Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  The anger in his voice squeezed her chest, for she knew all too well the loathing was directed at himself. “You cannot blame yourself. You were not the one who banished him.”

  He laughed roughly. “If a man witnesses an injustice and turns the other way, does he not share in its guilt? He was banished for my sake, and I did nothing to save him.”

  He rubbed his cheek, and she caught his hand with hers, stroking her fingers against his jaw. He froze, the muscles in his face clenching.

  Then he looked at her.

  And she knew instantly.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Kissing Alice wasn’t so much a choice for Nathaniel as a given.

  If she was going sit there so cozily beside him, her soft hand on his cheek and her black eyes so full of concern, well then. She would be kissed.

  The remarkable thing, he discovered as his lips brushed over hers, was that she kissed him back.

  He had meant to be gentle, to give her time to say no, but her hands tangled in his hair, bringing him more firmly against her. Her mouth did more than simply yield to his—she pressed back willingly. Eagerly?

  By God, he hoped so.

  He licked lightly over the seam of her lips, and they parted for him, her sweet tongue darting out to touch his. The movement surprised him. He pulled back and looked at her incredulously. She looked back at him with glazed, sleepy eyes, and lips still dewy from his kiss.

  Their first kiss had been a surprise attack.

  Their second kiss hadn’t actually happened, at all, since she had jumped away like a startled fawn.

  But this third kiss… It was a kiss. It was the sort of kiss a man and woman shared when they liked each other above all others.

  It was the sort of kiss lovers stole before ripping off clothing.

  The thought went straight to his groin.

  He groaned.

  “Nathaniel?” A rosy flush bloomed on her cheeks. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “God, no.” He scooped her up and settled her on his lap. “Do it again. Kiss me.” There was a needy edge in his voice that he wasn’t sure was altogether manly. He didn’t care. He was needy.

  God, how he needed this. Needed her. Wanted her.

  Needed her to want him.

  If she thought less of him for it, she didn’t show it. She framed his face in her hands, holding his head still so she could press her lips to his forehead. He tried not to breathe as she dropped feathery kisses to his eyelids, cheeks, and nose. Each touch left him hungrier for more, and when she finally slanted her mouth over his, he was nigh starving.

  She smelled like paradise and offered heaven with that sweet touch of her lips, but it was not enough. Not nearly enough. He needed more.

  He reclined into the nook of the chaise, keeping one foot on the floor while propping his other knee up on the seat so that it gently nudged her forward. And forward she came. Her breasts flattened on his chest and their kiss deepened. Their tongues stroked together furiously. She wiggled against him, trying to get closer.

  Sweet merciful heavens.

  If his cock had been interested before, it was now downright fascinated.

  He banded his arms tightly around her waist, holding her still. “Don’t move,” he choked out, panting against her ear.

  She didn’t listen, of course. She struggled in his arms, lifting herself on her elbows to better see his face. “Why not?”

  He couldn’t answer. Her position presented her breasts to his chin, her arched back causing them to strain against the ruffled neckline of her gown. If he tilted his head just a little, he could nuzzle against all that satiny flesh.

  She gasped in surprise when he did just that.

  With one arm still firmly anchoring her hips to his, he swept his other hand up her ribcage to cup a breast in his palm. He crooked a finger over the lacy edge and tugged. So close. Another tug. Just a little more. He tugged again. His efforts were rewarded. Out popped a pale pink nipple.

  He ran his thumb over it, thrilling when it tightened to a hard bud. Later, he would wonder what had come over him, but at just that moment he had only one thought. He had to take her in his mouth, had to suck deep. His whole body throbbed with it.

  And so, he did.

  “Nathaniel,” she cried on a gasp.

  Too much.

  Her breast was in his mouth, his name on her lips, and it was all simply too much. He had to move or he would disgrace himself. He sat up too quickly, and she tumbled from his lap.

  “Oh!” she cried as she hit the floor.

  He looked down at her in horror. Her hair was mussed, her limbs sprawled in a most unladylike fashion, her breast exposed, and her eyes full of shock. Damn! He hadn’t disgraced himself—not in the way of a green boy, at least—but he would still like to take a flying leap out the stained glass window.

  She had set her dress to rights by the time he found his words.

  “Alice, I’m so terribly sorry. Please forgive me—” For groping you? For dumping you on the floor? “For everything.”

  “You have had your share of falling at my feet, Nathaniel.” Her lips twitched. “I suppose it was only fair to take my turn.”

  And then she laughed.

  Laughed!

  That was when he knew.

  There was no doubt in his mind.

  She was the woman he wanted by his side, through the good times and the bad. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Alice Bursnell.

  Even if it meant never eating porridge again.

  He caught her hand, turning it over to kiss the tender underside of her wrist. “Alice, may I have your permission to speak to your aunt? Naturally, I would prefer to speak to your father, but given the distance to Northumberland, I think I should speak to Lady Shaw first.”

  Alice stared up at him with baffled black eyes. “My aunt? My father? Whatever for?”

