The Wedding Escape by Karyn Monk Read Free Book Online Page A

the big, shadowy cupboard, with its familiar scent of oiled wood, polished leather, and the spicy linen sachets that were carefully placed amongst her papa’s meticulously laundered shirts and coats. The stillness of the place soothed her, as did the orderly arrangement of her father’s attire. She settled herself against her makeshift bed of folded trousers, imagining she was in a tent in Morocco or Egypt, with nothing but a flimsy canvas barrier protecting her from the raging winds and the ferocious animals prowling outside. Or perhaps she had stowed away on a pirate ship bound for the wilds of Africa, and was forced to hide in this tiny cupboard, only venturing forth at
night to steal scraps so she wouldn’t starve to death.
    Suddenly hungry, she pulled a crumpled napkin out of her pocket and buried her finger into the squashed piece of coconut cake within. Sighing with pleasure, she licked the dense treat off her finger, relishing every morsel. If she was very careful, perhaps she could make it last for the duration of the six-week journey. A more difficult problem was water. For that she would have to venture onto the deck, which meant creeping over the murderous pirates as they slept. If one of them wakened, she would have to fight for her life with her sword. Her fingers gripped the fine stick Freddy had found for her in the garden. She thought she could probably overtake a dozen or so of them, but how many cutthroats were aboard this terrible ship? Thirty? Sixty? A hundred?
    â€œMiss Amelia, you come out at once, do you hear?”
    Her heart pounding, she stuffed her precious food back into her pocket and pulled the string tighter. It was only a matter of time before they discovered her, she realized desperately. What foul punishment would they inflict upon her? Would they lash her? Cut her throat? Make her walk the plank? The string was biting into her flesh now, straining against her grip as someone pulled with fierce determination upon the door of her hiding place. Amelia held fast, but she was no match for the steely strength of her captor.
    The string snapped suddenly, causing the wardrobe door to fly open with such force it slammed against the nursery maid’s forehead. The poor girl shrieked with outrage and went running from the bedchamber, wailing that Amelia had tried to kill her.
    Amelia sighed.
    It would be days before she was permitted to leave the upstairs nursery again.
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    T HERE WAS A CLOCK DILIGENTLY TAPPING AWAY SOME- where in the room. It was this that her mind fastened upon first—the steady, rhythmic cadence of time. It chipped insistently at her senses, eroding the filmy layers of exhaustion. She burrowed her face deeper into the pillow and squeezed her eyes tight, fighting it. She did not want to waken. She had not wanted to waken for months now, not since her life had been taken from her and pressed firmly into the damp, fleshy palm of Lord Whitcliffe. Every morning she was overcome with the same paralyzing despair, which she fought by trying to retreat back into the warm waters of sleep. But as the days pushed her ever closer to her union with the repellent old duke, even sleep had lost its ability to grant respite. The memories of her childhood antics had become bittersweet, the endings invariably bleak. She was always trapped at the conclusion, a prisoner of her family, her servants, herself. Soon she would be a prisoner of Lord Whitcliffe’s, in body, at least, if not in soul.
    A wave of nausea coursed through her. She threw back the covers and staggered from the bed, desperate to find the wash basin. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be. She stared in confusion at the unfamiliar furnishings surrounding her in the darkened chamber, suddenly stricken with dread.
    â€œGood mornin’, my lamb—how are we feelin’ this morning?”
    A tray banged down on a table and the drapes were wrenched open, flooding the chamber with a blaze of light.