The woman smiled warmly. “Yes, I’m very sorry to interrupt you, especially when you looked so intent on your writing. But I just wondered if I could get you anything. A cup of hot tea? Or a fresh lemon scone perhaps? They’re really quite delicious.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”

Meredith felt a little flustered by the sudden attention. She didn’t mean to cause a fuss to anyone in the shop. She had just needed to get out of the house.

She’d been unable to find a quiet place to write at Lavinia’s townhouse without everyone interrupting her, so she’d escaped that afternoon and taken refuge at the one place in London where she felt at home, Hamilton’s Book Shoppe.

The charm of the place beckoned to her, and she enjoyed the calm and bookish atmosphere. She found a lovely corner table and chair near the back of the shop where no one would disturb her and had gotten quite a bit of writing done in the hour or so that she’d been there. She had been so involved in her story that she had lost track of her surroundings.

“I am the owner of this bookshop, and I just happened to notice you. . . . I’m so thrilled that there is a writer here. Do you mind if I ask what you’re writing?”

The woman expressed such genuine interest that Meredith could hardly refuse.

“It’s a mystery novel. More of a suspenseful mystery, I suppose. I don’t want to tell you too much, or I’d spoil the fun of reading it. I’m not quite finished yet, but I’m getting closer,” Meredith said, a little burst of pride welling in her chest. She rarely had an opportunity to talk to anyone about her writing. Delilah had always dismissed it as a frivolous pursuit, and now Aunt Lavinia was no better.

“You’re writing a book!?” The woman’s face lit up. “How exciting! I should love to read it one day when it is published. You are planning to publish it, are you not?”

Meredith nodded with a shy smile. “That is my goal. To become a published author. One day. Hopefully soon.”

“We’ve never had an author actually writing in our shop before, and I shall take great pride in saying that Hamilton’s discovered you first! I’m Colette Hamilton Sinclair, and my sisters and I own this bookshop as well as a few others. I’m so pleased that you are here, and you are welcome to stay and write as long as you like.”

“Why, thank you! My name is Meredith Remington. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m thankful that you don’t mind that I am writing here. It’s difficult for me to write at home, and I didn’t know where else to go, but I simply adore your bookshop. I’ve never seen a bookstore as inviting and charming as yours. It’s been my favorite place since I came to London.”

Colette Hamilton sat down at the table across from her, an eager expression on her face.

“You’re not from England, are you? America? New York perhaps?”

“Yes, I’m from New York.” Meredith was impressed. “How did you know?”

“I recognized the accent. My sister Juliette lives in New York and you remind me of her daughter, Sara. You’re about her age, too, if I had to guess. What brings you to London?”

“My aunt brought me,” Meredith began. “We have family here.”

She was oddly comfortable speaking to a complete stranger. But Colette Hamilton, of Hamilton’s Book Shoppe, didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt more like a dear family friend.

Meredith continued. “My aunt Delilah was born in Sussex and wished to return to England. So here I am. . . . And today when I needed a quiet place to write, I thought of the lovely bookshop I visited a few days ago. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind in the least! I’m quite thrilled that you are here! I simply love the idea of a book being written in a bookshop. It’s rather poetic, don’t you think? There is a great deal of inspiration with so many classic novels around you. Please feel free to come and write here whenever you wish. Stay as long as you like. I’ll let my staff know, so they won’t interrupt you.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Meredith was touched by the offer. “I shall certainly take you up on that.”

Colette smiled warmly. “I think it’s important to encourage writers, especially female writers. We’ve never had a writer actually writing here before, but you shall be Hamilton’s Book Shoppe’s first in-house writer, Miss Remington.”

“Oh, my. That’s such an honor! Thank you. I don’t know if I am worthy of such an accolade, but I shall endeavor to try to be.” Meredith liked the woman so much and felt such an instant spirit of kinship with her.

“I’ve no doubt you will. I’ve always been in awe of writers and had great respect for them. I’m such a great lover of books, but the thought of actually writing one is simply overwhelming to me.” Colette glanced at Meredith’s manuscript. “How close are you to finishing your book?”

“I have more than half of it written. Then I shall have to edit it and put it all together neatly. I know a publisher back in New York who was interested in taking a look at it when I finished, so I’ll send it to him when I make it presentable.”

“How exciting!” Colette exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling. “If you need anyone to read it for you, I would be happy to help. Also, I am familiar with a number of people in the publishing business here in London, so I can introduce you to them as well, if you like. John Murray is a friend of mine and he’s a prominent publisher in town. Maybe you could have your book published here and in America as well!”

“You would do that for me?” asked Meredith, utterly stunned by the generosity of this woman she barely knew. “Someone you only just met?”

“Of course. Think nothing of it. Women need to help other women when they can, for it’s a man’s world, make no mistake about it, and we ladies need all the help we can get. So I like to do what I can to help the female cause. To that end, I only hire women to work in my bookshops.”

Why, this lovely lady was a modern and progressive woman! Meredith could not believe her good fortune. “I’m so lucky to have met you.”

“I believe I’m the fortunate one! Just think! A female author right here in my bookshop!” Her pretty face beamed with delight.

“I’m not a published author yet,” Meredith added shyly.

“But you will be.” Colette nodded her head for emphasis. “I just know it.”

They talked together easily for some time, and Meredith told her the plot of her book, how long she had been writing, and about the magazine articles she had written in New York.

She found it amazing that Colette was so supportive and encouraging. Not once did she ask why Meredith wasn’t looking for a husband or why she wasn’t married yet. None of that seemed to matter.

How refreshing to not have marriage as the topic of conversation for once! And to find someone who didn’t care to discuss marriage! That was a rarity, indeed.