  He laughed. “To ask for your hand. Have I bungled it so badly?” He pressed a hand to his forehead in mortification. “Deuce take it! Of course, I should have started with you, Alice.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Happiness? Or shock…?

  He went down on a knee to grasp her hand in his. “You will marry me, won’t you, darling?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  For one sweet, dazzling moment, Alice almost thought she could say yes.

  Lord Abingdon’s proposal hung in the air, as precious as diamonds strung on a gossamer thread. By God, how she wanted to kiss him and say, “Yes!” and then perhaps kiss him again, and again, and again. Her whole body throbbed with the joy of it. How lovely it would be to spend her nights in his bed and her days by his side. She had been so lonely since Adelaide—

  She pulled herself up with a start.

  “I can’t marry you.” She wrenched her hand free of his grasp with a desperate sob. “No! I can’t possibly marry you.” She looked around frantically for an escape.

  Too late.

  He caught her in his arms. “But you must marry me, darling. You let me kiss you. You let me touch you here.” His palm slid over her breast. “I want you. You want me. That’s what a kiss means. What sort of lady would you be if you accepted my kisses and touches but refused my offer of marriage?”

  “A very bad one,” she whispered in misery. “Because that’s what I am.”

  He laughed and nuzzled her neck. “Nonsense.”

  Why wouldn’t he listen? This was madness! The tip of his tongue flicked against her collarbone, and her knees weakened in response. Dear heavens. She must put a stop to this while her brain was still functioning. And her willpower.

  There was only one way she could think of.

  Confess all.

  “You don’t understand.” She had to force the words from her lips. “I knew who you were before the chandelier fell.”

  He raised his head, wariness seeping into his eyes.

  “But that is not the beginning,” she rushed on b
efore she could turn coward, averting her gaze. “I suppose the story begins much the same way my life began—with Adelaide. We are opposites in that, you and I. She was born first, and it was I who came minutes later.” She chanced a look at his face, did not like what she found there, and looked away again.

  She stepped back, out of his reach, and clasped her hands in front of her so they wouldn’t shake so badly.

  And told him everything.

  Adelaide’s seduction and demise, how Alice had discovered the portrait in the locket, the year she’d spent searching for the man pictured in it, and her initial mistake in identity.

  “It was such a relief to discover you had a brother. You were so very different from what I expected. It had puzzled me greatly.”

  He flinched. “Yes, quite understandable. How could I seduce your sister when I could barely form a sentence without my tongue tying itself in knots?”

  She shook her head. “I only meant that you did not strike me as an unprincipled rake.”

  She bit her lip. How naive she had been! She had thought seduction and betrayal were intimate bedpartners in a man. But now she understood the truth. Abingdon could seduce quite easily—her eager response to his kisses was evidence of that—but he could not betray. If he had seduced Adelaide, he would have married her.

  His expression grew cool and flat. “We have seen quite a lot of each other in the past month, and here you are at my home. I must ask, why do you bother with my company when you know I am not Adelaide’s lover?”

  She did not like to answer that, but she must. She studied her hands, filled with guilt and shame. “I do not know how to track down Nicholas on my own. No one else seems to have any memory of him. You are my only means of finding him.”

  “I see.” He pondered that, his expression unreadable, while she waited.

  Would he understand?

  Could anyone?

  “Revenge is such a tricky thing,” he said at length, “so dependent on the character and temperament of the receiver rather than the giver. I suppose when you believed I was your man, revenge was fairly straightforward. I would fall in love with you, and you would break my heart. A man such as myself makes a very easy mark when it comes to the affections of a lady like you. But you must realize, Nick is a different sort altogether. Heartbreak won’t work on him.”

  Her own heart was beating very fast. Abingdon was being so very reasonable…and yet, she felt instinctively his cool words shielded an entire universe of hurt. She simply couldn’t let him think—

  “It’s true I had hoped to gain your trust,” she said contritely. “But it had not occurred to me to break your heart.”

  “Why not?” he asked with more curiosity than rancor.

  She swallowed. “I did not believe I could.”

  “No?” he asked, far more gently than she deserved.

  There was a painful burning in her lungs, as though every breath drew in a blaze of fire with it. She gazed at him mutely.

  “Tell me, what will you do when Nicholas is found?” he asked abruptly. “You have now confessed your scheme to me. Does that mean you give up your revenge? Or do you mean to harm him still?”

  She lifted her chin. “I loved my sister very much, my lord.”

  His expression shuttered even more. “So you do not give up. But you see,” he said evenly, “I also love my brother very much.”

  She looked pointedly at the portraits behind him. “Even though he might be trying to kill you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted freely. “I love him unconditionally. I cannot allow you to harm my brother, Alice.”

  The whirl of her conflicting emotions roiled to a tight knot in her stomach. Adelaide’s honor must be avenged. Alice couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t follow through. “Do you really think you can stop me?” she asked.

  The gauntlet was thrown.

  She saw the knowledge of it flicker in Abingdon’s blue eyes.

