Page 58 of The Secret Desire of a Fiery Lady

Ambrose ran a hand through his hair. He knew he should leave her alone. He knew that it really wasn’t any of his business if she called herself Delia Parker or Minnie Reeves or the Queen of Sheba, for that matter. They were going to separate in Bradford, and they would never see each other again. She didn’t want to be his mistress, and that was all he could offer her. There was no point in speculating about her like this. The fierce attraction that had flared briefly between them on this trip was destined to fade into nothing.

He wanted to feel like he could walk away from her. He didn’t want this sense of responsibility towards her. But still…what if she trulywasin some kind of danger? What if she truly was as innocent as she appeared? How could he just leave her to her own devices and not press her about what had led her on this journey?

He took a deep, ragged breath. He couldn’t leave it alone. He couldn’t leaveheralone. That much was certain. Beyond that, he simply had no idea.

***

Delia sat on the edge of the narrow, hard bed, trying to calm herself. But her blood was still boiling.

How dare he?

It had never occurred to her to tell him the truth. He didn’t deserve the truth. Whatever fragile trust they had built between them had crumbled beneath his utter contempt and his accusation. She couldn’t trust him with the painful story of why she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t. He was not a confidante nor a friend. He wasn’t even a real lover.

He doesn’t care for me, she thought, her heart lurching with the truth.He doesn’t love me. Why should I tell him anything about myself at all?

She sighed, getting off the bed and walking to the trunk. She would undress and get into her nightgown, even though she knew she wouldn’t sleep for hours yet. She was simply too upset. But there was nothing else to do. She was too angry to join the others in the main room again, and the weather far too wild for a walk.

She stopped, staring down at the trunk. Her heart briefly stopped. Something was wrong.

It wasn’t in the position that she had left it.

She exhaled slowly. She was certain of it. The trunk had been tightly wedged against the wall when she had last left the room. But now it was lying at least an inch from the wall as if someone had hastily yanked it and hadn’t bothered to place it back in its original position.

With a trembling hand, she opened it. Her blood ran cold. The clothes were still folded, but they weren’t as neat as they had been. They looked like someone had riffled through them and then tried to tidy them.

Desperately, she groped around. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realised that the bag of coins was still there, along with Minnie’s gift to her grandmother. With a trembling hand, she spilt the coins onto the floor, counting them. It was exactly the same amount as when she had left the room. She hadn’t been robbed.

Quickly, she gathered up the coins with shaking hands, cursing herself under her breath. She had been careless yet again. She had forgotten to lock the trunk today, lulled into a false sense of security because she and the other coach passengers were the only people staying at this inn. But she realised suddenly that anyone could rob her—the workers at this inn, or one of the patrons at the bar. She vowed to be more mindful tomorrow and for the rest of this accursed journey.

After the bag was safely in the trunk and she had taken the nightgown out, she locked it. She was suddenly very confused. Someone had definitely moved the trunk and riffled through it, but they hadn’t taken anything. Why? Why would someone deliberately do that and then not take a bag full of coins?

A sense of disquiet stole over her. There could be another reason that someone wanted to go through her belongings. If someone was looking for proof of who she was, then the trunk would be the natural place to search.

Someone like Ambrose.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. It was all starting to make sense: the way he had been acting towards her downstairs—the contempt and the anger, which had been such a contrast to how he had treated her the last time they had spoken. The way he had rudely interrogated her, accusing her of being a confidence woman.

He had seen Minnie’s name on the lid of the trunk.

She sat back on her heels, staring at the wall. He thought she was Minnie Reeves. He knew that she had been lying to him and to everyone.

He knew part of her secret.

She started to shake all over. And the worst of it was she had compounded the lie. She had still insisted she wasn’t misrepresenting herself. He had watched her brazenly lying to him, knowing thatsomethingwas amiss with her.

She blinked back tears. Of course, he would assume she was a confidence woman. He had no way of knowing her true story. He didn’t know a thing about her that was real. Her life was an entire fabrication from start to finish. And she had just dug herself even deeper into this hole.

He didn’t trust her…and she didn’t blame him. Surprisingly, she wasn’t even angry at him for riffling through her possessions to try to find the truth.

Her heart sank. If she had confided in him, then none of it would have been necessary. But it was all too late now.

Chapter 33

Ambrose was up early the next day. He walked down the hallway, hesitating for a moment outside Delia’s room. There was not a sound from inside. He hesitated for a moment longer, yearning to knock, before thinking better of it. She wouldn’t be happy to see him. He took a deep, ragged breath before continuing down the stairs to the main room of the inn.

He stoked the fire to life, then threw a log onto it before sitting down. The workers were stirring. One of the barmen approached him, grinning from ear to ear.

“I see you have already tended the fire,” he said. “You can have a job here if you like. You’ve been here that long it’s like you and the other passengers on that stagecoach are part of the furniture.”

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