Their conversation was so unique and inspiring, her spirit soared for the first time in weeks. No one had ever shown such a genuine interest in Meredith’s writing before. She even allowed Colette Hamilton to read a few chapters of the manuscript.

“It’s wonderful. You have such a way with words,” Colette said in awe after she had read the handwritten pages of The Edge of Danger. “I can’t wait to find out what happens. I want to read more!”

Thrilled with the response, Meredith exhaled with relief. That was what a writer always wished to hear the most. I want to read more. Her head spun with the dizzying compliment. “I’ve never shown my writing to anyone before, except Mr. Robinson at his publishing office.”

“And he is the one in New York who wishes to publish it?”

Meredith nodded. “He said he would be interested in seeing it when it’s finished, of course. So I’m hopeful about it.”

“That’s quite exciting. I am so happy for you, Miss Remington. And I’m proud of you.” Her smile was genuine. “I must introduce you to my younger sister, Paulette. She’d love to read your work as well. If you come to the shop next week at this time, I shall arrange for Paulette to be here to meet you.”

“That sounds wonderful. And again, I don’t know how to thank you,” Meredith murmured, a bit overwhelmed by the compliments. A successful businesswoman who reminded Meredith of her mother, believed that she was a talented writer and was proud of her. Meredith’s heart swelled with joy.

“There’s no need to thank me at all. I’m happy to have you writing here. Now, a good writer must not spend all her time chatting with a nosey woman, but she simply must have a little sustenance to keep her going. So I shall bring you a cup of tea. Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Just a little sugar, please, and thank you again.”

Meredith couldn’t help but grin at her good fortune.

Of all the shops in London, she had stumbled upon the perfect one. She knew the moment she’d set foot in Hamilton’s Book Shoppe that it was special. Now it would become her second home, a refuge where she could be supported to finish writing her mystery novel.

A few minutes later, Colette Hamilton returned with a cup of hot tea and a freshly baked lemon scone.

“Now I shall let you get back to your writing,” Colette said. “I’ve distracted you enough for the time being. If you need me, I shall be upstairs in my office. But all the staff have been made aware that you are a special guest and are to have anything you need.”

“You’re too good to me. Thank you!”

Meredith was in heaven and continued to write undisturbed for the next hour and a half, while sipping tea and enjoying the scone. But it was now time to go. She’d been gone too long already and needed to get back to Lavinia’s house. There was yet another ball she was required to attend that evening, and lengthy preparations would be necessary. Delilah would be frantic if Meredith didn’t return soon.

After she had gathered her things, she ventured up the staircase to say goodbye to Colette Hamilton and to thank her again. When the door at the top of the steps opened, Meredith was surprised to discover that she wasn’t in an ordinary office, but what seemed like a lovely home.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I must be going, and I wanted to thank you again before I left,” she said to Colette.

“You’re not intruding at all, my dear, and I’m so glad you came up to see me. How did your writing go? Did you get a lot accomplished this afternoon?”

Meredith smiled. “More than I expected to. And definitely more than I would have if I had stayed at home with my aunts and my little cousins. It’s impossible to write anything there.”

Colette nodded knowingly. “I’ve had the most splendid idea, Miss Remington.”

Meredith gave her a questioning look. “What is it?”

“I’d like you to look around this place.... This used to be our home.”

Colette motioned for Meredith to follow her as they walked around the residence, looking through the three bedrooms and the dining room and kitchen area. The main room had been set up as an office, with two very large oak desks facing each other in front of the windows, as well as comfortable sofas near the fireplace.

“My family and I used to live up here above the bookshop,” Colette explained as they walked around.

“You lived up here?” Meredith asked, intrigued by the idea.

“Yes, my four younger sisters, my mother, father, and I all lived here. I admit that it was rather crowded at times! We girls used to help our father run the bookshop and then we took over when he passed away. Since then, we’ve done rather well. We now have two more bookshops in London, the Hamilton Sisters’ Book Shoppe and Mara’s Book Shoppe, and another Hamilton’s in Dublin. My sisters and I have all married and have homes of our own, so now we just use this space for our office. Well, actually, just Paulette and I do, on the occasions that we’re here working in the original shop. Our main offices are in the newer, grander building, The Hamilton Sisters’ Book Shoppe. But this place still pulls at my heart, because it was our home for my entire childhood.”

“It’s truly lovely.” Meredith glanced around, setting down her manuscript on a polished oak table.

“Thank you. I’ve just redecorated it recently. It was time for a fresh coat of paint and some new furnishings and curtains. It’s rather a lovely hideaway now.”

The private residence was decorated in serene shades of blue. Gleaming hardwood floors were covered with dark blue area rugs and the walls were the palest baby blue, trimmed with white molding and white wainscoting. Sheer white curtains adorned the windows, allowing in plenty of light. It was elegant and simple and inviting, devoid of any clutter.

A gilt-framed oil painting hung above the fireplace, depicting five beautiful young girls. They all smiled, looking happy and wearing pretty white dresses. They had to be the Hamilton sisters.

“Which one is you?” Meredith questioned, peering closely at the painting, trying to discern which one of the sisters would be Colette Hamilton. All five girls looked remarkably alike, with varying shades of hair and eye colors, yet with the same delicate facial features.

“I’m the one with my arm around the smallest girl, my sister Yvette. She’s the baby of the family. I’m the oldest of the lot. And the one with the dark hair is Juliette, the one in the middle is Lisette, and the other blonde is Paulette.” Colette beamed with pride. “I was probably eighteen when that was painted as a gift for our mother. This painting is actually a copy I had made, and my sisters each have one also. The original is in my drawing room at home.”