  “My father might be dying,” he said.

  She looked at him, startled. She reached out a hand to him, but he instantly stepped back.

  “Do not touch me,” he said.

  And with those words, she recognized the rage and betrayal that lurked beneath his polite coldness.

  She dropped her hand, cut to the quick. Not that she could ever blame him.

  He looked away briefly, as though to compose himself. “Father gave me two directives to complete before his eventual demise,” he continued as if there had been no interruption. “One, that I marry, and two, that I bring Nick home. Unfortunately, I don’t know where my brother is any more than you do. But perhaps news of a wedding would rouse him. If he truly is behind the attempts on my life, he would be eager to kill me off before the threat of an heir became imminent.” Abingdon shrugged. “Or, perhaps, he would think a wedding the proper place to heal the familial rift. Weddings are good for that, I’ve heard.”

  She couldn’t breathe. The indifferent, cynical man before her was nothing like the shy, gentlemanly nobleman she had come to know.

  “I feel obligated to point out the fatal error in your strategy,” he said icily. “You should have accepted my proposal. Then Nick would have come home, and you could easily have gotten your revenge.”

  The disdain in his eyes threatened to choke her. The cold savagery of his rebuke reminded her of his brutal early ancestor.

  She put her hand to her throat. “Nathaniel, please—”

  “Now you choose to call me by my first name?” He smiled slightly, and it was the coldest thing she had ever seen. “Well, Alice, you can go straight to hell.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Nathaniel stared at the spot seconds earlier occupied by Alice. Her scent still hung in the air, taunting him. He wished he could set the air on fire, burn the fragrance of sweet lemons out of existence. Not just in this spot, but in the whole room. In the whole house. In all of England. He wanted to scrub his world clean of any trace of the traitorous woman.

  It had not been real. None of it. She had not found him amusing, or interesting, or even likable. She had not enjoyed his kisses or caresses. It had all been a ruse, carefully crafted to trap a different man into her clutches. His brother.

  Nathaniel was cursed.

  His whole damned family was cursed.

  He spun on his boot, ignoring the sharp twinge in his ankle, and came eye-to-eye with the first Earl of Wintham. He ground his teeth and bowed to the portrait. “Damn you, too.”

  He moved to the second portrait and bowed again. “And you.”

  He moved to the third and bowed. “And you.”

  And so on down the line, until he reached his father. There, he paused. He could not damn his father, no matter how unhappy he was with their family history. His father had made mistakes, but Nathaniel believed his heart was in the right place, which was more than he could say for the earls who had come before him.

  Had Stephen any qualms before he poisoned Philip? Had Charles felt remorse when poor Morgan’s drunken gurgles were at last silenced in the puddle? He very much doubted it. His father had wanted to keep both his sons in the land of the living. Was that so very terrible?

  Yes.

  It had been terrible for Nick, banished from his only family as a boy, and as a man, trapped behind enemy lines with no safe route home.

  Home? Not that Nick had ever had a real home.

  It had been terrible for Freesia, who loved Nick and refused to believe her brother capable of fratricide.

  It had been terrible for their mother, who missed her second son every day, and had agonized over his well-being during the war with France.

  It had been terrible for their father, who likely recognized that things would have been far better if Nick had been born first.

  It was all very biblical, really.

  Jacob have I loved, and Esau have I loved just a little bit less.

  Nathaniel had always been less than Nick. A hairsbreadth shorter, a hairsbreadth thinner, and always, always
far less charming and accomplished.

  The family had sacrificed Nick, and for what? Nathaniel hadn’t even done his duty to continue the family line. At this point, it was entirely possible that he would die without a wife and without an heir, leaving Nick or his progeny to inherit the title, anyway, rendering fratricide quite unnecessary. His family’s entire sacrifice would be moot.

  Nathaniel’s own life was not enough. He was not enough. Not for his brother. Not for the earldom. Not for his family.

  And, clearly, not for Miss Alice Bursnell.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alice went, not to hell, but straight to the library. Thankfully, Aunt Bea and Eliza were both there.

  “We must leave,” she announced firmly. “At once.”

  Eliza’s eyebrows went skyward, but her friend remained silent. She merely pushed her papers and pen aside and waited.

  Aunt Bea looked up from her book, but kept one finger marking her spot. “You mean abandon the house party? Why, whatever is the matter, dear?”

  “We must leave,” Alice repeated. “Now.”

  “Oh, Alice, we cannot return to London just yet. The countess would take it as a terrible insult.”

  Likely the countess would find it a much deeper insult if they remained under her roof. After all, Alice had just refused to marry one of her sons and sworn vengeance upon the other.

  She looked about the room desperately. If she did not depart of her own volition, she feared Lord Abingdon would have no qualms about physically booting her from his estate. Aunt Bea must not be subjected to such a mortifying scene.

  If there was ever a moment for hysterical dramatics, this was it.

  Alice picked up a book and hurled it to the wall with all her strength and stamped a foot as loudly as she could. “I want to go home.”