His Beautiful Wench Read Online Free PDF Page A

reminiscent of her response to him as he…
    “Stop it! Stop thinking about it!”
    She stood abruptly and walked to the kitchen, flicking on the light. Thankfully the kettle sat on the work surface from when she’d made the movers their coffee. Was it really only this morning? A glance out the window told her night had well and truly settled in. Her stomach grumbled. Was it past dinnertime? She spun in a circle, trying to recall where she’d left her purse, and spied it hanging on the door handle. Snatching it up, she dug inside for her cell, switched it on and eyed the screen. The time glowed—nine p.m.—along with the information she’d missed two calls and three text messages.
    “Who the hell would be trying to get hold of me apart from Matilda and piano clients, I don’t know. I have no one.”
    The sudden realization that she really was alone now slammed into her and a ball of emotion lodged in her chest. My parents are dead and I have no brothers or sisters. She laughed wryly, tears spilling. Angry at herself, she jabbed at the kettle switch and took a mug from the dish drain. She spooned instant coffee and sugar in, her movement jerky, her mind whirling with confusing thoughts of Emmett.
    Stop thinking of him like he’s real. He isn’t, so deal with it.
    The kettle clicked off. Steam rose from the spout and hit the window, a large patch of condensation forming. She stared at it and watched a trail of water from the lower edge slink down the glass. More trails followed and reminded her of tears. Before she allowed herself the luxury of crying, she shifted her attention back to her task, idly stirring her coffee and frowning at a spillage of sugar on the worktop. The word ATTIC had been scrawled in it. She gasped harshly and stepped back, squealing, hand to her mouth. Her heart rate sped up, the thuds hard and dull against her ribs, the sound of her pulse loud on her eardrums. Backing to the opposite side of the room, she collided with a small pine table and a chair toppled to the floor, its leg digging into hers. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms, the hairs there rising, brushing her shirtsleeves. She hugged herself, mind trying to process how the hell the word had appeared.
    Did I do it? Did I write that without realizing?
    She darted her head from left to right, frantic that someone might be in the house with her. Cautiously, she opened a door to the right of the one that led to her rear garden. She entered a large room with a partition wall down the middle. One side must have been used as a pantry by the previous owner, as floor-to-ceiling shelves filled the space. The other side had pipes and a drainage system for a washing machine and enough room for a dryer and shelves. No one was inside.
    She shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. You’d have seen them go in here.”
    But how…? Who…?
    Spooked, she darted forward, snatched up a tea towel and moved toward the worktop. No sugar or word met her gaze, the surface clean.
    What the fuck? She frowned and blew out a shaky breath. Oh, so I’m going crazy now. Wonderful, just wonderful!
    Tea towel flung to the worktop, Amelia added creamer to her coffee, thoughts of what she’d seen poking at her mind.
    I saw it. I know I saw it .
    A shiver rushed up her spine and she took her mug, quickly walking into the living room as though being out of the kitchen would make the occurrence null and void. She curled up at one end of the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. Darkness lurked in the corners and rendered the boxes and bags ominous shapes. She hunched in on herself, tense and uneasy without the light but reluctant to get up and switch it on. Amelia glanced at the doorway. Light from the kitchen lost its brightness as it spilled down the hallway, barely illuminating the bottom of the living room doorjamb. She sipped her coffee, hands encircling the mug. Once she’d finished her drink she’d get up, turn on the light and get on with unpacking. If it took her